#collapse in the key of fireworks

[crazyoffher]

JEZZ, THIS IS MY MOMENT. 1989 TV AND COLLAPSE IN THE KEY OF FIREWORKS POSTED. IM COLLAPSING 😭😭 (I'm saying this a little late but pretend not to lmao

IT'S SO AMAZING, I LOVED THIS FIC SO MUCH. I love fics with the feel of "we can't be together and blah blah blah" it makes me suffer and at the same time happy because in the end everything works out loll

Your feelings toward her never mattered anyway, right? She certainly never felt the same toward you, or so you thought. You knew that the trajectory of two girls together would never be accepted in the eyes of your parents, in the eyes of your church, and in the eyes of the man whose verses you read in a book every night and whose practices forced and consumed your everyday life.

I love your writing so so soo much . "of two girls together would never be accepted in the eyes of your parents, in the eyes of your church, and in the eyes of the man whose verses you read in a book every night and whose practices forced and consumed your everyday life." when I say you have no mercy on us readers I'm not lying lol, LOOK AT THIS 😭😭😭

Soon enough, it started to concern your parents as to why you hadn’t found a lover at the growing age of seventeen, having overheard a conversation between them one night about the possibility of lining up suitors, shocking you to the very core. So when the next boy came around, annoying you more than life itself at your school locker before popping the question, “Can I take you on a date?” You could only swallow your pride with a choked-out, "Yes,” leaving your lips before scurrying away.

SHE SAID YES WITH ALL THE HATE THAT WAS STUCK IN HER HEART ✊ her scurrying away afterwards, so regret doesn't hit right there

“What?” The words came out of a nervous impulse, your face falling to sadness. That went unnoticed by Lorraine, whose face had lit up in excitement at finally being able to tell you. “Yes! His name is RJ, and he’s in my film studies class. He’s so sweet, charming, and so nice, (Y/N)!”

"charming" OH LORRAINE FUCK U ALRIGHT, "charming" OKAY THEN, OKAY.

i adore how she was so generous with RJ in this part, considering that the dude looks like a rat kneaded with his hair licked

The corner twitches of Lorraine’s lips vanished, and the gleam that once filled her eyes left to form confusion before realization. “God damn it, (Y/N)!” She pushed herself back with a huff, and it was then that you recognized how close she had been toward you.

Lorraine gave another large breath, filled to the brim with annoyance. “What? What? I had this entire thing planned out since last month, just for you to not understand it!”

LFMAOOO, i giggled so hard at these two excerpts 😭 “What? What? I had this entire thing planned out since last month, just for you to not understand it!” THIS GET ME SO BAD, that's so like her to say that

she is totally irritated with the reader for not following her preparation

You finished your sentence with a new-found shake in your voice. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”

“There would have been no need for you to bury yourself because I would have gotten to your Bible-praising ass before you could even shed a tear.” You barked, and Lorraine paused a second of her relief to react, a small smile etching her face at your words of protection.

I love that the reader almost gave her life there just to defend lorraine and her puppy, even if they only met 5 minutes ago, this reader has totally my heart

reading this while listening to "say don't go" was SOO healing 🤲🤍 they give me the vibe of "you are in love" too, they are so taylor in love song's coded

they are so cigarettes after sex songs too, especially "apocalypse", "sweet" & "sunsetz"

i can't decide

I feel like this ask was too big 😭

- 🦦

if i’m being so fr i forgot about 1989 tv because i don’t listen to taylor all that much 😭 will be checking it out later though!

i love making myself suffer with a rendition of the whole “forbidden love” knack, adds suspense if i might say.

LMAOO i’m very glad you liked that part. it was one of those paragraphs that just flowed, and i would say its because of personal experience but also just the history of same-sex relationships and how they were viewed past-wise.

oh r was killing herself inside after saying yes regretting it immediately 😭

rj is for sure a very… questionable looking man, and i could just imagine r absolutely FUMING at the ears when they first saw him, expecting someone resembling prince charming. instead coming face to face with a sewer rat, “she picked HIM over ME?!”

YOU CAN’T BLAME R THOUGH the idea of lorraine being attracted to them romantically was far deep in the back of their mind due to the social circumstances, forgive r for being like ??? what FRIENDSHIP-like scenario is she going with this???

it took less than a minute for r to become lovesick with lorraine, that’s just her effect 🤷‍♀️ AND I LOVE THOSE SONG RESEMBLANCES OMG i don’t listen to cas that much so i’ll definitely have to dive back in on their lyrics to see buttttt i trust you on this

one’s ask can never be too big! thank youu thank youuu THANK YOUUU for your review on my story, it means a lot to see how much you liked it.

until next time 🦦

[a-fix-of-muses]

Currently Listening To: "Collapse in the Key of Fireworks" by Johnny Booth

[bioshcked]

[gourmetrace]

sometimes my queue tag will not appear so i will have to type it out and it will show me tags people have put. feel free to look

[libraryofloveletters]

Nothing Without You

John Stones x Fem!Reader

Warnings: best friends in love but also in denial, everyone can see it but them, lots of softness, alcohol and the consumption of (lots of it), drunk jack grealish (thats a warning in itself), swearing, it’s so family coded between the players and kids and wags, baby fever from john’s end, friendly teasing from the other players, horrible singing, drunken posting, Sasha and reader are lowkey besties, hangovers for dayssssss 

Word Count: 3.6k

Author’s Note: you can blame the great miss whitney houston for this. every song she has is so john coded and in honour of the treble win, I had to do this. 

--

Attached at the hip since you two were 20, it’s been that way since the first day you met; John was the drunk guy singing off key to Whitney Houston and you were the girl dancing next to him. 

Inseparable since. 

Istanbul had you all on the edge of your seat, fingers crossed and your heart pounding out of your chest as you watched Inter kick the ball towards the net. Ederson swatted the ball away and they managed to kick it from the net just as the final whistle blew. 

One. 

Two. 

Three. 

The match was over and you could breathe again; you can’t imagine how the boys must be feeling. Everyone goes running onto the field, the boys collapsing and hugging each other, screaming and shouting as the entire stadium cheers. 

“They did it!!” You turned to the woman shouting next to you. 

You pulled Sasha into a hug, “they did it!!” You shouted back. The two of you stood together as you watched the trophy ceremony, and the boys received their metals. The blue and white confetti covered the green grass and the fireworks covered the black night sky. 

“C’mon!” You grabbed her hand as you made your way down to the field to see the boys. 

John spots you before you spot him. The man in blue comes running to you, arms open before he reaches you. “Johnny!!!” You screamed, jumping on your best friend. He grinned, wrapping his arms around you as he pressed a fat kiss to your cheek, dangerously close to your lips. 

The player swings you around before putting you down. Your hands squished his face, “Johnny!! I'm soooo proud of you. You’re a fucking champion!”

“Fucking champions!!” He laughs, kissing your temple as he puts his arm over your shoulder. 

You two walked around the pitch, John stopping every two seconds to talk to his teammates and the Man City staff.  You had wandered off, spotting Riyad’s fiancé, Taylor and their daughter, Mila. “Hi baby girl,” you smiled, tickling her side. “You wanna hold her?” Taylor asks and you smile, nodding. 

She hands the little girl over to you and you kiss her cheek, fixing her little Man City jersey. You felt someone grab your leg and you look down to see none other than Ronnie. “Hi buddy!” You kneel down, moving to sit on the ground with Mila. 

“Hi y/n! Hi Mila!” He holds her little hand, the two of them giggling over something. You weren’t really paying attention to what he was telling her but it was making her laugh. 

John patted his friend’s back, the two of them turning their attention to you on the floor with the kids. Riyad doesn’t miss the way John’s eyes light up when he looks at you or how his smile brightens. You covered Mila’s eyes before Ronnie made a silly face at her. The three of you giggling like the best of friends. The big number 5 on your back and the sight of kids in your arms only made John’s heart skip a beat. 

“She's good with them, huh?” He says, getting John’s attention. 

“What?” He asks, confused. 

Riyad nods towards you with the kids. “Y/n... she's good with the kids.” 

“Oh,” John nods, smiling. “Yeah. She’s great.” 

The man shakes his head, nudging his friend with his shoulder. Riyad laughs, “you just don’t get it.” 

He picks up Mila, rubbing Ronnie’s head as he passes by with the little girl. John wanders over to you, a hand stretched out to help you up. 

“Shall we take a picture?” He held your hand, walking over to Erling and his girlfriend who currently had the trophy. 

You smiled watching as Erling stood up and handed the massive silver trophy over to his teammate. You and Isabel were whispering something to each other when John replaced Erling on the random chair in the middle of the pitch, the trophy balanced on his right leg. 

“Babe,” the word rolled off his tongue, a common name amongst the many nicknames he had for you. “C’mere.” He pats his free thigh. 

You walked over and sat yourself down on his leg, an arm over his shoulder to balance yourself. John wraps an arm around your waist, a hand on your hip with the other holding the trophy. Your arm was still over his shoulder and the other was holding the other side of the trophy. 

One of the photographers shouts, “Smile!” John ignores him, letting you hold up the weight of the trophy for a minute, taking the medal around his neck off. He slings it around your neck, straightening it before holding the trophy again. 

“Okay, ready now.” He tells no one in particular, the two of you smiling at the various cameras. 

You giggled as John pinched your hip, getting you to smile brighter; the way he liked. 

You were about to take the medal off but he stopped you, “keep it. It looks better on you,” he smiled as he passed the trophy off to Jack when you two got up. 

--- 

There’s shouting, music and laughter coming from the other side of your hotel door. The boys were in full party mode but all decided to take a quick minute to freshen up before heading out again. 

All of them except for the one you were certain was banging on your room door. 

“Y/n!!” He sang along with the music, knocking again. “C’mon! I know you’re in there!!” He shouts as you open the door. 

Jack stood there in his kit, medal over his neck as he dragged the big speaker behind him. He looks at you like you were an alien; lipstick in one hand, your drink in the other with the curlers pinned in your hair so you can freshen it up.

“You’re not ready?!” He shouts as if you were down the hallway. 

You laughed, shaking your head. “What are you even doing up here? I thought you went straight to the club.” 

"I came looking for- Oh! Here!” He turns around and grabs something, handing you a shot glass filled with some gold liquid when he turns back around. You look at the man like he's insane.

You brought the glass up to your face, the heavy scent of tequila caused you to wrinkle your nose. “Where'd you even get this?”

Jack’s got his own shot in hand, tapping his glass to yours. “We're fucking champions of Europe, baby! Cheers!” he shouted, the two of you giggling as you downed your shots in the doorway like teenagers getting drunk off cheap booze before a party. The tequila burns on the way down but Jack turns, the half empty bottle of 1942 in hand when he spins around again and he refills the shot glasses.

 You tap your glass to his and drink this shot too, thinking you can finally get rid of him, allowing yourself to finish getting ready in peace but Jack starts singing and refilling the shot glasses once again. 

“John, John, Johnny Stonesssss!” He held the note, “where are you, my Johnny Stones?!” 

And as if he was summoned, John stepped out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist. You won’t lie and say your best friend wasn’t attractive because he was but you couldn't look at him like that; despite looking at him like that right now. Your eyes fixed on the man, watching the way the water dripped down his chest, following the little drops all the way down to the towel that stopped them from going further. 

Even with him being drunk, Jack noticed the way you looked at his teammate. He wiggled his eyebrows as he tapped his glass to yours. The two of you downed what you hoped was the final set of shots before he left. 

He wiggled his eyebrows, John wasn’t paying attention to Jack at the moment. “Don’t fuck! Come down so we can get fucked upppppp.” 

“Fuck off,” you laughed, smacking his arm lightly. Jack waved to you, finally walking away to the elevator. 

John looks at you as he puts on his pants, “why is your face red?” 

“Had a few shots with Jack,” you held up the empty shot glass, finally putting your lipstick on. John nods, humming as he finishes getting dressed. You were  glad Jack stopped in because what else would you blame your red cheeks on? The fact that you were gawking at your shirtless best friend? 

Insane. 

He comes over to you, his hand on your hip as he watches you pull the last curler from your hair. 

“Ready?” His eyes meet yours in the mirror. 

You nod, smiling. “Ready.” 

The club was five minutes from the hotel, you bumped into Phil and Becca on your way to the lobby, the four of you deciding to head there together. From the moment you stepped inside, John and Phil were instantly pulled into hugs, conversations and promises of dances, not to mention all the drinks all of you were being handed before you even made it to the bar. 

The four of you got separated, you and Becca found a few of the other girls who had lost their other halves and were sorta dancing and chatting at the same time  - it was more of a shout over the music but you were all too many shots in to care.

At some point, you decided you needed another drink that wasn’t in a shot glass. “I’m gonna get a drink!” You shouted to Becca and she gave you a thumbs up. “Do you want anything?” 

“No! I’m good babe!” She smiles, letting you walk off to the bar. 

You navigate your way through the crowd and eventually find the bar. The bartender was busy and you waited, not wanting to be one of those people at shouts at the bartenders who were clearly busy. A few minutes later, he found his way to you so you could order and just as you do, you feel a set of hands on your hips.

“I was looking for you!” The person shouts to you, a chin on your shoulder before you turn around. 

You find John holding onto you, a big goofy grin on his face and you could smell the liquor on him; now if he split something on himself or if he had one too many shots, it was unclear but one thing was, that he was having a good time. 

“I was looking for you too!” You shouted back to him, smiling at him. 

Just as you turn around to get your drink, the opening notes of I Have Nothing by Whitney Houston come on; an odd choice for a club you think to yourself but John doesn’t follow the same train of thought. The man grabs your hand, the drink spilling as he pulls, practically yanked, you to the dance floor.

“This!” He shouts, “is my fucking song!” 

You giggled, letting him pull you to him before you two started singing. 

“Take my love, I’ll never ask for too much. Just all that you are and everything that you do.” You sang to John, arms over his shoulders and your hand resting on the back of his neck. 

The man’s hand reached for your hips, pulling you a few inches closer. “I don't really need to look very much further. I don't wanna have to go, where you don't follow.”

“I won't hold it back again, this passion inside. Can't run from myself. There's nowhere to hide.” You sang the next part. 

John spun you around, your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around you and held you close to him. You can feel his chin on your shoulder, the stubble on his jaw rubbed against yours as he pressed his face to yours. 

“Don't make me close one more door. I don't wanna hurt anymore. Stay in my arms if you dare or must I imagine you there. Don't walk away from me.” He sang horribly off key. 

You giggled as you two sang the last part together; “I have nothing, nothing, nothing if I don't have you, you, you, you, you, you.” 

John lets go of you, your hand still on his shoulder as you two danced to the other song. You take a sip from your drink only to find the ice hitting your lips. “I need another one!” You tell him, wandering off to the bar again. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Jack and Erling giggling. 

“What?” You shouted to them and Jack ran over. “You and John are so cute, it makes me wanna puke!” He laughs, a hand on your arm.

Erling slings his arm over your shoulder, “yeah! Get a room!” 

“Fuck off, both of you!” You laughed, ignoring them. 

You left them at the bar, a drink in hand as you walked off to find John again. The man was with Kyle and Ruben, the 3 of them pouring a round of shots. 

“Want one?” Kyle held a glass out to you and you nod, taking it from him. John’s arm slings over your shoulder, pulling you into his side before the 4 of you holding up your shots. 

“To us! To the treble! To the champions of Europe!” Kyle shouts over the music, the clear liquid slipping over the rim of the glass, all of you downing your shots. 

Kyle pulls Ruben to dance, the two of them amongst the last set of people on the dance floor. It was nearly 5am, the sun was peeking through the clouds over the city and all of you had been up for nearly 24 hours straight. There was a flight back to Manchester in 5 hours and you figured you two could sneak in a few hours of sleep. 

John had the same thought, “ready to go?” He whispers to you, lips pressed to your ear. You nod, holding his hand as you two walk out. He shouted to his friends as you two walked out of the club, his fingers interlocked with yours when you got into the cab back to the hotel. 

The walk up to the room was no better, his hands on your hips, the two of you giggling as you tried to undo the lock on the door, the keycard not buzzing. John’s face buried in your neck, the stubble on his chin tickling at your skin, you shrugging him off and finally got into the room. 

He went to the bathroom to change and you were on the bed, taking a moment to gather yourself before you tried to get your shoes off. Eventually you managed to undo the strap and kicked them off, letting them land somewhere. 

“Fuck,” you heard from groan from the bathroom, you slowly got up and walked over. 

You could see the man in the reflection of the mirror, his fingers tugging at the buttons on his shirt but he wasn’t getting them undone. “Need help?” you asked, pushing the door open. 

John dropped his hands, “please.” 

Your hands slowly made its way down, undoing the buttons for him. The medal around his neck slung as he moved and he finally got the hint after you pushed it away like 4 times. John took it off, you assumed he’d set it down somewhere but instead he slung it around your neck, the heavy gold pendent hitting your sternum when he let go. 

“Perfect,” he smiled to himself as he watched you undo the last button. 

You picked up the medal. “What’s this for?” 

“Just ‘cause and you’re the coolest ever,” he hugs you from behind, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. “And because I love you sooooooo much,” he smiled, kissing your jaw when he leaned down. 

Your cheeks are bright red, swatting the man’s hands when he pinches your side. 

The phone on the counter catches your eye and you pick it up, manage to unlock it and open the camera. “Smile,” you told him, leaning back on him. John’s arm wrapped around you, over your shoulder as you two smiled at each other in the mirror. 

There’s a series of drunken photos being taken; his arms around you, the two of  you making silly faces, laughing and giggling. Somehow you’re leaning over the counter and he’s got the phone now, you’re still laughing. There’s one of you hugging him, you kiss his cheek and in the next one, he kisses yours. Somehow you got your signals crossed, both of you turning to kiss each other on the cheek and ended up actually kissing. Your hand on his cheek as you giggled against his lips. 

“We should try to sleep,” you tell him as you hopped up onto the counter. 

John leaned on you and was clicking away from his phone. “Uh huh,” he finally put the phone down, wrapping his arms around you before he picked you up.“Let’s go then,” he carried you back to the bedroom, you giggled as you held onto him, the man dropping you on the bed before joining you. 

--- 

The airport was noisy, your head pounding and you were still refusing to open your eyes. John’s arm was around you and you were cuddled into his side, trying to get a few more seconds of peace before the team headed out for this flight back to Manchester. The rest of you would all be on your own flights home later in the day. 

Kevin was passing by, a smile on his face as he looked at this teammate. “Good  man, Johnny.” He pats the man’s shoulder. John gives him a puzzled smile, watching Kevin walk away. 

You open your eyes slightly, looking at your friend. “What is Kev on about?” 

“Not a clue,” John rubbed your arm, letting you settle back into his side. 

Gundo walked by, a big smile on his face as he looked between the two of you. John was beyond confused as to why all his teammates were in a good mood, patting his shoulders and telling him good job. 

Either he was delusional and stuck in an alternate reality or they were all still drunk.  

“YOU GUYS FINALLY DID IT!!!!” Jack shouts, jumping in front of you both. “Oh god, make him shut up.” You grumbled in John’s arm, making him chuckle. 

Sasha shushed the man, pulling him back a bit. “Jack!” She scolded him, “be quiet.

“Okay, I’m confused. What is going on?” John asked. Jack’s looking at you two like you’re mad, “you- what do you mean what’s going on?” He reaches for his phone to show you something but the screen won’t turn on. 

Sasha ignores her boyfriend for a moment, showing you both what Jack was trying to show you on her phone. There it is, the reason everyone has been looking at you two funny; a series of photos from the series of photos you took last night, you and John in the bathroom with the medal around your neck, kissing and John’s shirt undone. 

Quite the scandal. 

“Oh my god.” You looked at the phone, and then John, and then back to the phone and back to John again. Sasha nodded, “it's out there now.. but based on that look on your face, I’m guessing those weren’t meant to be posted?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded, John was already reaching for his phone. “I’ll delete them.” 

Your hand rested on his, stopping him. “Don’t.. it's already out there. It's fine.” 

John looked at you, “you’re sure?” 

“100%” 

He smiles at you just as the announcement plays over the speaker. “All Manchester City players and staff, please report to gate 3B for departure.” 

You and Sasha walked them to the gate. The couple next to you were all wrapped up, whispering something to each other like it's the last time they’d see each other - they’d be reunited in a few hours. 

John’s hand rests on your lower back, “I’ll see you at home?” 

You nodded, a smile on your face. “I’ll see you at home.” He pulled you against him, your hand on his cheek when you kissed him. Foreheads pressed to each other’s, giggling like teenagers in love. 

“Can you let go of her for a second?” Jack interrupted, “let me say bye to my friend?” 

John rolls his eyes playfully, letting you go. You and Jack hugged goodbye for now, John and Sasha doing the same. “We’ll see you at home,” she called to them, the two of them waving from the tunnel. 

You were about to walk away but John dropped his bag, running back to you. “What are you doing-” The man cuts you off with a kiss; very hallmark-esque of him. 

“You’re gonna miss your flight,” you whispered to him. 

“They won’t leave without me.” He smiles, giving you another kiss. You gave him a little push, sending him on his way. 

You jogged to catch up with Sasha, the two of you heading off to get a coffee. The woman nudged you with her shoulder as you two stood in line. You look over at her and nod, waiting for her to say something.

“I’m glad you two finally came to your senses.” She smiled and you laughed. 

“Yeah, me too.” 

-- 

taglist: @thesnailus @alwaysclassyeagle @lettersfromvenus @mehrmonga @callsignvenus @kmc1989 @valentinehrts​

add yourself to the taglist!

[rottenpumpkin13]

You know what…let’s fucking go there!

Genesis gets everything he wants AU

Sephiroth, by some unseen twist of fate, has some kind of physical collapse due to overexposure to mako and ends up incapacitated on the field during a key battle in Wutai. He fails, becoming useless, and Genesis is the one to win the great victory. He gets all the glory for the first time ever.

When they get home, Sephiroth is gone. Restricted to R&D, physically unable to perform as he once did, and Genesis becomes the new hero of Shinra. His face is everywhere, people are saying he was the one that surpassed Sephiroth. PR is going wild with interviews and propaganda. The President awards Genesis in front of screaming crowds. All the young boys now want to be like the daring and fiery Phoenix of Wutai.

Genesis Rhapsodos becomes the new face of SOLDIER and the legendary victor of the Wutai War.

He got everything he dreamed of. He is the hero at last.

But did it satisfy him?

Glory had a distinct taste for everyone, and all the most discerning SOLDIERs knew it. Angeal would’ve said it tasted like metal, the type that pricks your tongue when your mouth is full of blood; the type you have to spit out before you swallow it and it settles in your stomach as an addiction. 

Sephiroth could go on and on about how insipid it was, oftentimes repeating himself as he told his friends just how flavorless his conquests were. Sephiroth couldn’t tell if it was a case of overconsumption that led to the lackluster feeling in his mouth, or if he simply never liked the taste of it at all.

It didn’t matter to Genesis, who always took everything Sephiroth told him with a spoonful of salt. He had an idea of glory that would’ve prodded one's hunger and left you salivating just at the thought of it. In his mind, glory was sweet, delectable, and downright sinful. 

His insatiable hunger for glory didn’t help his case. Genesis Rhapsodos was born hungry and lived life intent on satisfying his stomach at all costs, no matter who he had to step over to fill it.

 

Then, there came a day when glory finally forced itself down his throat. 

And it tasted like the ashes of the dead. 

The battlefield was enveloped in chaos, a symphony of clashing swords permeating the air. It buzzed with the hum of thundering spells. Genesis fought with unparalleled ferocity, his rapier burning brightly with the glow of the flames.

Up ahead, Sephiroth cut through the enemy ranks with his usual immaculate precision. 

But Genesis was not blind, and he had known Sephiroth long enough to notice it—Sephiroth's movements, once fluid, grew sluggish as sweat clung to his brow.

Then, it happened.

Sephiroth staggered, Masamune slipping from his grasp. The weight of the blade seemed too much for his weakened form. His strength gave way. He collapsed to his knees, crumbling like a doll to the muddy ground.

Genesis never did understand the force that propelled him forward that day. He was like an animal, slicing through enemies with pure rage and fear biting his skin, aiming to protect Sephiroth from his attackers. 

The following month, the streets of Midgar were wrought with the roaring cheers of a crowd, a sea of faces adorning banners and posters of a russet-haired hero. Genesis stood atop a grand podium with a gold medal around his neck, placed there by the president himself.

He was the face of SOLDIER now, the Phoenix of Wutai.

The exploding fireworks never penetrated the barrier between the vainglorious display outside and the desolation in Genesis' mind. It was quiet there. He only ever brought himself out when he needed to force a smile or answer a question. 

Though bathed in brilliance and splendor, Genesis felt naked before the abyss that threatened to swallow him whole.

Sephiroth was confined to a bed somewhere in the R & D's medical wing. And Genesis would once again trade places with him in a heartbeat. 

Director Lazard's voice droned on, detailing Genesis's packed schedule for the upcoming week. Interviews with various media outlets, appearances at high-profile events, and promotional activities—all designed to solidify Genesis's status as the new face of SOLDIER.

"...And then there's the gala on Thursday night. The President himself will be there, and it's crucial that you make a lasting impression," Lazard finished, expecting some form of acknowledgment from the younger man. 

Genesis was indifferent, his attention fixated on the PHS in his hands. He absentmindedly drummed his fingers against the polished conference table, his mind anywhere but there. 

Lazard cleared his throat and tried again.

"Genesis, this is a crucial time for your public image. You're the pride of Shinra now, and we need you to embrace that role fully," Lazard spoke. 

“Yes.” Genesis glanced up, his gaze distant. “I understand.”

He kept his attention fixated on the subtle vibrations of his device. The screen illuminated with a message from Angeal. 

Go. Now.

Without a word, Genesis rose abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor as he pushed it back. The papers Lazard had carefully arranged slid haphazardly across the table. 

He rushed down the hallway, not caring about decorum for even a second, en route to the medical wing. 

With a swipe of his key card, Genesis entered the suffocating environment, quickly finding the hallways where Sephiroth's room was located. 

Angeal stood guard outside the door. “Be quick. They could come back any moment,” he told his friend, opening the door with a stolen key card. 

The green light on the door panel blinked, indicating permission to enter. With each step into the brightly lit room, Genesis felt the pit in his stomach open wider. 

He had expected the scent of antiseptic to reach him first, the metallic scent of blood, even. So his surprise was marked by the strong smell of mako permeating the air like a suffocating cloud. 

Sephiroth lay on a medical bed, a shell of the man he once was. The soft beeping of monitors and machinery surrounded him.

Genesis' fist shook. He dug them into the side of his leg in hopes of stopping them entirely. But it was no use, the sound of his immediate, choked cries was enough to convince him to break down. 

He wanted Sephiroth to open his eyes, to tease him for crying, to get up and tower over him as he once did, to laugh at his jokes, to talk to him, to be there because he was his friend. 

Genesis stood beside Sephiroth's unconscious form. The memories of that day on the battlefield flashed vividly in his mind. He reached out, guiding his trembling fingers to Sephiroth's pale face. 

Gently, he brushed a stray strand of silver hair from his friend’s eyes. He was cold to the touch, but Genesis still traced his finger down Sephiroth's arm, slowly taking his hand in his. 

“I miss you,” he whispered. “Please come back soon.” 

The constant whir of the medical equipment was abruptly disrupted by urgent beeping. Genesis's eyes widened as he turned towards the monitor, the once steady lines now spiking violently. 

A knot tightened in his chest, a blend of anxiety and guilt settling in.

The door flew open, slamming against the wall. Genesis flinched and jumped back as Hojo's voice cut through the tense air. 

“Get out! I told you not to come back here! Now look at what you've done!” 

A flurry of medical staff rushed in behind him. The room was active with urgency as they flew into action. 

Genesis stumbled out of the room, the words seemingly ripped out from his chest. He could only watch with his mouth hanging open as the constant beep of the heart monitor became accompanied by a shrill alarm echoing through the corridor.

The last he could remember was Angeal wrapping one arm around him, guiding him away from the scene. 

Three months flew by, each week a slap to the face for those who found disquiet in the quick passage of time. Genesis’ name echoed through the halls of Shinra, adorned posters throughout the city, and was celebrated in news broadcasts. Yet, with every accolade, the emptiness within him turned into a pit of solitude. 

Angeal was far too consumed by his protegé. Zack became the center of Angeal's attention, an energetic student-turned-loyal companion.

Genesis watched from the sidelines as the bond between mentor and protegé flourished. He no longer had the energy for jealousy and accusatory fingers. 

Some said he had the heat of his glory to keep him warm. Genesis often compared it to the flames of hell slowly roasting him into a prized turkey ready to be carved and served at the grand feast of judgment day. 

The labs became his daily battle. Genesis's persistent requests to see Sephiroth were met with firm rejection. Hojo had erected barriers that had become more and more impossible to breach.

Yet, he went back. Each day, driven by a stubborn hope that defied reason and logic. At least he could say he tried, that he had never given up on Sephiroth. 

Curiously, that all shifted one evening when Angeal and Genesis were informed of a peculiar happening within the Shinra building. 

“He's DEAD?” One SOLDIER spat, rising higher in his seat. 

All eyes were on Lazard at the front of the room. He looked exasperated, the glow of his tablet reflecting off the glasses which were quickly slipping down his nose. 

“How?” Echoed another voice—Zack. 

Genesis sat adjacent to Lazard, across from Angeal where the two proceeded to share the same, dumbfounded expression. 

Lazard cleared his throat—for the sixth time, Genesis noticed—before continuing. “He was found unresponsive this morning in the hallway outside his office. His skull appeared to have been cracked, and all signs right now are pointing to an accident.”

“Some accident,” Angeal mumbled, his eyes wide. 

“Tell me about it,” a Second-Class SOLDIER sneered. “Ah, anyway. It's not like the bastard will be missed.” 

Lazard shot him a warning look. “Please show some compassion.” 

Genesis scoffed, crossing his arms. “Compassion for Professor Hojo. It'd be more reasonable to ask us to pull our teeth out one by one to pay the ferryman.” 

Lazard ignored him. “Dr. Hollander will be taking over the R&D department temporarily—”

“Goddess save our souls,” Genesis cut in. 

Lazard ignored both Genesis and the subsequent laughter from the others. 

“And he has asked me to assure you all that Sephiroth will be in good hands—”

“Hollander is of the amputate-your-arm-if-you-break-it variety,” Genesis said smoothly, sliding out of his seat. “So if Sephiroth’s cure lies in the hands of medieval medicine, I'm sure he'll be up and about it in no time.”

With that, he stepped out of the room, taking all the spite and sarcasm in the room with him. 

Hojo was dead, a glorifying piece of information Genesis wished he could share with Sephiroth, if only the man was awake. 

He signed, turning down the hallway that led to his office. Somehow, he had a feeling that Sephiroth already knew—somehow. 

A few weeks went by. The early morning sunlight filtered through the office windows as Genesis headed to the conference room. He yawned, swirling the half-filled coffee cup in his hand as he swiped his key card to open the door. 

He expected another monotonous day. However, what met his eyes left him frozen in disbelief.

There, sitting at the conference table, was Sephiroth.

The coffee cup slid through his fingers, splattering all over the floor. 

The shock radiated through Genesis, rendering him momentarily speechless. 

Sephiroth was paler than before, his skin almost translucent. He had thinned out a bit, and the dark circles under his eyes were telling of the poor sleep the man had suffered from. 

But despite the physical toll, Sephiroth's eyes gleamed with an unsettling intensity. His predatory grin sent a shiver down Genesis' spine. It was a smile that spoke of something beyond the realm of mortal comprehension.

That was the thing that overrode Genesis' joy and killed his relief upon impact. 

Because Genesis knew Sephiroth. 

And this was not him. 

[scribble-dribble-writes]

All mine 🥰

---

Pairing: Obi wan x reader

Contents: Obi wan cuts his schedule short and comes home cause you’ve been on his mind.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1150

---

He wanted attention. Not the kind he got from his enemies and troops. Attention of a different kind. His mind was elsewhere as the council meeting dragged on, tracing his finger over the curve of the arm rest he knew he was growing impatient. He just needed to get home. “General Kenobi, what are your thoughts on the new strategy?”, He looked up with a hum. He had no idea what they were talking about. “Yes, it seems alright.”, He filled in quickly after reading the plan. The group carried on and a while later, was finally dispersed after he said he had to be elsewhere. A half truth, his specialty.

He stuffed his hands into his cuffs as he walked back home. With every step, the overwhelming urge to be held, grew. He wanted to be looked at and spoken to. And in all the universe there was only one person who could give him that. In your eyes, he felt even more beautiful than what people had mentioned about him. That when you touch him, his skin reacts and sets off fireworks in his mind. Replicating the same feeling with someone else didn’t work. He put in his key card and the door chimed. Opening it, there was only one goal, he needed to find you.

He walked in and with every step he took to you, he peeled away an uncomfortable layer. He dropped his robe, kicked of his boots, unclasped his belt. His chest felt lighter when he lifted his tabards and peeled away his tunic. He rolled up the sleeves of his inner shirt and ran his fingers through his hair to set the strands free and feel the comfort of not having his hair be combed back. The comfort of not being in control and giving in. The clothes lay there in a trail, following him in his quest to find you.

He noticed your figure sitting in the armchair in an emerald green satin gown and now everything had become crystal clear. “How was your day?”, he heard you ask him. This won’t do. “Boring.”, he responded as he noticed a book in your hand. “That’s new.”, He hears you laugh and he picked up his speed. He wanted to lay his head on your chest and absorb the sound of your laugh. You had a hold on him even more than the force did at times. There was no rational thought when it was about you. If you wanted a moon, he would go get it.

“You’re back early.”, you seemed to be preoccupied with that book. He wanted you to see him. He needed to feel your gaze. As he placed the bookmark in the page you held, he could feel the weight of your attention. “Is everything alright?”, another question but he didn’t want to waste time explaining everything.

His fingers gently peel away the book from your hands and his eyes don’t leave yours. He noticed the glimmer in your pupils as you tried to figure him out. “What’s gotten into you?”, you ask as he puts the book away. “You. You’ve invaded my mind.”, he says gently as he slips an arm beneath your knees and the other under your arm to pick you up. “Oh have I?”, he hears your laugh again but now he wanted to bury his face into the crook of your neck to inhale your perfume.

Placing you on the bed, he could feel your eyes trailing him as he got onto the mattress. “How was your day?”, he asks as he crawls to you. You looked at him as though you had figured it all out. Like if this had been a game of dejarik, you knew all his tactics. “I missed you.”, the words he wanted to hear. He was close enough, so he bent down to kiss your shoulder. “And?”, he took your hand and placed it on the side of his face. “And I hoped you would come home early.”, you did the rest on your own, bringing his face close enough to kiss his cheek, he closed his eyes and hummed.

He let go completely, all his strings were cut loose and now the puppet collapsed over your abdomen. He felt your warm hands travel down his bare back having slipped it through the collar of his shirt. He forgot about the war, the code, the council, his Padawan, everything. He lay there and listened to the beat of your heart. You brought back your hands nice and slow, the edge of your nails scraping his lower back. Slipping your hands out of his shirt, you caressed his cheek.

“How do you manage to look more beautiful everyday?”, you ask and he feels a spark run down his spine. “and to think you’re all mine.”, your whisper makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You spoil me. I was only ever yours.”, he tells you as he rested his head on your chest. Your gentle warmth bled through him and he didn’t want to move. Your fingers played with the ends of his hair as he felt you trace your hand down the side of his face to tilt up his sleepy face. “Don’t you usually have another meeting this time of the day?”, he knew that you already knew his reason but he was going to tell you anyway. “I had a pressing matter at home.”, he responded and he felt you chuckle.

“Did you?”, you ask and he opened his eyes. “Of course.”, he responded as he moved away to sit next to you. “What might that be?”, he watched as you narrowed your eyes and folded your arms. You were on his trail. “A mid afternoon nap.”, he pulled you to him by looping his arm around your hips. “Here I thought you had come home because you missed me.”, your form fit his perfectly. He wrapped his arm around you and threw his leg over yours as he tucked his head in the crook of your neck. “That too.”, he whispered as he kissed you behind your ear.

He felt you wiggle under his hold as he noticed you turning to see him. “Careful General, people might know you have feelings.”, you wrapped you hand over his hip and rested your head on his chest. “Only for you.”, he said softly and kissed your forehead. You had stilled, he could feel the steady rhythm of your heart and your soft breath against his neck. His need had been met. Everything else could wait. So he placed his chin over your head and closed his eyes.

[batgirlsay]

Send Me Into Space

An Obiyuki Astronaut AU Playlist For Obiyuki AU Bingo 2024 by @snowwhite-andtheknight

I was excited to see this theme on my board and rework one of my old space playlists! Many of these songs are very personal to me, but the lyrics work well for Obiyuki too. Ended up with too many ending songs… but the playlist title track from Maggie is a perfect outro.

Send Me Into Space

When The Moon Brings the Silver- Matt Pond PA 5 Light Years- Mae Space Song- Beach House Neither Heaven Nor Space- Nada Surf Eventful Horizons- Anchor and Braille Stellar (Acoustic)- Incubus Starlet (Acoustic)- Matt Pond PA Deep Space- Eisley Distant Solar Systems- Julien Baker Satellite- Maggie Rogers

Summary lyrics are cited after the cut:

When The Moon Brings the Silver- Matt Pond PA

When the moon brings the silver back down The end is always beginning

Cold in the veins, your hands in mine I am real when I’m with you

My mouth full of marbles, tumbling onto your side

I’ll take my side, cross the line You take my side, cross the line

5 Light Years- Mae

It was better to start with something Together we play But then we both left off with something The right way True wasted love sustained in doubt Pretend we turn the key I'm five light years from you calling my name Goodbye my love, if I don't see you again

If grace and love sustain throughout We tend to hold those keys

Space Song- Beach House

It was late at night You held on tight From an empty seat A flash of light

Were you ever lost? Was she ever found? Somewhere in these eyes Fall back into place

Neither Heaven Nor Space- Nada Surf

So quiet It's neither heaven nor space, it's just high And the ring around the moon Looks like light and love Neither of which I get enough of

Eventful Horizons- Anchor and Braille

Eventful horizons drawing my lips in Darker matters calling out my name, out my name Pulling you closer, handing me over Take your time and fall into my space, outer space

Can't explain it to you I just feel this way Life just works out better when you're around Take this how you want it, feel this deep inside Life just tastes the sweeter when you're around

Lighter speeds approaching, space between us closing Darkness coming for us on your kiss on my kiss Unexplained black holes forming out of my soul Universe expanding, but we keep collapsing

We're so far out there some may say we're gone

Stellar (Acoustic)- Incubus

Meet me in outer space We could spend the night Watch the earth come up I've grown tired of that place Won't you come with me? We could start again

How do you do it? Make me feel like I do It's better than I ever knew

Starlet (Acoustic)- Matt Pond PA

The starlet fell from the skies She was impossibly light She lit my world blue and green

Strangers stopped being strange We kissed the fire on the face I was awake in my dreams

There's so much I don't know I still know someday I will make sense To someone

The starlet flew before dawn And passed the world and my palms And in the dark I still see

Deep Space- Eisley

We wake, with the warmth on our shoulders Brilliant invention, by you in place of sunlight And I count it such a blessing I know I'm lucky to be lost in space, with love

We knew when we stepped foot on that air ship We would be saying farewell to green and blue and gold for always, And perhaps a tear slipped down sideways, But no regrets we say and we mean it as the fire burns, And we skyrocket home

The roaring of our golden ship, The calling of our black home, It quickens our hearts to explode like engines, So reach for my hand, we have reached deep space

Lost out in space you'll never lose me

Distant Solar Systems- Julien Baker

Distant solar systems and all the minor planets Know nothing of our satellites and 747s Fireworks that recreate the birth of constellations Dying suns that laugh at shotgun powder imitations

When I am a sailor, and the sky, a pitch-black ocean I'll look down at my bleeding heart and wish I were a Vulcan

'Cause great men of science and literature Don't impress me, what can I offer? Because I am a chisel in your hand Screaming at marble from a microphone stand

Satellite- Maggie Rogers

Steady as a rock, I stand, I wait With eyes that see, but eyes that can't erase Hands that hold, but hands that can't embrace A creature longing for some saving grace

Oh, and I have long since seen the Sun It set along the banks when I was young Oh, and it's been long since you've been near But fate was never kind to us, my dear

So, send me out to space and cut me free And like a satellite, just look for me Oh, and if there's darkness in your sight I'll be in the corner of the night

[afterdarkwithcoffee]

Sight

This is. Probably not what you wanted. But I had fun writing it so maybe you'll have fun reading it.

In this snippet: Owen Rosedown x Evil!/Vampire!Locke Hepatica involving blindfolds

Kinks: noncon, kidnapping, bondage, blindfolds, forced orgasms, edging, virginity and potential virginity loss

Note: Owen is a transgender man without bottom surgery.

He’d let his guard down. One moment of surprise and delight as the fireworks flashed through the dark sky, and his enemies took their chance. Owen’s screams wouldn’t have been heard even without the hand over his mouth. So he found himself faced with that handsome face, the eyes that glowed with smug amusement, and there was nothing to do but refuse to cooperate.

“Is this about the key?” Owen asked. “Because I don’t know where that is, I told you that already.”

Locke Hepatica shrugged, smiled. “It’s about you, actually.”

Owen frowned.

“I have a feeling we’ve met before,” Locke said. “In another life. I want to refresh your memory. You and I, we were quite the pair back then. Now you may be my enemy, but I’d like to have you for myself again.”

“I won’t join you,” Owen said. “And how do you expect to make me remember this life you think I lived with you?”

The man flashed his fangs. “I suppose we’ll have to improvise.”

Improvise. Terrifying thing to hear from a vampire. He’d expected torture. Well, a different kind of torture than this.

Owen threw back his head and wailed, hips raising off the bed as another orgasm shattered his body. Collapsing back into the soft fabric, he gasped, sucking in as much cold air as he could. His bare body twitched and shuddered, the folds of his cunt pulsing along with his aching, aching clit. They’d stripped him down, tied him down, even took his glasses away before tying the blindfold around his eyes.

Oh, goddess, how much more of this was he supposed to take?

Laughter, the vampire laughed at him. The bed shifted, a cool hand pressed against his overheated skin. Owen set his teeth, breathing through them as his captor lifted his chin.

“You come from sturdy stock, whoever your parents were. Five orgasms is a lot for a virgin to endure. I was sure you’d break after the first one, but you continue to surprise me.”

The hand released his chin, and the tips of long fingers traced down over Owen’s skin. His clit throbbed.

“But that’s why I decided to keep you.”

Licking his lips, Owen forced himself to speak.

“Von Domini will ruin you for laying hands on me.”

“Oh, I’m going to do more than that.”

The hand grazed lower, and Owen squirmed. There was no escaping from the binds, the leather didn’t give an inch, all he could do was brace. Bracing wasn’t enough. One soft touch against his folds and the moan tore from his throat.

He was falling apart. This man’s touch threatened to tear him apart at the seams. And Owen tried not to think about what else he could be capable of. Owen tried so hard not to think about what else he could be willing to do. But the thought haunted him, chased him over the weeks since encountering, since submitting to, the vampire for the first time. Desire like poison threatening to consume him.

A gentle touch to his clit, and something in Owen snapped.

“Oh, goddess!” He cried.

“She can’t save you, Runner,” the vampire hissed, and did not stop his teasing. “You cling to your faith as if it can do anything against me. Don’t you realize by now? If your precious Goddess of Suffering couldn’t rescue herself from me, how could she ever rescue you?”

Owen tossed his head, his messy hair clinging to his skin. His clit ached, long gone sore and swollen. Every part of him burned, set alight under the vampire’s touch. Again he tried to speak but the moans overtook him. Oh, no, he was going to cum again. Oh, how much more of this could he take?

“You still don’t believe me.”

The hand pulled away. Owen sobbed - from relief? From need? He couldn’t tell. Everything spun together, a haze of darkness and pleasure he could not escape.

“You don’t believe me,” the vampire said. “Do you?”

“No,” Owen choked out. He dragged in a breath, squeezed his fists. “You aren’t the God of Evil. You’re no better than any other vampire. And even if you were…”

Wait, was that fabric rustling? A cold chill rushed through him. Was that clothing moving? Was that movement, that soft thud, the sound of undressing?

“Go on.”

“I wouldn’t surrender even if you were him!” Owen shouted. “I wouldn’t betray the goddess that way! I wouldn’t betray my friends, or myself! Take my body all you want, but you won’t get my soul!”

A hand placed upon his hip, a larger body shifting over his own. Owen’s breath caught. The vampire sighed, and when he spoke, Owen heard the smile on his face.

“Oh, sweet one…”

Something kissed his virgin hole. Owen froze, a shiver of fear, a shiver of need, a shiver of understanding flooding his exhausted body.

“Don’t you remember?”

Locke’s lips brushed against his ear, smiling as he teased Owen’s cunt with the tip of his cock.

“You said that last time.”

[crazyoffher]

part two 🥰…soon?

part two fs! soon… um, we’ll see!

[gingeredmink]

Kinda obsessed with the cover of Moments Elsewhere by Johnny Booth. It's so chaotic and surreal but somehow feels chill? Really fits the album well too. phenomenal album btw, atmosphere is something else and singing/instruments are stellar. Collapse In The Key Of Fireworks is such a good song name too

Usually photo covers don't hit me the same as drawn ones but this one's an exception. Think the surreal aspect helps since the cover of Beartooth's Disgusting is the same

[bombermanbrosintergalactic]

Black Bomber

BACKGROUND: Black Bomber is the second Bomberman ever built, but when he was activated, a then-unknown virus called G GANZU had superceded his programming and caused him to go berserk. First, he kidnapped Dr. Mitsumori's granddaughter, Lisa just to cover his escape. After Lisa was saved and he had managed to abscond from Planet Bomber, he stole several key parts of the Pan-Galactic Federation's mother computers to begin building his own. When he was defeated a second time by White Bomber and the space station he had taken over was beginning to collapse, Black's true personality finally shone through, and he went back to get his programming fixed. When Mitsumori and Lisa disappeared, Black joined his brother in searching for them until they were both taken in by Professor Ein. Nowadays, he's something of an explosion artist, using the Bomberman Bros agency as an excuse to show off his pyrotechnic prowess.

PERSONALITY: Black is much more arrogant and stuck-up than his brother. He rarely listens to others, preferring to do things in his own way, even at the expense of his team. Because of this, he and White have a bit of a rivalry; not so much to put the team in danger of splitting apart, but they do often butt heads. Still, despite his ego, he does care for his siblings, and the safety of the galaxy. When you need someone to save the universe, and do it with dramatic flair and panache, you can always count on Black Bomber.

HEIGHT: 4'0 / 122cm

LIKE: Fireworks

DISLIKE: Boredom

VC: Michael Kovach (Rocky Rickaby)

[misscatholmes]

365 Days of Music || 2024 || Johnny Booth - Collapse in the Key of Fireworks || 11 April 2024

[demolitionscontractor]

Demolition Contractors in the UK: Unveiling the Masters of Deconstruction

Are you envisioning a grand renovation project or planning to clear the slate for a new construction venture in the UK? Well, you're going to need the unsung heroes of the construction world – demolition contractors. In this article, we'll delve into the fascinating world of demolition in the United Kingdom, exploring the key players, their methodologies, and why you should care about these masterminds of destruction.

The Symphony of Demolition: Beyond the Wrecking Ball

Before we dive into the nitty-gritty of the UK's Eco-Friendly Demolition Methods, let's dismiss the notion that demolition is merely about swinging a wrecking ball with wild abandon. In reality, it's an intricate symphony, an orchestrated ballet of machines and skilled professionals. Demolition contractors are the conductors, ensuring that every move is precise and harmonious.

Why Demolition Matters

City Evolution: Just as a phoenix rises from the ashes, cities evolve through demolition. Old structures make way for modern marvels, transforming the urban landscape.

Safety First: Outdated buildings pose risks. Demolition ensures the removal of hazardous structures, creating safer environments for communities.

Environmental Consciousness: Demolition contractors are not wrecking ball enthusiasts; they're environmental custodians. Modern techniques prioritize recycling and responsible waste management.

Who Are These Demolition Maestros?

Picture this – a squad of experts armed with cutting-edge machinery, wearing hard hats like modern-day gladiators stepping into the arena. These are the demolition contractors, the silent architects of change.

Qualifications and Accreditation

CITB Accreditation: Reputable contractors carry the stamp of approval from the Construction Industry Training Board (CITB), ensuring they adhere to industry standards.

Environmental Credentials: The best in the business consider the environmental impact. Seek contractors with certifications like ISO 14001, showcasing their commitment to eco-friendly practices.

The Demolition Arsenal: Tools of the Trade

Now, let's talk toys – the impressive arsenal that demolition contractors employ to turn buildings into rubble with surgical precision.

High Reach Excavators

Imagine a mechanical giant with a telescopic arm – the high reach excavator. It's the samurai sword of the demolition world, reaching unparalleled heights to dismantle structures floor by floor.

Implosion Techniques

Demolition isn't always a slow burn. Sometimes, it's a controlled explosion, a calculated burst of energy akin to fireworks on demolition night. It's about collapsing structures inward like a house of cards, a controlled chaos.

The Art of Selective Demolition: Preserving the Past

Not all demolitions are about wiping the slate clean. In the UK, where history breathes through ancient structures, demolition often involves selective dismantling. It's like delicate surgery, removing the unhealthy parts while preserving the essence of the structure.

Ever seen a skilled surgeon at work? Demolition contractors can be considered the surgeons of construction – precise, focused, and committed to preserving the patient.

Choosing the Right Maestro for Your Symphony

Alright, so you're sold on the necessity of a demolition contractor, but how do you pick the right one? It's not like shopping for groceries; this is a decision that could make or break your project.

Key Considerations When Choosing a Demolition Contractor

Experience Matters

Industry Tenure: Seek contractors with battle scars – those who've weathered the storms of countless demolitions. Experience is the crucible that forges mastery.

Project Portfolio: Look at their portfolio like a gallery of past victories. The diversity of projects showcases their adaptability and expertise.

Safety First, Always

Safety Protocols: In the world of demolition, safety is non-negotiable. Ensure your chosen contractor follows stringent safety protocols, safeguarding both workers and bystanders.

Insurance Coverage: Accidents happen. A reputable contractor carries comprehensive insurance, providing you with peace of mind.

Demolition 2.0: The Sustainable Approach

In an era where climate change is at the forefront, responsible demolition practices matter. The days of reckless destruction are giving way to environmentally conscious methodologies.

Recycling and Reuse

Concrete Jungle to Green Oasis: Demolished concrete isn't just waste; it's a resource. Many contractors recycle concrete, turning it into aggregate for new construction projects.

Salvaging Materials: It's not about destruction; it's about deconstruction. Salvaging materials for reuse minimizes the ecological footprint, transforming waste into opportunity.

The Demolition Landscape in the UK: A Mosaic of Expertise

The UK's demolition scene is a mosaic of companies, each contributing a unique brushstroke to the canvas of construction evolution. Let's explore the diverse players in this dynamic field.

National Giants

Keltbray: Think of them as the giants of the demolition world, with a national presence that echoes through the urban jungle.

Erith Group: With a history dating back to the 1960s, Erith Group is a stalwart in the demolition realm, known for handling complex projects with finesse.

Regional Artisans

McGee Group: If national giants are the symphony conductors, regional artisans like McGee Group are the soloists, adding a local touch to every note.

Coleman & Company: Birmingham-based Coleman & Company combines heritage with innovation, embodying the spirit of the city they call home.

Demolition: More Than Meets the Eye

So, why should you care about demolition contractors in the UK, especially if you're on the other side of the Atlantic?

Imagine building a ship in the vastness of the ocean – that's your construction project. Now, think of demolition contractors as the lighthouses guiding your ship through the storm. Their expertise, precision, and commitment to safety ensure your journey is smooth, navigating the turbulent seas of deconstruction with finesse.

Conclusion: The Demolition Symphony Continues

In wrapping up this exploration of the UK's demolition landscape, it's essential to appreciate the artistry and expertise embedded in every demolition project. These contractors are not just demolishing structures; they're crafting a symphony of change, sculpting the urban landscape into something new, something better.

So, the next time you witness a building crumble or a structure gracefully bow out to make way for progress, remember the unsung heroes orchestrating the demolition symphony – the demolition contractors of the United Kingdom. They are the architects of evolution, shaping the cities of tomorrow through the controlled chaos of today.

[puppmax]

Above it All

The first day of the apocalypse was unremarkable. It was one of those days where you expect a clear sky, you wouldn't think of your email, you didn't care to double check that your doors were locked. It was simply mundane. Safe. Secure.

Then the world's heart began to burn. It came without fanfare or warning. Like casually flipping on the light switch when you enter your home. Most died immediately, those were the lucky ones. Corpses burst into flames like fireworks dotting the sky on the fourth of July, planes fell from the sky, doctors burned alongside patients, cars careened off the roads, political rivals reveled in their victories. The world nearly ended that day.

The others envied them. How could we not? Why must we live with a burning, thumping heart? With adrenaline cycling through our veins every day and night? With our passions unmet and our anger unfounded? With so much pain inside of us?

The disease took hold in many different ways, but a few common symptoms stood out. There were those that were so overcome with love and affection that they went mad with jealousy and remorse when their partners could not match their fervor. These few would eventually give in to the most common symptom, rage. Those enraged enacted a constant torrent of violence upon the world. They searched constantly for a target deserving of their anger. Unfortunately for the world, those that bore this undying hatred tended to be the ones with the most power. They were the ones with nuclear launch codes. Then there were the passionates, these individuals had nothing but art on their mind. They worked day and night on their creations, writing until their mind was numb, painting until their hands bled, making music until they became deaf. All chasing a perfection that didn't exist. Forever dissatisfied with their works.

One day a promise fell from the sky in the form of hundreds, maybe even thousands of flyers. Each was simple, stating that there was a cure for the disease and that it sat atop one specific tower. The tower was not spectacular in any way, just an ordinary skyscraper, perhaps once it was an office building. Like a pack of rabid dogs frothing at the mouth, humanity flocked to the tower.

People, if you could still call them that, clawed, pummeled, and bit each other to get closer to the tower. The hordes tripped over themselves in a frantic desperation. Once there, they scrambled to the top. Some used the elevators until they collapsed and many more died attempting to climb the snapped cords left behind. The stairwells were promising until they were consumed by the very flame that urged the frenzy upon them. People began to scale the sides of the building. Those that climbed quickly fell to the earth and became lifeless stairs for others to clamber upon to get one step closer to the top.

I stood at the top of the tower. I hadn't gotten there using unnatural skill or cunning or even violence, I had simply been lucky. I was one of the first to find the tower and those that preceded me killed each other or were otherwise preoccupied with killing each other while I climbed to the top.

From there I stood with the cure in my hand, looking down at the remains of humanity mindlessly assaulting one another for a prize that had already been claimed. I watched the crowds spill over each other like the rushing waves of the ocean. Those that combusted were merely the reflection of the sun skipping across the water's surface.

I looked at the key in my hand, the cure. I looked closely at humanity. I contemplated the nature of the locks that chained our hearts, that burned them so thoroughly that there was nothing left. I wondered what would happen if I unlocked just one. What would become of man? Would we lose all that had driven us, leaving only cold husks in our place? Or would we finally discover the true meaning of passion, love, or hate?

[freetheunderscores]

Beautiful things

“Beautiful things”, my English teacher says, a man with his mouth wrapped around a prayer, a man whispering in his own ear, “Do not ask for attention.” He says, reverent, with the air of a man who has never been in love, with the air of a man, who has never stood beneath a sky full of fireworks, never danced in the thunder with a laughing child, or kneeled on his kitchen floor before a dog in a sunbeam.

“I have a story,” she says, rolling across the bed “to tell you, but you must listen to me, or I’ll never have the courage to say it.” She smiles then, laughing when I abruptly stop chewing my toast, the way she only does when somebody is looking at her.

“There is a man living in my house,” I confess, a naked child before the alter, “and I do not think I know who he is.” The shadow in the corner remains silent as I stare at him. “My whole life,” I cry as I burn, “I have done nothing, but beg for his attention.” There is a body at my feet, laying prostate, but I am the only one who can see it. “But I fear he does not even know my name.”

“I am lonely,” someone beside me in the empty room hacks out, even as I am chocking on my own vomit, even as the hard edge of a porcelain tile is digging into my hip, “tell me I am lying when I say I am okay, call me out on my bullshit as I gag on it’” the voice continues when I do not reply, it is an agony in my lungs, and fog in my head, and I do not speak into infinity when I realize there is no one to hear me.

“Sometimes I think,” Phillip responds with his back turned, his knuckles white around the piping bag, “You three are all too scared of making an ugly cake.” He turns around, hot pink icing on his nose, and a gaze that clearly says, “tadaaa!” Presenting me, the ugliest mess of color, that promptly completely collapses in on itself and I throw my head back and laugh and laugh and laugh, so hard I am crying, so loud his grandfather sticks his head through the door to ask us what is happening.

“Pain,” Oliver whispers, this boy who breathes and speaks with a man’s tongue in his mouth, and his own blood staining his teeth, “like all things beautiful, comes to you quietly.” And he looks at me over a cigarette, eyes like molten honey, like he knows pain in all its quiet corners, all its lonely tears, like he knows pains like he knows air. Like he fears he might never truly have seen anything beautiful at all.

“You cannot expect,” she comments from the foot of the bed, orange juice mist reflecting in the setting sun, creating a halo around her head, “people to hear you, if you do not dare to speak,” when I do not reply, she tilts her head, like a dog, “then again, I suppose all thing that hurt must be shouted,” she smiles sadly, looking toward the balcony where Oliver is drinking his tea, “or never spoken at all.”

“Tell me!” She screams, sobs, like claws in her throat and she is chocking on it, she is drowning and there is crusted blood beneath her fingernails, “please, please, I love you, tell me, so I can help you,” she grabs my neck and my wrists, runs her fingers through my hair as she kisses me with snot in her mouth, “look at me, look at me, baby,” and there are tears in my eyes, I am trying not to stare where she presses her fingers into my bruises, the door does not slam as I leave.

“I did not scream as I bled!” I scream, split on a knife's edge of blood and tears and desperation. “But you would have me crawling before your feet, begging and crying your name, for you to notice my pain!” The void does not answer, but it shines back into me the muteness of a nine-year-old voice, and suddenly I am small and silent and in pain and there is blood on my Converse and a key in my hand.

On the other end of the line her mother’s breath stutters, quick stacca-ccatto, the beat of my own pulse in my ear. “I am sorry,” she whispers, as if her whispering it makes it true, and the phone does not beep when she hangs up, there are no chilling screams breaking through the night, as my world crashes around me.

“You do not know breath as it comes to you,” I am crawling along train tracks in the darkness, and it is all I can do to hide myself, as the world goes completely quiet, “and yet you have spoken words you have not heard, only felt upon your body” and it is not beautiful, the scar tissue on the back of my thigh, the cold tiles beneath my knees, the tears in a dead girls eyelashes, I am not asking for anything, there is all here in my shattered grieving attention, because the only thing I have ever known to come sneaking up on you silently is greif.

-G.E