#II Sett II

[enjomo-arch]

@goldenfists , sett asked : "Have you been up all night?"

the  gym  was  unusually  quiet  that  morning,  the  hum  of  the  treadmills  and  the  clang  of  weights  echoing  through  the  empty  space.  only  a  handful  of  the  usual  customers  prevented  the  hall  from  turning  into  a  ghost  town.  such  a  day  seemed  like  a  blessing  ——  a  gift  that  ace  could  only  use  when  his  face  decorated  with  sleep.  he  stood  behind  the  front  desk,  rubbing  his  temples  and  yawning  as  he  waited  for  his  musican  friend  to  grace  him  with  some  better  time  hopefully.  the  sun  was  just  beginning  to  cast  its  early  rays  through  the  windows,  revealing  a  layer  of  exhaustion  etched  across  ace's  face.

the  glass  doors  opened  and  as  the  ravenette  was  popping  the  cap  from  his  protein  cocktail  he  usually  drank  in  the  morning.  his  gaze  turned  to  the  now  familiar  figure,  bringing  a  small,  weak  smirk  to  play  across  his  features.  ❝  howdy  sett.  ❞  a  lone  greeting  followed  by  the  fire  fist  gripping  his  best  friend's  hand  in  a  strong  high — five.  not  long  did  he  have  to  wait  for  a  comment  in  terms  of  his  spent  appearance  that  morning.  a  concern  that  ace  didn't  wish  to  put  on  sett's  shoulders  and  bother  him  with  it.  in  the  end  ——  it  was  solely  his  own  fault.  the  gym  owner  shook  his  head  with  a  low  chuckle.  broad  shoulders  shrugging  as  if  it  was  nothing.

❝  yeah,  i  was  at  this  party  that  just  wouldn't  end.  the  music  was  blastin',  and  the  energy  was  insane.  i  thought  i'd  stay  for  a  couple  of  hours  with  my  brothers,  but  it  turned  into  an  all — night  affair.  ❞  a  quiet  sigh  ripped  past  his  lips.  when  he  thought  about  it,  sometimes  in  truth  ace  seemed  irresponsible,  especially  running  such  a  well  performing  and  huge  business  in  the  fitness.  ——  ❝  i  forgot  i  have  a  gym  to  run.  by  the  way  i  texted  to  ya'  'round  the  evenin'  if  y'wanna  come.  slept  early  ?  ❞  his  lips  pulled  into  a  small,  teasing  grin  as  his  body  leaned  against  the  counter.

[thomas-jefferson-miku-binder]

Queer League of Legends Champions (with explanations) – Part I

Confirmed Lesbians – Neeko, Leona, Diana, Caitlyn, Vi

Starting off with probably the most known LGBTQ+ characters of Riot, we have Neeko, Leona, Diana, Caitlyn, and Vi, all canon lesbians. Neeko's sexuality was a big deal when first announced, not only because she was the first canon queer champion of League but also because her sexuality is explicitly portrayed through her voice lines, as she often flirts with female champions and shows a disinterest in the Shoo'ma of men she shapeshifts into. 

A number of different Rioters have confirmed that Leona and Diana were always meant to be lovers, but someone at Riot Management decided against it, and so they were portrayed as almost sisterly in the old lore. Fast-forward to the present day, they are gay and LOUD about it! The Rise With Me short story officially canonized the couple, and official pride art showed both of them with the lesbian flag. 

Caitlyn and Vi were already a popular ship before their romantic interest in one another became explicit, as shown in Arcane, Legends of Runeterra, and more subtly in the Warriors cinematic. They have also been shown in official pride art holding or wearing the lesbian flag, and they even share a Valentine's Day skin. It's worth adding that Vi also shares another romance-themed skin line with Fiora, and they seem to be very good friends there, but we'll get into that later.

Confirmed Gays – K'Sante, Graves, Aphelios

K'Sante's sexuality, like Neeko's, has been an important part of his character since release. His cinematic and color story both mention Tope, his past male lover, and he was the face of League Pride 2023 alongside Vi.

Graves and Twisted Fate were reportedly, like Diana and Leona, meant to be lovers from day one, but Riot didn't like that (how novel) and scratched that part of their story, simply leaving them as crime partners, nothing else. Burning Tides and Destiny and Fate have been amazing at developing their relationship, but the real confirmation comes with The Boys and Bombolini, which officially confirmed Graves as gay and T.F. as being attracted to him. 

Lastly, we have Aphelios. He and Sett have been a popular ship since the Spirit Blossom release, a skin line that makes them boyfriends, which already confirms him as queer. Throughout this year, Riot has been reposting and sharing Settphel art, which doesn't necessarily mean anything, but what really grabs attention is that they also shared fanart of Aphelios with the toothpaste gay flag, leading me to classify him as such.

Confirmed Bisexuals – Nami, Rell, Sett

Nami surprised pretty much everyone when her addition to Legends of Runeterra confirmed her as polyamorous, being in a relationship with Loto and Tama, other Marai of her tribe. One of the people who worked on her character explicitly highlighted the relationship and affirmed that Nami was pansexual. Since then, Riot has promoted her (through official pride art and LoR emotes) as bisexual. It's a bit unclear how she should be labeled, but one thing is sure: she's queer.

Rell is another champion whose queerness was stated on her debut. Rell had flirtatious lines with both men and women in League and was explicitly labeled as bisexual by her creators, also being confirmed through official pride art.

Finally, there's Sett. People have been speculating on his sexuality for a while, but things changed when Spirit Blossom came along, and he was portrayed as Aphelios' boyfriend. Since then, Sett has been seen in reposted League fanart with the bi flag.

Check out Part II

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (II)

Chapter 2 : ‘Through me the way to the City of Woe’

Hi, everyone!!! Here we go for a second chapter! Drama is upon us, the plot is plotting! Let me also introduce you to Samantha, Andrew’s partner… I’m sure you’re going to love her a lot…

I hope you like this series! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4510

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Through me the way to the City of Woe, Through me the way to everlasting pain, Through me the way among the lost. Justice moved my maker on high. Divine power made me, Wisdom supreme, and primal love. Before me nothing but things eternal, And eternal I endure. Abandon all hope, you who enter here.

Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy : Inferno, Canto III, 1321

Andrew was tired, but then he was tired all the time.

As he prepared himself a strong coffee that morning, Sam was busy on her phone, probably going through her social media or reading the news. It didn’t really bother him, he was quiet in the morning anyway, liked to start slowly, to emerge into the world in a silent and gentle way. He was naturally a night owl, it was a struggle every morning to get out of bed early. At least, before the new year of classes started, he could go to work later, no classes schedule early these days.

Elwood was sleeping again. After an early walk around the neighbourhood, the dog was back on his comfortable bed, curled in a black and white ball, softly snoring. Andrew looked at his dog with love, refraining from petting his head, choosing to let him rest instead. He was a good boy, he deserved all the sleep he wanted.

He thought of you as he poured some coffee in his favourite mug. The meeting to distribute classes for the upcoming year was today. Of course, there had been one already before summer, so lecturers could begin preparing their classes if they needed. But some new arrivals would change a few things, some negotiations between lecturers too. Andrew himself was going to switch a class with Colm, another professor from the English department, inheriting a class about Yeats’s poetry instead of biblical studies. If he wasn’t against some religious metaphors – and given the weight of religion in Ireland, Andrew reckoned that he could never escape from it anyway – he was happy to avoid teaching about it.

But you were new at Trinity, and he wanted you to enjoy yourself during your first year. Upon his arrival, Andrew had lacked a guide, someone who would explain to him how things worked, especially the more selfish and ruthless side of the institution. If Trinity was wrapped in traditions, it was also filled with professors who cared little about their colleagues thriving in their academic pursuits, especially if that meant compromising with their own wants. Some professors were kinder than others, more willing to compromise. He’d help you navigate through the meetings, and hoped you could get to choose your classes too…

“My mother wants to invite us on Sunday,” Sam broke the silence that covered Andrew’s kitchen. A blank silent, an emotionless one; neither uncomfortable of comfortable, one that was there to settle on the furniture and in the corners of the room and simply lay there, undisturbed.

“I can’t on Sunday, I’m helping Jon with his film project, and then I’ll have lunch at my parents’. You were supposed to come to lunch with me.”

Andrew turned to Samantha then, sipping on his coffee and grabbing an apple as a breakfast. She said nothing, but her frown spoke volume. She was annoyed, maybe even angry.

“It was planned, baby. I’m sorry, we can go next week.”

“I think I’ll go see my parents anyway,” she said, her tone cold and firm, the one Andrew knew meant that he had no chance of changing her mind. He heaved a sigh, rubbed at his tired eyes with the back of his hand.

“As you wish, I’ll warm my mom.”

“You’re really not coming with me?” she asked, and her eyes were throwing daggers at him.

Andrew bit on the inside of his cheek, his stare growing sterner as well.

“I had planned to spend time with my family, and my brother needs my help. I’ll come with you another time.”

We had planned to spend time with my family… but he didn’t say that out loud, unwilling to start an argument.

She mumbled something under her breath, turning to her phone again; something about ‘a useless film’, and Andrew didn’t want to hear her comment, he knew he wouldn’t like it.

“Won’t you be late for work?” she asked, her voice calmer again, but the remark annoyed Andrew anyway.

“I don’t have classes, and the meeting is at 1pm, I can take my time.”

She could have added a comment on his time blindness, but she didn’t, and he was grateful for it. He relaxed a bit thanks to that.

“Busy day for you today?” he asked, and she heaved a sigh in response.

“Yeah, I don’t think I’ll come over tonight. Besides, we might go for drinks with the guys from the tech company we’re working with at the moment. Do you remember? I told you about them.”

“Of course, I remember, honey,” he answered with a soft, tender voice.

“I still haven’t finished that bloody logo for them…”

Andrew was brought back to their university days then, when she studied art and he studied literature. When she longed to paint all day long and he fumbled through notebooks and broken guitar strings. When they both had dreams that were too big for them. They had made a choice, had decided to finish their degrees, and not to make the hardest of the sacrifices that would have opened the gates to a life filled with art. Andrew had changed major from music to English during his first year, had passed his exams instead of spending his time in a studio. Samantha had specialized in design and publicity, and had given up her brushes that painted the coasts of Ireland in favour of simpler shapes created on a screen. Andrew couldn’t say that he had regrets about it. He liked his life like this, on the outskirts of Dublin, sharing his love for poetry, writing his own poems, waking up most days by Samantha’s side, even if after all these years she still didn’t want them to move in together, and he couldn’t fathom why. He loved his job beyond measure, always finding a fascinating detail to study, something new to read that would shake his world. He still sang with friends when he felt like it, sometimes wrote music to fit his poetry. He had a full life, a happy one, he couldn’t complain, really.

He thought about the engagement ring he had bought once, when she wasn’t ready to get married. She had said no, it had broken something inside of him. But he loved her, he would be patient, he could wait, and anyway, that was years ago…

“You’ll do an amazing job, you always do,” he encouraged her, but she rolled her eyes.

“You’re too sweet sometimes,” her words were spoken as criticism, not as a compliment. He clenched his jaw.

“Anyway, I’ll be pretty busy too, today,” he said, even though she hadn’t asked about his plans for the day, but then she hardly ever asked. She listened when he spoke about it though, and that ought to be enough. “We have our final meeting to select the classes we’re going to teach. I’m a little worried for Y/N, though.”

“Why? I’m sure she can take care of herself.”

Sam’s tone was a little dry still, he wasn’t sure if she were jealous or simply still annoyed.

“Trinity isn’t always filled with the nicest people. A lot of academics are quite selfish sometimes. I want her to have a nice time teaching. She seems very nice. And I arrived only last year, I know how stressful this situation can be.”

Sam nodded, but didn’t seem convinced.

Andrew threw the core of the fruit in the bin, finished his coffee, washed his mug. He didn’t want to argue, didn’t want to fight. Still, for some reason, he really wanted to talk about you. He had been worried upon learning that someone would share his office now, and he was relieved to find that you were kind, smart, and everything but annoying. He hoped the two of you could become friends.

“Y/N said that she found a poster for the office too! Can’t wait to see what she’s chosen.”

“Nice,” Sam nodded, and Andrew knew she wasn’t paying attention anymore.

He let out a long exhale through his nose, and she didn’t notice. He grabbed his water bottle, crossed the room, stopped to drop a peck on her head as he walked by her.

“Have a nice day, babe. I love you.”

“You too. Love you.”

She didn’t look up from her phone, and it sounded automatic, the way she answered. Andrew remembered when they started dating, about seven years ago. Both in their early twenties, young and naïve and heads full of dreams. She used to stare at him for hours, she used to look him in the eyes every time she said she loved him, to make sure he knew she meant it. He wasn’t so sure she meant it every time she said it anymore…

He pushed the thoughts away; he reckoned that this was his busy, anxious brain talking. Instead, he put on his shoes and his denim jacket, grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He stopped thinking about Sam, and thought about you and the poster you had promised you would bring today, and he walked out of his flat.

The meeting was over, and you seemed happy. Actually, you seemed ecstatic. And it made Andrew happy as well.

He had managed to get the class about Yeats, as planned. He had helped you through the meeting, discreetly, in whispers, but it was enough for you to secure classes you were interested in teaching. This year, you would teach three classes bound directly to your research, a general introduction to 19th century English literature, another about revolutionary writings in which you planned on including a fair share of pamphlets about women’s rights, and another about 19th century novels. You were buzzing with excitement as you walked back to your office, chatting with Andrew and his good friend Colm.

“I have so many things to prepare, but also… I feel very confident in these subjects,” you grinned at the two men.

“You can’t be happier than Andy finally teaching only classes he wanted,” Colm laughed, bright and loud, throwing his head back like a child despite the fact that he was middle-aged man.

Andrew nodded, heaving a relieved sigh.

“I thought Lydia was about to make a scandal…”

“She didn’t want you to leave one of the difficult classes. You’re too popular a teacher for that.”

Andrew rolled his eyes.

“I definitely am not.”

“You are too! Students love him,” Colm added, turning towards you. “And I will easily admit he’s a good professor, great at explaining things, and always very calm. But let’s be honest, the fact that most of our students are attracted to him helps a lot.”

Andrew looked away, trying to hide that he was blushing, but you laughed anyway.

“Such a pretty mug!” Colm teased, trying to grab Andrew’s chin, but he merely pushed his friend away, laughing.

“Quit your nonsense, would you?” Andrew laughed. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N. He loves talking shite about others.”

“That is not true! Y/N! Please, with your feminine point of view… tell him I’m right.”

You chuckled, shied away, but answered anyway.

“Oh, I’m sure Andrew must be popular, yes. I would have definitely preferred staring at his face when I was a student, compared to the old dinosaurs I had to put up with.”

Andrew was blushing so hard, even his ears were turning a bright shade of red, but he couldn’t refrain his grin nonetheless.

“Please, tell me I don’t fall in that category!” Colm protested, making you laugh.

“No… not quite yet. You still have a couple of years ahead of you,” you joked, and Andrew burst into laughter, while Colm mumbled something under his breath, rolling his eyes.

“Well, children, this is my stop, have a good day,” he mumbled, entering his office while Andrew and you continued a bit further.

“I’m glad you’ll give classes you’re interested in,” Andrew said, giving you a warm smile.

“Thank you so much for helping me throughout the meeting. It was… a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, some people here are proper gobshites.”

You laughed at that, entering your shared office.

“Hmm… I have noticed, yes. You seem particularly fond of Ian,” you chuckled, and Andrew rolled his eyes.

“I’m a very peaceful kind of lad, but that arsehole deserves to get some sense being punched into him.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow at that. If you had been teasing, the fact that Andrew had turned more serious as he answered made you intrigued now, rather than playful.

“Really? What did he do?”

Andrew stared at you for a few seconds, wetting his lips before he would answer.

“Nothing illegal, don’t worry. But he’s an arsehole. He will destroy your career and reputation if it serves his interests. Especially if you’re a woman.”

He saw you clenching your jaw at that last remark, and he heaved a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, and he hoped you could see that he meant it.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not you who is at fault. Anyone else I should be cautious about?”

“Mahon, O’Reilly, Evans, Hillstone and Patterson.”

You raised a surprised eyebrow.

“You’ve got a whole list ready,” you pointed out.

“I’ve been here for a year. Fool me once, shame on you…”

You slowly nodded, Andrew sighed again.

“Don’t worry, the rest of the bunch are nice though. Most of them are nice.”

“I’m used to it.”

You shook yourself out of the conversation, a smile growing on your features.

“I have something to show you!”

Andrew frowned a little at that, bending to avoid the lamp hanging from the ceiling as he walked over to your desk. He had grabbed his thermos filled with his favourite brand of tea.

“Really?”

You pulled out a rolled poster, and he laughed.

“Oh! So you did settle on some decoration!” he pointed out, while he opened the buttons of his grey tweed waistcoat. He buried his hand in the pocket of his tweed pants while you fumbled with the empty frame.

He put down his thermos on the edge of your desk, then pushed back a strand of hair that was falling across his eyes, readjusted his glasses upon his nose. You were quick to place the poster in the frame, and you grinned up at him once you were done, right before turning the frame around to show him the poster.

“I love this illustration. I had it hanging in my dorm when I was a student, and then in my first apartment. But my fiancé finds it a little… dark. And he’s not particularly interested in literature so… he doesn’t really get it. Anyway!”

You stopped your little rambling, grabbed the frame, and showed it to him.

Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow, immediately recognising Gustave Doré’s illustration of Dante’s Inferno.

The black and white print showed Virgil and Dante standing on the edge of a precipice, staring at a hurricane carrying the souls of sinners, talking to a couple crying in their everlasting punishment. Andrew had not read the book since his own college days, but he remembered that this was the punishment for those guilty of lust.

“Do you like it? Can I hang it?” you asked, an excited smile he found adorable on your lips. “I thought the black and white would fit your poster quite well.”

“Sure, go ahead. Need help?”

But you were already placing the frame against the wall.

“I have to admit, I’m quite surprised by your choice,” Andrew inspected the print, leaning against your desk, his hands still in his pockets. “I didn’t picture you as a fan of Dante… especially given his… conservative thoughts.”

“I love Inferno. I’m not going to pretend that I love the entirety of the Divine Comedy, but I love Dante’s image of hell. The haunting part of it. The way it is structured. Of course, it’s medieval thinking about issues that have radically changed now, but… It was a long time ago. If I don’t appreciate all of his thoughts, I do admire his imagination. Besides, it was a heavily political book. I’m surprised you don’t give him more credit for that.”

He answered your teasing smile with a genuine one.

“I do remember a little bit of that. Last time I read it, though… I was a student and hadn’t chosen to suffer through it. Besides… I think I was a little too young to understand it fully.”

You nodded.

“I’ve read it many times. I don’t know, there’s something… something about it that draws me in. Not the Christian moral lessons, of course. But just… I don’t know… there’s something fascinating about it. And I often wonder what our version of hell would be today. If we kept the structure, if we kept the place Dante created… how would we view those who are imprisoned there? Would we find their pain justified? Would we find it unfair to punish them like this? And who would we place in there? If we replaced the references to people Dante knew by people from our world, who would be stuck in Hell?”

Andrew pondered on these questions while he kept on listening to you. He had a few names in mind, for sure. He smiled at the thought, didn’t interrupt you while you babbled away about the book, about the things you loved and disliked about it.

“And I love Doré’s illustrations so much! They’re haunting, just like the book. And this one in particular, with Francesca and Paolo… like… their story is so sad, but even Dante was touched by them. Even if the moral in his book is outdated now, goes against what I believe… I’d like to think that we’d turn their story around today, that we wouldn’t condemn their love or include such a warning towards fiction through them, you know… with the whole reference to Arthurian myths and everything… don’t know if you remember that… but anyway… what would we think of them today? I’d like to believe we would find their punishment in hell unfair.”

You trailed off after that. You were nervous when you looked at him, pushing some of your hair behind your ear.

“Sorry for the ramble,” you apologised, but Andrew frowned in response.

“No need to apologise. Why would you?”

“I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You’re not bothering me at all. Your thoughts are very interesting.”

You blinked at him, as if surprised. You gave him a bright smile, growing a little shy.

“Right, thanks. But we should get back to work.”

Andrew nodded, moved away from your desk and bent again to avoid the lamp hanging from the ceiling.

He looked at you as you stared at the poster for a moment. He was happy you were the one sharing his office, you were getting along well, you were so nice, you were so smart and always seemed to have something interesting to say. He just wanted to talk to you more about this book you loved, but you were right, you both had a lot of work to do. He should focus on this article he was reading before the meeting. Instead, he looked at you for a moment longer. And before his brain pushed the thought away, before Samantha was on his mind again, he didn’t fail to notice how beautiful you were.

He looked for his thermos across his desk, furrowing his brow when he didn’t find it there. He rolled his eyes, annoyed at himself when he remembered where it was.

He walked over to your desk again, reached for it while you were still focused on the poster. But his fingers got clumsy as he threw you a glance, and it fell across your desk. Some of the warm beverage was spilled on the wooden surface.

“Shite! God!”

You turned around at the sound, but Andrew didn’t see your eyes growing slightly round. Instead, as a reflex, he had grabbed your phone and papers to secure them, was already looking for some tissues to clean the mess he had made. You reached for some Kleenex tugged inside your backpack.

“Christ, I’m so sorry,” Andrew profusely apologised, hurrying to clean your desk too. “Sorry, I’m so… long, clumsy limbs… I’m so sorry…”

He cursed at himself under his breath, didn’t look at you, fiercely blushed. Always count on him to ridicule himself…

“That’s nothing, don’t worry about it,” you reassured him, and when Andrew looked up again, you had an earnest smile on your lips. “It was just an accident, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m sorry…”

Andrew was so flustered, so embarrassed… He finished cleaning, handed you back your things without making eye-contact, rubbed at his collarbone through his shirt as soon as his hands were empty again.

When he finally looked up once more, you were still smiling.

“It’s nothing, Andrew. It’s merely a little bit of tea. Besides, you’ve saved the most important items on my desk. Nothing to be so upset about.”

The anxious side of him had kicked in, he couldn’t help it. He ran his fingers through his hair several times while he forced out a chuckle.

“I know, sorry…”

Andrew walked back to his desk, looked at his computer screen while he heard you chuckling lightly. He saw in the corner of his eyes that you were fondly shaking your head at him.

Why did he have to always make a fool of himself, huh?

All you wanted to do was to rush home to share the good news with Frank.

You had managed to get interesting classes, including some linked to your research… you were so excited to get to work and begin teaching in October.

When you came home, Frank was on his computer, working. He kissed you when you leaned closer, but focused on his screen again, and so you decided to wait for dinner to talk to him about your day.

You took a shower, prepared dinner. Frank was still working, he only stopped when you told him dinner was ready.

“Smells nice,” he said with a smile, squeezing your hand, and you took the gesture for a silent thank you.

“Thanks!”

Frank remained silent as he started to eat, and so you jumped on the opportunity to speak about your day.

“The meeting about classes and lectures was today. And it went so well!” you started babbling away, Frank looking up at you with an emotionless gaze. “I’ve managed to get topics I’m interested in, and I’m going to teach about my research too! I mean… not directly about my research, but problematics bound to it! I’ll have a class about the male gaze and female gaze dynamics, another about feminism and feminist essays…”

“That’s great, babe.”

“Yeah! Andrew helped me navigate through the meeting quite a bit, and he got the classes he wanted too, so…”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah! And…”

“Could you hand me the salt, please?”

“Sure. I’m also gonna work quite a lot on the 19th century, which is great! I like that period, especially for novels. And that means that I can include lots of female writers, like Austen and the Brontë sisters, obviously… but I can also spend some time on feminist movements, cause that’s really an important century for them.”

“Good, good…”

“Yeah, that’s grand, and…”

He heaved a sigh, and you grew quiet.

“You’re alright?” you asked, trying not to show your disappointment.

You knew that this question meant that the conversation would focus on him for a while, and you might not be able to talk about today again.

“I… Y/N, we need to talk.”

Your heart sank.

That was not the answer you were expecting…

“Talk?”

“About us.”

“What? What do you mean? About the wedding, you mean?”

“No, I…”

He hesitated, looked at you for a moment, before putting his fork down.

“I think we should break up.”

And that was it. Words that were shattering your world spoken like they were easy to let out, like they didn’t mean the earthquake they produced. You merely stared for a moment, waiting for Frank to tell you that he was joking, to take his words back. But he didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he went on. “But I think we should go our separate ways.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? We’re engaged! We’re going to get married!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N… I know it’s pretty sudden…”

“PRETTY SUDDEN! WE’RE ENGAGED! YOU’RE EATING MY FUCKING FOOD!”

“There’s no need to shout…”

“NO NEED TO SHOUT! OF COURSE, THERE IS A NEED TO SHOUT! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!”

“I’m sorry… but it’s best if we don’t stay together.”

“Why? What happened? You… We’re supposed to get married…”

“I’ve met someone else, Y/N.”

Your eyes grew round, and suddenly all air had left your lungs.

“You… you’re cheating on me?!” you asked, your voice lowering again, your emotions bubbling too much, tears rising to your eyes.

“No! No! No!” Frank defended himself, shaking his head vehemently. “Nothing happened. I swear, nothing happened… but… Y/N, if I am able to feel this way for another woman, then we shouldn’t get married.”

“For how long have you known her? Who is it?”

“You don’t know her. We’ve met through work.”

“How long?”

“Not long… a few weeks.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, crossing your arms before your chest.

“A few weeks? You’re trying to make me believe that you want to leave me for a woman you’ve met weeks ago?!”

“You don’t understand, we’re in love…”

You felt your head starting to spin, you had buried it in your hands.

This was a nightmare, just a bad dream, you would wake up and everything would get back to normal, you would tick all the right boxes again…

“What do you mean in love?”

“I love her. I know that it sounds… mental, but I do. And if I can fall in love with someone else like this… then you and I shouldn’t get married. It means that I… that I don’t love you enough to marry you.”

“You’ve got to be joking…”

“I’m not. I’m sorry, but I’m serious.”

“What’s her name?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, no… Do you want to be with her?”

“Yes. But I don’t know if she’ll want to be with me.”

“Really?”

“She’s not single either.”

You laughed then, tears streaming down your face too, unable to cope with the tidal wave of emotions that was drowning you.

Denial, pain, betrayal, anger, sadness…

“I’ll gather my things,” he said, standing up while you started shaking on your chair, struggling to breathe.

You didn’t even notice that he was moving away, that he was packing… you remained frozen on your seat, sobbing, while Frank was gathering fragments of your lives and tearing them away from your space.

He only reappeared about an hour later in the kitchen, the rest of your meal was cold. You hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

And then he was gone.

[gravehags]

Secondo taking you over his knee for being such a naughty girl and distracting him all day

Love that old man sm

“You did this to yourself, agnellino.”

In an instant your world turns upside down as you’re hauled across Papa Emeritus II’s lap, an undignified squeak coming out of you. He’s right, you did do this to yourself. You’d worn your lowest cut habit that day, sashaying around his office while he held terse phone calls, eyes ever on the sway of your hips. Your cheeks flush as he raises the hem of your skirt over your ass.

“Bare, too? Not only is she a little tease, she’s a little whore, hmm?

“Yes, Papa,” you murmur, and delight when you feel the twitch of his cock against your belly. He’s slowly rolling up his sleeves, and you crane your neck to look at the strong forearms dusted with dark hair.

“Shall I leave my gloves on, sorella?”

“Whatever pleases you most, Papa.”

You can tell from the low growl that comes out of him that that was the right answer and you lower your head to hide your grin as he removes the leather gloves from his hands. When he places a bare palm on the spot where your thigh meets your ass, you gasp.

“Bella piccola cosa,” he breathes, inching his long fingers to your core. When he dips a fingertip into the wet heat of you, you whimper.

“Be sweet for me, agnellino and then, perhaps, I shall reward you. But for now…count for me, sì? Alle dieci?”

You brace yourself as best you can while precariously balanced in his lap.

“Uno.”

The first slap to the globe of your ass almost sends you flying. You’re gasping for breath and you wonder how you’re going to make it through the next one.

“Sorella?”

“D-Due.”

Smack. He hits the other cheek this time and your arousal simmers in your belly.

“Tre.”

When he strikes you this time your hips rut forward against his leg and you hear him let out a sinister little chuckle above you.

“Quattro.”

His smack lands on your haunches this time, making you whine from the sting.

“Cinque.”

You bite your lip to stifle the moan that is forced out of you.

“S-Sei.”

This time the moan breaks through and he laughs to himself once more. Every jolt of your body grinds your clit against his hard thigh and he knows it.

“Four more agnellino, don’t tell me you’re tapping out.”

“Sette,” you grit out.

When he strikes you this time you take a moment to arch your back and look up at him.

“Otto,” you whimper, mouth falling open in a pant. You can tell from the way his jaw loosens and his tongue dips out to wet his lips he’s enjoying the show.

“Nove,” you moan, and he strikes you as your hips rotate in tight little circles against his thigh. He’s breathing heavy now, eyes on your bare flesh and cock hard against your belly.

“Dieci,” you breathe and the final smack is easily the weakest one of the evening as he rushes to lift you off his lap and bend you over his desk. You barely have a moment to wiggle your reddened ass enticingly when he’s got his cock out and prodding at your entrance.

“Piccola puttana mia,” he growls, pushing into you roughly, “You love this, don’t you? Always so hungry for my cock so you spend all day driving me to distraction.”

His hips snap against yours in a punishing pace and you wouldn’t have it any other way. When he slides his fingers into your hair and pulls back so your body is arched, you let out a keening moan of his name.

“That’s right, piccola troia,” he pants, fucking the breath from your lungs. “Take this cock you want so badly, huh? Diavoletta mia…ah…”

He’s hitting a spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back as he fucks you ruthlessly against the mahogany.

“Fuck, Secondo,” you whine, hips bucking backwards to meet his thrusts. “Just like that, give it to me honey. Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—ah!”

His hand abandons your scalp to reach around and yank your low cut habit down and push up your bra, exposing your breasts. He roughly rolls your stiff nipple between his fingers and chuckles in your ear.

“What if someone came in now, huh? Saw you bent over for me like a bitch in heat, tits out? Ah cazzo, you look so beautiful like this. All—ah—for me. Mine.”

“Yours,” you whimper, and he gives the bud between his fingers a sharp pinch that makes your clit throb, “Yours, I’m yours, sono tuo, Papa.”

The use of his title has him groaning and you begin to clench around him as you feel your release upon you.

“Gonna cum,” you whine, “G-Gonna cum all over this big cock, gonna—ah!”

Your cunt spasms around him wildly as your arms wobble and threaten to collapse. He sees this and pulls you against him, even as he lets out a broken moan in your ear and he empties himself inside you. The two of you pant in the silence of his office, his forehead pressed to your shoulder. When he finally pulls away, you feel a rush of his seed slide out of you and hit the rug. Secondo sits back in his chair to enjoy the show, hands gently palming your ass.

“Let’s get up to my rooms and get some cream on this, huh? Brava ragazza…thank you for indulging me.”

You chuff out a laugh and lower your habit, moving towards him on unsteady legs before sitting in his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. He’ll be tender tonight applying the ointment to your chapped flesh. You wonder if you can find an even lower cut habit to wear next time.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: This was one of my all-time favorite chapters to write despite how sad it is. Be wanted, y'all, this one is HEAVY. Warning for parental death, violence & childhood trauma. -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen PT I & PT II. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

EIGHT: GOOD DAMAGE.

“So you got a mom or dad?” Gojo asks, wearing Geto’s denim jacket as he slurps on your goodies. 

The question is so random and hard-hitting that it makes you pause from eating the bowl of soup inspired by your mother’s recipe and made with ingredients given to you by the townspeople of Bull’s Creek. 

After seeing Benji’s former bandits off to prison and receiving the thanks of the townspeople, including Miwa, Momo, Mechamaru, and Kuskabe (who does so with a nod your way), you and the gunslinging duo left Bull’s Creek and got on the road. It was only when the sun began to set and twilight sett in that you all decided to take a rest for the night. 

At that point, you had entered the mountains and found a tiny alcove near a cave and a brush of bushes and trees whose branches serve as hangers for your and Geto’s soiled clothes from the creek. Above the cave is a hot spring bubbling with hot water while down below the rocky mountainside, a field of wildflowers and fireflies that float up to meet you, lighting up the darkness the further the sun sets.

“Why don’t we rest tonight?” Geto suggested. “This will be a decent place, I think.” 

“And there’s a hot spring just above us!” Gojo excitedly said. “Ah, I could use a hot bath.” His stomach rumbles, evidently so by the sound that escapes his stomach. “And somethin’ to eat,” he sheepishly chuckled. 

You had already begun to shed your bags after tying Reneigh up with the duo’s horses up at the hot spring, letting them chomp on the wildflowers that sprout there. “Well, we’ve got all these goodies the townsfolk gave us,” you said, digging into the sack of food.

In total, the Bull's Creek folk gave you two sacks: one of food and the other of fresh clothes. Between the three of you, you divided the coin you received and kept them for yourselves. 

You looked inside the sack, pulling out each item: “Bowls, plates, bread, butter, rice, oooh, chicken broth!” Your excitement grew, happy to see such goodies.

Geto kneeled beside you, smiling fondly at the ripe tomato and the head of broccoli he found. “And all kinds of fruits n’ veggies,” he hummed, pleased with the turnout. “This will last us the whole trip if we ration well.” 

Your hand touched something soft and you pulled out a whole raw chicken. Holding it up to the duo, you gaped at it. “Uh…anybody know how to cut a whole chicken?” Two began to laugh, mostly at your hilarious reaction. “Why? You cookin’ it?” Gojo joked. 

You thought about tossing the chicken at him but decided not to. “Well, we’ve gotta eat and nothin’ beats chicken soup and wild rice.” Geto looked at you, shocked. “Oh…I was gonna cook for us.” But Gojo is pleasantly surprised, hands on his slim hips. “What a change of heart, little miss! Ya must like us now.” 

You glared at him as you began to set up the steel pot for cooking. “Don’t push ya luck, boy,” you snapped. “You two can set up camp while I cook.” You stood up and hurried up the slanted, smooth rock to the hot spring to wash your hands, mostly to get away from them. “Ah, so you tryna do the easy work!” Gojo called out to you, but you didn’t answer. 

Once you finished, you busied yourself building a small fire using some loose twigs, branches, and one of Gojo’s matches before preparing to cook. You roasted the chicken first which Geto kindly sliced the chicken up for you using one of your pocket knives. You had to turn the spit periodically on the fire while chopping vegetables (carrots, peas, broccoli, corn), so it was a lot of running back and forth. 

But you didn’t mind. You love cooking. Fixing something to eat is the one time you feel normal. It’s what makes you feel close to the people you left behind in your childhood, including your old self. 

Once the chicken is done roasting, its skin golden brown and juicy, you slice in into strips. You then fill the pot up with hot water from the spring, boil it, and fix the rice until its fluffy and white. Finally, you pour the chicken broth into the pot with the rice, sliced vegetables, and chicken, stirring it with a big wooden spoon you found in Geto’s bag. 

Speaking of Geto, he and Gojo set up camp during your cooking session. They set up sleeping bags, yours included, and place a blanket underneath to keep the dirt out of them. They set their boots, hats, and jackets aside, separated from your things. It seemed that they gave you your own spot, allowing you privacy and space. You appreciated that. 

Once the soup was finished, you announced that dinner was done and stood in front of the pot when they came running with their wooden bowls. “Hold up!” you exclaimed, putting out a hand to stop them. “Y’all wash y’all hands?”

The two looked at each other cluelessly which gave you you’re answer. “Hurry up before it gets cold,” you said and they went scurrying up the hill like rabid dogs, making you giggle to yourself. 

Minutes later, they returned and helped themselves to the meal. You sat down on a log with your own bowl, stretching your legs out. The duo sat on either side of you in a circle, passing a bottle of Jack between the three of you and ripping off pieces of bread to dip in your soup.

Gojo was sloppy, slurping greedily at his meal and making you wonder about some naughty shit. “Mmm, shit!” he moaned. “This is the best soup and rice I’ve ever had in my life!” 

In contrast to his partner, Geto was neat, taking his time eating his meal and (once again) making you mind wander. “I agree,” he sighed. “You’re quite the cook, little miss. Truly gifted.” Both compliments made your stomach flip. “Thank you,” you softly say, barely above a whisper as you took a sip of the Jack. It let a burn in your throat that you eased with the warm, hearty soup. 

Then came the burning question: “So you got a mom or dad?” 

You sit here now, the soup just at your mouth. Gojo looks at you expectantly, still slurping down his bowl. “Satoru,” Geto firmly says and shakes his head. Gojo raises an eyebrow, not understanding that this is a hot button topic. 

“No, it’s fine,” you protest. I suppose it’s only fair to tell you since y’all have told me so much about your lives.” You lower your spoon into your bowl, the fire crackling in front of you. “I have a mom and dad, yes, but adopted. I never knew my birth dad, but my birth mom always told me he was a rollin’ stone.” You chuckle to yourself. “Guess that meant he was a playboy.” 

You nod at the simmering pot on the ire. “This is my adopted mom’s recipe.” Geto smiles fondly, taking a swig of Jack. “Well, now I can see who you got such a gift from. Is she a cook?” 

You shake your head. “Not professionally, no. She’s a schoolteacher. My adopted dad is a farmer.” Gojo hums thoughtfully, chomping on some bread. “Where’s your birth mother now?” he curiously asks. “Still in your hometown?” 

You don’t think twice about it. You don’t even hesitate. “She was murdered,” you blurt. The silence that follows after this is deafening. The duo stare at you as if you just told them you’re pregnant. Placing the bowl aside, you tu​​rn to the crackling fire, not wanting to look at them and see their pity. 

“I was a little girl when a bunch of outlaws invaded my town,” you explain to the flames. “They ransacked every store, destroyed every home, and killed nearly every single person…including my mom.” You can feel yourself going back to that time, your mother’s terrified eyes behind your eyelids when you blink. A hot rush of tears begins to build.

Sensing your discomfort, Geto steps in. “You don’t have to go on,” he soothingly says. But you shake your head. “It’s okay.” “No, it’s not,” you argue, forcing the tears away. “I need to tell you why I hate outlaws so much. I need to tell you why I am the way I am.” 

You turn back to them, staring them in the eye. “But y’all are sure you wanna hear this?” you wryly joke. “I have to warn y’all that it’s quite long and tragic.” And the two stare you right back in the face. “I thought we already established that we’re ones for long and tragic backstories, darlin’,” Gojo replies. “Take your time.” 

Geto passes you the bottle of Jack and you take a much-needed swig. “I was nine years old when they came,” you begin and the memories come flooding back like a tidal wave. 

********

The summer you turned ten years old was supposed to be a joyous one. 

It was supposed to be a day where you and your mother spent the day in your hometown of Pinewood, known for its farms and heavy population of flowers.

Your mom would usually wake you up with pancakes covered in strawberries and whipped cream (your favorite), presents, and then take you into town to the bakery, the library, the movies, the fruit orchard to pick peaches and plums, or any other place a young girl like you would love to visit for her special day. 

But that was further from the case. It was only two weeks until you turned ten that your home was destroyed and burned to the ground. 

Pinewood was once a small but humble town of a couple hundred people. Everyone knew each other and there was community. Adults looked after neighbors’ children late at night and pies were brought over to welcome newcomers to the town. Farmers, teachers, landscapers, florists, bakers and cooks, etc…you would find them all here, building their lives and careers. 

The autumns were crisp and the summers were warm. This particular summer night you remember you were asleep in your bed, the sound of buzzing cicadas having hummed you to sleep earlier. Your bedroom, pink, cozy, and girly, was still except for you–the sleeping girl in her pony PJs. But late into the night, you awakened, feeling compelled by something to do so. 

You sat up in bed and looked out the window. Your backyard of honeysuckle and your mom’s prized vegetable garden looked back at you. The sweet summer breeze blew your curtains around like pink wisps. You don’t know why you woke up. You usually can sleep through a tornado. But this time, you couldn’t. 

Something felt…wrong.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. And then you realized it: the cicadas had stopped singing. A warm night that was usually filled with the buzzing song of the cicadas in the trees had ceased, leaving the night eerily quiet.

Then, suddenly, your bedroom opened, and in rushed your mother. You were too deep in your sleep fog to see that she was frazzled and scared, still in her nightgown and slippers. 

“Mama?” you mumbled sleepily, rubbing at your eye. “What’s going on?”

She came over and ripped the covers off of you. “Baby, get up,” she hurriedly said, pulling you out of bed by your arm. “C’mon, get your slippers on and follow me.” 

You stared at her, confused and still sleepy. “But, Mama–” 

“Stop it, Y/N!” she yelled. You are startled, confused, and afraid. Your mother had never yelled at you like this before.

And then you saw her eyes: wild and scared like a cornered animal. It scared you. “We need to go now,” she firmly said. “Now get on your slippers and let’s go.” This time, you didn’t argue or protest. You slipped on your slippers and took your mom’s hand. 

She squeezed it as she led you out of your bedroom and down the hallway, walking past the bathroom, kitchen, dining area, and laundry room. Your home was a ranch, so it was only one floor with the bedrooms located at the back. Your mom guided you to the front door but looked back at you before she opened the door.

“Follow me,” she instructed. “Don’t let go of my hand, understood?” She didn’t wait for you to answer. 

After unlocking the door, she yanked the door open. You still wish she hadn’t. Your town, once blossoming with businesses, cozy homes, and life was now burning.

Flames that exploded from buildings licked the night sky. Crops were on fire. Guns exploded in your eardrums that sounded like firecrackers. People and animals alike ran for cover and safety. People in black clothing and bandanas covering their mouths ran after them, hooting and hollering. Some of these intruders also ran in on horses, rifles and pistols drawn. 

You didn’t see any bodies, thank God, but it didn’t matter. The trauma was already set in your body from that very moment you and your mother stood outside of your home in the chaos. 

“Mama, what’s happening?!” you yelled, pulling on her hand. 

She then began to run with you, hurrying down the road. “I don’t know, baby,” she answered, “but we’ll be okay! Just don’t let go of me.” You didn’t, but someone did it for you. As you were running with your mom, you unfortunately didn’t get that far away from your house when you suddenly felt two arms snatch you away. 

You screamed, wriggling around in the stranger’s arms. Your mother looked back and rushed to help you, but she too was grabbed by another stranger in black and tossed to the ground. “Mommy!” you squealed.

You tried to struggle out of the arms binding you, but your mom’s assaulter took out a long-barreled pistol and pointed it at your mother’s temple. “Shut up, you little brat,” he snarled. “Keep that mouth shut or your ma gets it.” 

You immediately went quiet and the bandit behind you cackled. Despite his own bandana covering his mouth, you could smell the booze on his breath. You looked down at his hands around you. One of them had a rose tattoo on his knuckles. 

The bandit nodded at your ranch. “Nice house ya got here, bitch,” he chuckled. “Even nicer land. I bet ya got some pretty pennies for a pad like this, eh?” He crouched down beside your mother. She lied in the dirt on her side, her clothes ruined and her knee scraped by her fall. 

“No,” she whimpered. “My people are humblefolk. We don’t have much money and neither do I, especially with a child.” 

The bandit took a handful of her coiled hair in his fist, yanking her up. “So you callin’ me a liar?” he snarled. “I don’t like bitches who talk back, y’know.” He cocked his gun at her, but your mother was afraid like you were watching. “I don’t have what y’all are lookin’ for!” she snapped. “Please just let us go!” 

The bandit tossed her down and shared a look with his partner. “If you don’t give us money then you’ll have to give us somethin’ else,” he growled at your mother. “How much you think her kid will cost, man?” The bandit hugged you to him, making a show of caressing your face. “Mmm…’bout a couple hundred at least.” 

You shook in terror. What did they mean? Were they going to take you away from your mother? She seemed to know what they meant though and looked like she wanted to murder both bandits. “You wouldn’t do that,” she hissed. “You know damn well that the law is already out for y’all for this, so you’d only be sinkin’ your ship farther if you do anything to my daughter.” 

The bandit pressed the bun to her temple, laughing. “You think we give a fuck about the law, bitch?” he cackled, tossing his head back. “The law won’t ever find us and half of them are pussies anyway. The bossman is like the Boogeyman to them.” Your mother’s expression softened and she suddenly looked hopeless. That scared you even more. 

The bandit smirked and pressed the gun to her chin. “Now what should we do about that mouth of yours?” he whispered. His partner chuckled suggestively. “I’ve got a few ideas,” he sniggered. Despite the gun in her face, your mother turned her head to you, her eyes glassy but filled with acceptance. “Y/N, my little flower,” she tearfully said. “I love you.” 

Before you could even blink, she bit down on the bandit’s hand hard. Hard enough to draw blood. The bandit screamed as he pulled his hand away now coated in deep, bloody teethmark. 

“Oh, you bitch,” he spat. “Now you’ve pushed your luck.” He took her by her hair again and threw her down onto her stomach execution style. 

“Mama, no!” you wailed, reaching for her. She looked up at you, eyes wild and dirt caked to her face. “Run, Y/N!” she screamed. “Run until you reach the fields!” 

As your fight or flight kicked in, you elbowed the bandit behind you in the stomach, loosening his grip. Just as you turned to run, two shots ran out behind you. You never turned around to see if it was your mother. You just knew it was.

So you ran as you cried, your eyes blurred with salty tears and fear pumping in your blood. “Get that little bitch!” the bandit yelled, pointing at you. 

Hooves began to thud against the ground behind you, but you didn’t turn. You didn’t stop. You just ran, something pulling you along despite your fatigue. You still don’t know if it was God, your mother’s spirit, or just your will to live. Either way, it got you all the way down to the cornfields three minutes outside of your town. 

At this point, the sound of the bandits behind you faded, but you knew they would eventually gang up on you. Wheeled wooden carts sat beside the fields that usually were used to deliver food, flowers, and other deliveries into other towns. You chose quick and jumped into the back of one cart of flowers. You hid deep beneath the many plants, petals, and bulbs, keeping quiet. 

Even as you heard the horses and saw torches flash beneath the flowers, you held your breath and imagined yourself as but a rock. A head of corn. A flower like the ones surrounding you. 

“Where’d she go?” he gruffly asked. A light flashed in your face and you coveved your mouth. 

“I think I saw her go in here,” his partner said before they walked into the cornfields together. You didn’t move even as the light vanished. Even as the rustling of the corn stalks got further away. Even when all you heard were the bandits’ horses chuffing to one another.

You don’t know how long you had been there–minutes? Hours?–, but suddenly, you heard footsteps and hooves beside you and then the cart moved slightly as someone got in the front to drive off. And then the cart began to move, taking you away and into the unknown. 

‘The unknown’ turned out to be Elden Valley, a small town a two-day travel away from Pinewood. It is home to humble, quiet folk. Humble, quiet folk like Eren Tokiyami, an older farmer with salt-and-pepper hair and calloused hands, and his wife Yuri, a longtime baker.

Eren and Yuri ordered flowers and seeds specifically from your town’s florist to plant and decorate the outside of Yuri’s bakery. Imagine their surprise to find a scared, dirty, and traumatized little girl lying beneath the bed of tulips and petunias. 

You found yourself in a barn smelling of manure and animals. Yuri covered her mouth while Eren stared down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “My God,” he gasped. “Where’d you come from, little one?”

You could barely speak. You hadn’t had water or food in two days. “P-Pinewood,” you whispered, and then everything went black when you passed out in Eren’s arms. 

After taking you to the town’s doctor and nursing you back to help, the couple adopted you as their own. The town of Elden Valley and all others in the county heard of the massacre of Pinewood. Dozens of people died, including your mother, but you didn’t any any detectives or coroners telling you that. 

For nine years, Eren and Yuri fed you, dressed you, and cared for you. But it wasn’t enough to thaw you. It wasn’t enough to melt the ice that had formed and hardened around your heart and soul.

You had grown tough, taking your anger out on kids at school and constantly skipping to ride horses. It was when you turned sixteen that you met Reneigh for the first time who was no more than a stubborn, violent horse that Eren recently saved from an abusive owner. 

You felt like she was just like you and maybe she did too, so she was always calm in your presence and became yours. Eren and Yuri thought that with Reneigh, along with some guidance and love, you would be able to get back on track. You did for a little while. You baked pies with Yuri, planted crops with Eren, studied, and graduated from school. 

Then, one day, you just left.

It was a month after you graduated at age eighteen. You knew you couldn’t spend your life in Elden Valley, pretending that vengeance and bloodlust weren’t inside of you. To do something constructive with that anger, you took one of Eren’s many guns that he taught you how to use and went out to the woods beyond his and Yuri’s house. In the blue of dawn, you set up an old glass bottle there and stood yards away from it. 

As Eren taught you, you kept still and calm, aimed, and shot. You missed. So you tried again. And again. And again. Every morning before your parents awakened, you went out to practice in secret. And every time you drew that gun and shot, you were better. Quicker. Sharper. Then, one day, you finally it: you aimed and the bottle broke. You knew what you had to do from that very moment. 

So after a night of dinner with your parents and telling them how much you loved them, you waited until they went to sleep to pack, tossing everything you could into a bag. Including two of Eren’s pistols. You hid your identity behind a cowgirl hat and bandana, forever your disguise. 

Before you left, you wrote a letter to your parents, not wanting to leave them without any last words: 

Dear, Mama & Papa, 

I’m sorry for all of the trouble I’ve caused you over the last nine years. I thank you both from the bottom of my heart for taking me in as your own. I’ll never forget your kindness. It is what is needed in such a cruel world. Please don’t come looking for me and don’t worry about me. Just know that I’m fine. If I never see you again, I love you both endlessly. Thank you for giving me back my innocence.

Love, Y/N.

And like a thief in the night, you hopped on Reneigh and you were gone. And so the Fatale Femme was born. You didn’t feel anything when you caught your first outlaw body…only more vengeance.

It got stronger the more you killed. The more you fled. The more you pulled that trigger. You have been doing this for so long that you believed that this coldhearted tyrant is you now. For so long you thought you had lost yourself and only the Fatale Femme remained. 

But now, sitting here among two outlaws, feared and loved by many, you feel as if you’re finally getting yourself back. Geto and Gojo stare at you in the firelight, sadness in their eyes. You sit there, ravaged by your past and trembling.

“I never thanked y’all for savin’ my life today,” you say. “I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I didn’t see that y’all are different from the others. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to acknowledge it.” 

Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, too hot and too quick to stop. The real you, outside of the bandana, the guns, and the cool exterior, has been released. “That’s why I do what I do,” you tearfully explain. “That’s why I am what I am. That’s why I need to find Benji.” 

Geto puts his gloved hand in yours, warm and comforting. “And we’ll help you,” he softly promises. “We had a deal, remember? We’re a team now, so do you ever go thinkin’ you’re alone in this.”

His brown eyes are firm but gentle, reminding you so much of Eren’s. “Thank you for sharin’ with us and I know you won’t believe me, but I know your parents are proud of you, includin’ your birth mother.” 

He offers a smile that seems to melt you. When Gojo gets up to move next to you, squeezing you between them, you feel like you’re about to turn into a puddle. You feel nothing but warmth that overwhelms you in the best possible way. It is foreign and weird, but good. Real good. 

Gojo’s blue eyes sparkle at you, as beautiful and as alluring as the fireflies that float amongst you. “Did I ever tell ya about the time I got my ass stuck on a bear trap?” he randomly asks. “Oh, or that one time Geto got eaten up by leeches?”

Geto rolls his eyes as he puts his hair back into a long ponytail. “Damn, you tellin’ her that one?” he sighs. 

And that’s when you realize that the strange warmth you’re feeling is gratitude. You smile at Gojo and wipe your tears, knowing he would ask you to. “N-No,” you giggle through a sniffle. “I don’t believe you have.” 

For the rest of the night, you laugh and drink with the duo, not a single care in the world despite your past and scars. At some point, the alcohol rears its ugly head and pulls you down into the ink black of a booze-induced sleep. You pass out in front of the fire and barely feel Gero cover you with a blanket...and lightly kiss you on the forehead. “The sweetest dreams, Y/N,” he coos. “We’ll try to have the same.” 

When the long-haired outlaw sits up on his knees after closely examining the way the flames of the fire flicker across your beautiful face and the serene expression you wear, he looks at Gojo who wears an equally pained look. “You feel it too,” he states.  

Geto looks down at you again and sighs a heavy, tired sigh. “Yeah,” he replies. 

“So we’re fucked," Gojo once again states.

And Geto, now looking up at the stars for answers, once again sighs, “Yeah.”

[fredwardart]

formula E drivers and their stethoscopes

@watercolor-hearts and I discussed what stethoscopes each driver would use after they created a list for Formula 1 drivers. then we had the ideas for formula e drivers (+ André and James) so I made a list. Thanks to V for creating the collages!

André Lotterer - Littmann CORE Digital Stethoscope 8572 - High Polish Rainbow, Littmann Cardiology IV Diagnostic Stethoscope: Black & Black - Red Stem.

He’d want a digital one to save it for later. And the rainbow chest piece is obvious (for the gay in him). Sleek black with a hint of dark red is perfect for our war criminal.

Jev - MDF procardial® titanium adult cardiology stethoscope - cheetah/blackout.

Like Cheetah the cat.

Mitch Evans - MDF acoustica® stethoscope - white/black.

When I think of jaguar I think of Mitch. The colours remind me of him.

Nick Cassidy - Littmann Cardiology IV Diagnostic Stethoscope: Hunter Green

I just looked at it and thought, oh yeah, he’d look good with that.

Maximilian Günther - Littmann Cardiology IV Diagnostic Stethoscope: High Polish Rainbow & Navy Blue - Black Stem, Littmann Classic III Monitoring Stethoscope: Ceil Blue (suggested by V).

Maserati prince. Rainbow chest piece gives gay vibes.

James Rossiter - MDF MD one® adult stethoscope - white/perla noire, Littmann Cardiology IV Diagnostic Stethoscope: Satin Alabaster Tube

The vibe. Simple but a little bit posh, sophisticated. He likes the white.

Sam Bird - MDF MD one® epoch® titanium adult stethoscope - orange

The orange suits him.

Stoffel Vandoorne - MDF procardial® titanium cardiology stethoscope - green/blackout

It's illegal how good he looks in green.

Robin Frijns - MDF MD one® epoch® titanium adult stethoscope - graffiti/blackout, Littmann Classic III Monitoring Stethoscope: Smoke & Lime Green - Blue Stem

Given the pokemon obsession I feel like robin would like this one. can also imagine the green to rep Envision.

Edo Mortara - MDF procardial® titanium cardiology stethoscope - pink glitter/rose gold

Girl dad. I think he would love the pink and would enjoy using it.

Sacha Fenestraz - MDF MD one® epoch® titanium adult stethoscope - sunflower

A sunny personality that would look great with flowers.

Nyck De Vries - MDF MD one® epoch® titanium adult stethoscope - tie dye

Sunny personality, a bit of fun away from his on track crimes. He’d look cute with it.

Oliver Rowland - MDF procardial® titanium cardiology stethoscope - white glitter/rose gold

Another girl dad. Secure enough in his masculinity to own the glitter. I was imagining red glitter, but this is close enough.

António Félix da Costa - Littmann Cardiology IV Diagnostic Stethoscope: Black & Black - Red Stem

I think he’d like the black with a surprise bit of red. Porsche vibes.

Nico Müller - Littmann Classic III Monitoring Stethoscope: Turquoise

He looks good with this blue.

Jake Hughes -MDF sprague-x stethoscope - burgundy

Aston Villa FC vibes.

Sérgio Sette Câmara - Littmann Classic III Monitoring Stethoscope: Grey

Reminds me of the ERT. Subtle . Sort of quiet but still there.

Jehan Daruvala - Littmann Cardiology IV Diagnostic Stethoscope: Plum

Immediate thought was blue but I think he’d look good with plum.

Jake Dennis - MDF procardial® titanium cardiology stethoscope - paws

Jake loves his dog so He’d 100% get a paw print.

Sébastien Buemi - MDF MD one® epoch® titanium adult stethoscope - vulcan - carbon fiber/blackout

“Its dark, like my soul.”

Pascal Wehrlein - Littmann Master Cardiology Stethoscope: All Black

Dark and mysterious. Gives me his vibe.

Dan Ticktum - MDF procardial® titanium cardiology stethoscope - poseidon - carbon fiber/blackout

He'd go for this purely because he thinks it looks cool.

Norman Nato - Littmann Master Cardiology Stethoscope: Burgundy

He just looks like he'd suit it.

Lucas Di Grassi - Littmann Lightweight II SE Nurses Stethoscope: Black

I didn’t put much thought into this one lmao. Could imagine him using it.

these are all my personal opinion so there is literally nothing proving this, was just a bit of fun. If you have any other ideas though let me know. Hope you enjoyed! :)

[chasingpj]

𝐈𝐈𝐈. 𝐆𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬

"What do we do now?"

pairing: percy jackson x fem child of hecate!reader

words: 4,558

warnings: incident involving a car, being chased, that's all??

timeline: the lightning thief

a/n: this is kinda unedited because i didn't want to gatekeep it much longer. this took so long to post, and half of the chapter was sitting in my drive for like three months. it's okay if you hate me cause i hate me too. overall, I hope you guys enjoy it regardless.

prologue chapter ii chapter iii

Summer nights granted some rest to the stifling heat during the day. Vincent shrugs on a light sweater, his skin prickling at the chilly breeze tonight. The car engine rumbles, headlights on as he packs his twins suitcases in the trunk. He told them to pack heavy, which took them by surprise. They were bursting with questions but he dodged them all, not ready to explain himself just yet. For now, he leaves them to their assumptions of a possibly long road trip to a certain destination. 

Florida. They 100% think they’re going to Florida and it was a cherry on top for the news Vincent was about to reveal. He wasn’t sure how they were going to take it, other than the predictable disappointment they weren't going to Disney,

Should he just market it as a regular summer camp? He considered it but he didn’t want to leave them in the dark. Honesty and finally revealing the secrets he’s held onto felt like the only way to do it.

“I call shotgun!” You shout. You knew well enough that claiming your dibs meant nothing to Atticus. As you expected, his footsteps quicken but he fails to outrun you. As your hand reaches the door handle first, Atticus whines something unintelligible. “Neither of you are sitting in the front,” Vincent declares sternly, wiping your look of victory straight off your face. 

“What?” Your father doesn’t respond right away, shutting the truck closed. “Why?” 

“Because then you’ll argue about it the whole way. Just sit in the back together.” 

He doesn’t react to your scrunched face, making it clear this wasn’t up for negotiation. It was a little selfish but you and Atticus arguing wasn’t the only reason he wanted you to sit in the back. He read somewhere it’s easier to be confrontational when you aren’t looking at the person. To do what he needs to do tonight, he’ll take any advice; even if it’s from Psychology Daily. “No fair,” you grumble as you slide into the backseat, Atticus moves in behind you with his own teasing smile. 

Vincent settles in the driver's seat and glances in the rearview to make sure your seatbelts on. “Alright kids,” he begins, switching the gear shift. The pedal feels heavy under his feet, and his knuckles tighten around the wheel. “Here we go.” “Where are we going, actually?” Atticus asks, sitting up in his seat. “You haven’t said.” “Somewhere,” Vincent answers vaguely. You and Atticus exchange a look, the corners of your lips turned upwards. It must be a surprise, and surprises are always good, you concluded. There couldn’t be any other reason for his ambiguity. 

“How long until we get ‘Somewhere’?” “About 2 hours.” 

That wasn’t the answer you were expecting. Okay, so definitely not Disney. Little bit of a bummer but anywhere you go with your dad is always fun. 

Atticus meets your gaze, your brains recalculating every place you’ve been to that might take that long. 

“Are we going to Rhode Island again?” You guessed. 

“No.” “Atlantic City?” Atticus chimes in. “No.” “Are we leaving the state?” “No.” 

You and Atticus sit back in your seats in defeat, pondering in silence. Vincent gulps hard. You two were never patient for answers. Or patient for really anything. His vision falters from the road, the silence in the car is becoming increasingly uncomfortable. 

The radio.  

Suddenly reminded of the tool's existence, his fingers, almost frantic, feel around for the button. He doesn’t care what he ends up listening to as long as something plays. Turning the dial, he skims through stations and settles on the first one that runs clear of static. 

NSYNC’s “Bye, Bye, Bye” plays through the speakers and it rips through your train of thought. Atticus catches you side eyeing him with a wicked grin. Your brother was never one for pop songs and his instant dread brought you satisfaction. 

“Don't want to be a fool for you. Just another player in your game for two!” You sing, scooting closer to the boy despite Atticus’s physical attempts to keep the distance. 

“Stop!” 

You sit back in your seat, quiet for a moment. Seemingly done with your torment, your brother settles down. The moment he turns to look out the window, your mischievous smirk returns. “Might sound crazy but it ain't no lie! Baby, BYE BYE BYE!” “STOP!” 

“Y/n, please,” Vincent groans and you press your lips together hard in an effort not to laugh. 

“Sorry,” you apologize to your dad and abide by his wishes only.

Checking in the rear view mirror, Vincent catches you quietly whispering the words to the pop songs that play back to back and Atticus occupied on his game boy. Unaware of how long it will take before you are interrogating him again, he takes the time to plan out what he was going to say. Soon, he found out no matter how he worded it, he knew he’d sound insane. 

Your mother is a goddess and I’m taking you to a special camp with other demigods. 

That’s ridiculous…

Vincent considers perhaps it wouldn’t be so farfetched. You and Atticus are aware you have abilities other kids don’t. Hearing and seeing spirits was one, the disastrous consequences of your anger was another. Cordelia ruled it out to be a sort of telekinesis. Especially after realizing, you and Atticus had a habit of stealing cookies from the table by willing them to fly towards you. 

Plenty of times Vincent told you not to use your powers outside of home and to not tell people about the spirits you vividly have encounters with. 

Still, it all felt too much. Having abilities and being told you’re half god was on very different ends of the supernatural spectrum. 

The signs greeting him to Long Island came earlier than he expected. Vincent knew he had to tell them, rip the bandaid now. He can reveal the news, stop at a gas station to fill the tank and leave them alone to digest everything. The method of telling them they’re going to a summer camp and leaving them to figure everything out felt like the easiest option but it didn’t feel right. The twins deserved to hear the news from their father and no one else. Before he can back out, he turns the dial for the radio volume. 

“I have to talk to you guys about something.” Vincent fights the quiver in his throat, his eyes set on the road. 

“Are we in trouble?” Atticus asks. 

“No, you’re not in trouble. I just have a few things to tell you.” 

Vincent shifts in his seat from the silence, his twins waiting for him to continue. “For a long time, you both have had questions about who your mother is.” 

If your father didn’t have your full attention a second ago, he definitely had it now. Your mom, were you finally going to meet her? The day you exchange your first words with her, suddenly it felt closer than you thought.

Vincent sighs shakily. “Grandma always tells you that your gifts are because of her.” “She was a witch like grandma. A powerful one,” you chime in, and Vincent nods slowly. “Your mother isn’t just a witch though, She…” 

Atticus exchanges a look with you before his eyes return to the side of your father’s face. 

“She is a goddess.” 

That was the last thing you expected. The silence that followed was deafening. Vincent felt silly, as if he was telling a lie.

“Dad, are you okay?” Atticus asks half jokingly. Surely, your father was playing a prank on you. Your mother being a goddess? Impossible. 

“You're playing a prank on us,” you accuse and your father shakes his head before you can finish. 

“I am not joking. This is serious.” 

Slowly, you sit back in your seat. The tone of your father, the sternness of his face didn’t look like he was kidding. It confused you even more. 

“I’m taking you two to a summer camp where there are kids like you. They have powers, and godly parents and you’ll learn everything you need to know as demigods.” “Who’s our mother?” Vincent shifts in his seat, his eyes flickering at the rear view and his heart sinks when they immediately meet yours. At times, he catches a glimpse of your mother in your face. Every time he catches it, it strikes too many emotions in his chest. Grief, pride, longing, were only a few he could name. Right now, it makes him nervous.

“Lady Hecate.” 

“How is this possible?” You whisper to yourself but loud enough to be heard. Vincent swallows hard but it does nothing to ease the rock in his throat. “When you study to be a professor, you have to write a really long presentation on an original concept in your major.” 

His fingers adjust on the wheel. “I was having a hard time coming up with a topic. So much so, I had considered leaving school. Grandma knew and she prayed to Hecate as her patron to help me. I didn’t know it was her at the time but at a presentation I was doing for an academic convention, I had seen her in the crowd and I fell in love with her.” 

Your father took a pause. It was as if it was too painful to recall the memory. Plenty of times you’ve heard this story but never from his mouth. It was always told from a third person, that person being your grandmother. Clearly, she failed to mention the goddess part. 

“She introduced herself to me as Florence. She told me she transferred from another school and was my new colleague. We studied together and we became very close friends. She helped me a lot and led me to my dissertation topic. Once I had everything ready to put together, she left. Her errand was complete.

I didn’t know she was going to leave. The night I began working on the project, it was halloween. Grandma heard a knock on the door and she found you two in golden cradles at the doorstep. Your mother had left you two with me as a gift, to commemorate the love we had for each other. She didn’t want to leave but she couldn’t stay. There are rules the gods have to obey when it comes to humans, one of them was she could not raise you like a normal mother.” Dad got dumped badly. 

Hearing the story from him for the first time left you dumbstruck. Years of wondering why your father avoids talking about your mother suddenly made sense. Now every assumption you made about her, you had to reformulate. A goddess mother? That wasn’t even on your list of possibilities. 

Your mouth opens to say something but your father cuts in. “It is a lot to process, I know. It seems unbelievable but this is very serious. Because of who your mother is, you guys are different from other people. You have powers and bad things like monsters and entities gravitate towards you. Remember how Grandma always has to cleanse the house because you two get nightmares or scary things happen?” He catches your nods through the rear view. “The reason that happens is because you two are demigods. Your auras and scents are different from regular mortals.” 

Atticus nods his head slowly. “This feels like I’m in a superhero movie.” 

Your brother's awestruck expression makes your father chuckle. It felt nice; the comedic timing allowed Vincent to lower his tense shoulders, just a bit. “You two remember the stories I used to read to you at bedtime, right?” 

“The ones about Hercules, and Jason?” “And Odysseus, Achilles too?” 

“Yes. From those stories, you know being a demigod is a hard life but I know you guys are strong. I know that you two will be okay and do extraordinary things. At this camp, you will be safe and you’ll train to use your powers and abilities. I wanted to spend one last summer with you but grandma and I decided it was time for you to go there.” 

“It’s just for the summer, right?” You ask nervously.

“Yes, only for the summer. I know Grandma will protest but if you wish for me to pick you guys up for any reason, I will.” Vincent smiles sadly at you before his focus returns to the road and he pulls into a gas station right off the exit. “I am going to stop here for gas and then we’re going straight there. Any snacks?” “Oreos!” Atticus jumps in and a small smile spreads across your face. “I want Oreos too.” “Copycat.” “Shut up.” 

A huff of laughter leaves your father. “Oreos, got it,” he says and the moment he closes the car door behind him, you and Atticus whip your gazes at each other. “Do you think it’s true? Or is dad losing it?” Atticus’s eyes are filled with every emotion under the sun. He was excited but also nervous. Concerned but ready for the reality he was about to accept. 

“I don’t know. It sounds crazy but he looked serious.” Atticus nods in agreement. He never pegged his dad to be an actor so he couldn’t even begin to deny what he said was untrue. 

“That’s so cool!” Atticus shouts, his voice too loud for the confined space you’re in.

“It is pretty cool, isn’t it?” The laugh that bubbles in your throat is cut off by a gasp. Unexpectedly, you slide toward him, the buckle of the seat belt digging in your hip.“What?” you mutter to yourself, a sense of urgency filling your chest as Atticus yelps. “A cyclops!” 

“Cyclops?” You quickly follow your brother's gaze and sure enough, there it was. A tall statue beams over the window on your side, shaking the car frantically and roaring in determination. Frozen in your spot, you blink a few times, your brain barely processing the monster you’ve only heard about in stories. 

You simply watched, leaving your brother frantically trying to find a way out of the situation. One eye catches your gaze after its attempts at shaking you out of the car fail. There’s a furrow of a single eyebrow, a pause of thought and you jerk back hard as its soccer ball size fist starts banging on the window. 

You find some instinct to slide away, watching the cracks slowly spread like spiderwebs. Then suddenly, there is a loud crash of glass followed by a muffled call of your name under a deafening roar. Atticus grabs you by your collar, hauling you out from the other side of the car like a limp doll. Barely out of your trance, your shaky legs move to keep up with your brother. 

There aren’t many options where you could go, running down the massive road would leave you to deal with a monster and cars. Desperate to lose the monster, you decide the hill into the woods was your best option. 

“The woods,” you choke out through your panting and Atticus doesn’t argue, running straight ahead with a grip on your hand so tight your fingers are turning white. 

“ATTICUS? Y/N!” Goosebumps riddle your body, your ears tingling at the sound of your father’s voice. The desperation, the scratch of his yell made your eyes prickle with grief. You didn’t dare look back, refusing to see the look on his face. It won’t hurt him, you rationalized. It’s trying to hurt us because of our scent. 

As much as you wanted to make a u-turn straight to your father, the thumping footsteps of the cyclops were too close. You knew you had to get away first, then you can worry about making your way back to your dad. 

Atticus leaps over a log, twists and turns through trees. As much as you wanted to free your hand from his violent grip, you didn’t want to risk losing him. Crashes of thin trees being mowed down by the monster and its frustrated growls start to sound faint in the distance. 

Your heavy pants made your lungs hurt and just as you thought you were out of any line of danger, a boulder speeds right past you and crashes into the trees ahead. 

Atticus gasps, his other hand patting the pocket of his jeans, “We’re not going to lose him,” he says, his tone frantic. “He’ll knock us down before we’re able to.” 

Before you can ask what you should do, Atticus makes a sharp turn to the right treading off course. “If we can get far enough, I can try to blind him,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. “With what?” Your question is cut off by the desperate hitching of your breath. Atticus doesn’t say anything, turning and flashing a quick smile at you which is the last thing you expected. He raises his slingshot in the air and you scoff. “Dad told you not to bring it!” “Well, it’s a good thing I did anyway. C’mon!” Atticus picks up his speed and you sigh in relief as you come upon a flat patch of land with rocks big enough to hide behind.

Taking cover behind a boulder, the cyclops missed the sight of you by a second. His shout of anger echoes through the stillness as he realizes he’s lost the two of you but in his persistence he sniffs around, trying to catch the familiar demi-god scent once again. 

This doesn’t even feel real, you think to yourself, fully expecting to be woken up by your alarm clock for school any minute now. Beside you, Atticus ruffles the ground, trying to find a rock big enough to cause damage but not big enough to compromise the distance he needs.

“Whatever rock you’re looking for, you need to find it now,” you whisper frantically as the monster’s vision snaps in your direction. A gasp leaves your lips, back pressed against the boulder in panic and as you turn to your brother, he practically shoves a baseball size stone in your face. He beams proudly and hops up into view. “Alright, big guy,” he shouts.

Your eyes widen. “What are you-?” “Come at me!” “By the gods, you better not miss,” you whisper sharply and he chuckles in response. Cringing at the sound of the cyclops stomping towards you, there is a stretch of Atticus’s sling. Strategically, he adjusts his direction, one eye in focus as he aims right for the monster’s eye. “Get ready to run,” Atticus warns, barely giving you time as he gages on the right moment and releases his hold on the sling. There’s a quick rush of air and a cry of agony follows afterwards. “NOW!” 

You hop up, grasping your brother’s hand once again. “Did you-?” “Hell yeah, I did,” Atticus shouts proudly and an excited cackle leaves his lips. You were amazed at Atticus’s enthusiasm at this moment. You were scared out of your mind but to Atticus, this was a video game in real time. 

It didn’t take long for the two of you to lose the enraged monster behind. Blindly, it throws whatever he can get his hands hoping to knock one of you down but alas, he was unsuccessful. For a while, you hear his raging and as the sounds grew distant, you eventually heard nothing but the cicadas. 

“What do we do now?” You ask, Atticus perched on a rock to keep his sights on the vast forest. You’ve been running for so long, the possibility of finding the road again without running into something else would be slim. 

“I don’t know.” His voice is filled with fatigue and shaky with anxiety. Atticus only had a slingshot, not a compass; it wasn’t even a question if the two of you were lost. Sitting on the dirt, you sigh softly trying to think of a plan. 

You could keep walking until you find a road. At some point, you and Atticus would stumble upon something but who knows how long that would take you and how many monsters will be in your path. Shifting in your seat, you do the only thing you could do comfortably in this moment. 

Pray. 

Lady Hecate is your mother, after all. Cordelia was always adamant she would be there for you whenever you needed her. 

“Hekate, dark mother, keeper of the keys to the door between worlds; Hekate, lovely dame of earthly, watery and celestial frame; Mighty Hekate, mother of all witches, please assist my brother and I back to safety. Help us find dad or this camp we’re supposed to go to, please. Hear my voice, know my gratitude, Hail Hekate.” The prayer leaves you pleadingly and your brother’s fingers interlaced with yours as he repeats the prayer himself. 

For a second, there was nothing. You looked up for a sign, something different from the chirps of insects and the sounds of the wind rustling in the trees. As time passed, you begged in your mind for help or even a strike of intuition. Just as you were inching toward defeat, there’s a snap of a twig and a white iridescent glow appears further ahead. 

Immediately, you stand up but Atticus grabs on your calf. “It could be something dangerous,” he points out and you frown. 

“Or it could help us.” 

The feeling in your gut was telling you it was from your mother. Slowly, you inch closer, the dark outline amongst the iridescent glow becoming more pronounced. Atticus hovers behind you, ready to take off if this thing charges at you but soon he also notices a snout and the proud statue of a well trained dog. 

The both of you jump in surprise when it barks, but it didn’t feel malicious. Quickly, the hound turns on its heels and gallops away. At first, you didn’t move but when it halted and stared, you realized you should follow. “Should we go?” “It’s Hecate’s sacred animal, it has to be safe,” you say, your legs taking you toward it. There’s a short huff before the hound continues its way through the forest and you and Atticus follow as best as you can while also keeping your eye out for any more monsters.

“Where do you think it’s taking us?” Atticus whispers. 

“Probably to the camp. I don’t think this is the direction we came from.”

Your brother nods, his hand becoming sweaty in your grasp despite the cool air. The nervousness coming off of him was adding to your own feelings, suffocating you.

“You know, what you did back there was really cool.” At the compliment you can feel Atticus’s anxiety begin to lessen. A small smile forms on your lips as he gleams with pride. “All those times of me flinging golf balls at your forehead paid off, didn’t it?” Atticus chuckles at your side eye. “I guess some good came out of you tormenting me,” you mutter in playful defeat. 

Before Atticus could tease you anymore, the hound ahead of you begins to growl. At first, you thought it was toward you but as you look further into the trees, you catch the hoard of cyclops coming from the right side of the forest. “You two blinded my brother?!” 

The gravel in his voice makes goosebumps form all over your skin. Atticus slowly moves towards the dog and he chuckles nervously. “No, I think you have the wrong people.” “I don’t think I do,” the cyclops responds and suddenly, he and his four other friends are charging at you, yelling threats that definitely aren’t empty. A yelp leaves your lips, you and Atticus hauling yourselves along the trees once again. 

“Um, could you slow down!” You shout at the dog much too far ahead and you swear it rolled its eyes and mumbled something when it halted. You ignore the sass coming from the canine, just happy it waited for you and your brother before continuing its route. Atticus tries his best to sling over rocks and twigs while he was far enough to stop but it did nothing but anger the cyclops.

With quick thinking, your hand reaches out, your sights focused on a decent size log ahead. You’ve made plenty of things fly with your will alone, a log couldn’t be much different. As the log ascends from the ground quickly, you visualize it shooting back and slamming into the gut of the leader. You didn’t think it would work but then you heard a groan and a thump as if someone fell.

“Nice!” Atticus chuckles before the hound barks frantically ahead. Returning your sights forward, you notice a post and a giant sign over an archway reading: CAMP HALF-BLOOD. “We’re almost there!” You shout in relief before you scream at the arrow passing right by your face. 

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

“ALERT! Potential threat sighted!” Annabeth calls, binoculars pressed on her face. She squints, a dog and two kids her age running full force in the direction of the gates but that didn't interest her. Her main concern was the gang of cyclops’ hot on your heels. 

“CYCLOPS’ APPROACHING! BE READY TO ATTACK!” 

Annabeth hears the rustling of her postmates and bow's stretching as the archers line up beside her. Amongst the growing seriousness of the situation, she suddenly hears a giggle. The sound is so misplaced, Annabeth furrows her eyebrows. Removing the binoculars from her face, she finds Silena nudging Beckendorf's shoulder playfully. “Beckendorf, Silena, stop flirting!” Annabeth commands and Silena finds only amusement at the younger girl's orders.

As unserious as the twelve year old looked, Silena and Beckdenorf quickly straightened their postures, “Yes ma’am!” They shout and turn to the scene ahead right as the cyclops roared. “FIRE!” Annabeth shouts and just like that there’s a whizz of arrows flying right into the cyclops with great accuracy. One by one, the cyclops fell to the ground like flies. A smirk of satisfaction appears on Annabeth’s lips, as her archers cheer in success. 

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

“Do you think they’ll shoot at us too?” Atticus asks nervously and you look up at the small people perched up on the post, waiting expectantly for your arrival to the gates. 

“I hope not,” you pant, hand coming to your chest as if it would help relieve the burn. Once the monsters were taken down, the hound began to slow down and you and Atticus followed. You were grateful the chase was over but your destination made you nervous. 

“HEY!” A girl’s call catches your attention. She stands at the foot of the entrance, her hand waving around wide for you to see. Unsure if it was safe, you double checked with the hound but it was gone. His errand was done, you realize. Hesitantly, you wave back, following Atticus as he jogs over to the girl. A boy appears on her side, much bigger in stature and much more intimidating-looking but the warm look on his face tells you you shouldn’t be scared. 

With a welcoming smile, the girl with pretty blue eyes and long dark hair cascading over her shoulders nods proudly. 

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. You made it.”

masterlist my lobby:  ♡

[angelap3]

“Narra la leggenda che la sirena Partenope, simbolo della città di Napoli, vivesse nel Golfo disteso tra Posillipo ed il Vesuvio.

Emergeva durante la primavera per salutare le genti felici che lo popolavano, allietandole con canti di gioia. La gente adorava la sirena.

Una volta la sua voce fu così melodiosa e soave che tutti gli abitanti ne rimasero affascinati. Allora per ringraziarla, sette fra le più belle fanciulle dei villaggi furono incaricate di consegnarle i doni derivanti dalla natura: la farina, la ricotta, le uova, il grano tenero, l’acqua di fiori d’arancio, le spezie e lo zucchero.

Si narra che la dolce sirena depose le offerte preziose ai piedi degli dei. Quest’ultimi riunirono e mescolarono con arti divine tutti gli ingredienti, trasformandoli nella prima Pastiera.

Si racconta che Maria Teresa d’Asburgo-Teschen, seconda moglie di re Ferdinando II di Borbone, soprannominata la Regina che non sorride mai, cedendo alle insistenze del marito, assaggio una fetta di pastiera. Finalmente non poté far a meno di sorridere, e da qui nasce il termine “magnatell’na risata”(tipico detto partenopeo che sollecita le persone all’ ilarità).”

Immagine di Milo Manara

[arcobalengo]

7 agosto 1962, con un cablogramma “confidenziale” inviato al Ministero dell’Energia, il Regno Unito viene informato di una conversazione tra un pezzo grosso dell’industria petrolifera ed Enrico Mattei in cui il fondatore dell’ENI dice:

"Ci ho messo sette anni per portare il Governo verso una “apertura a sinistra”. Posso dirti che ce ne vorranno meno di sette per far uscire l’Italia dalla NATO e metterla alla testa dei paesi neutrali".

A Londra sono preoccupati, Mattei è visto come “un manager tosto e un uomo potente e pericoloso […] nelle condizioni di fare gran bene o gran male all'Italia".  Un leader quindi, che col suo incoraggiare i paesi più poveri all’autarchia energetica minaccia direttamente gli interessi del cartello anglo-americano delle multinazionali del petrolio e del colonialismo britannico in Maghreb e Medio Oriente.

Al ministero dell'Energia non perdono tempo e scrivono al Foreign Office: "L'Eni sta diventando una crescente minaccia agli interessi britannici. Ma non dal punto di vista commerciale [...] La minaccia dell'Eni si sviluppa, in molte parti del mondo, nell'infondere una sfiducia latente nei confronti delle compagnie petrolifere occidentali".

Il ministero degli Esteri di Sua Maestà informa l’intelligence: “Fino a che punto l'Eni dipende dal petrolio russo? il problema della virulenta propaganda di Mattei contro l'imperialismo e contro le compagnie petrolifere?"

81 giorni dopo quel cablogramma Enrico Mattei viene ucciso in un attentato.

Era il 27 ottobre 1962. Regnante Elisabetta II di Windsor.

Ma voi continuate pure.

Antonio di Siena

[thisisyourdriverspeaking]

Because it's FE race day today, here is the Formula E grid of 2024 US motorsport number ones edition. Enjoy 😊.

Lucas Di Grassi (11st August 1984) - Ray Parker Jr - Ghostbusters

Sam Bird (9th January 1987) & Edoardo Mortara (12th January 1987) - The Bangles - Walk Like An Egyptian

Sebastien Buemi (31st October 1988) - Phil Collins - A Groovy Kind Of Love

Jean-Eric Vergne (25th April 1990) - Sinead O'Connor - Nothing Compares 2 U

Robin Frijns (7th August 1991) & Antonio Felix Da Costa (31st August 1991) - Bryan Adams - (Everything I Do) I Do It For You

Nico Muller (25th February 1992) - Right Said Fred - I'm Too Sexy

Stoffel Vandoorne (26th March 1992) - Vanessa Williams - Save The Best For Last

Norman Nato (8th July 1992) - Sir Mix-A-Lot - Baby Got Back

Oliver Rowland (10th August 1992) - Madonna - This Used To Be My Playground

Jordan King (26th February 1994) - Celine Dion - The Power Of Love

Jake Hughes (30th May 1994) & Mitch Evans (24th June 1994) - All-4-One - I Swear

Nick Cassidy (19th August 1994) - Lisa Loeb & Nine Stories - Stay (I Missed You)

Pascal Wehrlein (18th October 1994) - Boyz II Men - I'll Make Love To You

Nyck De Vries (6th February 1995) - TLC - Creep

Jake Dennis (16th June 1995) - Bryan Adams - Have You Ever Really Loved A Woman?

Kelvin Van Der Linde (20th June 1996) - Bone Thugs-N-Harmony - Tha Crossroads

Max Gunther (2nd July 1997) - Puff Daddy, Faith Evans & 112 - I'll Be Missing You

Sergio Sette Camara (23rd May 1998) - Mariah Carey - My All

Joel Eriksson (28th June 1998) - Brandy & Monica - The Boy Is Mine

Jehan Daruvala (1st October 1998) - Aerosmith - I Don't Want To Miss A Thing

Dan Ticktum (8th June 1999) - Ricky Martin - Livin' La Vida Loca

Sacha Fenestraz (28th July 1999) - Will Smith ft Dru Hill & Kool Moe Dee - Wild Wild West

Paul Aron (4th February 2004) - OutKast - Hey Ya!

All added to this playlist 😊

[anchesetuttinoino]

Additivi

La protesi al seno come regalo per i 18 anni, la mastectomia come «opera d’arte», la neomamma più anziana d’Italia

Piccole donne crescono, e si rifanno il seno. Di recente Emanuele Bartoletti, presidente della Società italiana di Medicina estetica, ha rilasciato delle dichiarazioni pubbliche per richiamare l’attenzione su un dato preoccupante, l’aumento di richieste di ritocchi al seno da parte di giovanissime. E visto che fin dal 2012 il ministero della Salute ha vietato gli interventi di mastoplastica estetica per le minorenni, la moda attuale si assesta sul confine: aumenta il trend di chi riceve un intervento di mastoplastica additiva come regalo di compleanno per i diciotto anni. Due taglie in più per la maggiore età.

Bartoletti osserva che molte neo-diciottenni sono spinte dalle madri più che dai fidanzati. E tanti saluti all’indottrinamento sulla femminilità libera da ceppi estetici stereotipati. C’è tentazione additiva come la mastoplastica. Il di più è un tocco artificiale e correttivo che riveda l’essere al rialzo dell’apparire, più somigliante a un’ipotesi di “io” autocostruito, quindi autodeterminato. In questo senso è, paradossalmente, additivo anche il bisturi che taglia.

Negli Stati Uniti ha sollevato un po’ di turbamento la sfilata del trans Gottmik, ospite della trasmissione Drag Race condotta da RuPaul. Gottmik ha ostentato un’impalcatura d’abito che metteva letteralmente in scena – con tanto di mani e sangue finti – una doppia mastectomia. Ha esibito la fierezza di aver aggiunto al suo corpo il tocco della sua scelta libera, decurtarsi della femminilità per poi essere un maschio che fa la drag queen.

«È un’opera d’arte», ha dichiarato Gottmik. Ma che siano protesi o tagli, purtroppo non hanno niente a che fare con ciò ribolle sotto, l’anelito inteso da Giovanni Paolo II quando disse ai giovani: «Prendete in mano la vostra vita e fatene un capolavoro».

A proposito di aggiunte, c’è un traguardo da segnalare. A 63 anni Flavia Alvaro è la neomamma più anziana d’Italia. Ha da poco partorito il figlio concepito in vitro grazie ai servizi dell’ormai famosa clinica di Kiev, la Biotex Com. Per quanto suoni paradossale, c’è un’intercapedine di realtà per cui si può dire dell’Ucraina che sia una terra da sogno, anche di questi tempi. Ad esempio, permette la fecondazione assistita senza limiti di età e realizza desideri incredibili.

Non c’è dubbio che un bravo paroliere saprebbe fare l’acrobazia retorica di associare il lieto evento di mamma Flavia alla tragicità della guerra. Qualcosa tipo: dove sovrabbonda la morte, il progresso scientifico sparge a piene mani la speranza della vita. Con i dovuti compensi, sia chiaro. Resta il fatto che un bimbo è nato, la cronaca c’informa che il figlio di Flavia è venuto alla luce con un parto cesareo d’urgenza, in anticipo di sette settimane. Prematuro, o forse impaziente. Come se avesse fretta di conoscere la sua mamma, come se si rendesse conto di arrivare oltre un tempo massimo. È in ballo un rapporto in cui il tempo, evidentemente, è un fattore rilevante e non a scopo di record.

via tempi.it

[une-sanz-pluis]

Similar slippages between knighthood and treason arose in Henry Percy’s rebellion in 1403. After deposing Richard II in 1399, Henry IV had drawn on his reputation as a knight and on chivalric institutions such as the Order of the Garter to legitimise his own kingship and to secure the support of the nobility. Percy, meanwhile, was considered to be a model of ideal manhood, ‘the flower and glory of Christian knighthood’, and he had a record of military service under first Richard II and then Henry IV. Percy had supported the armed invasion of England in 1399 by Henry of Lancaster (the future Henry IV) and had since been fighting the Scots on behalf of his new king. Yet by 1403, Percy was in rebellion. The essence of his cause was that Henry was not the true king because he had broken his oath not to claim the throne, and Percy had issued written proclamations stating this. Henry IV accused Percy of treason, precipitating a conflict in which Percy and the king fought, first verbally and then physically, over who was the ‘true’ man. The account of their confrontation in An English Chronicle demonstrates how, in the context of treason, political conflict could be expressed through such debates over the claim to knightly manhood. When he was accused, Percy first sought to defend his honour through a knightly trial by battle, saying: ‘Traytour am I non, but a true man and as a true mon [sic] I speke.’ The kynge drue to hym his dagger; and then he seid to the kynge, ‘Not here but in the fielde.’ The perception of treason as an inversion of chivalric masculinity is strikingly illustrated in Percy’s claim that he is no traitor but a ‘true man’, a gendered identity that he will prove with his body in knightly combat. Percy met the king in battle at Shrewsbury, where he further stressed his claim to be the ‘true man’ in the encounter by telling Henry IV ‘thou payeste no man, thou holdeste no house’, both of these signalling the king’s failure to perform the chivalric virtue of largesse. Percy was slain in the battle and Henry IV seems to have had the last word in terms of marking him as a traitor by immediately having his head ‘smytte off and sett up ate Yorke’. However, rumours persisted that Percy was alive, risking the potential validation of his cause in his trial by battle and thereby his claim to be the ‘true man’ in his clash with the king. Henry IV was forced to re-enact the public degradation of Percy’s manhood by having his corpse disinterred and shamefully exposed between two millstones in Shrewsbury marketplace. That these conflicting claims to chivalric manhood could only be ended by Henry’s desecration of Percy’s corpse suggests that knightly identity was at its most fragile when it was constructed through the unstable opposition of traitor to true man.

E. Amanda McVitty, ‘False knights and true men: contesting chivalric masculinity in English treason trials, 1388–1415′, Journal of Medieval History, 40:4, 2014.

[ashiemochi]

(don't) go easy on me - ii

✠ (don't) go easy on me ↳ not bad for our first time, huh?

➶ pairing: OC x Piers Nivans ➶ genre: mostly fluff, slight angst, gore (like a broken bone), first time! smut, cliche mean clique (like two girls) ➶ word count: 5.8k

prev -> next

✠✠

Everyone give it up for our spectator; Cindy Lloyd!

With Captain Magath still away, she and her squad were still ordered to train with Captain Redfield. It was all going okay with Cindy choosing to spar with her best friend Vivian Marie to pass the time or at least seem busy to the eyes of their sub-captain.

 

"You heard about the new rookie?" Cindy asked, sending a blow, "His name is Finn something and, apparently, he's assigned to be in Redfield's team."

Vivian looked surprised, dodging the attack and threw one back, "That quick? I thought it was difficult to be a part of his team."

"I know right?" Cindy huffed, blocking the hit before swinging her leg, "Think he got a free pass like you-know-who?"

Both of them looked over at the Han girl by the wall, seeing her sitting down with her phone in her hands. Cindy let out a sound of disgust, shifting her attention back to her friend.

"Un-fucking-believable, she gets to sit on her ass while we have to train our ass off every day?"

Vivian winced at the hit landing on her shoulder, giving her a knowing look, "We're not training with her every single day. We don't know what her schedule even looks like."

"Don't defend her, it's probably what she wants." Cindy retorted, "She goes through one incident and suddenly she's BSAA's little princess. We've been through missions exactly like the H-Outbreak – you don't see us lumping around uselessly!"

Her attacks got harsher, actually hurting Vivian who kept up her tough parrying skills for her sake.

"We fight! And we keep fighting because when you're strong, there's always someone stronger than you." Cindy snapped, roundhouse kicking Vivian and she actually stumbled back with a hitch of a breath.

"You always take this a little too seriously," Vivian glared at her, rubbing her arm, "Keep that up and you won't have anyone left to train with."

Cindy swallowed her tongue, jaw clenching silently. 

She excelled in her team, being basically a second in command to Magath. She took her training sessions to the heart, practising and sparring day and night to keep up with the regime. She could take down any of her squad, hence why they were ordered to train with Captain Redfield's team as they were the closest one to such a high rank in the BSAA.

Her eyes darted to Chris walking with Piers to the spacious ground where most soldiers spar. Piers was seemingly not in a good mood, ranting to his captain who only offered a smile and patted his back. There were several more trainers and captains here and there. Then-

"Alright Team Beta, listen up!" Chris' authoritative voice boomed, "As you all may know, your captain Sett Magath returns tomorrow from his mission overseas. He's expecting full improvement in your performance. Today you will pick someone on my team and spar with them to test your abilities. Our trainers and coaches will observe the session to ensure all ground rules are followed.” 

"Do a good job and maybe I'll put in a good word for you to the captain. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Opposite team, huh…" Cindy trailed away, watching how the training around was starting to get busier with her team going to his, probably trying to find someone to spar with.

A man from her squad, Ryder, approached Piers and asked if they could spar. Piers didn't seem all that interested, giving him an annoyed stare with crossed arms when he recognized him as the guy who hit on So Ah. Then he nodded, shaking his hand, and Ryder visibly flinched at the grip, but he pretended to be okay with it, giving Piers a thumbs-up.

"You got a good grip on ya', haha!" 

"Guess Ryder got himself into trouble again," Vivian spoke blankly.

"Viv, who are you picking?"

"Hmm," She trailed her eyes around, landing on Finn chatting with So Ah, "The rookie. I could teach him the basics and see what he knows. What about you?"

Vivian watched Cindy turn around and face So Ah, and she couldn't help but sigh.

"Please don't tell me you're thinking of fighting her."

"Someone has to show her that not everything can be served on a silver platter," Cindy spoke lowly, nudging her head at them, "C'mon. Let's pick our partners."

Vivian followed her begrudgingly, a little embarrassed to be dragged into this battle of hers. 

"Hey, Han." Cindy said dryly, catching her attention, "Let's fight after Piers is done. We can have Captain Redfield spectate us."

"Ah," So Ah blinked in shock at the assertion in her tone, giving Finn a look who only returned it, "Yeah, sure. I was actually suggesting Finn to spar with you since you're pretty much known around here to be good at this."

"I don't want him. He'll make it very easy for me." Her eyebrow twitched as she folded her arms over her chest, "Vivian will be sparring with the rookie."

Again, Finn gave So Ah a look of uncertainty and she only nodded, giving him a small smile.

"Go, it'll be good practice! I'll wait for you at the cafeteria when we're done." She encouraged him.

He seemed hesitant before nodding and he stood up, "Okay."

Vivian looked at Cindy, silently warning her not to go too far and then she and Finn moved to find a free coach.

So Ah stood up, dusting the back of her pants, voice polite, "I don't think we've properly met before. I'm H–"

"I know who you are and I frankly don't care." Cindy interrupted, not hiding her resentment as she turned around to observe Piers and Ryder fighting, "I want to prove to Captain Redfield that you have to work hard to earn this position."

She glared at the Han girl from the corner of her eyes, "Not like some people."

So Ah blinked, lips parting in surprise. Before she could speak, Ryder let out a grunt, having been brought down to the ground. Piers was standing tall, albeit breathing heavily but it didn't seem like he broke a sweat. Chris kept his broad stance, giving Ryder advice about his fighting technique and Piers only stood beside him, not even offering to help Ryder up.

Ryder was too exhausted to bother a quip or two, so he pushed himself up onto his feet, thanking the captain before walking away, most likely to join his team – or those who finished training.

Cindy silently moved towards the two men and So Ah hastily followed. Piers' eyes darted to Cindy, automatically locking onto the Han girl instead and the corner of his lips twitched upwards.

"Captain, I'd like for you to watch us," Cindy said like a soldier.

Chris glanced over at So Ah, who only shrugged, and looked over at his watch, "I suppose I can squeeze in one more before my lunch break. Also, So Ah."

"Yeah?"

He opened his palm towards her, giving her a firm knowing look, "No phones on training grounds."

Red rushed to her cheeks and she grumbled, avoiding his eyes as she gave him her phone, "Sorry, Captain."

"Don't let it happen again." He waved the phone at her with a subtle smile, not quite mad, "Now go, we don't have all day."

Cindy couldn't believe it. This was the most strict captain?

If Captain Magath catches anyone with their phone when they're supposed to be training, they can kiss their phone goodbye.

"Good luck, Toadette," Piers flashed So Ah a wink and she rolled her eyes, walking past him.

"Eat it, Yoshi."

As So Ah and Cindy got into position, Chris handed Piers the phone who took it and shoved it into his pocket.

"She couldn't have picked anyone else?" Chris asked himself.

Piers looked at him, "What do you mean?"

"What you are to me is exactly what Cindy Lloyd is to Captain Magath," Chris explained, "She's the toughest one in his squad. Maybe So Ah wants to push her limits today."

Piers went quiet, trailing his eyes back to the two girls. Then Chris quipped.

"So, when were you going to tell me that she beat your ass in Mario Kart?"

Piers' eyebrows shot up, pink coating his ears, "She told you?!"

"It's what she told everyone on your team."

As that was happening, So Ah gave Cindy a strange look. The Lloyd girl was stretching her arms and her neck, a masked annoyed look on her face.

"Why'd you pick me?" So Ah voiced her curiosity when Cindy got into position.

"I told you," Cindy eyed her sharply, "To prove to the captain that you have to deserve to be here."

So Ah frowned deeply but didn't say anything, following suit and she threw a glance at Piers who gave her an encouraging look with a thumbs up. That made her chest bloom and she nodded to herself, his presence and support making her more confident.

Alright, she can't be that bad.

Getting into position, she barely blinked before Cindy initiated a fight.

OH SHIT, SHE'S QUICK.

So Ah blocked and dodged most of the attacks, making sure to keep her distance every time Cindy gets too close. That was her technique; defence then switch to offence once the assailant tired out. As she relied mostly on her legs, she needed the space to perform some attacks.

"It's goddamn unfair how they let you in," Cindy breathed heavily, roughly jabbing her side and earning a hitched sound from her, "Some rich pompous girl who doesn't know jack shit."

So Ah kept her mouth shut, glaring at her attacker. She had dealt with enough hate from the public to build some sort of resistance to it. It still hurts like a bitch, knowing that a handful of people continue to blame the Han family for what happened in California a little over a year ago.

And deep inside, she agreed with Cindy. She doesn't deserve to be at the BSAA – not after all the soldiers they had lost trying to capture her at the facility.

Cindy picked up on her always staying far away and growled, charging at her, "Stop running and fight back!"

And she did.

So Ah lowered herself to avoid her swinging arm and shifted her feet. She grabbed onto her arm and flipped her over her back and to the ground with a loud thud.

Cindy grunted, pain shooting through her back and So Ah was quick to step back, trying to keep her breathing stable. Cindy pushed herself up, stumbling a bit as she wiped her jaw from the dirt and sweat.

"You're right, I don't deserve to be here," So Ah said, huffing and narrowing her eyes down, "But I'm here for my family, and I'm not going to let someone like you take that away from me."

Cindy heaved, scoffing, "Someone like me?"

She cracked her knuckles and her demeanour changed into that of controlled rage. So Ah blinked at that, moving one of her feet back to prepare herself for what was to come.

"I'll show you what someone like me can do." Cindy promised with piercing eyes, "And then you'll know who truly belongs here."

The sparring continued, but So Ah noticed she could barely keep up. It was as if she was against Piers – and she never really brought him down. He'd teach her certain moves to stay ahead, but he'd know how to counter them, easily knocking her off her feet. 

Piers never really went that easy on her. That was her request; fight her like he fights the other soldiers. Besides, he'd usually treat her with food or a massage to untie any uncomfortable knot in her body. 

So Ah hopped back to avoid yet another attack but this time, Cindy picked up on her technique. She swung her leg at her ankles, sending the Han girl down with a gasp. 

She tumbled to the ground on her side and tried to get up but she was shoved against the floor. Tears sprang to her eyes instinctively when her nose got hit and then–

"You rich people are the fucking worse," Cindy snapped, setting her bent-up knee on So Ah's midsection, applying pressure which caused the girl to grunt, "Always buying your way into anything."

So Ah knew at that moment that Cindy was taking this spar a bit too seriously. It wasn't to train and enhance her skills. It was personal.

That was not part of the ground rules.

"While we had to work our asses off for a position like yours," Cindy snarled, yanking her right arm to press it bent up against her back in an armlock and pushing her shoulder down to stop her from squirming, "You get to play princess and just waltz in like you own the fucking place."

So Ah wheezed out air at the pressure intensifying on her back and her wrist. She couldn't even look up at Chris or Piers, forcing herself to glare sharply up at Cindy as she kept attempting to struggle back.

Piers threw a glance at the gathering soldiers and he deadpanned at the little snickers and inappropriate comments. God forbid those men get some action in their bedroom.

"Look at that," Piers nudged Chris.

Chris tore his eyes away from the two girls and looked at the audience, unimpressed, "Those men are hopeless."

"I have as much right to be here as you do." So Ah retorted, shifting her other arm so it went bent up in front of her, "I didn't ask for any of this."

"Right, because if it's not for that freaky virus of yours, then maybe they wouldn't have even looked twice at you." Cindy sneered and So Ah's eyes widened.

Another quiet yelp came from her when her arm was tugged and she went to tap the ground to surrender. The ache was getting too much to handle and she really didn't want to deal with any broken bones at the moment.

"No, you fucking don't." Cindy shoved the back of her head down so her mouth was pressed up against her arm, effectively shutting her up and stopping her from tapping out, "You don't get to run from any of this anymore."

That was when Piers looked back, picking up on the uncharacteristic panicking of his girl with her feet scraping the ground to try and gain some leverage against the death grip Cindy had on her.

"Maybe that'll teach you a lesson," Cindy tightened her grip on her wrist, slowly pulling on her arm almost involuntarily, "You're useless here."

The crack was dull but she heard it. Both of them did. So Ah's shriek came out muffled, hitched in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut at the immense pain shooting from her shoulder and all the way down to her wrist.

The sound seemed to have snapped Cindy out momentarily but it was all So Ah needed to twist her body around to push her off of her. Cindy fell to the side with a huff but grunted when So Ah slammed her foot hard against her chest to kick her away. That forced a series of coughs from the Lloyd girl, holding onto her chest.

So Ah panted heavily, teary eyes wide as she held her arm to her chest. Her chest was heaving as she was gulping air like water, trembling as she tried to hide her pain when multiple footsteps were quickly approaching.

"Hey, hey," Piers was the first to get to her, helping her up with concern written all over his face, "Are you okay?"

So Ah stayed quiet, worried if she'd speak then only pained sounds would emit. She hugged her wrist to her body when Piers gently held her arms, brows furrowed deeply at her silence as he tried to read her.

Multiple coaches were also nearby with Captain Magath's team going up to Cindy, helping her up onto her feet. Chris' team rushed to the Han girl but did not surround her, keeping their distance as they had a vague idea that she didn't really like that much attention. 

"So Ah, are you hurt?" Piers pressed on and she shook her head.

Vivian shot Cindy a knowing glare, clearly disappointed at her best friend going too far. 

Realization hit her a little too late, Cindy fucked up. She was going to be sent home, losing everything she worked so hard for all because she lost her temper.

"I'm fine," So Ah finally spoke, giving her team a small meek smile, "She just scared me when she had me all pinned."

Chris stepped forward, noting the look of uneasiness on Cindy's face before shifting his attention to the Han girl, voice firm when he spoke.

He was asking for the truth.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Chris asked, snapping his eyes down to her wrist and then back up.

So Ah hesitated for a bit and glanced over at Cindy for a second, nodding. She released her wrist to wave slightly, keeping the movement to the minimum but enough to convince her team that she was good.

"Mhm! All okay! Nothing broken, just another little trick to get away," She giggled nervously, "Sorry I made you guys worry, it won't happen again."

Mutters and murmurs came from the soldiers, gradually dispersing to continue whatever they were doing. Piers stayed close, keeping his perceptive eyes dead set on her arm as Finn gave her a worried frown.

"Are you sure? Your arm seems a bit…"

"I'm okay, Finn. Really. I did the same thing with Piers yesterday," So Ah reassured him and then looked up at Piers, "Right?"

Piers folded his arms, clearly unconvinced. His sharp hazels stayed like a hawk, staring her down.

"Right." He only said.

So Ah tried to seem unphased but knew she could hide nothing from him. Instead, she turned to Finn with that soft smile of hers.

"I'll wash up and we'll meet you at the cafeteria, okay?" 

"Okay…" Finn returned the smile timidly, "I'll save us a table. Do you want me to get you any–"

"Go away, Finn." Piers interrupted, not bothering to hide that he wanted a moment with his girlfriend.

So Ah avoided his eyes as the rookie scrambled away, a habit of hers that he didn't really like very much. 

If she was flustered and couldn't look him in the eye, then that he adored – but lying?

"Are you planning on keeping this shit up or what?" Piers questioned sharply, referencing her arm.

She rubbed her wrist, muttering lowly, "What's it to you?"

He blinked at her, his brows shooting down to knit in the middle. That pout was back on her lips and he unfolded his arms.

"Ow!" She let out when he flicked the back of her head and her hands shot up to rub the spot but he grabbed her good arm, silently dragging her away.

Anyone could see he was seething.

"Alright, that's enough for today. Hit the showers," Chris called out, his eyes settling on Cindy at the last bit, "And go home."

Fuck, fuck, fuck–

"Are you proud of yourself?" Vivian stepped up to Cindy with a glare.

Cindy could only watch the couple enter the building, the training ground slowly emptying. 

She lied.

So Ah lied.

"But she… I actually…" Cindy whispered, "Why would she do that?"

Why didn't she tell them I broke her hand?

"You really don't get any of this," Vivian shook her head with a scoff, crossing her arms as she moved past her.

"Just be happy Captain Magath isn't here to witness this childish side of you."

✠✠

It had been a slow couple of hours of having lunch, spending time at the gym for more training, showering, and finally, she could leave. At the cafeteria, Piers kept trying to convince her to report Cindy while she continued trying to convince him that her hand was fine. It was obvious she was lying, but she wasn’t going to admit it.

Piers had gone silent when she refused and that was when he left the table, leaving his tray of food behind – which was worrying in of itself considering his appetite.

So Ah was standing outside by the gates, eyeing her dominant hand. Twisting it right and left, everything in it was healed as if nothing had ever happened. With a faint whine, she dropped her arm, feeling like utter crap about the sparring session.

Cindy was right – anyone else more worthy could’ve had her position in Chris’ team. 

So Ah checked her watch; Piers was late. She knew he was upset, but she didn’t know what was taking him so long. When he left the cafeteria, he was livid. His hands were clenched tightly till his knuckles were white, veins growing more pronounced. She could’ve gone after him but knew he wanted his space. 

Chatter reached her ears and she turned her head to look at Finn and Marco. They were making their way towards the gates when they noticed her. 

“Hey, Han,” Marco greeted.

“Hey, you two heading home?” So Ah asked with a small smile.

Marco replied, “Nah, there’s a new arcade that opened down the road so we thought we might check it out and then hit the bar later, you wanna come?”

“Oh, no, thank you. I’m waiting on Piers…” She shook her head, glancing over at the building, “Did you guys see him around?”

“I haven’t.” Marco shrugged.

“Last I saw him, he was talking with Chris,” Finn answered and she stiffened. 

“Okay, thanks.” So Ah smiled, bowing, “Hope you two have fun tonight.”

“See you around,” Marco chuckled, turning to make his way down the pavement as Finn followed him.

He waved at her with a wide smile, “Have a great weekend!”

She waved back, giggling a bit and then her arm flopped next to her side. Growing anxious by the second, she wrung the straps of her bag as she looked over at the doors. He couldn’t be reporting Cindy himself. He wouldn’t do that.

Would he?

“Where is he…” So Ah muttered to herself, now contemplating going back in.

✠✠

“I still can’t believe you.”

“Seriously, you’re still mad at me?”

Vivian glared at Cindy when she mimicked her tone, “You want me to be over the moon that you broke her goddamn hand? Cindy, if she hadn’t lied for you, you’d be packing your shit by now.”

Cindy went quiet, walking by her to her car. The rest of her day was spent on her nerves, completely expecting Chris to walk into the gym and call her out in front of everyone. Hell, every time she walked by him, she’d be on edge – but he’d only spare her a curt nod and go about his day.

“Ugh, I don’t get why she’d lie but,” Vivian sighed roughly, irritated by the situation and she looked at her friend, “I’d thank her if I were you.”

Cindy scoffed, stopping in her place, “As if.”

“You’re unbelievably dense, it’s insane.” Vivian rolled her eyes as she rounded her car to the driver’s seat, “Whatever, let’s go. I need a drink.”

She opened the door and set her foot inside just as Cindy went to the passenger seat but a voice called out her name.

Instant butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her cheeks reddened when she turned to look at Piers. She had watched enough romcoms that usually this would be the part where a heartfelt confession is made with the sunset giving everything the soft golden glow. 

The way Piers stood with that dry look on his face though; she knew it was about his girlfriend.

He asked, “Do you have a minute?”

Cindy faced Vivian, nodding at her, “I’ll meet you at the bar.”

“Okay…” Vivian gave her a knowing but unsure look then barely waved at the male soldier, “Bye, Piers.”

Piers only nodded and the car roared to life before driving off. Cindy turned to him as if timid. They barely had any one-on-one talks, more focused on their job than chitchatting. She’d gaze at him from afar, knowing to keep her distance as he was persistent in his training to be the greatest soldier. 

Yet, it didn’t seem to have been the same case when she joined the BSAA, all shy and anxious. Chris had given So Ah an encouraging pat on the back with an equally encouraging smile, lightly shoving her towards Piers who stood there with folded arms. 

His eyes, at first, were harsh but they have grown gentler by the second they spend time together. He was her trainer as Chris had trusted Piers quite enough. With the Hans still on thin ice, So Ah was expected to be around people she was sure wouldn’t hurt her.

But why her?

Cindy kept her distance because she thought Piers was doing the same – but the guy wouldn’t even spare her a second look whenever they’d cross by each other in the hallways. 

“What do you want to talk about?” She asked, initiating the conversation to try and cut the suffocating silence. 

“That stunt you pulled back there.” He merely said, his hazel eyes focused on hers when she didn’t say anything, “You’re really lucky she doesn’t want Chris or your captain to know about it.”

“Yet she told you,” Cindy retorted, “Captain Redfield’s second in command.”

“She didn’t say anything. I can tell when she’s lying.” Pier scoffed, crossing his arms, “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t report you.”

Cindy bit her bottom lip, brows twitching and her heart wrenched into itself, “What do you see in her?”

It was his turn to be surprised. 

“Huh?”

“What do you see in her?” She only repeated.

His brows furrowed deeply, confused, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything.” Cindy answered, gesturing around her vaguely, “I read the papers you’ve written about the H-Outbreak. I know about all the soldiers we have lost because of her.”

She breathed in, narrowing her eyes at him, “Even till the end of that night, you too almost died saving her. What the hell is she good for when all she does is run?”

Piers stepped close with his voice dropping an octave, unfolding his arms, “Watch it, you don’t get to talk like that about her–” 

“Then who can?!” Cindy shot back, “It’s like she’d got the entirety of the BSAA in a trance or something because any normal person would see who she really is!”

She groaned, rubbing her face, mumbling, “I expected way more from the legendary Chris Redfield and Piers Nivans,” She snapped her eyes to him, moving close, “You and I know how much of a waste she is. We both rank high in our teams, so what is it about her? Pity?”

Piers stared at her darkly, approaching her, “So that’s what it is? Jealousy?”

“What?” She reeled back, defending herself, “I’m not jealous of her. Why would I be–”

“That’s bullshit.” He scoffed, “I’ve seen how you act whenever I’m around, I’m not stupid. My whole shtick is subtlety.” 

“What’s more stupid is the fact you think I’d ever be with you with how you are with your teammates.” He basically scolded, “We at the BSAA treat everyone like one big family, not our personal punching bags.”

Her face had gone redder at the fact he knew about her feelings towards him. Utterly aghast, Cindy was speechless and flustered, still processing his words. He rejected her before she could even think about confessing.

Piers straightened up, exhaling through his nose with a slitted look, “So I’d suggest you apologize to her.”

“Funny, because my friend said I should thank her for…” Cindy spoke quietly, trailing her stinging eyes down, “For not telling Chris about what I did.”

Piers huffed, rudely retorting, “Glad to see someone in your team has some common sense.”

“And If I don’t?”

He tilted his head to the side, brows knitting in the middle, “Excuse me?”

“What are you going to do? Snitch on me?” Cindy stood her ground, glaring back at him through a sheer wall of tears, “That… Han bitch deserved it and you know damn well it’s so unfair that she gets to be a part of your team. She had that freaky viral outbreak from her own facility that made everything so much easier for her! Killing millions just to be accepted into the BSAA's top team?!”

Heaving in air shakily, she ended with resentment heavy in her tone, “If I could go back in time to that moment, I’d do it all over again.”

Any hint of peace in his honey eyes disappeared, sharpening down to a piercing glare at that last bit. He snapped at this, towering over her with an intimidating concealed anger in his eyes. She didn’t step back but her whole body froze at the close proximity. 

“You better watch your mouth,” He snapped lowly, “So Ah is the kindest person you can ever meet and you could always count on her when in a rut. Despite you having a stick up your ass all the damn time, she still thinks you don’t deserve any punishment.”

Piers then sneered, “What does that sound to you?”

Cindy stared up at him, lips parting; no way was he…

“Sounds to me like you love her…” She replied, picking up on the way he froze at her words, “Which makes you biased.”

Piers shook his head incredulously, moving away from her, “Believe whatever you want, Lloyd. Worry about getting your shit together because you won’t be so lucky next time.”

Something was swirling in his eyes endlessly. Was he in denial?

“What is that supposed to mean?!” She asked aloud as he was leaving her.

Piers stopped to partially look at her over his shoulder, glaring at her as his voice was dangerously calm, “It means if you lay a finger on her again, you can kiss your position goodbye.”

✠✠

Intersect at O, Washington DC.

A foot reached out from beneath the water and shut the tap water to stop the tub from overflowing. So Ah tilted her head back onto the folded towel with a heavy sigh, closing her eyes in the process.

A nice hot bath after a harsh training day at work was always heavenly. It eased all of her nerves, making her feel like jello. The scent of vanilla and Shea butter filled the bathroom, causing her to relax even more with a hum. 

Letting her mind wander, So Ah couldn't help but think about her sparring session with Cindy. The hatred in her eyes reminded her so much of the ones at the pharmacy where a grieving man had a gun on her. Except for the ones of the man was agony – Cindy had pure resentment.

She didn't know why the first thing she did was lie. Even Cecile told her that she should've told Chris or any captain but So Ah couldn't. The girl was younger than her and around Piers' age. It didn't help that Cindy also seemed to like Piers a bit too much to be considered 'just co-workers'. 

Cindy most likely thought her joining the BSAA on the whim was unfair – which So Ah would agree with. She doesn't get hefty missions as she has press conferences to attend. All she'd do was train and get her usual check-ups on the virus in her – and the tracker embedded into her spine. 

Yet, despite all of that, So Ah was a soldier at the BSAA for one thing and one thing only. 

To clear her family's name.

Fluttering her eyes slightly open, So Ah stared silently at the ceiling. 

Piers didn't show up when she waited outside for him. Seojun had arrived and she couldn't stay longer. She ended up texting him that she had to go home and all she got in return was; okay, stay safe.

Which was weird.

She called him when she got home like she usually did and he didn't pick up.

Which was weirder.

Ever since Cindy broke her wrist, Piers was intimidatingly silent. He'd press on, insisting that she tells Chris or even Magath when he returns from his mission. She fully believed Cindy was just not mature enough to really understand her case. 

And she fully deserved that injury. 

She had it easy her whole life, she didn't want anyone to be easy on her or treat her like a secret bodyguard for the Hans would jump them if they even looked at her wrong. 

Piers was understandably upset when she refused to report her. That was when he left the cafeteria. He couldn't stand watching her getting pushed around anymore; much even watching her taking everything.

So Ah sighed, blowing bubbles underwater with a pout. Maybe she could call him again and–

Ringing coming from her phone interrupted her train of thought and she never scrambled so quickly to dry her hands and reach for her phone. Her heart skipped a beat at the contact and answered the phone.

“Piers! Hi!” She winced at the excitement in her tone, hearing him chuckle lightly.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” 

“Nothing much, just taking a bath. I might paint later. What about…” So Ah shifted to lay comfortably, eyes on the ceiling, “What about you?”

“Just out,” He said and she could make out the distant busy road on the other end, “Sorry I couldn’t see you after work today.”

“No, no, it’s okay.” She reassured him, recalling what Finn told her, “You were busy.”

It was quiet for a second before he spoke, his tone changing to that that brought her butterflies, “What are you doing tonight?”

She tilted her head to the side, “Uh… Nothing actually, why?”

“Okay, now you’ve got plans.” Piers asserted, “I’m coming over.”

“Oh!” So Ah straightened up in surprise, the water splashing over the tub at her movement, “Okay! What do you wanna do?”

“Doesn’t matter, we could sit and watch paint dry for all I care,” Piers shrugged with a snicker, “I just wanna see you.”

Holy GOD.

“O–okay…” So Ah whispered, clearly growing flustered at how blunt he was.

She could hear the smirk on his lips when he spoke, “I need around thirty minutes, is that good?”

“Mhm, it’s good.”

“Okay, see you later.”

“Bye…” So Ah lowered the phone, cheeks still blazing red and she muffled her giddy squeals into the rolled-up towel. She should get up and fix herself up before he'd arrive. Remembering what Cecile told her, So Ah bit the inside of her cheek.

Tonight might be the night if she plays her cards right – and doesn't purposefully try to lose instead to save herself the anxiety of him seeing her completely naked for the first time. 

She shook her head as she unplugged the bathtub and slowly stood up to finish showering. 

Ah, please let tonight go well.

✠✠

[multiverseofseries]

House of the Dragon 2, Episodio 7 (The Red Sowing): no Draghi, no Party!

Nel settimo episodio tornano protagoniste le creature mitologiche che tanto affascinano i fan di House of the Dragon, mentre le pedine sulla scacchiera prendono definitivamente posto in attesa del gran finale.

La Danza dei Draghi. Un nome così affascinante e suggestivo quello ideato da George R.R. Martin per indicare una doppia guerra, letterale e metaforica, che ha caratterizzato e segnato la storia dei Sette Regni nelle sue Cronache del ghiaccio e del fuoco. Ovvero la battaglia intestina dei Targaryen, la famiglia discendente dall'Impero di Valyria indissolubilmente legata ai draghi e al loro lignaggio sulla dinastia di sangue della Casa del Drago. Una guerra civile accennata nella saga principale di Game of Thrones e nella sua trasposizione televisiva Il Trono di Spade, e narrata più approfonditamente in Fuoco e Sangue, trasposta come House of the Dragon per la tv.

Uno di ritorni della puntata è Hugh Hammer

Proprio per il rapporto bilaterale tra i cavalieri e i loro draghi, non sono solo le creature a combattersi tra loro ma anche i loro "padroni", fratelli e sorelle di sangue, pronti a tradirsi e colpirsi alle spalle fino all'ultimo "Dracarys". Il prequel presenta così il settimo (e penultimo!) episodio, concentrandosi proprio su questa dicotomia e iniziando finalmente ad unire i puntini che finora erano stati, forse, troppo a lungo sparsi sull'arazzo che caratterizza la stupenda sigla di questo secondo ciclo.

House of the Dragon 2x07: cosa accade

Il settimo episodio di House of the Dragon 2 è davvero una summa delle tematiche che hanno caratterizzato e plasmato lo spin-off. Se di successione (più o meno) di sangue abbiamo parlato finora - e la sigla della prima stagione lo testimoniava - è tempo di andare a cercare gli antichi lignaggi mancanti o sopiti. Trovano quindi compimento le storyline finora solo apparentemente sparse - com'è tipico di Martin e dello showrunner, Ryan Condal - di alcuni popolani, ovvero Hugh Hammer (Kieran Bew), il Fabbro di Approdo del Re che aveva chiesto aiuto a Aegon II quando sedeva sul Trono di Spade; Ulf The White (Tom Bennett), l'ubriacone della taverna che aveva millantato tra una pinta e l'altra di essere sostanzialmente il fratello illegittimo di Viserys e Daemon e quindi lo zio di Rhaenyra; e Addam di Hull (Clinton Liberty), carpentiere a Driftmark, isola della Baia delle Acque Nere, sede di Casa Velaryon e del Trono di Legno.

Un cavaliere per un drago

Tutti a rapporto: anche gli Hull di Driftmark

Proprio da quest'ultimo parte la trama di questa puntata: Rhaenyra (Emma D'Arcy), legittima erede al trono, ha finalmente la prova che non sono solo i Targaryen "stretti" a poter cavalcare le mitiche creature. Dopo l'epic fail di Ser Steffon Darklyn, il piano della Regina e di Mysaria procede, nonostante le rimostranze non solo del Concilio Ristretto ma anche di Jacaerys (Harry Collett): quest'ultimo infatti rinfaccia alla madre la propria dinastia di sangue (il tema, come avevamo detto, torna centralissimo): sa di essere figlio biologico di Lord Harwyn Strong come lo era Luke, e la prova sono i capelli neri e non quelli argentei che caratterizzano la Casa del Drago, sentendosi ancor più delegittimato dell'eredità al Trono, come dicono da vent'anni le voci di corridoio nella Fortezza Rossa.

A questo punto è un drago a cercare un cavaliere e non viceversa: accade ad Addam, fratello minore di Alyn (Abubakar Salim) che ha salvato la vita di Lord Corlys Velaryon (Steve Toussaint) in mare. Una volta scoperto, Rhaenyra procede spedita chiamando a raccolta tutti coloro che hanno del sangue Targaryen nelle vene, anche se di basso lignaggio e bastardi. L'intuizione potrebbe rivelarsi fortunata e dare una svolta importante alla guerra in corso oltre alla storia di sangue della famiglia. Non è solo a livello narrativo che House of the Dragon subisce uno scossone: finalmente rivediamo i draghi protagonisti in tutta la loro magnificenza e le sequenze in cui affrontano i loro potenziali nuovi cavalieri sono epiche a dir poco, anche a livello registico.

La stasi di Daemon e La liberazione di Alicent

A proposito di scossoni, passiamo all'opposto. L'avevo definita la crisi di Daemon (Matt Smith) qualche episodio orsono, ma arrivati al penultimo comincio a pensare che forse sia stata solamente un pretesto degli autori per i cameo dalla stagione precedente (Milly Alcock, Nanna Blondell, Paddy Considine e così via).

Finalmente, però, anche qui sembra smuoversi qualcosa ed è di nuovo - come nella tradizione di Martin e della serie originale - a venire da un Lord erede ancora bambino ma che sa già il fatto suo: lo si era visto con Lyanna Mormont (che tra l'altro aveva "predetto" il prequel) e ora vi assistiamo nuovamente con Oscar Tully (Archie Barnes), che deve prendere l'eredità di Delta delle Acque dal nonno deceduto e provare a ristabilire l'ordine ad Harrenhal dopo le follie del Re Consorte, provando anche a fare da paciere nella lunga faida tra Bracken e Blackwood a cui avevamo già assistito ad inizio stagione, finalmente il fratello minore di Viserys comincia a preparare il proprio attacco per prendersi il Trono di Spade. Se nel mentre Daemon gioca a ghostbuster anche la storyline di Alicent (Olivia Cooke) sembra incentrarsi sui fantasmi del suo passato e sul ruolo di secondo piano che ora è costretta a ricoprire all’interno della corte e quel suo “scappare” per ritirarsi nel bosco, quando prendi letteralmente la frase “esci e tocca un pò d'erba”, rappresenta un qualcosa, un qualcosa così sottile che bisogna cogliere i dettagli disseminati per tutte le sue scene, il non indossare il verde, ma un blu che tende al verde, abbandonare i simboli della religione, a cui si è fortemente attaccata per molto tempo, tutto indica un cambiamento di rotta una rinascita se così si può dire e dal prossimo episodio forse vedremo cosa ci riserverà il suo personaggio. Mentre i Verdi hanno un Aemond (Ewan Mitchell) sempre più agguerrito. Eppure lo vedremo vacillare, proprio a bordo del suo drago; lo stesso che aveva reclamato ma non che non gli spettava di diritto e che ha portato alla morte di Luke. House of Dragon è (tornato ad essere) una storia di draghi oltre che di sangue. Lunga vita ai draghi!

Conclusioni

In conclusione il settimo episodio di House of the Dragon 2 vede di nuovo al centro i draghi, indissolubilmente legati a Casa Targaryen. Le loro sequenze sono spettacolari e ci rivelano molto di tanti personaggi e storyline presentati in modo sparso nelle precedenti puntate. I nodi stanno per venire al pettine, anzi le scaglie di drago stanno per farsi sentire. La (effettivamente) lunga crisi di Daemon oramai scricchiola e sembra un mero escamotage per allungare il brodo, ma potrebbe anche avere una svolta interessante, nel mentre Alicent combatte con se stessa con il nuovo ruolo datole a corte, così come le mosse dei Verdi e dei Neri. Chi reclamerà le mitiche bestie sputafuoco?

👍🏻

I draghi.

I cavalieri finora tenuti “nascosti”.

Emma D’Arcy: dobbiamo ancora lodare la sua performance come Rhaenyra?

Olivia Cooke, riesce in un lavoro molto difficile umanizzare un personaggio che in molti detestano e verso il quale non vogliono provare empatia.

👎🏻

La storyline di Daemon mi lascia estremamente perplessa.

[marcoleopa]

Carabiniere a manifestante, “Mattarella non è il mio presidente” - Il Sole 24 ORE

Ripassino veloce veloce, della Costituzione Italiana per Carabiniere sarcastico, emulo del Vannacci di turno, al quale, affidiamo la sicurezza del paese (J.V.Borghese docet)

Titolo II - Il Presidente della Repubblica

Art. 83.

Il Presidente della Repubblica è eletto dal Parlamento in seduta comune dei suoi membri.

All'elezione partecipano tre delegati per ogni Regione eletti dal Consiglio regionale in modo che sia assicurata la rappresentanza delle minoranze. La Valle d'Aosta ha un solo delegato.

L'elezione del Presidente della Repubblica ha luogo per scrutinio segreto a maggioranza di due terzi dell'assemblea. Dopo il terzo scrutinio è sufficiente la maggioranza assoluta.

Art. 84.

Può essere eletto Presidente della Repubblica ogni cittadino che abbia compiuto cinquanta anni d'età e goda dei diritti civili e politici.

L'ufficio di Presidente della Repubblica è incompatibile con qualsiasi altra carica.

L'assegno e la dotazione del Presidente sono determinati per legge.

Art. 85.

Il Presidente della Repubblica è eletto per sette anni.

Trenta giorni prima che scada il termine, il Presidente della Camera dei deputati convoca in seduta comune il Parlamento e i delegati regionali, per eleggere il nuovo Presidente della Repubblica.

Se le Camere sono sciolte, o manca meno di tre mesi alla loro cessazione, la elezione ha luogo entro quindici giorni dalla riunione delle Camere nuove. Nel frattempo sono prorogati i poteri del Presidente in carica.

Art. 86.

Le funzioni del Presidente della Repubblica, in ogni caso che egli non possa adempierle, sono esercitate dal Presidente del Senato.

In caso di impedimento permanente o di morte o di dimissioni del Presidente della Repubblica, il Presidente della Camera dei deputati indice la elezione del nuovo Presidente della Repubblica entro quindici giorni, salvo il maggior termine previsto se le Camere sono sciolte o manca meno di tre mesi alla loro cessazione.

Art. 87.

Il Presidente della Repubblica è il Capo dello Stato e rappresenta l'unità nazionale.

Può inviare messaggi alle Camere.

Indice le elezioni delle nuove Camere e ne fissa la prima riunione.

Autorizza la presentazione alle Camere dei disegni di legge di iniziativa del Governo.

Promulga le leggi ed emana i decreti aventi valore di legge e i regolamenti.

Indice il referendum popolare nei casi previsti dalla Costituzione.

Nomina, nei casi indicati dalla legge, i funzionari dello Stato.

Accredita e riceve i rappresentanti diplomatici, ratifica i trattati internazionali, previa, quando occorra, l'autorizzazione delle Camere.

Ha il comando delle Forze armate, presiede il Consiglio supremo di difesa costituito secondo la legge, dichiara lo stato di guerra deliberato dalle Camere.

Presiede il Consiglio superiore della magistratura.

Può concedere grazia e commutare le pene.

Conferisce le onorificenze della Repubblica.

Art. 88.

Il Presidente della Repubblica può, sentiti i loro Presidenti, sciogliere le Camere o anche una sola di esse.

Non può esercitare tale facoltà negli ultimi sei mesi del suo mandato, salvo che essi coincidano in tutto o in parte con gli ultimi sei mesi della legislatura.

Art. 89.

Nessun atto del Presidente della Repubblica è valido se non è controfirmato dai ministri proponenti, che ne assumono la responsabilità.

Gli atti che hanno valore legislativo e gli altri indicati dalla legge sono controfirmati anche dal Presidente del Consiglio dei ministri.

Art. 90.

Il Presidente della Repubblica non è responsabile degli atti compiuti nell'esercizio delle sue funzioni, tranne che per alto tradimento o per attentato alla Costituzione.

In tali casi è messo in stato di accusa dal Parlamento in seduta comune, a maggioranza assoluta dei suoi membri.

Art. 91.

Il Presidente della Repubblica, prima di assumere le sue funzioni, presta giuramento di fedeltà alla Repubblica e di osservanza della Costituzione dinanzi al Parlamento in seduta comune.

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture & Brief Mention of Sex Trafficking

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Epilogue. Soundtrack.

********

EIGHT: GOOD DAMAGE.

“So you got a mom or dad?” Gojo asks, wearing Geto’s denim jacket as he slurps on your goodies. 

The question is so random and hard-hitting that it makes you pause from eating the bowl of soup inspired by your mother’s recipe and made with ingredients given to you by the townspeople of Bull’s Creek. 

After seeing Benji’s former bandits off to prison and receiving the thanks of the townspeople, including Miwa, Momo, Mechamaru, and Kuskabe (who does so with a nod your way), you and the gunslinging duo left Bull’s Creek and got on the road. It was only when the sun began to set and twilight sett in that you all decided to take a rest for the night. 

At that point, you had entered the mountains and found a tiny alcove near a cave and a brush of bushes and trees whose branches serve as hangers for your and Geto’s soiled clothes from the creek. Above the cave is a hot spring bubbling with hot water while down below the rocky mountainside, a field of wildflowers and fireflies float up to meet you, lighting up the darkness the further the sun sets.

“Why don’t we rest tonight?” Geto suggested. “This will be a decent place, I think.” 

“And there’s a hot spring just above us!” Gojo excitedly said. “Ah, I could use a hot bath.” His stomach rumbles, evidently so by the sound that escapes his stomach. “And somethin’ to eat,” he sheepishly chuckled. 

You had already begun to shed your bags after tying Reneigh up with the duo’s horses up at the hot spring, letting them chomp on the wildflowers that sprout there. “Well, we’ve got all these goodies the townsfolk gave us,” you said, digging into the sack of food.

In total, the townspeople gave you two sacks: one of food and the other of fresh clothes. Between the three of you, you divided the coin you received and kept them for yourselves. 

You looked inside the sack, pulling out each item: “Bowls, plates, bread, butter, rice, oooh, chicken broth!” Your excitement grew, happy to see such goodies.

Geto kneeled beside you, smiling fondly at the ripe tomato and the head of broccoli he found. “And all kinds of fruits n’ veggies,” he hummed, pleased with the turnout. “This will last us the whole trip if we ration well.” 

Your hand touched something soft and you pulled out a whole raw chicken. Holding it up to the duo, you gaped at it. “Uh…anybody know how to cut a whole chicken?” Two began to laugh, mostly at your hilarious reaction. “Why? You cookin’ it?” Gojo joked. 

You thought about tossing the chicken at him but decided not to. “Well, we’ve gotta eat and nothin’ beats chicken soup and wild rice.” Geto looked at you, shocked. “Oh…I was gonna cook for us.” But Gojo is pleasantly surprised, hands on his slim hips. “What a change of heart, little miss! Ya must like us now.” 

You glared at him as you began to set up the steel pot for cooking. “Don’t push ya luck, boy,” you snapped. “You two can set up camp while I cook.” You stood up and hurried up the slanted, smooth rock to the hot spring to wash your hands, mostly to get away from them. “Ah, so you tryna do the easy work!” Gojo called out to you, but you didn’t answer. 

Once you finished, you busied yourself building a small fire using some loose twigs, branches, and one of Gojo’s matches before preparing to cook. You roasted the chicken first which Geto kindly sliced the chicken up for you using one of your pocket knives. You had to turn the spit periodically on the fire while chopping vegetables (carrots, peas, broccoli, corn), so it was a lot of running back and forth. 

But you didn’t mind. You love cooking. Fixing something to eat is the one time you feel normal. It’s what makes you feel close to the people you left behind in your childhood, including your old self. 

Once the chicken is done roasting, its skin golden brown and juicy, you slice in into strips. You then fill the pot up with hot water from the spring, boil it, and fix the rice until its fluffy and white. Finally, you pour the chicken broth into the pot with the rice, sliced vegetables, and chicken, stirring it with a big wooden spoon you found in Geto’s bag. 

Speaking of Geto, he and Gojo set up camp during your cooking session. They set up sleeping bags, yours included, and place a blanket underneath to keep the dirt out of them. They set their boots, hats, and jackets aside, separated from your things. It seemed that they gave you your own spot, allowing you privacy and space. You appreciated that. 

Once the soup was finished, you announced that dinner was done and stood in front of the pot when they came running with their wooden bowls. “Hold up!” you exclaimed, putting out a hand to stop them. “Y’all wash y’all hands?”

The two looked at each other cluelessly which gave you you’re answer. “Hurry up before it gets cold,” you said and they went scurrying up the hill like rabid dogs, making you giggle to yourself. 

Minutes later, they returned and helped themselves to the meal. You sat down on a log with your own bowl, stretching your legs out. The duo sat on either side of you in a circle, passing a bottle of Jack between the three of you and ripping off pieces of bread to dip in your soup.

Gojo was sloppy, slurping greedily at his meal and making you wonder about some naughty shit. “Mmm, shit!” he moaned. “This is the best soup and rice I’ve ever had in my life!” 

In contrast to his partner, Geto was neat, taking his time eating his meal and (once again) making you mind wander. “I agree,” he sighed. “You’re quite the cook, little miss. Truly gifted.” Both compliments made your stomach flip. “Thank you,” you softly say, barely above a whisper as you took a sip of the Jack. It let a burn in your throat that you eased with the warm, hearty soup. 

Then came the burning question: “So you got a mom or dad?” 

You sit here now, the soup just at your mouth. Gojo looks at you expectantly, still slurping down his bowl. “Satoru,” Geto firmly says and shakes his head. Gojo raises an eyebrow, not understanding that this is a hot button topic. 

“No, it’s fine,” you protest. I suppose it’s only fair to tell you since y’all have told me so much about your lives.” You lower your spoon into your bowl, the fire crackling in front of you. “I have a mom and dad, yes, but adopted. I never knew my birth dad, but my birth mom always told me he was a rollin’ stone.” You chuckle to yourself. “Guess that meant he was a playboy.” 

You nod at the simmering pot on the ire. “This is my adopted mom’s recipe.” Geto smiles fondly, taking a swig of Jack. “Well, now I can see who you got such a gift from. Is she a cook?” 

You shake your head. “Not professionally, no. She’s a schoolteacher. My adopted dad is a farmer.” Gojo hums thoughtfully, chomping on some bread. “Where’s your birth mother now?” he curiously asks. “Still in your hometown?” 

You don’t think twice about it. You don’t even hesitate. “She was murdered,” you blurt. The silence that follows after this is deafening. The duo stare at you as if you just told them you’re pregnant. Placing the bowl aside, you tu​​rn to the crackling fire, not wanting to look at them and see their pity. 

“I was a little girl when a bunch of outlaws invaded my town,” you explain to the flames. “They ransacked every store, destroyed every home, and killed nearly every single person…including my mom.” You can feel yourself going back to that time, your mother’s terrified eyes behind your eyelids when you blink. A hot rush of tears begins to build.

Sensing your discomfort, Geto steps in. “You don’t have to go on,” he soothingly says. But you shake your head. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not!” you argue, forcing the tears away. “I need to tell you why I hate outlaws so much. I need to tell you why I am the way I am.” 

You turn back to them, staring them in the eye. “But y’all are sure you wanna hear this?” you wryly joke. “I have to warn y’all that it’s quite long and tragic.”

And the two stare you right back in the face. “I thought we already established that we’re ones for long and tragic backstories, darlin’,” Gojo replies. “Take your time.” 

Geto passes you the bottle of Jack and you take a much-needed swig. “I was nine years old when they came,” you begin and the memories come flooding back like a tidal wave. 

********

The summer you turned ten years old was supposed to be a joyous one. 

It was supposed to be a day where you and your mother spent the day in your hometown of Pinewood, known for its farms and heavy population of flowers.

Your mom would usually wake you up with pancakes covered in strawberries and whipped cream (your favorite), presents, and then take you into town to the bakery, the library, the movies, the fruit orchard to pick peaches and plums, or any other place a young girl like you would love to visit for her special day. 

But that was further from the case. It was only two weeks until you turned ten that your home was destroyed and burned to the ground. 

Pinewood was once a small but humble town of a couple hundred people. Everyone knew each other and there was community. Adults looked after neighbors’ children late at night and pies were brought over to welcome newcomers to the town. Farmers, teachers, landscapers, florists, bakers and cooks, etc…you would find them all here, building their lives and careers. 

The autumns were crisp and the summers were warm. This particular summer night you remember you were asleep in your bed, the sound of buzzing cicadas having hummed you to sleep earlier. Your bedroom, pink, cozy, and girly, was still except for you–the sleeping girl in her pony PJs. But late into the night, you awakened, feeling compelled by something to do so. 

You sat up in bed and looked out the window. Your backyard of honeysuckle and your mom’s prized vegetable garden looked back at you. The sweet summer breeze blew your curtains around like pink wisps. You don’t know why you woke up. You usually can sleep through a tornado. But this time, you couldn’t. 

Something felt…wrong. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. And then you realized it: the cicadas had stopped singing.

A warm night that was usually filled with the buzzing song of the cicadas in the trees had ceased, leaving the night eerily quiet. Then, suddenly, your bedroom opened, and in rushed your mother. You were too deep in your sleep fog to see that she was frazzled and scared, still in her nightgown and slippers. 

“Mama?” you mumbled sleepily, rubbing at your eye. “What’s going on?”

She came over and ripped the covers off of you. “Baby, get up,” she hurriedly said, pulling you out of bed by your arm. “C’mon, get your slippers on and follow me.” 

You stared at her, confused and still sleepy. “But, Mama–” 

“Stop it, Y/N!” she yelled. You are startled, confused, and afraid. Your mother had never yelled at you like this before. And then you saw her eyes: wild and scared like a cornered animal. It scared you.

“We need to go now,” she firmly said. “Now get on your slippers and let’s go.” This time, you didn’t argue or protest. You slipped on your slippers and took your mom’s hand. 

She squeezed it as she led you out of your bedroom and down the hallway, walking past the bathroom, kitchen, dining area, and laundry room. Your home was a ranch, so it was only one floor with the bedrooms located at the back. Your mom guided to the front door, but looked back at you beore she opened the door. “Follow me,” she instructed. “Don’t let go of my hand, understood?” She didn’t wait for you to answer. 

After unlocking the door, she yanked the door open. You still wish she hadn’t. Your town, once blossoming with businesses, cozy homes, and life was now burning.

Flames that exploded from buildings licked the night sky.

Crops were on fire.

Guns exploded in your eardrums that sounded like firecrackers.

People and animals alike ran for cover and safety.

People in black clothing and bandanas covering their mouths ran after them, hooting and hollering. Some of these intruders also ran in on horses, rifles and pistols drawn. 

You didn’t see any bodies, thank God, but it didn’t matter. The trauma was already set in your body from that very moment you and your mother stood outside of your home in the chaos. 

“Mama, what’s happening?!” you yelled, pulling on her hand. 

She then began to run with you, hurrying down the road. “I don’t know, baby,” she answered, “but we’ll be okay! Just don’t let go of me.” You didn’t, but someone did it for you. As you were running with your mom, you unfortunately didn’t get that far away from your house when you suddenly felt two arms snatch you away. 

You screamed, wriggling around in the stranger’s arms. Your mother looked back and rushed to help you, but she too was grabbed by another stranger in black and tossed to the ground.

“Mommy!” you squealed. You tried to struggle out of the arms binding you, but your mom’s assaulter took out a long-barreled pistol and pointed it at your mother’s temple. “Shut up, you little brat,” he snarled. “Keep that mouth shut or your ma gets it.” 

You immediately went quiet and the bandit behind you cackled. Despite his own bandana covering his mouth, you could smell the booze on his breath. You looked down at his hands around you. One of them had a rose tattoo on his knuckles. 

The bandit nodded at your ranch. “Nice house ya got here, bitch,” he chuckled. “Even nicer land. I bet ya got some pretty pennies for a pad like this, eh?” He crouched down beside your mother. She lied in the dirt on her side, her clothes ruined and her knee scraped by her fall. 

“No,” she whimpered. “My people are humblefolk. We don’t have much money and neither do I, especially with a child.” 

The bandit took a handful of her coiled hair in his fist, yanking her up. “So you callin’ me a liar?” he snarled. “I don’t like bitches who talk back, y’know.” He cocked his gun at her, but your mother was afraid like you were watching.

“I don’t have what y’all are lookin’ for!” she snapped. “Please just let us go!” 

The bandit tossed her down and shared a look with his partner. “If you don’t give us money then you’ll have to give us somethin’ else,” he growled at your mother. “How much you think her kid will cost, man?”

The bandit hugged you to him, making a show of caressing your face. “Mmm…'bout a couple hundred at least.” 

You shook in terror. What did they mean? Were they going to take you away from your mother? She seemed to know what they meant though and looked like she wanted to murder both bandits. “You wouldn’t do that,” she hissed. “You know damn well that the law is already out for y’all for this, so you’d only be sinkin’ your ship farther if you do anything to my daughter.” 

The bandit pressed the bun to her temple, laughing. “You think we give a fuck about the law, bitch?” he cackled, tossing his head back. “The law won’t ever find us and half of them are pussies anyway. The bossman is like the Boogeyman to them.” Your mother’s expression softened and she suddenly looked hopeless. That scared you even more. 

The bandit smirked and pressed the gun to her chin. “Now what should we do about that mouth of yours?” he whispered.

His partner chuckled suggestively. “I’ve got a few ideas,” he sniggered.

Despite the gun in her face, your mother turned her head to you, her eyes glassy but filled with acceptance. “Y/N, my little flower,” she tearfully said. “I love you.” 

Before you could even blink, she bit down on the bandit’s hand hard. Hard enough to draw blood. The bandit screamed as he pulled his hand away now coated in deep, bloody teethmark. 

“Oh, you bitch,” he spat. “Now you’ve pushed your luck.” He took her by her hair again and threw her down onto her stomach execution style. 

“Mama, no!” you wailed, reaching for her. She looked up at you, eyes wild and dirt caked to her face. “Run, Y/N!” she screamed. “Run until you reach the fields!” 

As your fight or flight kicked in, you elbowed the bandit behind you in the stomach, loosening his grip. Just as you turned to run, two shots ran out behind you. You never turned around to see if it was your mother. You just knew it was.

So you ran as you cried, your eyes blurred with salty tears and fear pumping in your blood. “Get that little bitch!” the bandit yelled, pointing at you. 

Hooves began to thud against the ground behind you, but you didn’t turn. You didn’t stop. You just ran, something pulling you along despite your fatigue. You still don’t know if it was God, your mother’s spirit, or just your will to live. Either way, it got you all the way down to the cornfields three minutes outside of your town. 

At this point, the sound of the bandits behind you faded, but you knew they would eventually gang up on you. Wheeled wooden carts sat beside the fields that usually were used to deliver food, flowers, and other deliveries into other towns. You chose quick and jumped into the back of one cart of flowers. You hid deep beneath the many plants, petals, and bulbs, keeping quiet. 

Even as you heard the horses and saw torches flash beneath the flowers, you held your breath and imagined yourself as but a rock. A head of corn. A flower like the ones surrounding you. 

“Where’d she go?” he gruffly asked. A light flashed in your face and you coveved your mouth. 

“I think I saw her go in here,” his partner said before they walked into the cornfields together. You didn’t move even as the light vanished.

Even as the rustling of the corn stalks got further away. Even when all you heard were the bandits’ horses chuffing to one another. You don’t know how long you had been there–minutes? Hours?–, but suddenly, you heard footsteps and hooves beside you and then the cart moved slightly as someone got in the front to drive off. And then the cart began to move, taking you away and into the unknown. 

‘The unknown’ turned out to be Elden Valley, a small town a two-day travel away from Pinewood. It is home to humble, quiet folk. Humble, quiet folk like Eren Tokiyami, an older farmer with salt-and-pepper hair and calloused hands, and his wife Yuri, a longtime baker.

Eren and Yuri ordered flowers and seeds specifically from your town’s florist to plant and decorate the outside of Yuri’s bakery with. Imagine their surprise to find a scared, dirty, and traumatized little girl lying beneath the bed of tulips and petunias. 

You found yourself in a barn smelling of manure and animals. Yuri covered her mouth while Eren stared down at you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “My God,” he gasped. “Where’d you come from, little one?”

You could barely speak. You hadn’t had water or food in two days. “P-Pinewood,” you whispered, and then everything went black when you passed out in Eren’s arms. 

After taking you to the town’s doctor and nursing you back to help, the couple adopted you as their own. The town of Elden Valley and all others in the county heard of the massacre of Pinewood. Dozens of people died, including your mother, but you didn’t any any detectives or coroners telling you that. 

For nine years, Eren and Yuri fed you, dressed you, and cared for you. But it wasn’t enough to thaw you. It wasn’t enough to melt the ice that had formed and hardened around your heart and soul. You had grown tough, taking your anger out on kids at school and constantly skipping to ride horses. It was when you turned sixteen that you met reneigh for the first time who was no more than a stubborn, violent horse that Eren recently saved from an abusive owner. 

You felt like she was just like you and maybe she did too, so she was always calm in your presence and became yours. Eren and Yuri thought that reneigh, along with some guidance and love, that you would be able to get back on track. You did for a little while. You baked pies with Yuri, planted crops with Eren, studied, and graduated school. 

Then, one day, you just left. It was a month after you graduated at age eighteen. You knew you couldn’t spend your life in Elden Valley, pretending that vengeance and bloodlust weren’t inside of you.

To do something constructive with that anger, you took one of Eren’s many guns that he taught you how to use and went out to the woods beyond his and Yuri’s house. In the blue of dawn, you set up an old glass bottle there and stood yards away from it. 

As Eren taught you, you kept still and calm, aimed, and shot. You missed. So you tried again. And again. And again. Every morning before your parents awakened, you went out to practice in secret. And every time you drew that gun and shot, you were better. Quicker. Sharper.

Then, one day, you finally it: you aimed and the bottle broke. You knew what you had to do from that very moment. 

So after a night of dinner with your parents and telling them how much you loved them, you waited until they went to sleep to pack, tossing everything you could into a bag. Including two of Eren’s pistols. You hid your identity behind a cowgirl hat and bandana, forever your disguise. 

Before you left, you wrote a letter to your parents, not wanting to leave them without any last words: 

Dear, Mama & Papa, 

I’m sorry for all of the trouble I’ve caused you over the last nine years. I thank you both from the bottom of my heart for taking me in as your own. I’ll never forget your kindness. It is what is needed in such a cruel world.

Please don’t come looking for me and don’t worry about me. Just know that I’m fine. If I never see you again, I love you both endlessly. Thank you for giving me back my innocence.

Love, Y/N.

And like a thief in the night, you hopped on Reneigh and you were gone. And so the Fatale Femme was born.

You didn’t feel anything when you caught your first outlaw body…only more vengeance. It got stronger the more you killed. The more you fled. The more you pulled that trigger. You have been doing this for so long that you believed that this coldhearted tyrant is you now. For so long you thought you had lost yourself and only the Fatale Femme remained. 

But now, sitting here among two outlaws, feared and loved by many, you feel as if you’re finally getting yourself back. Geto and Gojo stare at you in the firelight, sadness in their eyes. You sit there, ravaged by your past and trembling.

“I never thanked y’all for savin’ my life today,” you say. “I’m sorry for that. I’m sorry I didn’t see that y’all are different from the others. I’m sorry that I didn’t want to acknowledge it.” 

Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, too hot and too quick to stop. The real you, outside of the bandana, the guns, and the cool exterior, has been released. “That’s why I do what I do,” you tearfully explain. “That’s why I am what I am. That’s why I need to find Benji.” 

Geto puts his gloved hand in yours, warm and comforting. “And we’ll help you,” he softly promises. “We had a deal, remember? We’re a team now, so do you ever go thinkin’ you’re alone in this.”

His brown eyes are firm but gentle, reminding you so much of Eren’s. “Thank you for sharin’ with us and I know you won’t believe me, but I know your parents are proud of you, includin’ your birth mother.” 

He offers a smile that seems to melt you. When Gojo gets up to move next to you, squeezing you between them, you feel like you’re about to turn into a puddle. You feel nothing but warmth that overwhelms you in the best possible way. It is foreign and weird, but good. Real good. 

Gojo’s blue eyes sparkle at you, as beautiful and as alluring as the fireflies that float amongst you. “Did I ever tell ya about the time I got my ass stuck on a bear trap?” he randomly asks. “Oh, or that one time Sugu got eaten up by leeches?”

Geto rolls his eyes as he puts his hair back into a long ponytail. “Damn, you tellin’ her that one?” he sighs. 

And that’s when you realize that the strange warmth you’re feeling is gratitude. You smile at Gojo and wipe your tears, knowing he would ask you to. “N-No,” you giggle through a sniffle. “I don’t believe you have.” 

For the rest of the night, you laugh, dance, and sing with the Gunslingers, letting go of your past and your trauma...at least for one night.

You swig whiskey and sing along with Geto's silky, velvety voice while Gojo claps the beat to songs.

You twirl in front of the fire with Gojo, laughing when he trips and nearly busts his ass.

You lay under the stars with them, pretending to fly away into the inky canvas of glittering lights with them.

But when sleep and alcohol finally catch up with you, you pass out on the ground, slipping into a warm, comfortable sleep. You don't even feel Geto and Gojo cover you with a blanket to help you be more comfortable. You don't feel either one of them gently kiss your forehead either, leaving shadows of warm goodnight kisses on your skin.

“The sweetest dreams, Y/N,” Geto coos. “We’ll try to have the same.” He stares down at you, liking how peaceful and serene you seem in your slumber.

When he looks up, Gojo is staring at him with those blue eyes that seem to see all. “You feel it too,” he says. He doesn't need to elaborate. Geto nods once. “Yeah,” he replies. 

Gojo sighs, sitting back on his haunches. “So we’re fucked.” 

Once again, Geto nods. “Yeah.”

And that's the end of the conversation...for now, at least.