#cruising through the queue

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request headcanons of the 7 brothers of obey me finding their s/o asleep in their bedroom, waiting for them?

Obey me Boys + who's that sleeping in my bed?

Lucifer

Lucifer sighed as he turned down the final hall of their home. Why did the House of Lamentation have to have so many hallways?

He had been in a very long meeting with Lord Diavolo. Discussing current events in the Devildom, the school, and of course the exchange program. His prince was always interested in how the selected were doing. And although Lucifer didn’t really care how the angels or Solomon were doing, he could report that [Y/N] was doing very well.

Reaching his room, he opened the door and shrugged off his cloak. Feeling a metaphorical weight come off, along with the real one, as it slumped to the floor.

He was on his way to change and take a shower when he noticed someone on his bed. It was [Y/N]. Of course it was. No one else would dare enter his room if he wasn’t there. They must have come in and waited to surprise him, but he had arrived too late.

A soft smile, a mix of heart warming and sad, came to his face as he looked at them. He then came over and pet their hair. “It’s good to see you too, my love. I’ll be right back.”

[Y/N] didn’t wake up as he spoke, but did move a little in some sort of unconscious acknowledgement. He then continued on with the task of showering and changing. Maybe he was working a little too hard afterall.

Mammon

“Ouch!” Mammon cursed as he bounced off one of the walls.

Another successful night of debauchery for the scummiest brother. Gambling, drinking, cruising hot demons at the club, more drinking. He’d finally reached his fill (or more to the point: puked) and decided to go home. Because despite what his credit card statements said he could not, in fact, live in the club.

He finally made it into his room. Immediately starting to strip out of his clothes. Leaving a trail from the door to his bed. He got down to his shorts just as he was about to swan dive in, when he noticed [Y/N] there. He was surprised, then trying to think of why they were there. His alcohol soaked brain tried to think of something, but the only thing he could think of was that they had waited for him.

Suddenly his stomach felt heavy; and not just from the impending nausea. [Y/N] had been waiting for him. For what, he didn’t know, and it really didn’t matter. They had waited for him. And he had been out drinking and gambling with a bunch of losers, who didn’t even care enough to hold up his head when he got sick.

Mammon suddenly felt like actually the scummiest brother, then turned to head towards the couch. Besides the fact that he stunk, which didn’t matter to him but might to [Y/N], he didn’t feel he deserved to sleep next to them and slept on the couch.

He woke up the next morning to [Y/N] petting his head and asking if he was alright. He then decided he wasn’t going to the club anymore. He didn’t need it.

Levi

“I got it! I got it! I got it! I got it!” Levi cheerfully chanted as he ran up the stairs and towards his room.

He had been at the midnight release of his new game, Paradox Spheres. A muti-level, muti-dimension, multi-timeline RPG game where the main character travels through rips in time & space to save the universe. He had to have it.

Levi had been camping out since lunch, like any good otaku, to get a good spot for the release. His hours of waiting, then hours of waiting in the queue up, finally paying off when he got one! Number 134 was always a lucky number for him.

“[Y/N]! I got it! I got it!” The demon exclaimed as he burst through the door. Holding his new game up like a trophy.

His enthusiasm, however, was not matched as he found [Y/N] asleep on his bed. The real one, not his bathtub.

Levi moved to check his watch and see how late it was. He’d gotten the game, but at what cost? [Y/N] was understandably out just waiting for him to come back. Not here to revel in the joy with him.

The demon sighed and placed his game on his dresser. He didn’t want to play it anymore. Without [Y/N] it wasn’t fun anymore.

He instead booted up one of his older games to play that. He wasn’t tired. Being a seasoned otaku, and running on game grab adrenaline, this time of night was nothing to him. He would just have to wait until [Y/N] woke up to start his new game.

Satan

The sound of pages turning filled the room as Satan furiously read page after page.

He had planned to go to bed a while ago, telling [Y/N] he would be there in a minute, but just after that he had reached a very interesting part in his book and couldn’t stop. Satan had to see how it ended otherwise he would be plague with regret and anxiety on what could happen all night.

Finally, he reached the end with a satisfying conclusion. Closed the book. Then leaned back with a contented sigh. If only for a moment.

“Shit.” He cursed as he realized how late it was and rushed to his room.

It was too late though. [Y/N] was already asleep. Clearly reading on their own to try and stay away before sleep took them. Satan felt bad. He had promised he would be up soon and broke it. Leaving them alone and waiting for him all evening.

Carefully coming over to the bed, Satan picked up their book and placed a crisp, new bookmark in their place before he moved them over a little and slide in beside them. “I’m sorry dearest.” He apologized before kissing their forehead. Surely they would understand it was a good book though.

Asmo

“Annnnd…done!” Asmo let out a little giggle as he finished his skin care regiment for the night and bounced off to bed. “Ok [Y/N]~! I’m ready to snuggle up and….” The demon’s cheerfulness waned when they saw that [Y/N] was a sleep on the bed. Looking like an angel he would know.

Asmo pouted seeing them asleep. He thought they would wait up for him, so they could gab and do…other stuff. His skin care regiment was only 21 steps. Surely they could wait up for him to be done with that!?

Being petty, Asmo walked over to the other side of the bed and flopped down. Intentionally being forceful and loud as possible with his tuck in process to hopefully wake them. They did not. He pouted again and rolled over to get some sleep. Good thing he used his advanced anti-wrinkle cream on his mouth & brow tonight.

Beelzebub

Beel hit his stopwatch as he came back to the front gate and gave a little cheer. A new personal best.

He hadn’t been able to sleep, or felt like he was going to be able to get to sleep, while he and [Y/N] were getting ready for bed. So, he decided to go for a run. [Y/N] told him that was ok, and they would wait up for him, but he told them it was ok if they didn’t.

Making his way upstairs, two at a time, Beel came into the room quietly and sure enough, [Y/N] was asleep. He didn’t feel bad that they hadn’t stayed up. He wasn’t sure how long he was going to run for, when he would be back, and he knew that they had been sleepy when he left. It was his problem he couldn’t sleep, not theirs.

Beel came over and kissed the top of their head before he went to get some new pajamas to change into. He was obviously sweaty now, so he needed a shower.

When he got back he curled up with [Y/N] and immediately went to sleep. Finally tired, and contented to be with [Y/N].

Belphie

He’d woken up from one of his naps in the middle of studying to find [Y/N], still working, before he got up and announced, “I need some water.” His mouth was very dry.

Belphie heard their response, which sounded tired if he was paying attention, before he went downstairs to get said water. By the time he came back, all the way up in the attic, [Y/N] had fallen asleep. Their pen still in their hand.

The demon paused and observed the situation for a moment. This was an odd experience for him. Usually, people walked in on him asleep. Not the other way around.

Belphie smiled at being on the other side for once and crawled into bed. “[Y/N], move over.” He urged. Gently pushing them to make space, but also put them in the position he wanted to lay down. He then curled up with [Y/N], smelling their hair, and immediately fell asleep like usual. This was a very nice surprise.

[thelastofhyde]

i. sea-day 1.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. as the ship sets sail, you search for help. at the bar, you encounter a familiar stranger. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, no apocalypse au, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, unspecified age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much )<3 chapter warnings. alcohol, mentions of class/wealth themes, implications that the reader has underlining mental health issues, convenient plot-devices that would only ever happen in a rom-com bc this is fun silly fiction baby!, joel suffers from acute insuferable-bastarditis :( word count. 3.7k hyde’s input. let's all hold hands and agree to ignore the fact both parts so far have opened on the reader panicking in a bathroom, okay? maybe she's a stressed girlie with a flare of ibs, you don't know her life. feeling a little insecure abt this chapter and lowkey don't wanna post it, but i promise the actual fun begins in chapter two, where we finally get to see tourguide!joel in action. previous chapter - next chapter - series masterlist

“What time did you say you boarded?”

Your mother’s voice travels from where your phone lays, abandoned upon the bed, all the way into the decadent bathroom.

Eyes moving a mile-a-minute, as if you're rushing to take in every jaw-dropping detail.

There’s the sink area, a double-vanity that’s centred with an array of lotions and soaps, and overlooked by an overwhelmingly large mirror that makes up half the wall, lined with a golden hue of light. A shower, with glass curtains and enough room to fit your whole wardrobe in it. Then, there’s the bathtub you’re already envisioning yourself sinking into. Marble lines the floor, and the outer wall is made up of three window panes, gifting you a view of pure blue, the sea and the sky melting into one another across the horizon. It’s making you nauseous, this looming feeling of imposter syndrome the interior brings you.

You don’t belong in this, a fancy room designed for fancy people.

An iteration of your name, back on the bed, drags you away from your own troubled reflection.

“Seven,” you call out, inching your way back into the main area of the suite.

“In the morning?!” She’s just as shocked as the first time you answered her question, fifteen minutes ago, and the second time, seven minutes ago.

Humming in approval, you give a sweeping gaze over the plush carpeted floor, the wall-mounted television displaying the cruiseship’s logo, the king sized bed that’s calling out for you, seducing you with the promise of a mattress that won’t be stabbing at your back the whole night. As if on queue, there’s a sharp pain in your lower back, a lasting reminder of the hostel you’d found little rest in last night.

“Well, there goes my jealousy!” Lacklustre replies aside, your mother continues her ramblings, used to filling the void of conversation with the sound of her own voice. “Can you imagine? Me, awake at that time? You’ll be glad you’re travelling on your own, honey.” Usually, you admire the positive spin your mother tries to bring to life. Your being alone upon this trip, however, is not a topic you want her to address, much less find the good in. “I mean, I don’t think even your sister-”

“I think they’ve made a mistake,” you cut her off, eyes zeroing in on a pair of glass doors. Snatching the phone off the bed, you turn off the speaker and press it to your ear just in time to hear your mother’s confusion, questioning what you mean. Focus on those doors, you slowly make your way over to them. “The room,” you clarify, fingers curling around a handle to unlock it, prying the doors apart. A wave of salty fresh air, hits your face as you step out onto wooden decking. You find yourself upon a balcony, facing off into the deep blue distance. To your left, there’s two sun loungers and a glass coffee table, mounted by two champagne flutes and a simple welcome note sprawled out in black ink. “I think they’ve given me the wrong room.”

It’s the next best thing to a reasonable explanation you can find, no chance on earth you were ever listed to stay in such a suite. No, a room like this is meant for a wealthy businessman and his uptight wife to overindulge themselves on gold-trimmed furniture and a fur-lined bed for a week, in which they do everything but address the lipstick stains that keep lining his collars or the chauffeur who keeps himself parked between her legs.

You can already picture such a pair now, storming over to some poor, unsuspecting deckhand, red on both their faces as they begin to berate him over the fact they're in a cabin the size of a cupboard, with a communal restroom and a bunk barely fit for one person.

“Why? Is something wrong with it?”

“No,” it’s an answer you reluctantly give, more than aware of how ridiculous it sounds. “It’s… nice. Perfect. Too perfect, like I should feel lucky to stand in it, nevermind live in it for the next few days.”

It’s with caution that you glance over each shoulder, taking note of the seemingly never ending row of balconies that line the ship, a sizable gap between each one. Guts twisting a little at the thought, you peer ever so slightly over the right edge and are greeted with views of more balconies. Beyond that, there’s only blue. Waves crash into the ship’s side and bounce off in white foam. You renew the distance between you and the ledge, unable to stop yourself from glancing both ways, confirming there’s no neighbouring balcony that finds itself occupied.

Then bend down, clasping a hold of one of the champagne flutes.

You take your first sip like it’s a crime, wearily, eyes darting back and forth, waiting to be caught in the act and dragged out of this room, down to whatever poverty loft you really belonged in.

Or, maybe they’d just toss you overboard, rid themselves of any possible hassle. People go missing all the time at sea, right? People go missing all the time on cruises. You’d just be another blip in the system, an error that can be overwritten with a simple-

“I can hear you thinking through the phone, sweetie.”

You take another sip, and let a weight fall off your chest, dragging in a breath large enough to make up for the moment or two you’d stopped breathing. “I’m just… tired. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly fine. No big freak out on it’s way, again.”

“Honey, you know how me and your father feel about you calling it a freak-” she must be able to hear your eye roll through the phone, cutting herself off before she can keep going. “Just, try and enjoy this trip, okay? Maybe you’re in that room because where you’re supposed to be. Maybe you’ve been awarded some free upgrade, like that time your dad got bumped up to business class!”

Bless her for trying, though she may fail. It’s enough to bring a smile to your face.

You swallow back what remains of the bubbled liquid.

Through the phone, you hear a door burst open and the entrance of a loud, excited little voice. Something akin to granny rings down the line, and it’s enough to have you frozen where you stand, bones rigid and unable to move. Something seems to smack into the microphone, a rustling of fabric as you envision your mother making room for little limbs on her lap.

“Hey, my little munchkin! How was soccer?” You can’t make out what the voice tells your mother, heart too busy beating louder than any drum, inching its way further up your wind pipe and threatening to choke you on it. “Guess who I’ve got on the phone?” The tiny voice squeals out your name, bile joins your heart inside your throat. Maybe this is how you find out you get seasick. “Do you wanna say hi-”

“Mum, I, uh… I’ve gotta go,” you’re eyeing the remaining glass on the table, the rising bubbles enticing you to hurry up, drink it before it goes flat. “I should go find the help desk, get this room thing sorted out.”

“Just a second, let E-”

“I’ll call you later,” you hang up.

You’re left with just the raging waters below, a caw from seagulls up above. Eyes slipping shut, you pull in a deep breath and push out a silent plea for that sting in your eyes to be from the salt in the air, not a set of unfallen tears. A few more breaths and it feels safe enough to open your eyes again, glancing down as your phone vibrates in your hand.

Two texts, each from your mother.

09:38 - She says hi, and that you better bring her back a cool souvenir. 09:39 - Doctor Anderson says she’s showing improvement and they’re finally starting to get somewhere. Just thought you’d want to know x

Giving in to temptation, you snatch up the champagne glass, bring it up to your lips and- pause, interrupted as you make eye contact with a man one balcony over. He’s older, a well-rounded gut fit into a light blue shirt and tailored trousers. With a rolex on one wrist and set of bright white teeth smiling right at you, there’s no mistaking he belongs in one of these suites.

You wonder what he thinks of you and your frayed sweater, no jewellery on your wrists.

He nods, politely, and raises his own glass towards you. A silent cheer, a recognition that you’re both here, living life in luxury. You meet it, raise your own glass, and try to smile as brightly as him.

Then knock back your second drink and saunter back inside.

“Miss, there’s been no mistake.”

In spite of it being an excuse to hang up, you stay true to your word.

Come early noon, you’re standing within the help centre. Against all odds, accidental nap and wild goose chase upon the ship deck be damned, you’ve found what you were looking for.

Or, well, an older woman with sweet smile on her face and a squinted nametag pinned to her chest found it, pointed you in the direction of the ship’s atrium. What you’re looking for is the Purser’s Office, dear.

“See? The booking under your name lists you as part of our excelsior guests.” The desk clerk turns her screen towards you, acrylic nail pointing at your booking information. Sure enough, in bold letters, your full name accompanied by a golden badge at the end. Excelsior Status, checkmarked and approved by the cruise. “This grants you access to one of our excelsior suites and all private excelsior lounges.”

In all honesty, you’re tuning her out a little.

You don’t mean to, sincerely, but you’re just so caught up in reading both your name and excelsior suite, over and over and over again, that you forget to really listen, mind running just a few seconds behind the speed of her mouth.

When you finally process what she’s saying, all you can manage is dumbstruck look on your face and a muttered, “oh.”

Paper rustles as your hands wring, the pristine pamphlet you’d been flicking through to fill the time as she’d searched up your details now rumpled, thin white cracks of paper peaking out beneath printed ink.

“I also see that you’ve added the excelsior tour package onto your booking, though I’m willing to change that for you, if you’d prefer signing onto one of our team tours instead.” Confused by her offer, you glance down and read over the pamphlet’s title- All-Aboard Tour Trips, Fun for all the Family! “Would you like to hear what your current tour package grants you?”

“If,” as if you’ve not embarrassed yourself enough with your cluelessness towards your own booking, your voice cracks under the pressure of being used, more squeak than actual intelligible words. You swallow back the lump of shame in your throat and push through. “If you don’t mind, please. This, uh- The ticket, it was a gift, so I’m just a little out of the loop of what’s been booked for me.”

“Not at all! So, the excelsior tour package gives you access to your own private tour-guide, for all seven stops we’ll be making on this cruise!” Already, you feel a little queasy at the thought. A private tour, no one but you and some stranger. It’s not exactly your dream scenario. “Your guide’s purpose won’t just be to walk you through all the memorable sites, but to curate your visits to your liking, helping you explore foreign land with a familiar taste. Where the tours in team are restricted to allocated timeslots and a set route of sites to visit, having a private tour-guide grants you the privilege of exploring where you want, for however long you want. The private tour also provides more time for you at each stop, as your timeslot to board will be the latest available, making your whole trip less of rush and more of a thrill.”

The clerk, without a doubt in your mind, is quoting a script she’s already said hundreds of time- word for word, beat for beat. Yet her voice is animated, her smile is kind, and you admire her a little for getting through it without a single laugh at the corniness of it all.

You, however, fail the challenge, glancing off to your side and biting back a giggle that you hope she takes no note of. The last thing you want is for her to mistake the laughter as directed towards her.

Weighing your options, you nervously ask, “but, you could change me over to a team tour?”

She says of course, with a smile that doesn’t waver, and the tension in your shoulders lessens, the ice cold feeling of inconveniencing her melting away at her warmth.

Her nails clack as she types away on her keyboard. A double click and then, a hiss. She’s no longer smiling, a grimace taking it place. “I’m sorry, but all of our tours are fully booked.”

“Oh. That’s- It’s okay.”

“But, I could add you to the waiting list! If there’s any cancelations for any of the stops, you’ll be the first to know. This won’t affect your excelsior tour package, so either way you’ll have some kind of guide.”

With nothing to lose, you figure why not and let her throw your name in the metaphorical hat.

Mid-typing away, eyes glued to her screen, you watch as her brows shoot up. “Oh, while I’ve got you here, there’s one more thing. With our excelsior guides, it’s customary that they meet with you on the first night, to touch base on simple things, like your interests or any goals for this trip, and to plan out tomorrow’s official first stop, which is in Santorini. Your guide has left you this, detailing where you’ve to meet him.”

With renewed hesitation, you grab at the folded note she slips over the desk. It’s small, with half an inked fingerprint burnt into the top left corner.

As you thank her for her help and bid her goodbye, she interrupts you before you can turn to leave.

“I know private tours can seem daunting but, you’re in good hands. Joel will take care of you, he’s our top-rated guide.”

The note remains folded as long as you can control your curiosity, which appears to be only until you’re back on the deck, sun shinning directly in your eyes and forcing you to squint as you read over faded blank ink.

10 pm, the Tipsy Byson bar.

Below that, in a bolder blue ink, wear something green for me to find you, JM.

You’re awfully overdressed, and painfully aware of it.

The Tipsy Byson is nestled between the arcade and the casino, a balance of childlike shrieks harmonizing over outraged yelling of men cheated out of their hands. Brown wood lines just about every inch of the place, from the walls, to the tables, to the bar. There’s an outrageously large Stars and Stripes flag hanging on the wall, and memorabilia of all things Texas Roadhouse. The place is themed, down to the cowboy hat that sits atop the bartender’s head, and clearly everyone is aware of this, decked out in scruffed up boots and worn out denim vests.

Everyone but you, dark green silk clinging to you in the shape of a laced-back midi dress, dainty black heels tucked into the footrest of the barstool you occupy.

It’s the only green thing you brought and- wear something green for me to find you- you’d had no choice.

It was a quarter to ten when you got there, earlier than you were requested, but a gentle buzz of something shooting through your nervous system left you impatient, unable to wander the ship’s halls any longer.

It was fine, you figured, gave you a chance to get a drink, cool your nerves a little. Sticking with the theme of green, you’d yelled over the line music for a midori sour, please, and even cracked a little smile at the cute bartender.

By twenty past ten, you’re still alone, no tour-guide in sight, and your glass is empty, a sole ice-cube all that remains. You order another glass, given him another smile, and return your eyes to the entryway as you sip back the taste of the dewy melon goodness.

The doors opened, your hopes rise and- a couple walks through the door, adorably dressed in matching jackets.

Another sip.

The doors open again, this time you watch as a few women walk in, party hats and bachelorette signs dripping off them.

Half your drink, gone again.

Two, three, four more times the door opens and you watch as strangers filter in and out, pretending you don’t notice the way some of their eyes linger on you, sticking out like a sore thumb.

It’s as you throw back the last sip of your cocktail, eyes catching the time- 22:36-, that you watch a grin overtake the bartender’s face.

The door shuts with a slam, buried beneath the layers of stomping feet across the dance floor and the twang of a country song, yet you hear it all the same, twisting in the stool.

A man stands by the entry, salt-and-peppered hair a little tousled and a scowl etched into his forehead. He moves like water, slipping through the cracks in the crowded bar with minimal effort. All the while, eyes seem to follow him, the occasional head turning in his direction. He spares no glances, to anyone.

Instead, he’s staring right at you.

And heading your way, frown and all.

There’s something in his face that feels familiar, and you swear that this is not the first time you’d stared into those eyes. Broad, scruffy facial hair, his irritation as some drunk girl slams into him so palpable, you almost taste it on your tongue.

You mumble something to the bartender, a request for another drink, a parched feeling stirring in your loins.

He’s inching closer, and closer, and closer- and, only as he’s a mere three bar stools away from you, do you realise who he is.

You’re in the way.

Signore Miller.

The rude man from the airport!

God, you can’t wait to see what this is about. He must recognise you, must feel the shame licking at his wounded ego, driving him to come over, apologise, beg for forgiveness to a stranger he unnecessarily berated.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” It’s not Signore Miller that speaks, nor is it you. It’s the bartender, arms crossing over his chest, smirk widening on his face. “Thought you said last season was your last!”

“You know me,” his eyes are still glued to you, an intense stare, even as he replies. There’s so little space between you now, you manage to notice the wrinkles in his flannel shirt. You choose to ignore the fact it’s green. “Ain’t no good at stayin’ away from the things I hate.”

“Wasn’t what you were saying at the staff party last year, Mr. Blubber-face. Took two whiskeys to get you crying ‘bout how you were gonna miss the cruising life.”

Another midori sour lands your way, yet you don’t even manage a single sip of it before he’s opening his mouth.

“Well look at you, all dressed up with nowhere to go,” his eyes still pierce into your own and, this time, it is you he’s talking to.

You’d have half the mind to throw your drink on him, if it weren’t for the fact you’re too busy taking a stabilizing gulp out of it, a sweetness to counter-attack his sour persona.

“Excuse me?!” You final sputter out, face burning too hot and pride too scorned to begin to feel even more out of place.

He seems unfazed by your outrage, turning away from you to acknowledge his friend behind the bar at last. “Do me a favour, Luke, don’t give her too much to drink.” Condescending tone perfectly intact, Signore Miller doubles down on your initial impression of him: an absolute asshole. “Last thing I need is to spend all day draggin’ around some prissy hungover diva.”

The man- Luke- scoffs back a laugh, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Quit teasin’ the poor girl, ‘fore she runs for the hills and ruins your five-star rating.”

An uncomfortable feeling creeps down your spine. It’s cold and alarming, and has your straightening your back, sitting a little tenser in your seat, realization rising in you like the dawn.

It can’t be.

He can’t be-

He’s stepping all in your space, face leaning down till his mouth is at the level of your ear. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even come close to it, yet there’s goosebumps littering your arms and hairs standing at the back of your neck.

Like touching a live wire, his proximity feels electric.

“Best be on that deck by 7 am, darlin’, or I’ll be dockin’ without ya.”

“Wait, you’re-”

“Joel, tourguide. At your service.” He’s pulled back, just to thrust his hand in your face. By the time you reach to shake it, he’s retracting it, that grating quirk in his lips moving higher up his cheek. “Oh, and do yourself a favour. Wear somethin’ a little more… practical. Santorini ain’t the place for dainty heels like those.”

You knock back the rest of your drink moments after he leaves, only to find Luke’s already placed a fourth glass at your side.

“Our little secret,” he faux-whispers, pressing a finger to his pursed lips. “Besides, you look like you could use it.”

Signore Miller.

Joel, tourguide.

Joel Miller.

He’s already making your trip unbearable, and it’s hardly begun.

+ extra hyde. sorry if that was a little boring it was a necessary part to get the ball moving, i promise chapter two gets right into it. again, updates to this fic happen every other friday! i'm bad at describing spaces, so if anyone is curious to know what reader's suite looks like, here are some reference pics:

taglist. @auteurdelabre

[nanamis-bigtie]

Round 4: It's Nice to Meet You

about, rules & navigation | previous round

You made a big step today - you're moving from dating app to an irl meeting! You planned a perfect outfit and packed all the necessities - and now you're on your way to the arranged spot. You simply can't wait to see how your chosen men will act around you when seeing you in person.

Remember you vote for a character you don't want to advance further! The character with the biggest number of votes will be eliminated.

Higuruma Hiromi

Meeting with a Tinder date in a place where lots of people can see you is a reasonable strategy but when you finally arrive at the small harbor, you start to worry you might actually miss your date amidst the crowd. You have his photos, a detailed description of his outfit for today and determination to climb a tree or something if needed to see him better—yet you worry it might not be enough. Not when you're running a little late and boarding has already started.

You keep stubbornly tiptoeing and straining your neck until the river of people pushes you closer to the cruise ship and forces you to accept your fate. Well, they won't let you in without a ticket anyway, so you may as well wait for him by the control point.

"Here!" A warm hand grabs your elbow and pulls you out of the stream, close to the barrier separating the pathway from the sea. "You're Y/N, right? I'm sorry, the crowd pushed me out of my spot."

He's shorter than you thought, on the rather average side if not shorter. Despite being a little overdressed for a vacation cruise and sweating in the full sun, he's beaming with a friendly smile, not bothered by the inconveniences. The same warm hand soon squeezes yours, firmly, with a little shake that has more in common with business meetings than with a date.

"I'm Hiromi. It's such a pleasure to finally see you in person."

As you exchange greetings and niceties, you join the queue and finally make your way to the deck. Much to your pleasant surprise, you're directed to the VIP section, with more comfortable seats, a separate bar and way less people around you two. He definitely didn't scrimp on his date plans.

"If you ever have enough of the noise and heat, we can move under the deck," he follows you to your chosen seat and takes one in front of you—close but keeping a respectful distance. "The VIP section is glazed. Ah, and there's another bar, too. Speaking of, would you like something to drink? Everything is on the ticket."

"You're well-versed," you point out once he's back with your drink of choice and a glass of orange juice for himself. "Not your first time here?"

"I like their cruises, I was on a few." Hiromi says with a blank face before he breaks into a smile again—and then into laughter. It might be a stress response, to resort to humor, but you like it on him. When he does so, he relaxes and his words come out more natural, finally shaking off the impression of a smooth but possibly not-so-honest talker. "And... Well, I won't lie, I had a date here already. In similar circumstances, even."

"How did it end?"

The answer is obvious and you're a little angry at yourself for slipping like this right at the beginning—but he takes it calmly, doesn't even try to hide his expression with glass when he takes a hearty sip, "I guess I didn't meet her expectations. But still had a good day. Both of us, I hope."

Nanami Kento

You decide to take the route right by the sea, barefoot on the wet strap of the sand, waves lazily licking your soles. Google maps lied a little about the distance towards the beach bar, but you don't mind—it's a very pleasant walk, with breathtaking views of the sun nearing the horizon and filling the sky and the sea with gold. You can barely tell the difference between them, even the sand under your feet blends into the whole scene, making you feel as if you were treading through the fields of glitter.

It's magical.

You haven't exchanged any guides regarding your meeting, but something tells you he won't be waiting inside. Being so drawn to the sea, he's bound to appear closer to your route—and indeed soon you recognize him in front of you, crouching by the sea and staring into the distance with peaceful expression. He's wearing long pants, folded a little under his knees and wet at the edges. At least his blue shirt has short sleeves, but it's barely unbuttoned under the stiff collar.

You don't want to interrupt his quiet moment with a sudden greeting, your steps slow down the more you approach as you unwittingly start to sneak. But he tells your presence with ease.

"I suppose you're the person I'm meeting tonight." He says as he gets up and straightens his back, his voice oh so deep yet, what you've already expected from him, dry and formal. "I'm Kento Nanami. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He wipes his hands dry with a handkerchief before he offers you one. The handshake is short, as if he was hesitant to touch you at this phase of the date. With a different person it would probably bother you but after the time you already spent together chatting it would weird you out far more if he suddenly acted less formal. You let him be; intuition whispers to you that trying to force him out of the shell will only irreversibly ruin the mood.

The bar—you've named it his favorite in your thoughts—is on the less busy side, small and cozy, and directed to the tourists who put pretty views and peace of mind over partying. You don't have to put shoes on to stay inside but you still choose one of the tables on the sand. There are more people around, but the music is calmer and melting just right with the hum of waves.

Kento compliments your choice, and you can pinpoint a shade of relief in his voice. He really wanted to stay on the beach but didn't want to go against your wishes, it seems.

After the waiter takes your orders—your date insists on paying and encourages you to order whatever you like—you finally have an opportunity to get a closer look at him. His face, neck and forearms are sprinkled with bland, sun-kissed freckles and his glasses left a little paler strip at the bridge of his nose. You expected his eyes to be blue but upon closer inspection you're not sure anymore what their color is.

"I got you something," he fishes a little bundle out of a pocket and offers it to you on open palm. "I— Hope this is not too forward? I haven't been on a Tinder date before. Please excuse me, if I'm doing something inappropriate."

Ryomen Sukuna

You've known he's huge from the very beginning. But you would have never expected he's THAT huge.

Your date towers over the crowd, the tallest of passing people reaching a little over his shoulders. He attracts attention without even meaning to; well, it would be hard for a man of such monstrous posture to blend in, especially with his pink-dyed hair and tattoos reaching as far as his face, but it's not his body that attracts most of the attention. Witnessing this charismatic, magnetic energy in real life has an even bigger impression on you than the glimpse of it you witnessed through Tinder.

You can't help but let it swallow you. You approach closer like a moth drawn by a light.

He's dressed simple—in jeans and white shirt—and it gives you a little confidence boost. You weren't sure if you had anything appropriate for an art gallery and felt your best choice still had you underdressed a little. Who could have known you would be invited to a photo exhibition? But if the originator of the whole adventure imposes a casual style, your outfit is more than fitting.

"Hi!" You announce your presence a few steps away from him. You tried to not get too close but you still have to strain your neck to look straight at his face.

Sukuna peels his eyes from his phone, puts it into the back pocket of his jeans, takes his sunglasses off and hangs them at the edge of his shirt, right at the casually open top button, "Y/N. Finally in person."

He takes a good look at you, from heads to toes. It's a fast flick of eyes, not lingering anywhere long enough to feel inappropriate, but you still can't shake the feeling of being scanned off. He must have been curious of you with the same intensity as you were about him...or so you hope. You're not entirely sure if his reactions are positive or not.

"I don't have a compliment that wouldn't be a shameless copy of what I already told you," he finally says with a smile. It's not a smile you would call pretty but it suits his features. It carries a hungry, almost dangerous, vibe to it—and it has you a little weak in the knees. "So, let me just say that the reality has greatly exceeded my expectations."

You want to return the favor with a compliment on your own but he doesn't let you, becoming you closer and herding you towards the door of the gallery.

"Unless you would prefer a lunch beforehand?" He asks, opening the door for you. There's some gallantry behind it but from his decisive moves and posture you guess it has less in common with being nice and more with a casual dominance. Sukuna is used to calling the shots, he's the leader of the pack, a man who doesn't hear a "no" often. Proposing you an alternative is a mere courtesy, not an option he really reckons with.

"Interaction with art works up an appetite." You decide to follow and see where it is going to lead you.

As you pass by him, he leans down and close, his face close to your ear now, "I promise you won't be bored with me."

Kusakabe Atsuya

You haven't visited the old part of the town yet, so you've been really looking forward to this meeting. Unfortunately, the weather had different plans for you and your little Tinder date. By the time you finally make it to the appointed spot—by a historic fountain on the western corner of the main plaza—the "concerning but not dangerous" clouds lingering over the horizon turn into a storm.

In panic and trying to find a safe spot between equally startled tourists, you struggle to send him an update. You just know he's one of those guys who would wait in the spot even if an apocalypse unrolled around. The last thing you want is to get him both wet and disappointed or worse. But you also can't stop and type in peace, unless you want to be run over or soaking wet yourself.

Finally, you manage to push past the crowd into an ice cream parlor and pounce at a free table for two. You send him your localization and pray he's not one of those middle aged guys who are technology-phobic.

He appears shortly after, wet and miserable. His shirt, undeniably elegant in its intended state, is almost transparent and clinging to every crevice of his hairy torso. Oh. That pool photo definitely wasn't photoshopped. From close and in motion he looks even more ripped.

Luckily, you, just in case, took a towel with you. You offer it to him and, reflexively, throw it on his head to do the drying yourself. He tenses under your hands but doesn't protest, eventually even leaning for it. You hear him exhale a little louder as you make your way through his hair and his shoulders tremble when you brush the towel at the back of his head.

But when you slide it down his neck, he gently takes it out of your hands and dabs the excess of water from his arms and torso on his own.

"I'm sorry, this wasn't supposed to go like that. Lemme at least—" Atsuya's face tenses in panic as he reaches for his wallet, soon to be replaced by an overwhelming relief at the sight of his money somehow surviving the deluge. "Lemme treat you for this inconvenience."

"Don't apologize, it's not your fault. Not more than mine, I could have checked the forecast too."

"I insist. Maybe at least a small coffee?"

After a few backs and forths you settle on something more than a coffee. After the show he gave you through the chat you haven't expected him to be quite smooth-tongued; in no time he backs you into a corner and keeps pressing until you agree to accept one of the more expensive positions from the menu to go with said coffee.

When your fancy ice cream desserts finally arrive and you reach for your spoons, you notice his hand trembles in a very characteristic way, one you would rather associate with an addict than a man hungry for a sweet treat.

He notices your curious stare but slips a hearty spoonful into his mouth before treating your curiosity, "I've quit smoking recently. When I need a cigarette, I go for sugar instead. Usually, I have lollipops on me but... I guess it doesn't suit dates, won't you agree?"

Ino Takuma

There aren't many people around, but the area is still noisy and buzzing. Apparently, the spot is popular with the local youth. At the first glance you're ready to bet there's not a single person older than mid-twenties within the range of your sight. Everyone is in swimsuits, predominately of the sports kind, and heading towards the cliffs. Some take a turn and make their way down, towards the wild beach nearby, some climb straight to the top.

You have a swimsuit on too, just hidden under the outfit you chose for the date. You stand out and it has you a little antsy, even if no one is staring. Maybe you have overdressed a little, but you really wanted to make a good impression on your companion.

Takuma, of course, is in swimming clothes only, too. He spots you from a distance, waves his greetings and comes running, beaming with an excited smile. He has longer hair than on photos from his profile; his selfies showed mostly his body, so you haven't really paid attention to anything above the neck level.

"It suits you," you let the thought slip aloud then point at the frivolous strands falling over his eyebrows.

"You think so?" He coils one on his finger. "They keep telling me I should finally get it cut. 'Cause I don't see what I'm doing. Even if I do."

"It would be a disservice."

"Then I'll keep it longer." He brushes the fringe out of his eyes, quite contrary to his statement about being able to see just fine. "For you."

You two join the group heading down to the sea. It's a lot of stairs to beat and you can't help but be a little anxious about climbing them back. It's hot and humid and, even if with your date's help, you'll definitely be spent after swimming. From what you've already assessed, there's quite a distance to make from the beach to the base of the cliffs.

Takuma notices your worried expression, "We don't have to swim right under the cliffs. To be honest... I don't think we can even. It could be dangerous."

"Usually it is safe!" He quickly adds, seeing the mixed feelings in your eyes. "But today we have cliff divers. We gotta stay at a distance."

Explains why some people head towards the top instead of the beach.

Chatting casually and savoring your stamina, you make it to the bottom of the stairs as the last ones from the group. Your date stays really close, and you have a feeling he's waiting for an opportunity for some casual physical contact, supporting you on a steeper stair, holding your hand or the like. You don't give it to him, curious if he's going to push his way unprompted, but he's patient, way more patient than you'd assume from his age and attitude.

"Have you ever tried it?" You point at the commotion in the distance and silhouette of a person jumping off the cliff.

"A few times, yeah." He protects his eyes from the sun with a hand, to see better. "But I prefer safer stuff. Don't want to get killed for an adrenaline kick. How would I then bathe in the sea with pretty people?"

Choso

Free ticket for a night-long concert is not a temptation you would be able to resist. Especially when it comes to this place. Since you were invited, you did a lot of research about this place and your excitement was only growing with each passing hour.

And when you found out there's going to be an unplanned change of the opening band—and that it's HIS band that's going to perform—you became simply ecstatic. You're going to have a rare chance of seeing this shy, rather insular man in his waters. You're insanely curious how is he going to behave on the stage, how is his voice going to sound from the speakers, how is he going to look in a scenic makeup and outfit.

He keeps apologizing through the whole day, though, for this sudden change of plans. You can't convince him that for you it's not an inconvenience or that you can go for another date if enjoying the concert from the audience together is what he really wants. He's stubborn in his panic and you start to worry he might actually call the whole deal off but eventually you get a dry "I hope you will like our performance" and you take it as his final decision.

You're welcomed and encouraged—and you're on your way to enjoy every single bit of this night.

The club is not particularly crowded but there's enough people to make for a decent audience. You order yourself a drink and settle on observing the scene from a safe distance. Now it's only him that matters to you. Dancing and partying and experiencing the concert to its fullest can wait.

Despite the different appearance you recognize him immediately. Visual kei style really suits him; it brings the best out of his naturally handsome face and adds him loads of confidence. You can't say you know him for real—you've chatted only on Tinder, after all—but he still feels like a completely different person when performing. His shyness and awkwardness is nowhere to be found, there's only his deep, velvet and full of expression voice and sultriness of his body and expressions. He doesn't move around much but he puts so much energy and passion into his presence that he somehow fills the scene, leaving the rest of the band behind himself.

You're so disappointed they played only two songs before they're called off and another band takes their place.

You send him a quick text, describing where you're sitting, and take a selfie with a barely touched drink in your hand. You were so lost in the performance that you forgot about it.

More or less in the middle of the new band's performance a man from security approaches you with an invitation to the backroom. You're almost shaking with excitement: the night just keeps getting better and better. Sneaking in like a groupie, about to see the lead voice of The Band in person!

From close, Choso looks tad tired and miserable—but it only adds to the charm. He's visibly nervous and does a little jump when he spots you at the door, then stutters when he's trying to greet and compliment you. Finally, he settles on just walking you to a more private area; you sit together on a fatigued sofa, bottles of cold soda in your hands.

"I'm sorry for the change of plans. I hope you had fun despite that?"

Geto Suguru

He's running late.

He warned you he had an unexpected event this morning and it threw the whole day for him upside down so you're not really angry - just a little bored when stuck alone in a cafe that's indeed perfect for audio sensation, providing you have a conversation partner to utilize that feature. On its own, the place is almost too silent, suiting more a library than a place to enjoy coffee and lunch. Majority of guests are busy with their laptops and books, the muffled hum of unvarying jazz music is interrupted only by the typical coffee bar commotion - and even that is less noisy than what you've seen around. As if the whole place was designed

You're not sure if you actually vibe with it - or quite contrary.

For the tenth time within the last twenty minutes, you check Tinder for updates. The last message from him came two hours ago, promising he will definitely make it, begging for your patience and promising to pay for everything you order today. You don't want to overuse his generosity, so you ordered yourself only a single coffee, from the bottom side of price range

The sound of the door opening should be a loud stimuli but in this weird place even this is not louder than a regular whisper. You don't pay it much more attention than simply noticing it happened, all of your focus plastered to the empty chat. Should you prompt him to hurry? He's not online though and as far as you're aware, he's driving, so he won't check anything until he's arrived anyway.

Maybe you will kill some time with checking other Tinder profiles... You had some new interested men, after all.

Out of sudden a big someone puts their big, warm hand over your eyes. It's not pressed tight to your face, but your vision is blocked by its palm and your senses full of the herbal scent of hand cream.

"Guess who?" Soft, elegant voice whispers right into your ear, so close you feel the warmth beaming from his breath. You heard it only a few times, modified by the speaker of your phone, but you have no problem pinpointing it to the right face.

"You scared me!" You don't intend to pretend otherwise. Before you connected the dots, your heart already started fluttering in your chest like a startled bird. Though, you're not sure whether the reason is solely fear - or the sudden, unexpected closeness too.

"I'm sorry." Suguru takes a seat in front of you, hangs his bag at the back of his chair. "For the prank and delay. I was stuck in traffic. What a horrible day."

He quickly studies the menu, then takes a look at your lonely glass, "Only a single coffee? I told you to spoil yourself. It's my treat."

You tease him, claiming you were afraid of being wimped out, but he doesn't follow the bait, answering as calmly and carelessly as possible without making the situation unintentionally tense. Together you decide on lunch, a new coffee for you and a green tea with honey for him.

"I chose this place for you to listen to my voice better, but I can't help but be selfish instead." Once back from the bar, Suguru leans in your direction, chin resting in his palm. "Your voice is mesmerizing. I'm glad I got to listen to it."

[gaslightgatekeepgirlbosscombat]

Group D, Round 1, Poll 1:

Propaganda under the cut

Morgana Pendragon

yes

Linda Monroe

Alright. So. Linda Monroe, President of the Hatchetfield Boating Society, mother of four beautiful blond boys, wife of Dr Gerald Monroe, daughter of Roman Murray. How does one begin to describe Linda Monroe? In Black Friday, she gaslights, gatekeeps and girlbosses her way into becoming a cult leader. Now, to be fair, that hadn't been her initial goal. The only reason she was headed to ToyZone that Black Friday was to buy four of these new Wiggly dolls for her sons. She didn't know, of course, that 'Wiggly' was really Wiggog Y'Wrath, an eldritch being from between universes who was planning to enter and destroy our world via the dolls. But after the queue leading into ToyZone escalates into a brawl over the doll, Linda fights harder and more viciously than anyone else. After the mob scatters and Linda is left doll-less, she is of course approached by one of Wiggly's loyal servants, who offers her the choice position of being Wiggly's prophet and forming the cult that will construct the portal for the dark god to travel into our world through. She's such a girlboss that she gets TWO villain songs - her power ballad, Adore Me, about how epic it is that she has all these people mindlessly obeying your will, and the eleventh-hour villain song, Wiggle, about how glorious it'll be when Wiggly rises to reshape the universe. She's such a girlboss that she escapes being physically restrained by our heroes by just screaming really loudly at them and breaking someone's wrist. (deep breath) And that's just Black Friday. Let me tell you about what went down at the Honey Queen Pageant. Linda REALLY wanted to win this pageant. And to win it, she'd to anything - blackmail, bribery, fabricating an entire fake Broadway audition to cause her opponent to lose her voice the day before the pageant, targeting all other opponents she considered a threat and taking them out one by one, in various ways including but not limited to: trapping them on a fake cruise that crashed on purpose in order to delay them, digging up old dirt on them to force them to drop out due to the controversy, and full-on murder them backstage (to be fair, though, that one was playing just as dirty). She wins by bloodthirstiness alone, then executes an incredible Queen B-style rap ballad to cement her victory. Too bad the whole thing turned out to be a front for determining the next sacrifice for Nibblenephim, or 'Nibbly', a dark eldritch being and one of Wiggly's brothers. Linda Monroe gaslit, gatekept and girlbossed her way into becoming a prophet for a Lord In Black - twice. And that's why she deserves to sweep this tournament. Hopefully the prize for winning this one WON'T be 'being eaten alive by a giant mouth'.

[octuscle]

Dear Chronivac Support

Is chronivac active or shut down? I'm a wealthy guy looking for some fun and adventure. There is a hot Latin poolboy in our neighborhood inspiring me to enjoy holidays as a latino. I searched the internet and found eric gustavo Oliveira as hot guy. A spring break as a latino like him would be great. I hope I can swap back later?

I recommend Chronivac Travel for this. I have a very cool offer for Cartagena. If you allow, I will put everything together for you. You don't even have to pack. You get your luggage with your boarding pass at the American counter in JFK.

The flight departs at 06:50. So, according to your habit, you will be at the airport at 05:50. But sorry, you fly low cost in economy. Fortunately for you, we have already checked you in and checked your luggage. Here are your boarding pass and your backpack. You can give me your Louis Vuitton laptop bag, you won't need it for the next two weeks.

The queue at the security check is annoying. You are used to the fast lane. But I want you to have the ultimate Latino experience. Of course, your backpack will be patted down. Grinning, the officer flips through the Spanish gay magazines. He asks you something in Spanish. You begin to regret the whole action.

Before boarding, you have just enough time to get a beer and a sandwich for the first leg to Miami. You look for your wallet. Actually, it should be in the inside pocket of your jacket. But you realize you're not wearing a jacket anymore. Shit, did you forget it at the security checkpoint? But why do you have the hip bag hanging in front of your chest? You look, there is a cheap nylon purse. With a cannabis leaf in front of the Colombian flag on it. And inside, next to your Colombian ID and driver's license, a few old dollar bills. And a credit card. Apparently your name is now Diego Gonzales. When you ask the flight attendant at boarding if you could get an upgrade, you can hardly remember the English words. The flight attendant does not understand your request, but smiles friendly and tells you in broken Spanish your row and your seat.

Fuck, the lad next to you is a real beauty. You find it hard not to look at him all the time. At some point he asks you in English, smiling, when you are already on approach, if Miami is your destination. You shake your head, show your chest and answer "I Cartagena home". He answers you "You follow me". You understood that. And you do that in Miami in the airport. With a little distance. But the splendid ass always in view. The man disappears in a toilet. You follow. The door to a stall is a little bit open. You open the door and behind it the stallion is already waiting with his pants down. You understand the command. You kneel on the dirty floor and blow the fellow. He moans a little too loud for this place. Someone rants something about gay perverts. Your seat neighbor blows his load in your face. But even that is not new for you. You lick the hard-on skillfully clean, suck off the last drop and stow the cock in his pants. Without giving you a glance, the fellow throws you a few dollar bills. And quickly leaves the toilet. Almost 50 dollars. Not bad. You would have done the blow job for free. But now you should hurry to get to your connecting flight.

On the flight to Cartagena, you'll finally get your upgrade. Crossing business class on the way to your seat, you make eye contact with a gentleman in row 2 for a little too long. And no sooner have you stowed your carry-on luggage than a flight attendant stands next to you and tells you with a wink that your uncle in row 2 invites you to spend the flight next to him. As soon as you reach cruising altitude, your newfound uncle invites you to become a member of the Mile High Club. He raises the privacy screen, activates the "do not disturb" sign. And unbuttons his pants. An upgrade to business class. And $600 in freshly printed bills. Your stock is soaring.

Home at last! Three weeks of vacation in your homeland, until you have to go back to the gringos. Where vacation means you'll be working at the Bomba Beach Club. In the service. And maybe there will be some extra income. Usually the three weeks are enough to pay your rent for half a year in New Jersey. Whereby it certainly won't be long before your mother will ask again if you wouldn't like to find yourself a nice young Colombian and be happy here.

You are already smiling at the thought. Your parents have picked you up from the airport, you have freshened up and are already wearing your work clothes. Your vacation begins with the evening shift. That is good. Then the tips are more generous. It's going to be a great three weeks! Thank you for traveling with Chronivac.

[aonungslvr]

Kiri x sibling reader who struggles with being an outsider and feels alone?

an extra finger to hold

pairing ; sister! kiri te suli kìreysì’ite x gn!sibling! reader

taggings ; 🪽🍄🐚🫧

notes ; my first request! tysm for this, and i’m so sorry it’s short! this was written in some of my classes and i don’t have much free time lately! i am expecting a break from the workload soon though so i’ll be more consistent then!

summary ; kiri has noticed her younger sibling distancing themself from everything and finally steps up.

1.4k words

you were the third sully child, older then lo’ak and tuk yet younger then neteyam and kiri. of course, this made you the middle child. on top of that, you had inherited your fathers extra finger, eyebrows, and low set queue.

your brother, lo’ak, and sister, kiri, had also received these traits. however, they had gained their mothers higher queue. neteyam and tuk also had your fathers queue. this left you with the most human traits among your siblings.

being the olo’keytans child did not save you from the relentless teasing from other navi children. pureblood navi children. when you were younger the bullying was more commonly said to your face in harsh remarks.

“look! they have an extra finger!”

“that’s so weird…they’re a demon!”

the words were said with laughter, but that didn’t help you. now that you’ve grown slightly older, nearing fifteen, the navi teens hid their torment. words were spoken between shushed whispers and behind hands.

“have you seen them up close? they have hair above their eyes…”

“they kinda look like a prolemuris, right?”

whenever you’d look their way they would avert their eyes and carrying on with whatever they were doing, as if nothing had happened.

you stopped attending your healing lessons after the navi girls there had been snickering at you, much to kiris dismay.

once the warriors and hunters in training caught wind of your strange features, they too made fun of them behind your back. eventually you left training as well, which your father did not agree with but was unable to ever find you and force your bow into your hand.

you spent most of your days strolling through pandoras endless forest. the great mother was the only one who had seized to make fun of you. eywa had chosen your father. he was a blessing. that’s what you tried to convince yourself.

you weren’t only left out of your clan but your family too. neteyam was the eldest, he is the most responsible and mature. kiri has such a wonderful connection to eywa. lo’ak is the trouble maker. tuktirey is the baby of the family. so what were you? the most human like navi on pandora? that’s the life you were given if you were to return to home, so you remained in the forest. alone.

despite being alone for most of the day, you still had to go home when night fell. everyone was always so occupied, nobody had the time for you.

your father is olo’keytan, he is planning attacks on the humans. your mother is tsakarem, she must care for tuk. your brothers are going at each others heads, lo’ak wreaking havoc and neteyam fixing it. kiri…what does kiri do?

you were stuck in the loop of your normal life. wake up, maybe eat breakfast, then leave home before anyone had time to ask questions.

you were currently avoiding bow training with your father and brothers, so you cruised through pandoras forest. the flora and fauna never upset you, no matter how many times you had seen it.

you’ve always been jealous of kiris connection to the moon you lived on. she was a blessing from eywa. your father and sister had been blessed, why weren’t you?

not a day goes by where you don’t think about what it would be to be normal. to shave your eyebrows and cut off your pinkies. of course you’d thought about it before, you had messily cut the hair above your eyes when you were younger, and binded your pinky and ring finger together.

other times, you would go out in the clan with your face covered, not revealing your hands and get treated normal for once. you had gotten genuine greetings that day. the sarcastic “i see you”s weren’t the same, you had only received those because you had been with your family, the leaders. when you’re alone you go ignored.

you had tried your best to stay away from where the warriors would be training but there were some stragglers every here and there. you moved on quickly so they couldn’t see who you were. you stopped in your tracks while passing some teenager na’vi behind a tree as you heard your name being spoken.

“(y/n)? well thank eywa they aren’t here today either. i don’t know why their allowed to train. probably giving our secrets to the humans.”

the second boy laughed and added onto what his friend had said, “bro! their probably some sort of spy! do we even know if they’re actually half navi? what if they’re some dreamwalker the humans sent to watch over us..”

“right! that’s what i’ve been saying! let’s be honest, if they weren’t the olo’keytans child, they’d be exciled.”

the boys laughed with each other and you made your exit before you could be seen. it wasn’t the first time you had been made fun of but something about this was different. you weren’t sad. you didn’t feel the need to break out into tears. you had expected all of this, how could you truly be upset?

you entered back into the forest with a solid expression. no tears, no frowns, just there. and as you sat on the grass, for once you didn’t wish to be normal. you didn’t wish to be respected. you wished to be gone.

“i am fine sa’nu. i am just going to head to bed, i’m tired and not hungry.”

your father chuckled at this, “tired from what? not training?”

“your grandmother tells me you have been skipping out on healing, what are you doing with this time (y/n)?” your mother added on.

your siblings weren’t focused on the conversation, they were talking amongst themselves. except kiri. kiri was listening.

“it is no big deal, i am staying busy throughout the day. now if you don’t mind, i’m going to sleep.”

if you were being honest, you wanted them to stop you. you wanted them to be worried and make you stay with them.

just before your mother was about to protest, tuk had ran to her crying.

“sa’nu lo’ak hit me!! look right here! look he hit me!”

your parents attention left you. jake scolded his sons and neytiri comforted her daughter. what about you? you raced off into your separate room, tears threatening to spill. this is how it always is. you finally have the slightest bit of attention and then your siblings rips it away. nobody is ever-

“(y/n)?”

it was kiri. she had entered your room just as you stormed off as tears fell. you quickly wiped away what you could without looking like you were just crying.

“kiri what are you doing here? tuk is crying you should go help her.”

“my sibling is crying. i’m staying with you.” she pushed herself onto your hammock where you laid.

“i’m not crying, truly.”

“i may not be the smartest but i am certainly not foolish. especially when it comes to my families well-being.”

you sniffled and looked away from her. how were you supposed to face her? everyone in your family had so many things going on, things they needed to handle, but here you are. crying over nothing.

kiri gripped your face and faced it back towards herself, “what troubles you?”

you paused for a moment and just stared into her eyes. you didn’t want to tell anyone, you weren’t going to. something about staring into your sisters eyes awakened something. she cared. you have someone who cares.

you broke out into gentle sobs as you told her everything, “kiri my life is awful. it’s horrible. everyone sees me as a demon, i am just like the humans. i’m not even true na’vi. i don’t belong here. i have too many fingers and toes, hair where it doesn’t belong, my queue is too low, nothing i do is right. there is no place for me in this family, i have no purpose here.”

your sister didn’t flinch. she held your face and moved on to hugging you as you continued. you fell into your big sisters embrace and continued crying and ranting. she brushed your braids out of your face and kissed your forehead. as you cried and held onto her it became clearer in your mind, you had kiri.

you had wondered what kiri’s role was in your family. an olo’keytan, a tsakarem, a responsible brother, a trouble maker brother, a baby daughter. that left you and kiri. you had believed you and kiri were both left out, sepreate from the family. but it wasn’t you, and kiri. it was you and kiri. you didn’t have an all loving clan, and you didn’t have the perfect family, but you had your sister. and right here, right now, she was all you needed.

[yandere-voltron]

Strange Things

Summary: You are forced to go underwater to fix a hole in the bottom of the ship, but your eye catches sight of some strange things Translations at the end

You felt ridiculous. The people on the Cruise Ship were partying and relaxing, not knowing the potential danger they could be in. The captain had told you to go fix a massive hole under the ship and to do that you needed to assess the damage underwater.

You jumped in, with the ridiculous outfit, and began to swim under the moving boat. You were quick to spot torn metal and quickly swam over to it. When you got closer, you realized that it looked very much like claw marks.

You frowned, examining the damage before pulling out your camera to take pictures.

"Everything okay, Y/n?"

"There is some minor damage to the ship's lower deck, but it's an easy fix."

There was a loud banging sound causing you to freeze and look below you. It was dark, but you could see a fish-like thing moving. You clicked the light headset and started to swim lower. It was a bad idea, but not like you wanted to fix the ship to be honest.

You catch the sight of something blue, but before you can investigate your headset goes off again.

"What's taking you so long, Y/n? I thought you assessed the damage?"

You froze, before shaking your head, "Yeah, I'm coming up now..."

---

"That was close," Lance sighed, hiding behind a rock. He watched as you swam away, doing whatever you humans do. He knew Allura would be mad at him for watching the humans and getting way to close, but he couldn't help himself, and it seemed he wasn't the only one.

"Lance."

"It's not what it looks like," Lance held up his hands, trying to defend himself. But ultimately sighed when he saw that the Princess wasn't amused.

Pidge and Hunk hid behind Allura as she scolded the brown haired male. "What if she had seen you, Lance? You would be putting us ALL in danger." She gestures to the other merpeople who had been drawn by the commotion.

He groaned, looking away from her. "What are you so scared of? They're just humans." He crossed his arms and everyone gasped at his tone towards the princess.

She straightened her back and held her self high, "Exactly, they're humans. Selfish, Greedy, No good humans. They'll kill us all."

"You're just being dramatic," He remarks as he swims away, Allura watching him in anger.

----

You shook your head before heaving the tools behind you. You groaned, rubbing your head. You hated being on cruises when you were working, so many people on one tiny boat. It gave you shivers thinking about it.

You looked out one of the windows when you see a red tail and quickly rub your eyes before going out the window again.

"Mon Dieu! J'ai cru voir une grosse queue de poisson¹!" You shook your head, before heading off again. You go toward the engine room, and begin to work on the damages. "Ugh ça va être une longue nuit²..."

Keith hold his breath as he waited for the girl to leave. He had almost been caught and he knows he'd be a hypocrite if anyone found out what he was doing.

He looked back through the window to see that she was gone. He sighed and quickly swam away before he really did get caught.

----

Lance sighs, turning a fork over in his hands. He didn't know what the problem was, he loved the humans. They were so interesting and had such funny stories. He leaned his body onto a rock, not noticing the eyes on him.

"Lance..."

Lance quickly whipped around to glare at the perpetrators. It was his so called friends Pidge and Hunk.

"What are you traitors doing here?"

They both rubbed the back of their heads and sighed. They looked at each other, before swimming towards an angry Lance.

"We didn't mean to make you take the blame for you."

"yeah, we were totally going to tell her we were also there, but..."

"But what? You guys left me out to dry!"

"We're sorry, Lance. How can we make it up to you."

Lance thought for a moment, before his eyes widened, "I want to go on land!"

There was silence for a moment, before the two busted out laughing, which caused Lance to glare at them.

"Sorry Lance, we didn't mean to laugh, but be reasonable. We don't have legs, we have tails."

"There might be a way..."

They all looked back, surprised to see Keith. Then they looked at each other, "How?"

"The Witch."

---

"Keith, this is a really bad idea-"

Keith ignores Pidge, who was tweeting in his ear. Lance was far ahead of them both, excited at the possibility of getting legs and being part of the land world.

"Oh, what do you think it's like," Lance begins to fantasize about the world above. Little did they know, it was burning to ashes.

----

You watched as all the passengers left the cruise ship. You were ecstatic to finally get off the boat for a few hours. You liked the water and all, but it wasn't nearly as predictable as land. You walked down the towards the dock, but your captain called out to you.

"Y/n!"

You turned around, him giving you a dark look. You looked at him confused.

"Be back by 15 hundred."

You nodded and took off. You went to a nearby cafe that was on one of the docks and decided to take your break there. Or at least that's what you wanted to do, but you were intrigued by a group on the beach.

---

"We want legs!"

"Legs you say?" The banished Prince, Lotor, looked at the group, before swimming through his lair and finding a potion bottle. "I may be able to help you..."

The group watch Lotor swim around and drop things into his cauldron. There was lights and the mushrooms glowed brightly on the walls. The group huddled up over the cauldron and looked into the bright glowing liquid.

They then looked at eachother. Pidge, being the voice of reason, finally spoke.

"Guys, I don't know if this is a good idea..."

"Of course it is!" Lance exclaimed excitedly. He holds out his hand as Lotor hands him the bottle.

Lance then hands it to Pidge. "Well, what do I have to lose?" And then Pidge clugs, before tossing it to Hunk.

Hunk looked over at Keith, who was examining the bottle on the shelves.

"Hey, Keith, how about you take it before me?"

Keith turns around towards Hunk, before eyeing the bottle. "I don't know. I like my tail."

"I guess you'll never know what the human world is like," Lotor taunts. "Or that one person... Oh what's their name?"

Keith's fist clench at the mention of the girl he had not been spying on... well, maybe he did, but he knew that's what Lotor meant.

"Fine," Keith grabs the bottle and gulps it down, leaving a tiny bit for Hunk.

---

"I can't believe I let you guys talk me into this," Pidge groaned, trying to step over a rock, but ultimately falling.

"At least we're not naked."

"Bonjour? Est-ce que vous allez bien là-bas³?"

They looked towards the voice; Keith and Lance's eyes widen recognizing the h/c haired girl. You walked down the slippery sand and towards the clumsy group. They were holding on for dear life as they didn't know how to use their new feet.

"Peux-tu marcher⁴?"

They looked at you confused, before the tall, brown-haired male speaks-

"What?"

You shook your head, before going up to help them, "Are you guys okay?"

"Uh, yes. We've never walked before," The bigger male speaks.

"What does that mean?" you ask him confused, by the brunette quickly covers his champion's mouth.

"He's stupid. I'm Lance." The brunette takes your hand, shaking it hard, "That's Pidge and Hunk," He points to the big male and then the smallest guy, "And that grump is Keith. What's your name beautiful?"

"Y/n," You look Lance up and down, before rolling your eyes, "You're not from around here are you?"

"No," Pidge says, shaking their head. "Actually," Pidg steps towards you, "Where are we?"

"Are you ship wreck survivors? I know there was a crash up west-"

"Yes!" Pidge stands straight, but still leans on the rock. Infact, they were all leaning on the walk, like they didn't know how to stand.

"Well, we need to get you to a doctor, make sure you're okay-"

"No, it's fine. We'd really just want to... Uh," Pidge looks towards Lance, who had been insistent on turning into a human in the first place.

"We wanna get back home!" Hunk burst out and you're taken aback.

"Are you sure you can handle going on a ship after what happened?"

"Yes, nothing can stop our hopes and dreams-" Lance speaks but you interrupt him.

"Okay Patriot, I'll go speak to my captain, see what I can't do. Come on," You gesture for them to follow you.

They look at each other, before Pidge takes the first steps, trying to walk towards you, before falling. Pidge groaned, face full of sand. They reminded you of babies learning to walk.

"All that time in the water, you may need to sit down for a while." You went to leave but Lance calls out to you.

"No! She's just being dramatic-" He pushes himself off the rock and slowly walks towards you, the other's soon following. When Lance reached you he jumped, fist bumping the air, "Oh my god, I did it!"

"You walked?" You shook your head, but didn't speak anymore on it.

---

"Je ne pense pas qu'ils soient d'ici. Ils agissent étrangement⁵…" You whisper to your captain when he asked about the people you were with. He looks at the group and back at you as you continue. "Ils ont dit qu'ils étaient des survivants de l'épave à l'ouest⁶."

"If you swear to keep an eye on them, they can work with you. They really want to get on a boat so soon?"

"They were adamant. I've never met people like them before." You look back at the group. Lance and Keith were fighting and Pidge and Hunk were trying to break them apart.

"Okay, make sure to keep them occupied."

----

"Coran, have you seen the others?"

The orange-haired male turned towards the blue-haired princess. "Not since you yelled at them a few hours ago."

"I just want to protect them, I wish they'd see that."

"I know you are princess, but... Well, they love an adventure."

"Yes, I can see that."

----

My God! I thought I saw a big fish tail

Ugh, it's gonna be a long night

Hello? Are you okay there?

Can you walk?

I don't think they are from here. They act strange...

They said they were survivors from the wreckage to the west.

[marvistamike2]

Mary and Mike had a low key train ride to Manarola until we arrived in Cinque Terre and then it turned into Disneyland. When we got off the train in Manarola there were so many people that it took 5 minutes for us to exit the platform. We then had to make our way in a queue through a 100 meter tunnel. We emptied out into a tourist trap of a square. We were like “what have we gotten ourselves into?” We slowly made our way up the hill to our apartment and the number of tourists exponentially decreased with distance. We were greeted by our host and told that day time was the worst as cruise ship tours were running through the five towns. Whew!😅

Our place is so cute and we have a great view. Night time is very mellow.

[callsign-owl]

Homecoming

Trigger Warning: physical violence, abuse

July 2008

The departure lounge at Zurich Airport was a blur of hurried travelers, echoing announcements, and the mechanical hum of luggage conveyor belts. Owl sat stiffly in a plastic chair by the gate, his fingers tapping nervously against his knee. Owl had just graduated from boarding school, a place that had offered him respite from the suffocating presence of his father, Bartholomew. Now, returning home meant facing the reality he had long tried to evade. Flight delays had stretched the wait, amplifying Owl's anxiety. The prospect of returning home loomed over him like a dark cloud. Past memories filled with tension and fear gnawed at his mind, and the impending reunion with his father sent a chill down his spine.

He glanced at his boarding pass for what felt like the hundredth time. The thought of being trapped in a metal tube hurtling through the sky made his stomach churn. Owl had always hated flying—every bump and sway heightened his nerves, every announcement of turbulence sent his heart racing.

As passengers began to line up for boarding, Owl took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. His hands shook slightly as he gathered his things and joined the queue. The flight attendants greeted him with practiced smiles, but their cheerfulness only served to underscore his unease.

Walking down the narrow aisle of the plane, Owl found his seat and stowed his bag in the overhead compartment. He sank into the window seat and put on his headphones trying to ignore the rising panic threatening to overwhelm him. Owl fastened his seatbelt with a shaky hand and stared out the window, watching the ground crew move around the plane, preparing it for departure.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking," the intercom crackled to life, the pilot's voice cutting through the cabin noise. "We're just about ready for departure. Flight time to London Heathrow is approximately one hour and 50 minutes. We'll be cruising at an altitude of thirty-six thousand feet."

Owl closed his eyes briefly, trying to block out the anxiety bubbling up inside him. He clasped his hands tightly in his lap, his knuckles turning white. The engines roared to life, vibrations humming through the aircraft as it taxied toward the runway. As the plane accelerated down the runway and lifted off into the night sky, Owl's grip on the armrest tightened. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. The sensation of ascent made his stomach lurch, and he clenched his eyes shut, willing the minutes to pass quickly.

Eventually the seatbelt sign chimed off, signaling that they had reached cruising altitude. Flight attendants began their service, rolling carts down the aisle offering drinks and snacks. Owl gladly accepted a drink hoping it would calm the storm of panic raging within him. Thoughts of home, of facing his father's wrath, of the relentless verbal assaults and occasional physical confrontations, swirled in his mind like a vicious tempest.

Time stretched on, each minute ticking by agonizingly slow. But eventually, the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom once more, announcing their descent into London Heathrow. Owl's heart skipped a beat, a mix of relief and dread flooding his senses.

The plane descended smoothly, gliding through layers of clouds before the wheels touched down with a gentle thud. Passengers around him gathered their belongings and began to disembark, chatting amiably about their plans in London.

Owl waited until the aisle cleared before retrieving his bag from the overhead compartment. He stepped off the plane with shaky legs, grateful to be back on solid ground. As he stepped into the airport terminal, the familiar hustle and bustle of travelers enveloped him. He navigated through the crowds with practiced ease, his steps quickening as he approached the baggage claim. Each passing moment brought him closer to the unavoidable confrontation with his father.

Once Owl had retrieved his suitcase, he made his way towards the exit, where a black taxi awaited him. The driver nodded respectfully as Owl settled into the backseat, the cityscape of London passing by in a blur.

Rain began to fall in gentle droplets against the taxi's windows, a dreary welcome home. Owl leaned his head against the cool glass, wishing he could be anywhere but here.

The taxi turned onto familiar streets, winding towards the mansion that loomed like a fortress in the distance. Owl's chest tightened with every passing landmark, every recognizable corner that brought him closer to the reality he had tried so desperately to escape.

As the taxi pulled up to the grand entrance of the mansion, Owl drew a deep breath, steeling himself for the inevitable clash with his father. The rain intensified, a storm brewing both outside and within him. With a heavy heart and a mind filled with turmoil, Owl stepped out into the pouring rain, his suitcase heavy in his grip.

Owl ascended the front steps, the weight of anticipation settling like a stone in his chest. The heavy oak door swung open before he even reached it, revealing his father standing there, a formidable silhouette in the dimly lit foyer.

"Look who decided to grace us with his presence," Bartholomew's voice sliced through the air, cold and disdainful. His piercing gaze bore into Owl like a knife.

Owl's response was typically defiant, a shield he wielded to protect himself from his father's scorn. "Good evening to you too, Father. Miss me?"

Bartholomew's face contorted with a mixture of anger and disgust. "You dare to mock me, boy? After all the trouble you've caused?"

"Trouble? Oh, you mean existing?" Owl's voice dripped with sarcasm, his words like venomous arrows aimed at his father's pride.

The tension crackled between them, a palpable force that seemed to fill the entire foyer. Bartholomew took a menacing step forward, his tall frame towering over Owl. "You are a disgrace, *redacted*. A disappointment. I don't know why I bother keeping you around."

Owl's jaw clenched, but he refused to back down. "Maybe because deep down, you enjoy having someone to look down upon. Makes you feel powerful, doesn't it?"

The words hung in the air, a challenge and a taunt all in one. Bartholomew's face turned red with rage, his fists clenched at his sides. In a swift motion, he lunged at Owl, catching him off guard. Strong hands gripped Owl's shoulders, forcing him back against the wall with a painful thud.

"You insolent brat!" Bartholomew's voice was a low growl, filled with fury. "You think you can talk to me like that?"

Owl winced, pain shooting through his shoulders where his father's fingers dug into his flesh. He tried to squirm free, but Bartholomew's grip was iron.

"You're nothing," Bartholomew seethed, his face inches from Owl's. "You'll never amount to anything. I should have gotten rid of you years ago."

Despite the fear and pain coursing through him, Owl refused to show weakness. He met his father's gaze defiantly, his eyes flashing with anger and defiance. "Go ahead, Father. Hit me like you have done so many times before. Show me what a big man you are."

Bartholomew's grip tightened further, and Owl couldn't suppress a grunt of pain. He felt the sting of tears at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn't give his father the satisfaction.

For a moment, father and son locked eyes in a battle of wills, each daring the other to make a move. Finally, Bartholomew released him with a shove, sending Owl stumbling backwards. He caught himself against the wall, breathing heavily, his heart racing.

"You're lucky I don't throw you out right now," Bartholomew spat, his voice venomous. "Get out of my sight."

Owl straightened himself, his body trembling with adrenaline and suppressed rage. Without a word, he turned and walked away, every step echoing loudly in the hollow silence of the mansion. He didn't look back, not once, until he was safely inside his room, the door closed and locked behind him.

[itsohh]

Do you write hcs? It says you try but that still in the grey area but I’ll give this a shot anyway.

Can I get a lot of Tachanka HC’s of him taking his s/o to his cabin in the woods. Like what’s some stuff they do out there. What are the sleeping arrangements. How would it go if a bear showed up??? Give me the juice 😩

Ahhh I freaking love the idea of just hiding away away in a cabin for a while, rushed to do this I love this so much ahhh. Did all this on the train so forgive me if it's a bit unedited. As much as I love the idea of Alexsandr pulling a TF2 w/ a bear I went more with realistic outcome here.

Tachanka Winter Cabin Headcanons

He's got this all planned out, knows exactly what he's doing and what to bring

The first day you get there it's late after a long drive and singing in the car

It's winter so any perishable food is stored outside in a makeshift freezer made out of ice. It's one of the first things he does after delivery you inside 

It's extremely cold so he bundles you up with blankets before heading outside to cut wood

Will do it in front of the window, queue him taking his shirt off after a bit due to getting too hot

He knows your watching him, gives you a wink when he sees you in the window, maybe the slight flex of his muscles too, definitely showing off

Ends up cutting far too much wood but comes inside and helps build the fire

Cooks with you on the fire oven that's there, good soup

The bed that's there isn't the largest so you're going to be squished up against Alexsandr and he's not complaining

The man's a literal furnace of his own so even when the fire sizzles out he's there to keep you warm

For once, he's happy to sleep in and very happy to cuddle the morning away

If it's not snowing he takes you out to the thickly frozen lake and much to your surprise hands you ice skates

Turns out he used to go ice skating a lot with his children and rather likes it now

If you don't know how to ice skate, all the better he's happy to teach or just hold you up the entire time

If you do know how to skate he's very much swirling around with you

On the way back the pair of you encounter the wildlife - a brown bear

He's totally calm the entire time, he made sure to bring bear sprayed with him.

Speaks loudly but doesn't scream to alert the bear that your there in order not to shock it, grabs your hand and makes sure to keep distance. 

Stands next to you and make the pair of you look as big as possible

Alexsandr knows it's not the bears fault that your there, your invading it's habitat and he would rather not have to harm it in any way or risk you being harmed

Bear eventually cruises off and you feel Alexsandr's relief when he squeezes your hand

Will tell you about the wildlife if you wish to know, he's learnt a lot over the years, especially a decent amount from Maxim 

Takes you out hiking through the snow, talks about when he would bring his kids up here, is glad to share the cabin with someone he considers family again

Builds a snow fort with you where you both end up having a snowball fight one that only ends when you both tired out and laughing 

He makes the biggest snow angels 

If its not snowing at night he helps you onto the cabin roof to look at the sky, without the light population of the city you can so easily see all the stars

Draws a bath for the pair of you in the evening

Your hesitant due to the lack of electricity but he explains that the fire heats the hot water cylinder so there's plenty of hot water 

The bath isn't the biggest and take up majority of the small bathroom so you end up practically lying on him

Something he rather enjoys as it allows him to cuddle you into his chest

At the end of it all he's significantly more relaxed and promises to take you there again, perhaps in the summer

[tua-braindump]

HC: TUA as your date on Valentine's Day

1. Luther:

This man is a romantic at heart. You know he'll go all out on vday. He puts on his nicest shirt, gets a bouquet of red roses, a box of chocolates and a dinner reservation at a nice restaurant. Probably also surprises you with a necklace at dinner. True over the top romantic fashion. He absolutely loves the cheese of vday.

2. Diego

Diego doesn't care much for Valentine's day, he does think it is very commercialized but he does care about you. He plans a nice date, starting with your favourite food truck in town, followed by a night of dancing and drinks. Then he takes you home to snuggle.

3. Allison

This girl pulls out all the stops. Uses her connections to get you both to an exclusive vday event for the rich and famous. You find yourself on a fancy cruise trip with dinner prepared by a celebrity chef and the plushest suite, with champagne and chocolate covered strawberries waiting for you when you arrive.

4. Klaus

Klaus is a disaster, and you love him for it. Valentine's day is no different. It starts out with you waking up to the fire alarm going off because the man was trying to make pancakes but just ruined a pan. He looks all sheepish but you laugh it off. The day ends up being a fun outing of walking around the city, stopping at any and all shops that catch your fancy and pointing out the stupidest, cheesiest be valentines gifts to each other. Of course you both secretly buy one for each other and surprise each other with them at home.

5. Five.

This old man is sweet and has plans way in advance. He cooks pasta a la lady and the tramp and tries to reenact the scene from the movie. He makes sure you have the best wine pairing, as well as some affogato for dessert. He has old music playing on a record player and slow dances with you after dinner. Then the two of you just lounge on the couch enjoying each other's company.

6. Ben

Ben is a sweetheart who goes all out. You wake up to a clue on your pillow that takes you on a fun treasure hunt through your favourite places in the city. At the end of the day, you find Ben in the park with a beautiful picnic and flowers and you have a romantic picnic dinner together, watching the sunset.

7. Viktor

Viktor can be quite absent minded. More often than not, he doesn't remember Valentine's day till the day before. Then he panics because he wants you to feel special but doesn't have time to make special plans. Eventually, he decides to order your favourite take out and set up his living room with twinkly lights, a pillow fort and a movie.

Bonus! Lila:

Lila thinks Valentine's day is a giant scam. She hates pandering to the idea but knows that she wants to make you feel special. She orders take out and queues up some silly romance reality tv show so the two of you can mock them endlessly. However, the one vday tradition she takes seriously is the candy shopping the day after. You can count on her to always do that with you, no matter what.

[thelastofhyde]

prologue. rome.

pairing. tourguide!joel miller x fem!reader. series synopsis. on the brink of undergoing a life-altering change, you runaway from your problems in the only way any sane person can: embarking on a mediterranean cruise. there you meet joel miller, a grumpy, private tour-guide, who just so happens to be tasked with touring you through each stop on your cruise. from greek goddesses to roman ruins, you have ten days to avoid your fate. maybe a frowning, southern, sex-on-legs of a man is just what the doctor ordered. chapter summary. like all epic love stories, this one starts with a meet-(un)cute. series warnings. no use of y/n, set in 2015, cruise!au, rom-com, enemies-ish to lovers, sunshine!reader, tour-guide!joel, age gap, depictions/discussions of grief, angst, fluff, a whole load of smut, a lot of cheesy stereotypical romance tropes bc i just wanna see joel not suffer ( too much ) <3 chapter warnings. i’m pretty sure there’s no warnings this chapter. word count. 845. hyde’s input. & so it begins! my goal is to try post a chapter every other friday, but it may be weekly if i write + edit on time. likes and reblogs are appreciated <3 next chapter - series masterlist

Under the buzz of a dying light, you assess the damage.

Tousled hair, smudged mascara, bags under your eyes. Chapped lips, wrinkled clothing, a missing earring. Nail indentations, dry hands, a bruise on your knee.

You'd call yourself a mess, had you not been travelling at full-speed in the air, trapped inside an overgrown Pringles can that grew wings, for the past who-knows-how-many hours.

With a snoring seat-neighbour, a kid kicking at the back of you and the embarrassing sting of tears in your eyes, you'd not known peace until the plane had landed on solid ground. And, even then, the nightmare had picked right back up where it had left off, shapeshifting into a mile long customs queue and the overwhelming dread of watching the conveyor belt spin round and round with not a single sign of your suitcase.

It took a whole hour and speaking to an airport staff member later for them to find your case, right down the other end of the arrivals hall, sitting amongst luggage from a destination you'd certainly not arrived from.

But none of that matters, not now. At least you tell yourself that as you splash some cold water on your face. Looking back in the mirror, you try out a smile. It doesn't look genuine, but it's been a little harder to do recently, and so you give yourself credit for managing to at least have it meet your eyes.

There's a series of disgruntled, irritated faces that greet you as you exit the bathroom. You walk past them, head down, trying to count the beat in your footsteps and feel the roll of your suitcase's wheels.

Finding the signs that point to the arrival gate, you keep a low profile, as if anyone would know you here. Why would anybody know you here? Still, the need to stay hidden, out of sight, it intensifies, even as you take in the welcoming sign above sliding doors.

Buongiorno, benvenuto in Italia!

An overwhelming wave of loneliness hits you as you take your first step past the sliding doors, the usual hustle and bustle of an arrival's lounge greeting you. Couples embracing in reunion, families excitedly catching up on all that they've missed, strangers meeting for the first time, men in suits holding up signs with names and-

A different kind of wave hits you, physically, and suddenly you're on all fours, the sound of your knees smacking harshly into the marble floor taunting you with yet another bruise that'll be making a cameo in every picture you’ll take.

The world continues to pass you by, even as you juggle turmoil and pain. It’s a feat you’re trying to grow used to, but, for now, all you can manage is to not feel your stomach knot. You straighten your back, hands off the floor and your weight resting back against your knees. Pull a deep breath in, ignoring the tremble in your lower lip. In a moment of pure desperation, you wonder what more awaits you on this holiday from hell.

An awful flight, a lost-luggage scare, several bruises and now a public humiliation. What’s next?

You’re plucked up from where you sit, strong hands taking a gentle grip of your forearm. A simple tug and you obey the stranger’s signal, shifting to stand up straight. Turning on your heel to face your rescuer, you’re met with the back of a head, dark locks adorning it as the man reaches back down to grasp at your suitcase’s handle.

The man’s face is revealed slowly, undeliberately, as he rises to level once more, steadying your case back onto its wheels. Handsome, you notice the etching of laugh lines around his eyes and the peppering of patchy, yet fitting, facial hair along his jaw. A pair of headphones, big and chunky and sporting a wire, rest on the back of his neck and the strap of a backpack rests over his right shoulder.

You notice you’re staring a little too late, when there’s already a frown line splitting the skin of his forehead. Clear your throat, take back control of your suitcase and your senses.

Raised with manners, you rather clumsily thrust out your hand for the man to shake. “Thank you for your help, I appreciate it. So much. I'm-"

"You're in the way."

There’s no time to respond, not properly, as the man side-steps you with a grunt, his shoulder catching yours as he passes by. He doesn’t stop to apologise, simply readjusting the sliding strap of his bag and continuing his stride out into the sea of awaiting people.

Involuntarily, frozen where you stand, your eyes follow him as he comes to a stop in front of a uniformed man, a printed sign in his hand.

Signore Miller.

As you scan the crowd for your own name, spotting a casually dressed older gentleman carrying it upon scribbled cardboard, you repeat that name, over and over.

Miller, Miller, Miller.

Whoever the rude man may be, you pray for all those who cross his path on his trip.

[warningorder]

THE LAST STAND OF THE GUARDS

The Gulf War’s Ground Campaign and Iraqi Resistance

Good day everybody! Since I loudly declared I would be leaving Twitter until the Afrikaner rodent was dead or missing, I felt I should post this pet-project of mine here instead of on Twitter as a thread.

The Gulf War, at least in its political aspects, was a modern iteration of the Battle of Waterloo, as it represented the decisive military triumph of reaction over progress and development. It was, as Victor Hugo once described Waterloo, “intentionally a counter-revolutionary victory”. It was Iraq against the status-quo. It was the revolutionary Arabism of Baghdad against the triumphant imperialism of Washington D.C, the reactionary backwardness of Riyadh, the comprador-ship and treacherous realpolitik of Cairo and Damascus. The final extinction of that vast people which had been in eruption for thirty-five years, since 1956–such was the dream.

However, that is not what I will be talking about today. See, as much as I would like to delve into the political & historical consequences of this great war, I wish to cover its military details, unlike what Hugo did with Waterloo. Today, I shall be focusing of the Coalition’s ground offensive and the Iraqis’ doomed attempt at resistance. So let’s set the scene.

Bombs over Baghdad and Gorbachev’s Deal

A month has passed since the Coalition started its massive air campaign over the skies of Iraq. A vast armada of close to 2.800 jets and hundreds of cruise missiles hit Iraq’s industrial centers, civilian infrastructure, energy production facilities, even research reactors, with the goal of quite simply returning Iraq, until then the Middle East’s sole modern economy, back into the stone age. More bombs were dropped on Iraq in a month than were dropped on Berlin, Germany’s capital, throughout all of WW2. The Coalition had more or less proven its point, and Iraq wanted out.

An agreement was reached with the Soviet Union, with the hopes that this would present a fait accompli to the Coalition and have them cease the bombings (and hopefully even end the sanctions). According to this agreement, Iraqi ground forces would immediately begin pulling out their units from the “Kuwaiti Theatre of Operations”, with the last units leaving in around a few weeks. In fact, a shadow retreat was already being allowed to happen, with individual divisions ‘melting away’ and reconstituting themselves back in Baghdad. With Tariq Aziz (Iraq’s Deputy PM & Foreign Minister) announcing Gorbachev’s deal and the pullout of all Iraqi forces from the KTO on the radio on the 22nd of February, this shadow retreat suddenly turned into a large and chaotic movement of units still under air attacks, with large traffic queues and more-or-less total abandonment of all Iraqi defensive works which had been prepared in the south of Iraq as well as inside Kuwait (like the well-known “Saddam line”).

As Iraqi troops were hastily withdrawing from their prepared defensive positions and clogging up the vast road networks of Iraq and Kuwait with huge lines of trucks, heavy vehicle transporters, tanks and other military equipment, the Coalition knew it had to act fast. The conclusion of the Gulf Crisis through Soviet mediation and without a crushing defeat of the mass of the Iraqi military was considered an unacceptable result, and thus plans were quickly drawn up to lunge forward at the retreating enemy columns and shatter the mass of the Iraqi military as it was attempting a cumbersome and chaotic march back towards Baghdad, Karbala, Najaf and Basra.

The first Coalition attacks struck (and quickly scattered) vastly outnumbered and confused stragglers from infantry divisions which had been attempting to withdraw from their prepared defensive fortifications. After quickly dealing with these minor centers of resistance, the Coalition units started a large-scale ground offensive relying on shock and speed to either cut off the retreat of Iraqi units on the road or to hit them from the behind and shatter them. Iraq’s military leadership, after shaking off the violent shock of the ground attack (and in their eyes, from the shock of Gorbachev’s betrayal), made the hard and rational, yet arguably callous, choice of ordering their armored-mechanized Republican Guard formations to immediately turn 180 degrees and lunge forward towards the Coalition offensive to either meet them in hastily and rather shoddily improvised defensive positions or to counter attack them with the purpose of delaying their general advance, so the rest of the 50 division strong Iraqi military could withdraw back to Iraq relatively unscathed. With great difficulty, these ‘elite’ formations were able to extract themselves from the large traffic jam which had almost entirely paralyzed the movement of panic-stricken Iraqi units and prepare themselves for the coming battle. This would be their last stand, for they were the modern iteration of Napoleon’s Old Guard, who had been cut down by British musket fire yet fought until destruction, to the bitter end.

Although the Republican Guard had been the preferred target of continuous Coalition air attacks from the outbreak of the war, they had not suffered serious losses due to their safety precautions and effective camouflage procedures. In an interview, a Republican Guard commander claimed that despite attacks from the most advanced planes at the Coalition’s disposal, his forces had suffered relatively few losses. In fact, attacks by A-10 aircraft would have to be called off for the rest of the campaign after suffering significant losses due to RG operated Strela-10 SAM systems.

When the ground offensive got underway on the 24th of February, the Coalition forces stepped up their bombing campaign on the Republican Guard, using large numbers of aircraft and combat helicopters that attacked them constantly. To make sure his units could set up mutually supporting defensive lines in the chaos of the 180 degrees turn and expected attacks by the Coalition’s tank forces, the commander of the Republican Guard decided to transfer the ‘Tawakalna’ RG Division to rear positions in order to close the gap between the ‘Adnan’ and ‘Al-Medina’ RG Divisions.

‘Mother of All Battles’

On the division’s way to its new position, they suffered an air attack followed immediately by an extensive armored assault in which 3 divisions from the American 7th Corps took part, with massive air support. The battle - known as ‘Battle of 73 Easting - was fought mainly between elements of the ‘Tawakalna’ Division and forces from the US 1st and 3rd Armored Divisions, the 1st Infantry Division and 2nd Armored Cavalry Regiment. American artillery and MLRS batteries played an important role in the battle.

The ‘Tawakalna’ Division fought an incredibly hard battle in difficult visibility conditions due to heavy dust that was stirred on the sandy terrain. Some of its formations were badly damaged but the division succeeded in reaching its rear positions, ending its participation in the war. Parallel to this, the Americans also attacked the lines of the ‘Nebuchadnezzar’ and ‘Adnan’ RG Divisions, even succeeding penetrating the Iraqi defensive lines on the morning of 27 February. As a result of the withdrawal and partial destruction of the ‘Tawakalna’ Division, Republican Guard Commander Gen. Iyad al-Rawi ordered the ‘Hammurabi’ RG Division to advance its 17th Armored Brigade to occupy new positions on the border between the sectors of the ‘Adnan’ and ‘Al-Medina’ Divisions.

The brigade moved to its new positions followed by 2 additional mechanized brigades and prepared for a counter attack. According to their version, the Iraqis sought a confrontation with the Americans advancing towards them from the West, and all of the Republican Guard’s artillery units bombarded American positions for over 3 hours. Next, the 17th Armored Brigade along with 21st Commando Brigade attacked in the sector of the ‘Adnan’ Division in Rumelia and managed to push back the forces that had occupied the defensive positions of one of its battalions. The ‘Adnan’ Division was later instructed to move in the direction of al-Qurna.

Another clash occurred between forces of the ‘Al-Medina’ Division and the American 7th Corps on the night of 26-27 February, after the latter attacked the Iraqi 14th Mechanized Brigade. The division mounted a counter attack with its 2nd Armored Brigade, reinforced by additional battalions, forcing the enemy to withdraw its forces to the rear. As a result, the American forces in the area increased their artillery fire in order to block the Republican Guard forces, who were attacking relentlessly and even making minor advances in some sectors.

The American 1st Infantry Division, which tried to advance across the sand dunes to flank the Iraqi line from behind, got stuck in this area, becoming a target for Iraqi artilllery and retreating helter-skelter from the area. At that point, forces from the ‘Hammurabi’ Division arrived in force in the sector between the ‘Adnan’ and ‘Al-Medina’ Divisions, deploying to mount a counter attack along with the ‘Al-Medina’ Division— a move that had the potential to threaten and encircle forces from the American 7th Corps in the Iraqi view.

While all this was taking place, forces of the US 18th Corps attacked the Special Forces Division of the Republican Guard in the Nasiriyah sector. An American force the size of a brigade (from the 101st) was also operating inside Iraqi territory in the Basra-Nasiriyah axis. The corps’ forces (82nd and 24th Divisions) mounted a frontal assault on the Iraqi positions from the south and west, attempting to gain control over them. Brutal fighting developed and continued throughout the day and into the night of 26-27 February, with the Iraqis, supported by heavy artillery fire, demonstrating very stubborn fighting spirit. In the end, the attack was stopped by the resistance of the Special Forces Division and by the heavy fog which covered the entire area.

Post-Battle Assessment

The Iraqis viewed these two battles - of the ‘Hammurabi’ and ‘Al-Medina’ Divisions and of the special forces in the Nasiriyah area - as a great victory for the Republican Guard, which had warded off a combined attack of two American corps on Basra and Southern Iraq. In their eyes, these developments, along with the 7th Corps’ failure to slice through the lines of the Republican Guard’s armored forces, had prevented the Coalition forces from taking control of Southern Iraq, destroying the mass of the retreating Iraqi military and/or disrupting their withdrawal back to Iraq. They portrayed the battles conducted by the Republican Guard as being among the greatest armored battles fought in modern history since WW2 in terms of the size of the formations and the number of armored vehicles taking part.

In their eyes, they had at least temporarily succeeded in effectively defending against and pushing back various American assaults, and even partially enveloping the American 1st Infantry Division, albeit very briefly. They concluded that the American High Command’s concerns about the 7th Corps taking further casualties and even being pushed back by the ‘Hammurabi’ and ‘Al-Medina’ Divisions caused them to agree to a ceasefire on the 28th of February and to put an end to the fighting. However, the Gulf War as a whole caused horrendous losses to Iraqi ground forces, who according to statistics from the USAF lost 2.500 tanks, 1.500 APCs, and 2.200 artillery pieces to enemy ground and air fire. However, later studies of Iraqi casualties during the war have shown them to have taken around 15.000 to 25.000 casualties, indicating that the RG had, in the end, succeeded in its task of sacrificing its own armored-mechanized brigades and divisions to allow the mass of the Iraqi army in the KTO (around 900.000 men) to retreat relatively unscathed back into Iraq. These forces, as well as the remnants of the RG, would prove pivotal in the Iraqi government’s response to the uprisings and mass-infiltration attempts of 1991.

Thanks for your attention! For further reading I would recommend Majid Khadduri’s “War in the Gulf”, the “Iraqi Perspectives Project” article covering the Gulf War, Pesach Malovany’s “Wars of Modern Babylon” and lastly the article “Correcting Myths about the Persian Gulf War: Last Stand of the Tawakalna Division”.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Good Friday

Okay, please remind me never to do that again.

See, I thought I'd make a ... kind of early afternoon of it. Like, go out to the big Tesco for the pain meds and something nice for dinner etc, and then stop in Peckham on the way home to the second-hand DVD / games / electronics store there. Obviously the games not so much a thing for me, as my Gilmore doesn't have a disc drive and I can't use a controller, but I've been making it a point to start rebuilding a DVD collection. Streaming's just gone weird.

Anyway, the big Tesco was paaaaaaaaaacked. Once I got my mallet meds from the pharmacy counter, I considered just turning around and going back home because the queues were ridiculous and navigating was a nightmare. But I thought, "Well, I'm here now, so I guess I oughta". So I picked up fixings for party pork chops (which is a treat, believe me - pork got way expensive since Brexit) and some chicken mini fillets (I've got a few recipes in my "Easy Gluten-Free" cookbook that calls for those specifically) and some gluten-free soy sauce which I keep forgetting to get and some gluten-free bread because I thought a nice Sunday brunch of French toast would be nice--

...Ooh. French toast with apple bread. I should try that sometime.

Anyway, point is, I picked up a few bits and pieces, and braved the queue. One guy offered to let me go ahead of him, but he had like three items so I figured it wouldn't be worth it. But gods, it hurt. Still, I got my bits and pieces so hopefully worth it.

I debated not stopping at the second-hand place, but then I thought, eh, fuck it, let's see what's available. I mean, sure, I should be getting my copies of both versions of Flatliners today, but there's more than that. The main section wasn't giving me much, but the "Everything for ��1" shelves were a gold mine. Weird, eclectic, and very-much-me collection, frankly: The Thomas Crown Affair (the Piers Brosnan / Rene Russo version), Gone With The Wind (I know it's got a bullshit take on slavery and the Civil War but a) I didn't get anywhere by only looking at one side of anything and b) it's a good piece of cinema even if you do have to watch it through the lens of "this behaviour was kind of execrable", so eh), Minority Report (more or less the same thing, except replace "objectional views of slavery" with "the existence of Tom Cruise"), Domino (the Kiera Knightley one about her being a bounty hunter), and The Woman In Black (because Daniel Radcliffe deserves way better than to be remembered for nothing more than Harry fucking Potter - I got to see him on stage in Equus and damn the man is a good actor).

Now, however, I am waiting for the regular paracetamol to kick in a little more so I can do something other than sit in this chair and flinch every time I have to move. That kind of bank holiday outing used to be just a mild annoyance for me. I hate that now it's a crippling thing.

[themetaphorgirl]

I’m leaving on my honeymoon!!!!!!

I’ll be gone on a cruise (my first cruise ever!!!!) from today until Monday!!! In the meantime, I’m going to fill my queue with some of my favorite drabbles (mostly Patron Saint, maybe one Spencer Blake.

While I’m gone, I would really love to see what people think of the Patron Saint retcon!!! So if you’d like to read through it and leave comments, I would be DELIGHTED!!

but yeah!! I’ll be back soon, hopefully with some new things written!! Feel free to leave messages or prompts or comments while I’m gone!!!

[captainmartinisblog]

Captain Martini in the Mediterranean

Thursday 31st August 2023 – Sorrento, Italy - It just takes a little Chutzpah!

It was our last day today aboard the beautiful Silver Nova and our port of call was another tender port. With something of a swell this morning, it meant that the tenders took longer to load with passengers and we ended up waiting around 45 minutes to go ashore, landing in the tiny harbour at the foot of Sorrento’s iconic cliffs.

They can’t get large coaches down to the harbour, so there was a very efficient shuttle arrangement to take people up to the coach park and the tour buses.

Our excursion today was entitled ‘Sorrento Coast and Tasting at Casale Villarena’ and we had just one photo-stop on the way, with a splendid view of the Isle of Capri.

Then it was on to the district of Nerena, our ‘tastings’. To be honest, it was more of a full scale lunch, with a large plate of antipasti, two wines and cake drizzled in lemon honey for dessert.

Needless to say, there was the opportunity to taste some Limonchello, as well as to buy the wines. If I’m honest, some of the flavours offered were not my taste and I enjoyed those in Malta rather more.

On the other hand, any restaurant, bar or ‘casale’ that plays composer John Barry’s music in the background (as this one did) can’t be bad in my books!

Returning to Sorrento, Andrew headed for the shuttle back to the tender, while Angie went off to investigate the shopping. I went in search of a photo-opportunity and, following my nose and instinct, I found myself outside the entrance to the Grand Hotel Excelsior Vittoria.

From the entrance I could see all the way through to what looked like a balcony beyond, so I casually but confidently just walked all the way through and took my picture of Silver Nova at anchor, with Vesuvius in the background….

I still had to get back to the harbour of course but quite by chance, I spotted an elevator from the balcony; so I got in and went down, to discover that it came out at the tiny harbour just a few yards from the ship’s tender pontoon. Indeed, Andrew was still in the queue waiting to get on the next tender!

Maybe it was because it was the last day of our rather wonderful cruise or because I was thinking about the fact that my Dad was here (aged only 22 years old) just after the War and brought my Mum here more than once for holidays in the 1960s, but I confess that I was feeling a little melancholic for much of the morning. However, my discovery of the hotel balcony and its ‘secret’ elevator right down to the harbour cheered me up no end! You see, it only takes a little ‘chutzpah’!