#what a riveting tale

[bocchi-the-rocks]

alltherowbots-> bocchi-the-rocks!

[aviatrix-ash]

Cool sky grandpa gave me some awesome advice on fighting for working rights as well as some pre and post WW2 aircraft maintenance reading material. The 2 little guys there are ratcheting low profile screwdrivers, I think he said they're from the 1950s! Funny how they're everywhere on Amazon nowdays being marketed as some new idea 😆 difference between the new ones is these will last another half century of constant use, the new ones have plastic gears that'll wear out in no time.

What's also really cool to me is I had acquired one partial volume of the Aviation Mechanics Simplified book a little while back. It was fantastic, it explains technical stuff in a non-technical way, helped me understand some stuff better I was a little fuzzy on. Wanted to find the other volumes of this book, but it was published in 1943! Only 2 listing on eBay existed and all of them way too expensive for me. Ol Gary saw I had one copy last week and we got to talking about it, then today he gave me his complete copy that he learned from 80 something years ago 🥺💕

[ickadori]

OMG I love you mean reader au, I have a question!!

¿Does the reader ever makes Yuuji jealous on purpose? Maybe with someone they don't see as often because everyone close knows Yuujis girl backs and also bites , so I can see her doing it with maybe someone from Kyoto.

I feel Yuuji is the kind to let it pass or act oblivious cuz he knows I would piss her off but when they are on private he let's her know that playing stupid games lead you to win stupid prices.

Anyways as you can see I'm super super invested in you au, you are an amazing writer❤️

[cws] fem reader. i named the kyoto student ryo. sukuna takes over at the end. anal at the end. overstimulation. half a sprinkle of impact play -> like 2 spanks.

You’re always so dismissive to everyone, especially to those who aren’t in your inner circle. If you don’t interact with them on a daily basis, you couldn’t care less to hear what they have to say, and it’s not an unusual sight to see you rudely walk away mid conversation.

The same could be said for the Kyoto students.

You weren’t friendly with any of them, and had even ended up on bad terms with a few due to your nature. Yuji had been sure he was going to have to intervene in at least five times with the same person in order to keep the peace during their impromptu visit, but to his surprise, to everyone’s surprise, you had been on your best behavior.

You had greeted everyone, albeit with an annoyed ‘hey’ followed by a roll of your eyes, but that was leagues better than what you had done last year! When Todo had intruded on you and Yuji’s conversation, you hadn’t tried to smash Maki’s cursed tool against his head like you usually do, but had rather pursed your lips and excused yourself from the conversation, leaving him to listen to tales about Takada and other nonsensical things.

All in all, the day was going alright. You hadn’t gotten into a heated argument with anyone, nor had he sensed any spikes in cursed energy for the last hour or so that you had been out of his sight. Deciding that he’d just about enough of Todo droning on and on about the feeling of Takada’s hand in his own, Yuji begins to plot his escape.”

“It was a riveting—”

“You heard that?” Yuji cuts Todo off, eyebrows furrowed as he cups his hand to his ear. “I think that’s my girlfriend screaming in agonizing pain—gotta go.” He jogs away, ignoring the call of his name, and snickers to himself as he rounds the corner, one hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

Just where are you, he thinks to himself as he scrolls to your contact, a smile breaking out onto his face at the sight of your contact picture. It showcased you giving him an annoyed look, face scrunched up cutely as you had your hand raised, a failed attempt to block your face from the camera. He shoots you a quick text asking where you are, followed by a barrage of heart emojis and kiss emojis, and he stops in front of the vending machine as he waits for your reply, deciding to buy himself and you a drink.

He’s halfway through his soda when you suddenly come rounding the corner, and he smiles as he pockets his phone, only for his smile to falter a bit when he notices that you’re smiling too, at someone that isn’t him—which isn’t a problem in and of itself! Yuji isn’t some crazy jealous guy, but it’s weird to see you look so… jolly. Who are you talking to?

A second person comes around the corner, and his face sours as he recognizes it as Kyoto’s newest 3rd year, Ryo. Yuji tries to be friendly with everyone, but he written the man off from the moment he saw him, not liking the way his eyes had raked you up and down while you had standing right beside Yuji—what was he, blind? It had been so obvious the two of you were together, what with the way Yuji had been trying to fuse your mouths together.

“Yuji,” you call, eyes crinkling as you grab ahold of Ryo’s wrist and pulls him over. Yuji takes another sip of his soda, cursing to himself when he feels Sukuna start to stir inside him. “You remember Ryo, right?”

It’s a tease—he knows it is. He had spent the better half of an hour that day complaining to you about him, while Sukuna had laughed and suggested he ‘pluck his fucking eyes out next time, brat, problem solved’, which he would never do, obviously, but the idea was a bit enticing…especially now, as Yuji is forced to watch the way Ryo takes in your ass when you stretch up to place a kiss on his cheek while you take your drink from his hand.

“He says he’s been thinking about transferring here, right?” You direct your attention to Ryo as you spin around, his eyes darting up to your face, and Yuji can’t keep his clear annoyance off his face.

“Right. I’m really liking the vibe here for some reason.” He grins, and Yuji nearly drags you away in response.

“Hm. Wonder why that is?” You giggle, fucking giggle, and an anger that’s part his own and part his curse’s begins to fester in his gut. Yuji sees the two of you stiffen, no doubt due to Sukuna’s sudden spike in energy, and he gathers the back of your shirt in his hand, the veins along the back of his hand protruding as he tugs you back into him. “Y… Yuji?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His chin hovers over your shoulder as he stares Ryo down, and something must show in his eyes then, because Ryo is flinching back and stuttering over his words as he takes slow steps back. “Did you want Sukuna?”

“No.” You hastily reply, and the bottle in your hand crinkles as your grip on it tightens.

“‘S that because you think I’m gonna go easy on you?”

“…”

“Because I’m not.”

~

The unmistakable ‘plap plap’ of Yuji’s hips snapping into your own is loud in the confined space, and you lift a shaky hand, intending on using it to push at his stomach. It’s snatched and pushed down against your chest before you can even fully raise it, and your mouth opens on a silent cry when he slams his cock into you.

“Yu—!”

He grunts, the hand that had been holding him above you moving to cover your mouth, leaving him no choice but to crush you with his weight. “Don’t -shit- call my name.” He rasps, beads of sweat rolling down the slope of his nose just as he rolls his hips into your, pelvis grinding down against your clit with every movement.

You’re sensitive, sore, and every touch, every stroke, sends a pleasurable pain zapping through your body. You don’t know how many times you’ve come, or how long it’s been since Yuji practically dragged you into a supply closet and got you down on your back, with Sukuna goading him on the entire time.

‘You gonna finally put her in her place, brat?’

‘Y’know she’s gonna do it again unless you punish her.’

‘Look how she was smiling. She did it on purpose. You’re too soft on her - let me deal with it.’

‘What’re you doing, idiot? Get your mouth off her cunt. Is this a fucking reward or a punishment?’

‘Slap her around—shut up, girl. Do it. She likes it, see? Look at the mess she’s making on our cock.’

A particularly hard thrust has your eyes rolling and your toes curling in your loafers, and your mouth falls open when he brushes against that spot, eyebrows pulling together as a fresh bout of tears spring to your eyes.

“You crying now?” Sukuna snarks, and Yuji falters, his eyes popping open from where they had been squeezed shut to look at your face. “Don’t fucking stop, she’s fine, she’s—”

“Yuji.”

“Sweet girl,” he answers, hands moving to cup the sides of your face. “Don’t cry - are you sensitive?” You weakly nod, cunt fluttering as he runs his nose along your cheek. “Do you want me to be softer? Just tell…” Yuji goes slack against you, and your eyes widen, hands moving to push at his shoulders, only for them to tense under your grip as a low laugh leaves him.

“Sukuna,” it comes out in a pitiful whine, and you wince at the slow drag of his cock along your walls as he pulls out, thick shaft sliding up between your folds as he bumps the head against your clit.

“It’s been a while,” his head pulls back, allowing you to see the grin stretched across his face, and you drop your gaze as you keep your mouth, earning another laugh. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared.” His touch is rough as he grips at your sides, nails biting into your skin, and you gasp when he’s suddenly flipping you over, one hand leaving your waist to smack at your ass. “Do it how I like it.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you shuffle so you’re up on your knees, butt lifted into the air while your chest is flush to the floor. Sukuna smacks you again, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, and you can’t help the moan that slips out when he spreads you open, his hips jutting forward so he can rut his cock against your cunt, a jolt racing up your spine when he goes over your clit.

“Ah, poor pussy is sensitive, yeah?” His tone is mocking, but you nod nonetheless. “Hm.” He pops the tip into your hole, fucking it in just a bit before pulling it back out to continue what he was doing. “Guess we’ve gotta pick another hole then, don’t we?”

“Suku—ah!” His hand reaches underneath you to deliver a swift slap to your cunt, fingers catching your clit, and you let out a pitiful little whimper.

“Quiet.” He spreads you open further, and a shaky breath leaves you when a glob of split lands on your puckered hole, his thumb spreading the wetness around before slowly pushing it in. “Only the good little girls get to speak.”

His cockhead replaces his thumb, and your breath comes out in pants as he eases himself in, stretching you impossibly wide as he forces himself to fit.

“I hope you’re watching, brat — no worries if you aren’t, I don’t mind repeating the lesson later.”

[hongjng8]

My Kind Of Heaven.

Pairing: DemonHybrid!san X Mortal!Reader

Feature: DemonHybrid!Seonghwa

Genre: Fantasy, mystery, dark.

Wc: 4k (4065)

Warnings: nsfw(18+)MDNI, CNC, light violence, Blasphemy, blood, knife play, manipulation, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, overstim, restraints, intoxication, possession.

Hongjng8’s notes: Can’t say no to a bit of twisted demon action can we my sweets. ;) I’m also making this to treat a friend of mine !! (@sansangel ) hehe. Make sure to enjoy to your hearts content <3

Tag list (DM to be added): @slvtiny @sugarnspice630 @yuyusolivebranch @taegi1016 @batw00yo @acescavern @yunhoscutie @atzaurora @littlefireball @crimsonbubble @jjoongstar

San Masterlist | main masterlist

“Hff~ I’m so exhausted.”

Your voice emitted a murmur, knowing that you needed to take a peaceful break. Which conveniently your home was a beautiful bungalow placed in the middle of the forest, and of course, you being a spiritual person who was connected with nature, this was a perfect opportunity to go for a stroll — you know, to take your mind away from reality.

You exhaled calmly, sliding into your skirt. Your shirt, whilst comfortable, tucked underneath. Lacing a white corset around your waist, finishing with bunny tying your shoe laces.

“Phew.. okay..”

Rushing outside, grabbing a thick warm blanket in your hurry. You clung to the bag that rested under your arm. Immediately being faced with the calmness of the wild; various flowers, tangling trees, wispy grass, and wind chasing bushes.

The quiet and riveting environment had always intrigued you, and you’d often venture deep into the dream-like land. Completely unaware what tales lie ahead..

“Beautiful..”

You spoke a breathless whisper, eyes fluttering as you spun around to take in the wonders that engulfed you. Yellow and blue butterflies dancing like fairies, pretty love birds singing in the tall trees — It really felt like your very own wonderland.

Eyes twinkling, you found your usual spot. The spot that radiated that homey sense of warmth and comfort. Where you could ponder for days on end. With a tug of strength, and a firm flap, you laid out your blanket; As white as winters snow, and as soft as a rabbits coat.

Perfectly flattened under an oak tree that could have been big enough to hold centuries worth of secrets.

“Perfect.. so warm..”

You delicately placed yourself down, legs nestling into the coziest of fabric. Gentle hands adjusting the hem of your skirt to cover your thighs. You finally relaxed.

There was one small thing about this so called ‘wonderland’, that you wasn’t so familiar with.

The forest you called home, was somewhat magical. Well, that is what you’d say if you were to sugarcoat the reality of it.

Ideally, this forest was a realm — A portal for many different entities to come forth into the land of mortals.

This nature fueled soil was enchanted.

Peaceful. Was how things were going. You hadn’t felt so in touch with nature in such a long time. Your eyes had been closed for a hot second, taking in the sounds and drowsing in the scents around you.

Unknowingly, a faint mist was beginning to display it-self around the environment, decorating the air with twinkles of star dust. An uneasy ambiance dizzying your mind.. assuredly feeling a pair of eyes feasting upon you.

The wind grew a sudden strong, a cold breeze dangerously tugging at your skirt, snatching your attention away from daydreaming.

Sitting up, you scanned the unfamiliar scene in-front of you;

“what the fuck-“

You rubbed your eyes, examining the swirls of twinkly mist, blending perfectly within the air. ‘What a weird abomination.’

Trying to shrug it off, you pulled your phone out to check the time. It was getting later and later in the evening. Eyes rolling back, you let out a frustrated sigh, unappreciative about the journey back home. That was until the sweet scent of tangerine filled your nostrils: One of your favorite smells.

It was addictive, you felt pulled into some kind of bliss. You stared forward as the starry mist formed a trail, eagerly yearning for you to follow. To which you obeyed. — who could resist when the scent you got drunk on, only got stronger each step you took along the path.

The trail led you somewhere quiet and unusually closed off. Anyone else would have been suspicious, but the daze this mist and scent brung you only pushed you forward. You were hooked: Just like a fish being reeled in like mindless prey.

Hands draping to your sides, completely struck by the unrealism of what was unfolding in-front of you.

The foggy mist swarmed like a tornado. The stardust becoming more evident the bigger the mist got. Your jaw was hung, sheepishly stepping back from what began emerging.

A sleek outline.. such a tall figure exposing itself.

“I’m going cra-“

you were cut-off by this strange-being revealing himself; eyes sharp, plump succulent lips forming into a mischievous grin, his silk white hair that drooped infront of his brown, heavy eyes.

“Id hope it’s over me~..”

The strangers voice sent shivers along your soft skin, trembles running down your spine.

Your breath was taken away, stumbling over words that you were struggling to spurt out. To which you almost tripped in response. Only for this mysterious man to catch your fall, his hands soft yet they held a firm grip on you.

“Shh sh sh.. Don’t be afraid of a harmless Demon.”

His words were allusive, voice venom-like. You were spooked for sure, but you couldn’t deny the fact this demon was drop-dead gorgeous.

“Demon..?”

You questioned, your body tense as his hold on you tightened, sharp nails scratching against your clothes, as he cradled your body against his toned build.

“Correct.”

He was confident, straight to the point.

“I haven’t had such an opportunity to visit this side in a while.. what do they call it? Ah! The mortal realm.”

You blinked, examining this man in-front of you. You had always been a spiritual person, but witnessing a demons presence first hand was not on your list.

“Call me Seonghwa, pretty. Think of me as any other guy.”

Seonghwa spoke with pride, his long fingers began caressing your chin, lifting your head just a little to meet his eyes. The type of eyes that sucked in your soul, with intention.

“Consider us.. new acquaintances.”

He hissed with a smirk, fangs peaking as his lips curled, hands moving down to caress the curves of your waist once again.

You attempted to read this man carefully, but he was for sure a tough one to get through.

“What are you here for..? What made you approach me..?”

Your words tried to come across stern, but your voice came out quiet. It was clear as day you were nervous, to which he only got a rush out of.

He inched closer to you, siding you off to where you originally rested under the large oak tree.

“How could I resist such a welcoming treat, all alone.. in the woods..”

His eyes flickered to you, gazing up and down. He sought for the advantage in the situation.

“I’d assume some company wouldn’t be any trouble now, would it my pet.”

You inhaled a sharp breath, though before you could speak, you felt his broad cold hand against your bare thigh, swiftly making his move. He was quick, an unpredictable predator pouncing onto his prey.

“Seonghwa.. wait— no.. sto-“

Your mouth was covered by his spare hand, causing you to whimper, powerless. The demons strength was not unknown either, as he had you pushed against the hard bark of the tree, his body pressed against your back.

“Hush now, little human. You’ll love being my toy. How does it sound? A demons plaything?”

His sleek fingers curled under your skirt, prodding at the fine laced panties that covered your heated cunt.

You squirmed, shaking your head in denial to reject the hell spawn, which clearly didn’t phase him at all. You were only met with a stronger scent of that familiar mandarin orange. However this time, it left you in a deeper dreamlike state, incapable of thinking for yourself. The smell was captivating.. poison.

The demons lips ran over your ear, soon leaving a hopeful kiss against the nape of your neck.

“I’m so sorry.”

The specimen whispered sweet nothings and false apologies, as his fingers continued violating your clothed heat. Your body reacting against your wishes, as your soft panties dampened to his touch.

“I just can’t help myself..”

He growled lightly, tugging the wet lace of your panties aside, exposing your smooth, plump pussy to his digits.

“N-no..”

Your voice was shy to a whisper, unable to fight against his touch. You were dreading what could happen next. Seonghwa, whilst completely unwelcome, was exploring your now, throbbing underneath. Yet why was your body enjoying this feeling? It felt unbelievably filthy.

“Any demon would thrive to have a pet mortal like you. so beautiful.. so needing of such attention..”

His voice flowed smoothly, and you hated the way it gave you goosebumps of excitement.

Your eyes suddenly shot wide open, feeling his fingers scissoring your sensitive folds — gliding around your doused slick.

“How inviting..”

Over the faint murmurs of his words, and the dizziness from the transe you were under, all you could hear was the pathetic, squelching of your unacceptably wet pussy.

Seonghwa chuckled, satisfied with the reaction your body gave him. The sound echoing through your ears as your body sunk against the textured brown wood.

He slipped his hands out from under your skirt— fingers sticky with your unwanted arousal, pulling out a feather, tenderly stroking it along the back of your thigh. At least, to a mortal, it appeared to be a beautiful white feather. But under that enchanted disguise, a sharp steeled blade rested between his finger’s.

“I won’t hurt you.”

His words were anything but promising.

He was ruthless, sadistic. Yet something about him was drawing you in.

Your legs trembled as you felt the tickle of the feather against your skin, though that tremble soon turned into a cold hiccup of realization, the pressure he was applying to your skin was nothing to what a feather could achieve.

“Hold still, sweet thing.”

Body trembling in fear, your nails scratching against the tree bark. You felt the sharp rushing sting of the blade beginning to delve into your skin — eyes shutting tight to brace yourself for that anticipating pain.

That was until Seonghwa suddenly stopped. Unusual.. what’s happening?

The stardust mist that surrounded you both dangerously swept away. Just like wind picking up from a helicopters rotor blades.

Seonghwa’s guard was put down as he examined what was going on, his face full of clear concern. You instantly fell down to your blanket, hugging your knees, snapping out of the daydream this star demon laced you in.

“Fuck..”

Seonghwa growled defensively. You noticed for the first time the anger and irritation that brewed inside of him. ‘Is this what demons were?’

This new aura that dominated the horizon was stronger — even you, a powerless human could feel the intensity that was at steak. Seonghwa turned to you, head tilting as he concealed the fact he was intimidated. He knew what was coming, who was approaching.

“We need to leave, kitty.”

He attempted to bribe you, although you on the other hand: frightened, completely clueless. Your body was frozen, you could barely even hear Seonghwa talking to you. This new, musky Aura was paralyzing.

“You can trust me. You don’t need anyone else.”

Seonghwa himself winced, eyes jolting to the trees that golfed you both in. Vines manipulated themselves, branches cracking as the green stems slithered forward. Seonghwa’s abilities were useless against this hostile entity.

And he knew it.

Your eyes stilled, watching as vines approached the demon in-front of you, lips trembling as you shuffled backward slowly,

“What’s wron-“

Seonghwa’s words were put to a halt with a threatening choke, his neck strangled tightly by the vines. The poised demon groaned, nails grasping at the veiny wires of nature, the stardust that radiated from his body crumbled into Smokey. You on the other hand, were struck, barely able to form a thought.

Another demon, one who was broader with a menacing presence, came closer to you and Seonghwa, who was still restraint by his neck. This new being simply raised a hand, the vines lifting Seonghwa enough to face him.

“San..”

Seonghwa yelped, his breath short. Irritation spread all over his expression. Though he knew his place when against this rival.

“Seonghwa.”

San responded, his eyebrows furrowed with displeasure. You watched carefully as the two had an obvious distaste for one another, your attention drifting to the dangerous man.

‘San.. I see.’ you tried to gather some courage, being sure to collect as much information as you could just from listening to their small talk.

San’s hand reached out to glide two fingers up Seonghwa’s temple, before grasping his hair, tugging his head back with spite.

“You’ve had your fun, pixie. Get lost.”

His words spilled out like venom, letting Seonghwa go with a thud. The starry man grunted, picking himself up and wiping his lips. He was smart enough to know he wouldn’t stand a chance against San— forced to return to the opposite realm with a longing desire for your taste.

Left alone, the silence was eerie. Your tummy twisted, nerves pricking your spine and sending you into shivers. San undoubtedly held something in his manner, something that caught your true attraction.

This was the weirdest day of your life.

“Y/n, hm?”

You froze. ‘how did he know my name?’.

Your legs trembled, laying out as you stared up at the large man. Breath hitching at the sound of the vines crackling closer towards your limbs.

“I know many things, Princess. Like reading your little mind. You’re forgetting what I am.”

You began to notice that these demons seemed to have one similar trait: scents.

San secreted the musky fragrance of sage — god, another one of your favorites. However, this scent had a complete different effect. You wasn’t hypnotized to a stand-still, no. You coughed as the smell filled your lungs, your body willingly relaxed, legs parting. Your mind being filled with sinful, dirty thoughts.

“Tsk, I’ve never met someone who slips into traps so easily. Such a clever girl.”

His praise felt almost like mockery, your eyes clouded with desire as San closed in, hovering over your frame.

“Please..”

‘What am I saying?’ Your thoughts raced. For some strange reason, you craved the touch of the demon that stood in-front of you.

“You pitiful angel. I’d say the lord would be looking down at you with shame. You really want a demon to take care of you?”

Your cheeks heated with humiliation, whining as the demon controlled the vines, wrapping them securely over your ankles, tugging your body forward and forcing you onto your back.

Holy fuck he was enticing.

“You don’t mind if I treat myself, right baby girl?”

His red eyes drank up your kind pupils, and with a click of his fingers, the vines forced your legs apart. Your panties still damp from before, the lace suckled against your folds. You let out a breathy whimper as the cold air reached between your thighs, unfocused as San leant down, knees between your legs.

“I think this little deer needs a helping hand, hm?”

San teased, watching as your hips wiggled, your lips sealed as your heartbeat increased. You could feel his heavy presence inching closer to your warmth.

“Speak up, my little slut. Use that sweet mouth of yours.”

The demon slapped your desperately swollen clit, which was throbbing underneath your panties. Your body was covered in goosebumps, excitement pumping through your bloodstream. You couldn’t believe this was actually turning you on.

“Yes.. yes.. please San, please help me.. I need it.. please..”

He grinned, pleased. Wasting no time as his thick, long fingers slid under the sides of your soggy panties, hurriedly tearing them off of you with ease. He stumbled forward, latching his lips onto your cascaded mound. He groaned, tugging the vines to pressurize you against his face as much as he could. Mouthing you hungrily, licking between your folds, taking his time to explore every crevice. — eager to find your sweet spots.

“S-san!”

Your body shook, Lower back arching from the sensational assault against your gushing cunt. Now that the demon has got the taste of your sweet nectar, he indefinitely can’t stop.

In San’s mind, he grew heated at the idea of having a human like you under his sleeve. His personal little slave — a pretty toy he could mould into his very own property. An uncomfortable tightening shaped in pants at the thoughts, forming a hood at his crotch. He moaned at the fantasy, sending vibrations into you that only added to your pleasure. Your body shivering and trembling under his curse.

He pulled away momentarily, lips detaching from your drowned pussy with a pop. He panted, animal-like. Crazed from the smell of your arousal. He fluttered kisses against your thighs, hands caressing your delicate legs.

You were aching for more.

“Fuck.. you’re so wet. For me? Really?”

San was smug, admiring how your sensitive cunt throbbed and grasped around nothing. He knew exactly what you needed, and he damn well was going to take advantage of it. Without any question, he pumped two of his thick digits into your pretty little pussy. Curling them repeatedly, angling his wrists to explore your gummy walls, soon finding that sweet spot, causing a lucid moan to emit from your mouth.

You reacted perfectly to his touch, exactly how he wanted. He abused your frail, gasping cunt, violating that sweet spot — leaning down once again to suck your clit as he finger fucked you. Your hips jolting as you were edging closer to your release.

“That’s it, let go. Just for me.”

San murmured against your pulsing heat, shaking his head as he lapped you up like a fucking dog. As soon as he felt your walls clamping down and gushing on his fingers, he pulled them out just in time, frantically rubbing your sensitive bud with his hand — forcing an orgasm from you.

“Fuckkk! C-cumming.. mm!”

A high pitch cry poured out of your cords, San growling in response, a deeper moan passing his lips as he watched you squirt all over his hand, slapping your cunt one last time before he savored your high with his tongue, drowning in your pleasure.

“Such a good girl. Giving into a demon.”

The demon had pulled away, leaving you drenched and ready. Gasping for air as your chest raised up and down. San’s eyes stared down at your heaving chest, tongue gliding over his swollen lips to collect your sweetness that stained.

Your gaze met his, cheeks flushed as you watched him remove his clothes. A thick fog caved you both around the blanket. No one could see you like this but him. Your pleasure was for his eyes only.

Whilst removing the clothes that covered his lower half, the vines under his spell swiftly began tearing your clothes away from your skin.

“You’re so pretty like this.”

You gasped, the plants behind San’s strength handling your body with ease, flipping you onto your stomach and tangling around your waist to hang your hips in the air. San’s hand landed a rough slap against your ass, kneading the flesh within his large palms. Your face was pressed against the soft blanket, hands restrained behind your back. The power the demons vines withheld was more than surprising.

Before you knew it, you were on display — ass up face down. Tangled within the curse of nature.

“Delicate little princess. You belong to me. I’ll break you open and mould you into my very own cocksleeve.”

San finally positioned himself behind you, your knees either side of him as he gave his dick a few long, wet strokes — His breathing heavy.

Your legs felt weak, though San had no problem assisting, pulling your hips closer to his. The demon began to rub his length against your sex, making sure to gather and spread all the juices. It was obvious how needy and ready you were; you were leaking, dripping to feel San’s cock deep inside you.

After painfully being teased, he started to push his cock into your begging hole. The stretch was intense, pressure being more than anticipated. He was big, length and girth considered. Your walls hugged around him perfectly, like you were made for this. Both of your moans danced in the air together, his length completely sheathed inside you, the bruised-pink tip kissing your cervix.

“Shit.. you’re such a tight fuck-toy.”

San grasped the vines that tied your hands, pushing down against your middle back to deepen your arch, as he began setting a fastened pace, grinning to himself; you were losing yourself in this demon.

Unable to form a sentence, simply letting out wails of pleasure. Your pussy fluttering from the sensation — San’s cock plunged against the sweet muscle deep inside you. His dizzying sage aroma filled your lungs, becoming more addictive than any drug.

“You’re taking me so fucking well. Have you done this before? My little whore.”

The sadistic spawn spat rhetorically, eyes dark and heavy as he delve into you with such depth and speed, your tummy twisting with a tight knot. You swore you could feel a bulge in your lower belly each time he fucked into you; Babbling pathetic nothings as he ruined your pretty cunt. The high San was giving you, allowed you the energy you so badly needed to take his cock even after already hitting such an orgasm before.

“G-good.. so go-ood”

You managed to drool some words from your lips, tears rolling down your rosy cheeks. He kept you pushed down, giving several long strokes which gained your eyes rolling back, your nails digging into the stemmy ropes.

“You’re loving this aren’t you? Taking demon dick.”

He fastened, letting out a lengthy moan feeling you tighten around him. His balls were slapping against your wet core, the sound echoing through the fog that clouded around you both.

San’s arm snaked around your waist, the vines tightening against your skin, surely leaving a mark. His fingers dipped between your folds, swirling and brushing over your hard clit, all whilst his thrusts grew animalistic — The overwhelming sensitivity had your hips bucking repetitively.

“That’s it. Take it. Take all of me.”

The friction the two bodies created surely had the blanket dirtied underneath by the earth it had been resting on. You began feeling a burning twist forming in your aching tummy, breathing unsteady. The ruthless pounding only sent you deeper into your arousal, your muscles stiffening as your spine bent the furthest it could; bringing you to another orgasm. It hit you hard, your throbbing cunt squeezing and gushing around San’s cock.

“Oh g-god!”

“Scream for the lord. Let him hear you.”

As you release, relishing into a moaning mess. San grabbed a blade that the vines had hauled towards him, his hips still rolling rhythmically as you twitched and flushed against him, milking your high out of you.

Without a word, he carved his singular initial into the back of your thigh — his breath shuddering as he watched your crimson blood tickle down your already shaking leg.

“N-ngh! F-fuck yes y-yes!”

San threw the blade aside as you came over him, cursing as he sharply swatted your ass, sending your body into trembles. Fucking into you feverishly, getting drunk off your squeals and sobs. You loved this feeling of being used; having this deep need to give yourself over to this demon. A success for him.

His groans turned into feral, desperate grunts. Frantically pumping himself in and out of your drowned pussy, sending you into overstimulation. His orgasm peaked, head leaning back dreamily as his moans laced with your cries — his hot seed spewing over your walls, painting your crevices.

“Oh.. oh yes, fuck..”

The last thing you could feel was his pulsating length, only then for it to slide out. Leaving your pitiful hole gasping and leaking with the sinful fluids. The demon caught his breath, slicking his hair back, flocking the vines back to their origin.

“I hope you realize, you belong to me, y/n.”

His words weren’t threatening, but more of an honest, possessive statement. He had great intention in his tone. Your body was weak, limbs lifeless like jelly as you finally rested against the white coated, liquid drowsed blanket. San leant down with you, hands caressing over your tender curves, admiring his newly claimed property.

He fluttered gentle, wet kisses along your shoulder, and then to your neck — Cradling you in his large arms as you rested, completely fucked senseless. Although you had the lasting trace of this demon imprinted in your mind.

“I’ll be sure to visit you often, my angel.” ~

[hughiecampbelle]

The Boys Preference: Being An Assassin Who Joins The team

A/N: I'M OBSESSED WITH THIS IDEA :D I have so many ideas attached to it, so many posts brewing, so I really hope you like it!!! I kinda think of it similar to Red Room from MCU and also the Aunts from The Handmaid's Tale, if that makes any sense lol. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Butcher likes you. He sees the emotion you evoke from the rest of the team and he thinks you're a perfect fit. You're not sure what to think of him. If he was one of your siblings, he wouldn't have lasted long. Selfish, arrogant, self-righteous. That's the kind of thing that got you punished, that got you killed. Beneath it though, to a degree, you can tell he really cares for everyone. It might be twisted and warped and at this point unrecognizable, but it was there. He enjoys hearing about your kills, especially when it was Supes. You weren't just good at what you did, you were the best. You were creative, too. Imaginative. He brags to you about killing Translucent, how they did it. You're not terribly impressed, but for his benefit you put on a show. You're a little weird, but he likes that. You're except in some areas (like going undercover) and mediocre in others (like figuring out how to befriend Hughie). He doesn't judge what you've done. It's just how you were raised. He tries to do a background check on you, but there's nothing. The name your mentors gave you wasn't the one your parents, if there even were parents, gave you. You were a blank slate. It was both riveting and terribly dangerous.

Hughie has the most questions. He can see just from your appearance, all the scars on your face and neck, all the ones he can't see, that you've been to hell and back. You hold yourself rigid, tight. Even when you seem relaxed you aren't. You're constantly looking for the nearest exit or weapon, scanning every room you walk into. It spooks him a little. He lets his imagination get the better of him, something he knows he shouldn't do, but just can't help it. You like Hughie instantly. And not just because he's too awkward and frail to get in a proper punch, too soft to ever truly hurt you. He seems sweet, naive, like he needs protecting. He reminds you of the kids in the program who didn't make it. You protected them, too. Or, at least tried to. You're as friendly as you let yourself, taking an interest in whatever he's doing, becoming his shadow. Everyone takes notice, but he doesn't seem to mind. He likes your company. The rest of the team hopes you'll open up to him, tell him what you won't tell everyone else, but he refuses to pry. If you talk, that's great. If not, oh well. If you want to hang out by his side, that works too.

Annie has nothing against you, but you definitely keep your distance, especially at first. You've killed more than enough Supes to prove your competency, more than you can name. You're not sure what they tell each other, but you imagine it similar to the system you grew up with: word spread quickly, you all felt it when one of your own were killed. There was an alliance that went unsaid. If you could avenge your fallen siblings, you would. If she found out who you killed, how many, would she come after you? Eventually you learn they're not all connected like that, that Annie's on your side. Still, you kind of see her as the embodiment of everything you're not. She's sweet, caring, and honest. You've been lying all your life, you can't tell what's real and what isn't. Hughie likes her, loves her, so that definitely helps in developing your relationship. Annie knows about your past, what little you share of it, but she doesn't judge. Maybe, at a time, she would have, but after being part of The Boys so long, that kind of thing kind of loses its shock power. You did what you had to, what you were trained to. Weren't you all guilty of a version of that?

M.M., similar to his initial feelings about Kimiko, isn't too fond of you. He doesn't mean to judge as harshly as he does, but just by the looks of you, you mean trouble. Hughie tries to talk to him, but he just can't get past your quirks. You're so naive about certain things (what music you like to listen to, shows you've never seen, how to form normal friendships, what jokes are funny) and so knowledgeable about other things (the fastest way to bleed out a man, how to make a murder look like a suicide, the amount of languages you were taught to better go after your targets). It just doesn't sit right with him. Knowing this, sensing this, you keep your distance, knowing not to further upset him similar to how your mentors were. Be invisible to him, them. It isn't until you give him sound advice for protecting Monique and Janine, something he never would have thought of, does he reconsider his feelings. He's still not a big fan, but he can see why you belong on the team, why your skills are beneficial, even if some of the stuff you say so lightly gives him the heebie jeebies, like the time you reminisced about killing someone with just a wooden spoon.

Frenchie doesn't really see you as an assassin. They've all killed people, it didn't seem like such a big deal. He doesn't love the idea of you being around Kimiko. She's made a life for herself beyond what she's gone through. It feels like you're still learning how to be without it. Without your mentors, your siblings. He knows there's no one better to give you a chance than him, so he's very open, inviting. You talk to him exclusively in French. You tell him small parts of your past, and he's grateful for that. In return, he tells you about his own childhood. When he shares the scars from his father, you tell him about the ones on your face and neck, how you deserved them for disobedience. He doesn't tell anyone else, knowing it was only meant for him to hear. You even speak affectionately about your mentors, the ones who were kind and only hurt you when you needed it. He wasn't shocked, at least not outwardly, not wanting you to feel strange or odd. Because you don't speak French with an accent, it's hard for him to decipher where you're from. All over, you say, and though you know it's a non-answer, it's the truth. You've been all over the world. You just happened to end up in New York.

Kimiko becomes your friend immediately. Though you gravitate towards Hughie because he's sweet, you like Kimiko because you can tell you're very similar. She doesn't have to say anything, you just know. You recognize the signs. The rest of the team doesn't think it's a great idea, you are alone with her, namely Frenchie. When you aren't cold and standoffish, you're far too casual about what you've done, pointing to old movies with famous Supes back in the day or old politicians, reminiscing how you killed them, made it look like a suicide. Or you talk about growing up, how you were punished for crying even when your friends were killed, pointing out the scars they left. She's not upset by it, she's glad you're talking about it. It makes her upbringing feel normal. You learn sign language quickly, another language you can add to your list, telling her more than anyone else. In return you listen to her, whatever she wants to share, grateful for someone who doesn't look at you like a monster or a freak. You like listening to her go on about Frenchie, her feelings for him. It's a piece of childhood you never got to take part in. It's nice.

[i-write-boop-spoops]

Guzma Fluff Alphabet

first piece of the year ignore that it's feb

thanks for the anon who requested this! gn! reader, some mild angst and insecurity. not proofread lol

Enjoy!

A = Activities (what do they like to do with their s/o? how do they spend their free time?)

He LOVES a lazy morning together, just snuggling and goofing off in bed, drifting in-and-out of sleep in each other’s arms. He loves to make you laugh and fluster by blowing raspberries on your tummy or kissing your neck. Your slightly raspy voice and bleary eyes and bedhead… it’s just his favourite image in the world

He’s also a capital G Ganer (well actually he just plays whatever the Pokémon world’s equivalent to CoD is) so he likes playing with you or just having you watch him play how riveting. Of course, he’s up for playing sone of the games you like, your Pokémon Crossing island is so cute!!

Guzma is a bit of a homebody when it comes to hanging out with his boo, so things like just snuggling together while you binge a show or movie, or while you show each other asinine Tiktoks, are totally up his alley. It’s just a no-pressure way of spending time with you.

Also, living on the beautiful Ula’Ula island, you visit the beach ALL the time (plus it’s free!)

B = Beauty (what do they admire about their s/o? what do they think is beautiful about them?)

You are just so… kind. So kind. Not just to him, but to everyone. He’s the big bad bug man, a bully, a (reformed) petty criminal and yet you treat him so well. You’re kind to his scary bug Pokémon too, kind to the grunts. You’re just a wonderful person, too pure for this world.

Plus, you’re cute as fuck AND you got a nice booty. The total package.

C = Comfort (how do they help their s/o when they feel down? what makes them feel better?)

Guzma…. he’s not great with words. He really doesn’t know what to say when you’re not feeling great, doesn’t know what words will help comfort you. But he can give you a hug, take you into his big arms, hold you to his warn chest, and gently stroke your back with his large hand. He’ll let you wet his shirt with your tears if you need to, he’ll hold you anyways if you don’t.

And when you’re ready, he’ll make a corny joke to break the tension and make you smile again, he LOVES your smile :)

Unsurprisingly, he hates feeling vulnerable. He’s the big, bad, boss, he shouldn’t be crying. He’s ashamed of this “weak” side of himself, so he tends to lock himself away, distance himself from you. He doesn’t want you to see him like this. Of course, because you’re concerned for his wellbeing, you weedle your way into his room, and let him bury his face in your stomach and hold him.

Just talk, about anything. Distract him with stories from your work/school, funny tales from your childhood, that one Togedemaru that keeps invading your garden. Play with his hair. Make him forget.

D = Dreams (how do they picture their future with their s/o and in general?)

Before he met you, he kinda stopped having dreams…. he failed his trials, wasn’t talking with his family, was just stuck in that ol’ Pokémon-evil-team shtick.

And then you came into his life, and suddenly, he’s thinking about getting a job, one that’ll probably be minimum wage and gruelling, but he’ll work himself half to death if it means he’ll be worthy of you. Maybe he’ll even go to college.

He just wants to be the kind of man you want to spend your life with, that you can give proud toasts about at your milestone anniversaries. Whether said life involves you two getting married and/or having a couple kiddos or not, he doesn’t mind either way.

E = Equal (are they the dominant one in the relationship or are they rather passive?)

Despite him being the big boss and all, he’s actually the more passive one. Honestly, he’s more into being chill and casual and cosy with you. So, you have to be the one to drag him out of the house to do something. You’re the one who suggests activities and food choices and all sorts.

F = Fight (how quick are they to forgive their s/o? what are they like in an argument? who says sorry first?)

Unsurprisingly, Guzma has a bit a lot of a temper. So, it means he’s quick to anger, and he’ll get quite thick. A lot of it is due to his insecurities, so seemingly innocuous things can set him off.

He’s very accusatory in fights, loud and in-your-face. Even a little mean :( (but he will immediately crumple if you start to cry)

He’s been working on himself though, so he will own up to his mistake. He’ll slink over to you, hunched over, hands buried in his pockets, gaze tilted downwards as he mumbles a “Sorry baby…”

He’s not embarrassed to say sorry, he’s embarrassed he got so emotional and angry in the first place. He NEVER wants to make you feel upset or unloved by him.

G = Gifts (what kind of things do they gift to their s/o? are they spontaneous or do they stick to special events like anniversaries?)

SNACKS. snacks. s n a c k s.

You will NEVER go hungry dating Guzma! Every time you see him, he’s at least got your favourite candy bar or fruit slices on him. He’s got a little basket in his room full of crispy corn snacks and chips for you two to munch on while you’re hanging out. When you tell him you’ve had a bad day, he WILL buy you a pint of ice cream for you to cry into.

Other gifts he likes to give you tend to be cute but small. Little plushes and keyrings and knickknacks. He likes picking out quirky things that he thinks suits you from thrift shops and markets and such.

For birthdays and such, he’s more likely to do a little collection of smaller gifts than one big gift. He’s always way more into giving you a memorable experience than anything else.

He’d really love to spoil you with diamonds and designer goods, but he ain’t got the money for that.

H = Heart Eyes (what are they like in love? is it obvious to others? how do they express their love? do they brag about their s/o to others?)

Guzma is so. fucking. happy. Like, genuinely on cloud nine. He’s sure of himself, cockier than usual, always having this smug grin on his face because he knows he’s caught a baddie.

The real question is, when is he not bragging about you?? He’s already boastful as is, so with you in his life. It’s practically comical how much he brags about you.

I = Impression (what first attracted them to their s/o? how accurate was their first impression to how their s/o actually is?)

Typically, when Guzma sees someone he’s attracted to, it’s all horniness on his part – but with you, it was different. You were just so beautiful, cute and pretty and kind and lovely. He was in awe.

He, of course, still thought you were incredibly hot and sexy, but he was feeling more than that for you, even at first sight.

J = Jealousy (do they get jealous easily? how do they deal with it?)

Very jealous. As cocky as he is, he’s deeply insecure, and is convinced he doesn’t deserve you… but that manifests as possessiveness. He’s terrified of losing you, especially to someone else.

When a love rival is about, he has an arm around you, using his large frame to shield you from whoever he’s worried about (whether it’s warranted or not). He’s all over you too, kissing you, touching you, making it obvious to everyone that you’re his.

And if anyone does try make a move on you? It’s gonna be a battle and not necessarily a pokemon one

K = Kiss (are they a good kisser? what was their first kiss like? where do they kiss the most?)

Oh, Guzma loves to kiss! He’s a playful, but passionate kisser, who loves making you smile with his smooches. He also can’t just give you one kiss, it has to be a flurry of kisses. He just loves having his lips on you.

His favourite place to kiss, other than your lips and neck, is your tummy! It makes you all giggly and squirmy and it warms his heart. He really likes your abdomen and he thinks it deserves all the attention!

more guzma kissing headcanons here!

L = Little Things (what are the little things they love about their s/o? are they attentive?)

omg when you hit him with that cute little smile of yours? His heart melts. And if you giggle too? Something get this man into heart surgery, his heart can’t TAKE the cuteness!

He loves your hands too, they’re so small compared to his, so delicate. He loves the way they fit in his hands, he treats them as if they’re delicate (which he has never done with anything before)

M = Marriage (do they want to get married? how do they propose? what would the wedding be like?)

Guzma would die if he got the chance to be your hubby. Spending the rest of his life with his boo, your love cemented and recognised by all AND a sick-ass party with CAKE? he’s sold.

Well, he would be, if it weren’t for his pesky insecurities getting in the way. He’s not good enough for you, he tells himself, you deserve better. You deserve the big white wedding and the stability other men can provide.

Of course, you knock him upside the head with the biggest reality-check of his life, and he finally comes to realisation he needs to marry you

Saves up to buy you a nice ring, and to take you out on a real night on the town (well mainly, that really nice Paldean place you wanted to try, and some ice cream afterwards). He takes you to the beach then, to watch the sunset. He’s sweating buckets the whole time, and when he finally gets down on one knee, he fucking forgets his whole speech and after a whole minute of awkward silence he eventually just says;  “..Marry me?”

You say yes of course, and later that year you tie the knot at that very beach. It’s cute and a little casual, there’s a buffet, one of the grunts are DJ-ing (your relatives are requesting 80s classics he’s never heard of). It’s genuinely just a really fun, amazing night, made even better by the fact that YOU’RE MARRIED TO GUZMA!!!

N = Nicknames (what do they call their s/o? what do they get called?)

Does he ever even call you by your actual name? In sincere, raw moments maybe. But most of the time, he’s calling you “boo” (his personal fave), “Babe/baby”, “cutie”, “cutiebug” (don’t let the grunts hear him call you that, he’ll never live it down) or some play on your name.

He even hits you with the “bro” sometimes.

You call him things like “Guz” or “Big guy” (He likes that one, makes him feel big and protective). Occasionally you’ll call him “Ma” which gets a chuckle outta everyone.

O = Open (do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? is it easy for them to share?)

Guzma puts on the big bad boss front a lot, it’s to protect himself. He is deeply insecure in himself – but he doesn’t want anyone to know that, let alone you, the person he loves so much.

But he can’t hide it forever, and as you become more and more serious about each other, those walls are chipped away by your kindness and your understanding nature. You start getting glimpses into his vulnerable side, into parts of his past that he’s not fond of. Soon enough, you’ve pulled away all that chitinous armour, and found the insecure boy beneath, who you love with all your heart nonetheless.

P = Pancakes (are they a good cook? how often do they cook for their s/o? breakfast in bed or fancy dinner dates?)

Guzma’s not bad at all… he just needs a little more practise, and a little more variety. He tends not to cook for himself, mostly eating takeout and ready meals. Sometimes he just has an energy drink instead of breakfast. He does cook for you though, because he wants to treat you right (and also because he doesn’t want you to think he’s a slob)

He can make a standard pasta sauce, a curry sauce, a toasty, pancakes and a chilli. As the two of you continue to date, he starts to up his culinary catalogue (sometimes to disastrous effect oops)

Sometimes you two are lazy, or just have cravings, and he’ll buy you takeout too. He tends to stick to pizza, but you can convince him to expand his horizons (he ended up really enjoying sushi!)

When bringing you for a night on the town, he mainly just brings you to fast-food places – he’s broke – but every now and then he’ll bring you to a nice restaurant to wine and dine you.

Q = Quirk (a random quality/ability that is beneficial to their relationship.)

You have scary dog or scary mon?  privileges. Absolutely nobody is gonna mess with you when you’re out with the big, bad bug man.

also you two lovingly recreate the “he asked for no pickles” meme all the time

R = Romance (how romantic are they? are they cliché or creative?)

Guzma is surprisingly romantic. He thinks you deserve the world, and while he doesn’t think he can give it to you, he tries his best. He likes to get you flowers when he can or take you on cute (but cheap) dates.

He’s bad with words, he’d love to wax poetic about your beauty and the love he has for you, but it never really comes out how he’d like. You get the sentiment though.

S = Sleep (who falls asleep first? do they need their s/o close to them? do they have any bad habits?)

It really depends, sometimes he hits the pillow and he’s out like a light, other times he likes to stay up and watch your cute face as you drift off.

Whenever you sleep in the same bed, you always end up with your limbs tangled in his, or with him enveloping you as the big spoon. You’re his teddy bewear, through and through. He needs to snuggle you to get a good night’s sleep

He snores SO LOUD and drools

T = Thrill (do they need to spice up their relationship with new things or do they stick to a routine? how often do they do new things?)

Personally, he’d prefer to just be chill and hang out – but he doesn’t want to bore you, or make you think he doesn’t care, so he does try and bring you on new and fun experiences, even ones he totally doesn’t have interest in, just because he thinks you’d like them. In the early stages, he brought you to things that neither of you enjoy, just because they were popular, and he was afraid he’d look like a bad boyfriend if he didn’t bring you there. He grew out of this once he became more secure in himself and in your relationship.

U = Unity (did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? what traits do they share?)

The introduction of you in his life is like a pivotal branching point in the timeline. From day one he wanted to be the kind of man you deserve, and he starts to fill that role little by little. If you’d ask him today, he’d still say you’re too good for him, but both of you can see the metamorphosis he’s gone through. He’s kinder, gentler, more patient, more understanding, more generous, and more confident in himself.

V = Value (how important is their relationship to them? what is it worth compared to other things in their life?)

You are Guzma’s number one priority. Nothing has mattered nor will EVER matter more to him than you. If you asked, he’d steal the moon for you. Your smile is the most precious thing to him in the world, he’d do anything to keep it.

W = Wild Card (a random fluff headcanon.)

Totally up for getting matching tattoos or piercings… or even just getting the ink by himself to honour you!

X = XOXO (do they like to kiss and cuddle? are they upfront about their relationship or rather shy when in public?)

The real question is… when is he not touching you?

He always has a hand on you, holding your hand, stroking your back, smacking dat ass… in public, in private. There is absolutely zero ambiguity whether you two are dating, because his displays of affection do not dwindle under the eyes of others.

Sure, he loves to cop a feel, but he’s also really big on hugs and kisses and cuddles. Having you in his arms just makes him feel whole, y’know?

Naturally, due to his body type, he is an AMAZING hugger.

Y = Yearning (how do they cope when they spend time away from their s/o? do they miss their s/o?)

Guzma does NOT take your absence well. You are his sunshine after all, his cinnamon applin, the cream in his coffee, the chocolate sauce on his ice cream. A day without you is a lifetime of misery for him.

When you’re apart you text all the time, and facetime in the evenings. Not being able to feel you physically hurts him, but being able to see your cute face and listen to your sweet voice definitely lessens it somewhat. You fall asleep on facetime with each other often.

Z = Zoo (do they have pets? do they want some in the future?)

Bugs, bugs, bugs, bugs. So many bugs! Small ones, big ones, cute ones, scaey ones… all the bugs!

[carrotsnake]

Zelda and the Tale of Melusine

I'll be looking at the parallels between Zelda's arc and some Medieval tropes of female metamorphosis, using Melusine: Or the Noble History of Lusignan as an example. Specificially a translated copy of Jean d'Arras's version, since that's the most well known one.

To start, a run down of Melusine:

She's a half human, half fairy woman cursed by her mother for imprisoning her mortal father in a mountain. The curse dictates every Saturday she turns into a serpent from the naval down. She must marry a human man for a long time to slowly undo the curse and become fully human, but he must never see her monstrous form beforehand.

If he does, she'll lose her humanity forever and transform into a dragon.

She meets a knight in the woods, he suspects her otherworldly knowledge comes from "some phantasm or diabolical power", to which she goes don't worry about it kitten. But he likes her so he's like ok! ^_^ yay!

She keeps giving him cool fairy advice, and with it his life magically becomes a whole lot better - he gains wealth, power, and not just him but other people listen to her advice: crops flourish, castles are built. The kingdom is thriving! They love her just as much as he does, so it's no surprise they get married. But there's just one condition, she hides in the bathhouse every Saturday, and he's never to visit or peep at her.

He breaks his promise and discovers her secret. She says he's cursed both of them, and now he's lost her forever: "Be sure that as long as you live I shall always find pleasure in seeing you; but [...] never again shall you see me in female form."

The next passage is as follows:

'Melusine, uttering a very doleful cry and then a heavy sigh, leapt from the window into the void, and as she swept across the orchards she metamorphosed into a massive dragon some fifteen feet in length. [...] In her dragon form she circled the fortress three times, and each time she flew past the window she uttered such an excruciating, desolate cry that everyone wept for pity, knowing that she was leaving under constraint and against her will. Then she disappeared in the direction of Lusignan, letting out such rueful shrieking and strident cries that wherever she passed it seemed as if lightning and thunder were about to split the sky.'

He never sees her again after that. But phantoms of her start appearing in the castle, secretly visiting her children at night and generally just spooking people by standing there menacingly. And that's how the myth is born.

I've already drawn connections through the images above, but what's the point of this?

Like lots of other fans I was irked by the whole 'zelda jesus' thing in totk, yeah it is a little odd that everyone follows her advice without question, and it's never wrong.

I'm curious, if the team was drawing from Western myths, that this was supposed to echo the fae. Especially since most of the quests keep you on your toes on whether this was the real Zelda giving advice, or a fake - a phantom(!) - deliberately sabotaging them. It mirrors how opinions on Melusine were split between a benevolent fae or a demon. Splitting them into two entities though, I can see how that would defang it.

The og text wasn't exactly that nuanced either. I remember my prof joking the message amounted to "always listen to your weird snake wife!" Maybe we SHOULD listen to our weird snake wives.

It's interesting Melusine only interacts with children after the curse - botw+totk imply only young children who are pure of heart can see dragons.

I recommend reading the whole thing if you can find it! Then you can look for more parallels, and read riveting pieces of dialogue such as this:

[jgoddesstarot]

Pick-A-Pile: Their Career: What Profession or Field is Your Future Spouse In?

👑Check out my masterlist to see all of my pick-a-card readings😊

✨ Visit my shops at Ko-fi.com or J.Goddess Tarot✨

🔮Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are based upon my intuitive interpretation of the cards and about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

🔮How I read: I use a mix of tarot cards, oracle cards, along with my intuitive abilities of claircognizance, clairaudience, and clairsentience.

🔮How this works: Close your eyes and take deep breaths, pick the pile you are most drawn to. If you aren’t drawn to any pile then that’s okay, these messages aren’t for you.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: 5 of Cups, The Lovers, The Hermit (in reverse), Queen of Cups, The Chariot

Ah, my sultry Pile 1's! Embark with me on an intoxicating voyage to uncover the career secrets of your elusive future love.

Picture a soul who's tasted the bittersweet symphony of life. They've endured setbacks, but here's the allure: instead of languishing in bygone disappointments, they've channeled these lessons, forging a path glowing with promise. Like a phoenix, they've taken their setbacks and used them as fuel, emerging brighter and more determined.

Now, imagine them weaving through a world where harmony and connections reign supreme. Their charm lies in the art of building bridges, mending fences, and orchestrating unions. Their profession thrums with the rhythm of relationships, be it in the hallways of legal battles, the nuanced dance of consultancy, or the embrace of human resources. Their every endeavor is painted with passion, fostering environments dripping with mutual respect.

But, the plot thickens. Rather than being an isolated genius, they thrive in the pulsating heart of collaborative arenas. Their days are painted with group dynamics, team brainstorming, and the infectious energy of collective creation. Every project, a harmonious dance of diverse minds.

In this riveting tale, their heart emerges as their compass—a wellspring of empathy, care, and intuition. Whether in the healing embrace of healthcare, the nurturing realms of social work, or the soulful corridors of counseling, their profession beckons to souls in need, offering solace and understanding.

And as our tale nears its climax, the essence of sheer willpower and ambition becomes palpable. This lover is destined to blaze trails, to dominate arenas with a fierce determination that sets the world alight. They are a force, a whirlwind of goals and victories, and their chosen field echoes with their triumphant strides.

To tie this enigmatic tale together, enchanting Pile 1's, your future lover’s career is an exhilarating blend of resilience, harmony, collaboration, empathy, and fierce ambition. This tantalizing mix promises a partner whose professional life mirrors a journey of challenges, triumphs, and heart. As Destiny weaves its tapestry, these revelations hint at the captivating tale of your shared future.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: 5 of Swords, 10 of Wands, 2 of Swords, Ace of Cups, 8 of Wands

My tantalizing Pile 2's, prepare to embark on a riveting journey, delving into the exhilarating career landscape of your enigmatic future love.

Visualize a realm teeming with cutthroat competition and exhilarating duels of wit. In this world, your future spouse emerges as a master strategist, a maven who thrives amidst the electric tension of challenges. Their arena? Perhaps the high stakes corridors of corporate warfare or the intricate dance of political maneuvering.

Yet, with power comes responsibility. They might be ensnared in a web of weighty expectations, but ah, they wear their burdens like a king wears a crown—regal and undeterred. Every decision, every responsibility is borne with a grace that makes you wonder if they were born for this.

Peering deeper, we find them at the crossroads of pivotal decisions, casting judgments that ripple through time. The gavel of authority, the responsibility of steering ships through turbulent waters, they're at the helm, orchestrating outcomes with a finesse that's nothing short of mesmerizing.

But what fuels this fire? An undying passion, a wellspring of love for their craft. They're not just chasing gold or accolades, but a deeper calling, a passion that lights up their soul. Their realm could be awash with colors on a canvas, the poetic dance of numbers, or the rhythm of heartfelt melodies.

And as the tale unfolds, a whirlwind of motion emerges. Envision them dashing through airports, or fervently connecting with souls across continents, weaving stories, striking deals, or capturing moments at the speed of light. The pulse of journalism? The adrenaline of sales? The world awaits their next move.

In wrapping up our delicious tale, my alluring Pile 2's, Destiny paints your future lover as a formidable force in a world of strategy, responsibility, passion, and ceaseless motion. Their journey promises thrills, challenges, and the sweet taste of fulfillment. As the stars align and tales intertwine, remain receptive, for destiny has its own rhythm, and your dance is just beginning.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: 10 of Pentacles, 3 of Pentacles (in reverse), 6 of Wands (in reverse), 10 of Swords, 3 of Swords

Ah, my alluring Pile 3's, immerse yourself as we journey into the opulent tapestry of your future lover's career. Let the tantalizing revelations unravel, revealing a narrative you'll surely find hard to resist.

First, picture a world awash with prosperity—a realm where luxury isn't just a fantasy, but an everyday reality. In this gilded domain, your future partner thrives, perhaps manipulating the strings of business empires, orchestrating the ballet of real estate, or mastering the cryptic language of finance. They've crafted an empire, not just of wealth, but of ambition realized and dreams manifested.

But ah, the plot thickens! Every gold thread in this tapestry was spun amidst trials. In their earlier days, shadows of doubt and walls of disregard might have threatened to eclipse their brilliance. Yet, with indomitable spirit, they emerged, carving a niche where their genius could no longer be overshadowed.

Despite the accolades and the tangible trophies of success, there's an enigmatic humility to them. They waltz through the corridors of achievement, not with boisterous fanfare, but with a quiet confidence. They let their masterpieces echo their tales, garnering silent respect from every corner.

As our tale takes a riveting turn, we find them at a crossroads—a dramatic shift that upended their world but paved the way to their destiny. A switch that might've tasted bitter initially, but ultimately led them to their passion, their true north.

And oh, the finale? A heart so vast, so tender. Their profession might echo with the soft murmurs of comforting words, the healing touch that mends broken spirits. Whether in the embrace of healthcare, the sanctuary of counseling, or the comforting realms of social work, their purpose is clear: to heal, to comfort, to uplift.

To wrap up our sumptuous saga, delectable Pile 3's, Destiny paints your future lover as a beacon of resilience, prosperity, humility, transformation, and boundless compassion. Their career is not just a job; it's a testament to a journey of trials turned triumphs. As fate weaves its stories, savor these revelations and remain enchanted by the cosmic dance of love and Destiny."

Other Resources:

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[pascalsbby]

Hot Single Dad of The Neighborhood

Summary: It used to be benzos to take off the sharp pain of the day, this life- now it’s Joel fucking Miller.

Warnings: mdni, 18+, eventual smut (c’mon…wouldn’t be a celebration without it)

This is satire. Kinda. It’s me laughing at myself & my love for this fictional man. But you’re laughing along, because you get it. Let me know what you think!!

This is a part of my 700 follower’s celebration. Read the detailed description here 🩷

It all started with this:

Let me set the scene:

It’s 9:45pm on a Friday, and this is better than having the house to yourself. This is the time of week where we tuck our children (and husbands) in, and we gather around this shitty glass table as the tales are whispered through. It starts off with your usual: sugar-salted peach margaritas turned to two, a joint, and then the riveting conversation of, “now who would leave that dick?”

We call ourselves ‘Joel Miller’s Neighborhood Wives’. It’s a mouthful. But we like a mouthful. So- sit down, have a smoke, a wee little drink, and listen to the goss.

The neighborhood wives (Kat, Kali, Chloe on the right of you, Kit, Vic, Bug & Angela to the left) are all cuddled around Kat’s patio, enacting a dramatic retelling of ‘who the fuck is Joel Miller?’ Himself, somewhere across the street, wondering why every now and then he hears a chorus of squeals. Then, he smiles to himself and wishes he had the guts to grace y’all with his presence. He’s not invited though.

This is the first time you’ve hung out with them, and maybe the last, tbh. No way this Miller guy is worth all this fuss.

And, action.

It used to be benzos to take off the sharp pain of the day, this life- now it’s Joel fucking Miller. We take whatever we can get from him, between when we hear his truck two streets over, lightly running across the hollow wooden floors to put on our slippers. The low growl from his truck pipes (or yours) grows louder as he turns the corner onto the street. We watch as he drops out of the truck and thuds against the concrete, slamming that damn door closed. Probably how he lets all his ladies know he’s home. Our eyes follow his form, tapping all the way up to his front door before he takes those goddamn cowboy boots off. We stumble out of the front door and check the mail. Well, only for the third time that morning. What? We are all always expecting something, alright? You catch what you can before his shoulders disappear through the blue-chipped front door, right back into his house. We close the mailboxes simultaneously and sadly drip back to our front doors. No hello’s today.

Sometimes later in the night before supper, you’ll see the door shaped hole widen in the darkness, warmth boasting from behind as Joel’s form takes up the light, smiling as he pats Tommy on his way inside. Tommy usually drinks too much and stays the night, so we sit back and tend to the family. We ride our delusions in the meantime. Then, the cycle continues. It’s like… the cycle of life. You know?

He seems like your typical gentleman, Joel. A Southern-raised man, one who would let you be his nuclear-family sweetheart. Cook for him, clean for him, spread *it open for him, let his massive fucking hands feel any part of you they wanted. Especially if that meant they were to explore more under the stiff shirtwaist dresses. Or in. We would all rather him in.

Spread, what, exactly? Oh yeah dude, sorry. I meant: *Cunt, asshole, any part of you he wanted to look down the middle of and split open, really. We aren’t shy about it when it comes to talking to each other. Obviously.

The aforementioned Tommy?

That’s his brother, probably about seven or eight years younger. He is a beau too, but he doesn’t seem the type to really fuck it out of ya. I mean sure, he has done his fair share of fucking around with the moms’ of the neighborhood, too. Bug even whispered a tale of Tommy going after those mom’s college daughters, swooping in to help clean the pool before setting them gently on the concrete and swiping their panties to the side as he buried his face in them. He always made sure they were at least 22. This is only moments after the pretty younger girls make their way back into the pretty, white iron gates afront their parents' houses.

Fair enough, he has the same curls wrapping down the base of his neck, kissing the skin beneath them. He has the ‘Miller Smirk’ - what the town wives call it. The Miller brothers are known throughout the neighborhood for their distinct brand of charm. Both possess an effortless charisma that begs you to get on your knees. But they never let us. Sad. Their shared features aren’t few, but none are as similar and charming as their half-smiles. Grins always slightly tilted, as if they were sharing an inside joke with each other but not the rest of the world.

So of course Tommy is desired to an extent, physically, of course. Emotionally? Probably not. But shit, you’d have both if you could. Paris looks great this time of year. Anyways.

He wasn’t the Miller we all grappled over and wanted so deeply, despite a metal band around our fingers (or not). His competency and willingness. They way he looks at his daughter. Oh yeah…girl dad. The way he looks in the Texas heat. His back, flexed and sweating through his too-tight shirt. “The day that man wears a white shirt and it’s over 90 degrees- I will drop fucking dead. Someone take care of the kid for me,” Kat.

There’s been one story about Joel that is retold over and over like it’s fuckin’ Genesis Chapter 3, creation and all. The story on how, why, we all got here to begin with. No one can agree who first told it. Angela or Bug, shit…was it Chloe? Okay, okay, it really doesn’t matter at the moment. Just listen.

It was late August, three years ago. Hot and dripping with the dead-end heat of summer. Almost as if it was giving all it could before the last of it sputtered out and away, knowing Fall was right around the corner to take its place- happy to finally have a rest. A for sale sign that had been smiling at you for months was suddenly gone, the dirt still fresh from where it had been happily ripped. Joel Miller, Mr. Texas cowboy himself showed up one day as the crickets started singing, he kissed the cicadas goodbye for the season, unloaded the Miller Construction van and then he never left. A few weeks later after he and his brother fixed up the place, a little girl was running up the concrete to the front door. But there was no wife.

When he moved into the neighborhood, a new era dawned. It was one where the wives would rather mow the lawn, take the trash cans out on Wednesday nights, and tend to the long-forgotten garden. No really, all of our gardens are pristine now. Because somewhere not too far away there was a beautiful, muscular man with a mustache you wanted to wet, and God, his nose. A nose that was prominent even a few houses down, sun setting behind as it sat there strong and just uh- you knew a nose like that would be tickling your clit while he used his tongue other places. Or the other way around, whichever way you were sitting. Whatever way he wanted you to sit.

It was something about that deep navy cotton shirt his chest and shoulders grace about once or twice a week. The other is some form of a Lakers’ tee, yellow or purple, love-worn but scrunched up and stretched in the right places. You’ll see. Maybe that in itself, how it wraps around his sun-bathed/loved/kissed skin is the reason for everyone’s fever induced fluster. Maybe it’s the drawl, and the fact he absolutely drips of sex.

Most interactions end with deep breaths leaning against the door, knocking on your chest. Or texting the group message (we’ll add you in a minute, it’s called JMW)((Joel Miller’s Whores)). He always has something to say, something to coo at you while you in turn try not to purr back… at least with your mouth. Although no, because you would purr around him with your mouth if he’d only ask for it.

But you? Metaphorically, denoting us all. No, he would never look down upon you, between his eyelashes and brooding smile, dark, tanned skin smelling of the day- “want you to pull the pretty dress up and get on your knees. I’m tired from the day, workin’ so hard for this family. Leas’ you could do is suck my cock, no?” And he didn’t know it, but he was right. He did work so hard for this family. He was your maladaptive daydreaming, he’s what you giggle at during fake conversations, he was the cock slipping between your hungry folds at night.

Instead, it was half-baked smiles and short waves in the drop off line in the morning. He walks Sarah in, every single day. She’s getting to the age where she seems like she’d deter the sweet action, but she doesn’t- she loves him that much. We never see him in the afternoon, his barely-present wife (he has to have a wife, right? Like Bug says, “I mean look at him”), was probably the one picking up Sarah. Probably taking her to some even bigger house on the richer side of town because it's her turn to watch her. How the hell could you leave someone like Joel?

But regardless, we never see her. Never have the entire time we’ve peeked out of our blinds, running to turn off the lamp so no one can see the strip of light coming from the window.

He has never brought a woman inside of that house, let alone has anyone left it. Once, Tommy brought a girl to their Thanksgiving dinner and Vic told Kit she had come alone, first, and hugged Joel. That “Joel was extra smiley to her.” Moral of the story, we don’t know for sure if he’s still married or he’s just somehow keeping that dick to himself.

Jesus, Kat retold that story for three fucking weeks. But, we don’t really blame her. It was how it all began.

Don’t get me wrong, Joel Miller is available- if that pesky little wasp hive directly atop your living room window is getting out of hand, and you just happen to be a single mom who so desperately needs a man’s touch. Not like that. Well, yeah like that. Then, you could count on Joel Miller to back up his old blue truck bed into your driveway, set up his ladder, and allow you to spend the next hour watching through the window as his shirt pulls up his stomach as he does his diligent work.

His v-lines kissed by veins and tufted black hair towards his middle, peeking up and saying hello every time his jeans got a little too low. Musta forgot his usual belt. Or maybe his work belt was a tad too heavy today. Uh, to take that pressure off of his back for him, and into your hands.

-

But him owing you? That’s a different kind of available. It was a week later, the morning before the mom gathering, and you had only seen Joel once. Yes… peaking through your blinds. Then you heard his voice.

“Hi ma’am,” he waved, turning your attention from where you were setting your bags in the car. “Sarah, ask the pretty lady what you wanted, don’t make her wait any longer in this heat.” He was loading his work tools into the bed of his pickup. Another bed of his you’d like to grace.

Shit. Maybe this Miller was worth the fuss.

-

Part 2 later this week babes <3 It will be an actual fic, hehe.

@justagalwhowrites @cool-iguana @strang3lov3 @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @netherfeildren @chloeangelic

[coffeegnomee]

Why the Eclipse Federation is so beloved for so long. An essay about Story.

In the book “Story Genius: How to use brain science to go beyond outlining and write a riveting novel” author Lisa Cron proposes:

“What drives a story forward is, at first blush, invisible. It’s not talent. It’s not voice. It’s not the plot. Think electricity. The same way even the most powerful lamp is useless unless it’s plugged in, a story can’t engage readers without the electricity that illuminates the plot, the voice, and the talent, bringing them to life.

The question is: what, specifically, generates that juice?

The answer is: it flows directly from how the protagonist is making sense of what’s happening, how she struggles with, evaluates, and weighs what matters most to her, and then makes hard decisions, moving the action forward. This is not a general struggle, but one based on the protagonist’s impossible goal: to achieve her desire and remain true to the fear that’s keeping her from it. As we’ll explore in detail, story is not about the plot, or what happens. Story is about how the things that happen in the plot affect the protagonist, and how he or she changes internally as a result” (bold added) 

And more to the point, “You can’t write about how someone changes unless you know, specifically, what they’re changing from.”

———

Where we begin

We launch the Eclipse Federation arc with PrinceZam telling his tale to ItzSubz_ in Detroit. Zam has just left his team because they duped thousands of items, terrorized the server, and were unwilling to let go of this unfair advantage. He tells how he battled them on the nether roof, lost everything, and was exiled. He was chased down, followed to his castle and was terrorized every day until he was killed over and over (#stonesword). He’s lost everything. He needs a team, he needs friends. 

This is where our story begins, a hero who has a specific and definitive backstory, something that compels him to reach out to our inciting incident: speaking to Subz when he’s on 2 hearts. 

Subz, seeing everything that has happened, sympathizes with Zam citing that he thinks they have both been wronged by the server and it’s time they stopped letting that happen. 

This is where the tragedy begins. 

Subz operates under the assumption that Zam wants to get back at those who wronged him. Zam agrees with this in the moment. 

But Subz fails to realize that it is the exploits that caused Zam to be wronged: if the exploits hadn’t happened, if the dupe war hadn’t happened, Zam would never have left his team and he, in turn, would never have been terrorized for weeks. 

And above anything else, Subz fails to realize that Zam does not want to be on a team that exploits.

Our hero, with a definitive backstory, is placed in a situation that directly places tension on that selfsame backstory.

The days go by and the team, now including Vitalasy, grows together, bonding over shared fights, laughing and joking, creating silly bedrooms with the most obnoxious blocks possible. 

All is well.

Then Ashswag reveals that he can one-tap any player, in any amount of armor, he has seemingly infinite amounts of totems, and he’s acting like he’s on a power trip, giggling and evading questions. 

Exploits have returned to the LifestealSMP.

Zam’s heart sinks as he realizes that something huge is brewing on the server. And it’s worse than any duped item he previously had been involved with.

Confused and hurt, he reaches out to his team to figure out what their next steps will be. How they’ll fight this disaster. 

But tragedy strikes again. Thanks to the beauty of streamed content, Subz accidentally goes live instead of starting a recording and he reveals that he and Vitalasy are the cause of these new exploited items and that they are very upset with Ash for showing them off. Because of this mistake, they decide to tell Zam everything.

Suddenly, against all odds, against all logic, against all reason, our main character is once again on a team who is using exploits and is unwilling to let them go.

It baffles the mind. How could he have been so clear with Subz about the reason behind him leaving Team Awesome and Subz still let him on the team knowing they had this exploit plan.

Once again it’s the beauty of streamed content that has brought our main charater into the most absurd of situations: they’re friends. Genuinely. Outside of content. Of course Subz brought him onto the team. Why would he not.

The reasons for the situation are simple, but the gravity of them affects Zam deeply. 

Our hero has to face a situation that directly relates to his past, as struggle of friendship vs values. 

No longer is this a situation of school yard bullying, creating obsidian prisons at spawn and using duplicated items to win fights; this is an apocalyptic situation. Lifesteal season 4 will end if this exploit is not stopped. What was obsidian is now bedrock, what was duped netherite is now one-tap potions, what was once withers destroying spawn are now mysterious creatures that kill players instantly.

So our hero has to face not only the apocalypse, but also himself. Battling against his love of his friends and his need for community and safety, while also battling for the safety of everyone on the server.

These streams slowly unfold a dark reality that anyone who has every been in a bad relationship has had to face. What do you do when the person you love is no longer recognizable? 

When your values are no longer aligned, have never been aligned? 

Do you leave them? Do you stay? Do you hope you can change them? 

How do you process the fact that they lied to you, let you in knowing that you are diametrically opposed to something that they were secretly doing? How do you process that it was an accident? That you hadn’t communicated the depth of the importance of this value (not exploiting) well enough so they didn’t pick up on it as important to communicate from the start?

How do reconcile lies that are told to your face? How do you stand up for yourself in the face of gaslighting? 

To quote Lisa Cron again, “The purpose of story - of every story - is to help us interpret, and anticipate, the actions of ourselves and of others.” (bold added)

This is the foundation of why this arc was so tragic, so compelling. Why it sticks in my mind for over a year now, the details as clear and crisp as the day I watched the streams. I can still see the actions being played out in that Minecraft blocky world like it was yesterday. The deepslate tiles of the communication room, the glowing yellow and purple and red signs, the prison in the sky, the exchange of trust apples. 

It’s not about the apocalypse, it’s about one man’s battle within himself. So he leaves the team. Sticks up for himself and stakes a claim against exploits.

But the tragedy continues. As the days pass we realize that maybe Vitalasy was telling the truth and he isn’t going to be the villain. Everything contradicts this opinion. He’s flying, he’s one-tapping Planet in the prison, he’s using the potions. He’s going insane but remaining delusional. 

And yet he continues to insist he’s not evil. He’s good. 

Every storytelling tactic says this man should be the villain and yet he refuses to do so (creating some new interesting content as the streamers have to contend with other members who don’t act within the rules of Play and of Content).

Eventually Vitalasy burns all his exploited items. Zam, left in abject frustration, releases a chunk ban which only bans Mapicc. Giving up, he leaves. And Vitalasy bans himself, throwing himself off the prison over and over, sealing the story that he is not the villain. He was misunderstood.

To quote the Mer essay “anger transmute(s) into grief as if by magic” and FarmerZam is born. The story has affected our protagonist deeply and he has changed. He has no enemies. He refuses to look at how he’s hurt his friends because it’s simply too painful. Everything that could have gone wrong has. 

Then Subz revives Vitalasy. Takes him around the server to their old bases while Vitalasy remains in depression about being misunderstood. He doesn’t want to be here. 

But as Subz reveals the final base, before they go through the end portal, Vitalasy catches a glimpse of a new sign room, one filled with depressive thoughts. The same thoughts he has been having this whole stream. You can almost hear his posture fix as he realizes the state of mind Subz is in. He needs to convince Subz to stay.

But we all know what happens, the trajectory of lives are changed. Subz has Vitalasy kill him, banning him off for the rest of the season, promising to be back when Vitalasy needs him most, but for no one else. 

Zam sees the death message and panics. He needs answers, he needs to bring Subz back. He’ll do anything to bring him back since it was Subz, it always has been Subz, who took him in when he had nothing. He realizes in a flash that he cares more about the friendship than about any values he held. But it’s too late now.

The tension, the sorrow stays. Zam decides to repair all his old friendships before the wormhole opens and this world ends. Vitalasy is forgiven. Spoke, Mapic, Ro. Planet, Bacon, Jaron. Everyone he betrayed. Everyone he let down.

But he forgot about Pangi. 

But Pangi didn’t forget about him. He has always been there for Zam, but Zam time and again has abandoned him. He’s had enough. With the server ending, he’s going to get his amends, make him repent (thanks Chips. I mean. Credit to the artist)

He traps Zam in bedrock. 

And Zam breaks. 

Friendships, betrayal, enemies. Everything comes full circle. It seems you can’t escape your past just as you can’t escape being on the exploit team.

Once again we enter the story with a defined background, but this time it breaks Zam completely. 

It’s not about exploits. It’s not about fairness. It’s about friendship. It’s about Subz. Subz was the only one who truly cared about him. He didn’t bring him onto the team maliciously, he really and truly cared about Zam and now he was Gone. Grief wells to the surface, Subz’s words about getting back at everyone who wronged them rings in his ears. 

He’s going to talk to Spoke and end the world. 

But his heart rebells even now. He’s betraying everyone again. But he’s sick of betraying. He won’t do it again, no matter how much chat tries to convince him Spoke is just using him and doesn’t care about him.

He’s going to end the world so that Subz will come back. 

And then the pièce de résistance. Subz IS revived. And he’s disappointed in Zam for changing sides and joining the exploiters when he left them because if it.

The depths of that final conversation makes Zam’s story the most insane tragedy. It has been 5 months of near daily or every other day developments on this story. The twists and turns have produced laughter and tears, cheering, anger, frustration, satisfaction, depression. 

And in the end? Subz still chose Vitalasy. Man how I wanted them to take him back in that moment. But what was done was done. These are the consequences of our actions. 

And in the end the circle comes to another completion: he’s back on a team with Mapicc, the same person he betrayed over the duped exploits. They promise each other to end the server with everyone banned, no matter what anyone else has to say. In the end they jump into the portals together and the server is moved to season 5. (I too, in union with where Zam ended his video, think it’s a good place to end the plot here rather than with that final scene on the grass. This is the last character decision he made)

———

The Present Moment

Zam was talking on stream a few days ago about how Kaboodle wanted to know why Eclipse was so beloved still. Mer’s essay came up (which I read and absolutely loved), but the essay talks more about the dynamics of the streamers themselves and how their relation to Play made the story compelling to watch. Which it absolutely does, and I’ve written about how much this has reframed how I view Lifesteal.

But I think that only covers one aspect. The deeper reason why there’s still fanart being drawn of Eclipse is how Zam created (and/or was handed) one of the most tragic plot lines ever created by man, and how he allowed himself to be affected by the story, and how he brought it alive through his streams as he “struggles with, evaluates, and weighs what matters most to [him], and then makes hard decisions, moving the action forward.”

And this is why Zam is so beloved by the community in general. This is how he approaches every arc on Lifesteal. Most recently the Joker arc launched from the Abyss betrayal, which in turn, after his ban the first day of hardcore, turned into the possession arc as he realizes his love of Mapicc and Ro goes beyond his obsession with Minute and Jumper. 

Each note of Lifesteal flows into the other as he lets us into the inner workings of his mind as he weighs one decision from another.

Because at the end of the day, I remember the tragedy, the longing for friendship and the betrayals, more than I will ever remember the circular reasoning of Vitalasy or the “okay”’s from pb&j. I only remember the strained voice of Zam as he wrote signs and went in circles trying to reconcile the fact that he couldn’t stay on a team and he couldn’t leave. How he was being dangled off the edge of a cliff being held up by Vitalasy. How Minute just doesn’t get it, he needs to be shown what Lifesteal is. His maniacal laughs as the Joker. Zam allows the story to affect him and he uses every ounce of it to create even more. 

As Branzy said in the therapy session “It’s a human story. About what humans are.”

To their credit, Subz and Vitalasy also allowed themselves to be affected by the story. Without Vi banning himself because he was so misunderstood, and Subz bringing him back to ban him so that Eclipse could have some sort of ending, and without Subz doing so much lore with Zam in 1 on 1 conversations, we wouldn’t have the same story.

The same with Pangi finishing his lore by trapping Zam because Zam didn’t do the god-off with him. The same with Ash being Ash and flexing his god powers. The same with Spoke bringing Zam into the team and then getting caught up in managing the wormhole so he didn’t have time for 1 on 1’s with Zam to make him feel totally accepted as a valuable member. The same with Mapicc always being willing to let go of the past to save himself as well as never letting go of the past so he has something to do on the server. The same with Planet talking to Zam and Bacon and figuring out how to fight the exploits and realizing they needed to convince Zam to betray. The same with Branzy giving the craziest therapy session lifesteal has ever seen. Without each member allowing themselves to be affected by the story, the story doesn’t go anywhere. 

[freesia-writes]

Chapter 1: Family Dinner

Enjoy a riveting tale of romance, suspense, adventure, and self-discovery as Hunter finds his path after the events of TBB. With engaging imagery, emotional depth, comic relief, and some fun twists and turns, the story will take you on a delightful ride with our beloved Sergeant, leaving you satisfied as he finds his happily ever after… eventually. 😉 Rated PG-13 for some mild suspense, suggestive talk, alcohol and drug use, and adult themes. Banner and dividers by @pinkiemme Master List here

BEFORE WE DIVE IN... Now that we’re past the finale, I’d like to make this fit in as well with that as possible. But I also want to enjoy it. ;) So here’s where this lies… Tech was found alive and well (living in a hut in the forest on Tantiss? lol) and came with the boys after they BLEW IT ALL UP. Omega is living with them as well, for now, because they all thought it was wise to give her a break and some semblance of “normal life” while the rebellion continued to build. She might seem a little less like a full soldier here and more like a typical teenager on the brink of adulthood, and that might be a bit of a shift from her development throughout season 3, but I think it’s still reasonable to think that some of the typical adolescent stuff might come up once she was immersed into a more typical adolescent setting. Maybe not, but again… it’s just for the plot. ;) 

I’m changing the setting for a variety of reasons, but they left Pabu out of fear that the Empire might still have it on their radar. You’ll learn more about the island of Xylo in a couple chapters. Crosshair didn’t lose a hand, but he’s still got some lingering effects from his time on Tantiss. Echo opted to spend a year with the Batch before rejoining the rebellion. The events of this fic may seem relatively domestic after all that the Batch endured, but I really just wanted to have a warm and fuzzy story with family, humor, love, and some plot twists. Ultimately, the purpose here is to enjoy a romance adventure with Hunter, so please forgive any plot holes and just enjoy the ride. ;)

Chapter 1: Family Dinner (Word Count: 2.5k) Fanart by @nika6q

The balmy sea breeze ruffled the tablecloth and made the string lights dance merrily above the jovial scene below as the clinking of silverware on plates punctuated the steady hubbub of conversation that rose and fell with the emotion of what was being shared. Some overly-optimistic sea birds hovered above on a swell, fastidiously watching for any dropped crumbs before swooping gracefully into another updraft. Crosshair was looking at them down the edge of his finger, which he had shaped into a gun with the help of his thumb, and his focused squint was interrupted by a smack on his arm. He flashed his partner a wry grin as they chuckled, shaking their head at his “murder noodle antics”, as they’d come to call it. 

“Stop traumatizing the wildlife and eat your fish,” they laughed.

“This looks an awful lot like traumatized wildlife too, you know,” Crosshair answered, picking at the fillet with a fork. “I mean, what horrors did this thing have to endure at the end of Wrecker’s line?”

“I’m starting to feel like traumatized wildlife,” his partner jabbed, grinning ear to ear as they took a bite of their brightly-flavored steamed vegetables. 

“If it decreases any potential reservations you may yet hold,” Tech interjected, “As far as neuroscience has yet been able to distinguish, this particular genus of sea creatures do not possess the pain receptors necessary for the experience of pain with which humanoid species are familiar.”

“Thanks, Julia Child,” Crosshair muttered, a hint of fondness flickering beneath the dry humor.

“If you are metaphorically comparing me to the infamously accomplished chef of the Core Worlds, it is hardly an insult, Crosshair. You are losing your edge.” Tech’s savage burn was delivered at a slightly louder volume than usual, and Wrecker’s boisterous laugh immediately broke through. The massive clone pointed a gleeful finger at Crosshair as he finished his bite between hearty chuckles.

“That one’s gotta hurt!” Wrecker exclaimed, pulling his hand back as Phee smacked it away. 

“You tryin to resurrect the grumpiness? Come on, big guy. Think it through,” Phee said playfully, arching a sharp eyebrow at Wrecker, whose unabashed grin remained unfazed despite her mockingly stern correction. “Or I’m gonna kick you out of our house.”

Omega giggled, sharing a glance with Hunter across the table, who gave her a half-smile and wink before turning back to Echo, who was filling him in on the newest developments at his Defense Training Academy.

“I didn’t think it would fill up so quickly,” Echo mused, tearing apart the large fish filet on his plate with his fork. “I guess the Empire’s got everyone spooked, even out here. But it’s a good thing, I think… They’ll be ready to fight if it ever comes to that, but Maker willing, it won’t.”

“They’re doing the same on Pabu,” Phee chipped in, leaning forward to nod at Echo. “Shep’s got a whole daily regimen of exercise, strategy, and drills for any possible scenario he can think of. You should talk to him; he could use your military expertise.’

“I’d be interested to hear what he’s doing,” Echo nodded in return. “Maybe we could make a trip that way sometime soon.”

“Can I come?!” Omega said brightly, tugging Echo’s arm from her seat beside him. “I’d love to see Lyana. I wish we’d been able to stay there.” 

“Me too, kid,” Hunter said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair after resting his wooden utensils on his plate. “But you know trouble follows us wherever we go. It’s better for them this way. Besides, Xylo is pretty much the same–”

“Aside from an entirely different subset of ecosystems and a much larger diversity in flora and fauna due to the greater size of the island, yes… Xylo is similar to Pabu in that… they are both islands,” Tech interjected, wavering at the end as he caught sight of Phee's fondly arched eyebrow directed at him.

“I know,” Omega said, “It’s just hard making friends wherever we go and having to leave them… Jek and Shaeeah, Hera, Lyana… But everyone at school is really nice so far too.” She was so sweet, so earnest, always trying to look on the bright side while still being true to her feelings… Hunter’s heart warmed in his chest as he listened to her thoughts. 

“Yeah, how’s that going?” Wrecker asked. He was the best uncle, ever-vigilant about her experiences on the island of Xylo since they’d made a decent attempt to integrate into society. It had been the better half of a year already, and they felt as though things were just now settling into some faint hint of an established life. 

“I love it!” Omega exclaimed enthusiastically, causing infectious smiles to appear on several of her family members’ faces. “It was the best year for me to join – it sounds like everything before this was all just academic units, but now they’re getting to really live it out and see what they want to do in life!”

“Academic units are highly useful building blocks for success in individual endeavors, Omega,” Tech reminded her. “Or for saving one’s life when careening toward the earth at fatal speeds in cargo containers…” he smirked, enjoying his own dry humor for a moment before falling silent. Phee was the only one who caught the slight flash of a frown at the corners of his lips and the way he subconsciously rubbed his thigh – echoes of the pain of the past. 

“I know, Tech, but I’ve been studying everything, and now it’s time to actually do stuff! The forestry section just wrapped up, and this week I get to start shadowing Madame Dreyfus – she’s a seamstress who dyes her own fabrics! I heard that if I do well, she might let me make my own outfit for the Advancement Ceremony at the end of the year!”

“I’m sure you’ll do great, kid,” Phee said confidently, smiling warmly above the table while her hand joined Tech’s beneath, gently placing it on top of his where it rested on his thigh. 

“Maybe you could make Wrecker something to wear so he has more than two shirts,” Crosshair suggested, squinting at his brawny brother, who rolled his eyes, unfazed, and brushed a few crumbs off his open-chested brown tunic.

“Maybe you could make Crosshair some pants that aren’t so kriffing tight so he’s not acting like he’s got a wad of fabric up his–”

“Language, Echo,” Hunter growled, and Omega wasn’t the only one who enjoyed a hearty chuckle.

“You know I hear worse than that at school,” she giggled, eyes sparkling with delight as Echo gave her a wink. 

“I know…” came Hunter’s answering grumble, and Omega reached across beneath the table to give his leg a little tap with her foot, watching his face soften as their eyes met.

“Anyway,” Echo continued, “With the number of sign-ups at the DTA, we’re going to need some other instructors and guides soon. I don’t suppose any of you are interested in donating some of your time and expertise to whip these locals into shape?”

“DTA?” Crosshair’s partner whispered.

“Defense Training Academy,” he murmured back, rubbing an idle hand up and down their muscular arm. “It’s what the cool kids call it.”

“Then I will definitely not call it that,” they snickered, and Crosshair smirked as he turned back to Echo.

“They’re gonna need more time before they can handle anything I’ve got to teach them,” he said. “But I’d pay good money to be able to watch them fight Wrecker for sport. Er, practice.”

“That’d be fun!” Wrecker laughed, smacking his closed fist with his other hand. “Gonna have to wait though. I’m swamped with projects after the last mudslide. Everyone wants things added or changed to their rebuilt homes so it’s all takin a lot longer.”

“They’re keepin you busy, huh?” Phee asked, knowing that Wrecker loved every minute of it. He’d never had the opportunity to put his skills to use outside of his service to the Republic, and she’d been privy to many a conversation filled with his enthusiasm for craftsmanship. It helped that he was able to lift and move most everything by himself, too.

“Yeah! Now if I could just get Hunter to stop freaking out the locals when he’s out huntin,” Wrecker said, narrowing his eyes at the Sergeant, who smirked and shrugged.

“Look, the whole island is open access. It’s not illegal. Besides, I think they’d be complaining a lot more if their favorite meats weren’t available at my shop anymore…”

“That’s for sure!” Omega chipped in, wearing a wry smile. It struck Hunter in that moment just how much she had changed in the short time they’d known her. Especially since the Tantiss rescue, where they’d successfully extracted her along with Tech and Crosshair before blowing up the entire facility and everything in it, her face had gotten more angular, her hair longer. She was wildly intelligent and had an enthusiasm and warmth that was unmatched, but as she’d grown, they’d had their share of conflicts. Hunter couldn’t relate, having had his entire life planned out for him as soon as he’d reached “adulthood” with his rapidly-accelerated aging, but there were endless nuances to a young woman that he was having to figure out as they went along. Sometimes he forgot how much she was aware of – she’d been so sheltered from certain realms of civilian life, but having nestled into life on the island, she’d become much more connected and “up with the times”, so to speak. She continued, a glimmer in her eye now, “I heard some office ladies talking about you the other day!”

“Yeah?” Hunter asked, squinting at the mischief on her face.

“Yeah,” she echoed, idly rolling the last piece of sushi on her plate. “One of them said she loved your butcher shop and that you’ve got the best meat on the island,” Omega said slowly, face straight as a board. “The other one said she couldn’t agree more, and a third one said she hasn’t been to the shop but would love to have your meat in her mouth.”

Echo choked on his drink, Crosshair’s toothpick fell out of his mouth, and Wrecker exploded into a guffaw that sent the sea birds tumbling through the air before quickly regaining their graceful hovering. Hunter pressed his lips together, focusing his gaze on Tech’s completely impassive face to try to stabilize himself before replying.

“You’ll have to point out the third one next time I take you to school,” Phee said quietly, nothing but innocence painted across her features. 

“Seemed like an odd way to say it,” Omega muttered, twisting her mouth to the side, and Hunter genuinely couldn’t tell if she was pulling his leg or not. 

“You will find that there are many nuances to speech specific to geographical and cultural areas that might make one phrase sound entirely different than it would in another place. I would not worry about it. The point is that we should congratulate Hunter on his successful business,” Tech suggested, speaking loudly over Wrecker’s continued laughter.

“Yeah,” Echo agreed. “He sure is satisfying his customers…”

“Apparently not all of them,” Crosshair prodded, and his partner elbowed him again.

“Moving on,” Hunter said emphatically, “Wrecker, when can you fix the chimney? Winter will be here soon and I can only keep it so warm with that draft…”

“Yeah yeah,” Wrecker said, waving him off amid residual chortles. “I’ll come by this week.”

“Taungsday?” Hunter pressed.

“Mmm, Centaxday maybe. Taungsday is the “Grand Re-Opening” at the tiki bar. They got new freshers! Supposed to be all fancy now.”

“Anything would be fancy compared to the pits they had,” Tech sniffed. “While wildly inconvenient for relieving oneself during a raucous night of imbibing, they could have been permanent fixtures in the cultural museum considering how primitive and dated they were.”

“I’m sure the locals would be thrilled at that exhibit,” Phee affirmed, rising to her feet to begin clearing the table. The Primeday tradition of dinner at Tech and Phee’s had been one of the first things everyone had agreed on, and in the months since they’d arrived on Xylo, it had been the grounding activity each week that allowed them to feel a sense of belonging and routine. 

Everyone got up to help clean up except for Wrecker and Hunter, who lingered behind to finish their drinks. Tech had not only developed an interest in cooking, but had also discovered quite the knack for mixing drinks. He couldn’t stand the local tiki bar down on the beach, insisting that their proportions were all wrong and they were using nothing but cheap garbage to try to make as much profit as possible. However, considering the beautiful waterfront location and the fact that it seemed to be the main gathering place for the entire town, no one seemed to mind quite as much as Tech. 

“Headin out early tomorrow?” Wrecker asked, swirling the liquid in his wood cup.

“Mhm,” Hunter answered, mimicking the movement before taking a sip. “The Kod’yok are migrating and the locals love their flank steaks. You good to walk with Omega?” 

“You betcha, although she’s getting old enough that she probably doesn’t need it anymore, ya know…” 

“I know, but let’s let her be the one to suggest that, eh? I don’t want her feeling thrown out on her own in a new place. Plus, we can never be too safe.”

Wrecker sighed. He’d been able to let go more quickly of the paranoia that still seemed to rest on Hunter’s shoulders, although he was aware of the crippling responsibility the Sergeant felt for all that had transpired, from Crosshair being separated from the squad back on Kamino to the rescue attempt that had cost Tech his life, or so they thought. Recovering the rest of the team had been a harrowing fiasco, but they’d emerged victorious… barely. 

They’d found a planet in the middle of nowhere, uncharted in most of the records Tech was able to find, and it had been a welcome respite from the increasing turmoil across the galaxy that accompanied the spread of the Empire. Xylo was similar to Pabu in its feeling of safety and anonymity, unknown by virtually anyone outside the island, and there were a handful of other similar islands scattered across the rest of the planet, most of which was covered by water. Xylo was the largest island on the nameless planet and had so far been a good place for everyone to settle.

It was late by the time everyone had finished their cleaning and conversations, and Hunter was the last to leave, thanking Phee again for her usual hospitality as she disappeared around the corner with a wave. Tech saw him out, pausing on the doorstep to fiddle with one of his pouches.

“I finished this today,” he said, handing a small bag to Hunter. “It will function excellently anywhere on the planet. I can assemble others if you feel a need, but I believe our existing comm devices suffice.”

“Thanks, Tech. One is good for now. I appreciate it.” And with that, they went their separate ways.

~ Master List ~ Next Chapter

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[bocchi-the-rocks]

I know today is memorial day but the phrase "todaybor day is labor day" has been going through my head on loop all day

[midnight-bay-if]

How do the ros react to hearing someone brag about having sex with the mc and how they were in bed? Crushing and relationship 🫣

S (crushing stage): Their lip would curl into disgust before they smoothed out their features, preparing to look every bit the demure, unbothered person they pretend to be. "Well, it's certainly become obvious why you are NO longer sleeping with MC. Such a shame."

S (dating stage): They smile, confident in knowing that they are the one to share MC's bed now. Yet, they can't stop themselves from getting in a quick potshot. "Well, I'm grateful that MC's tastes have matured since you."

Rain (crushing stage): Rain would desperately try to ignore the individual. They're not going to listen to someone speak so crassly about someone they care about. It isn't worth getting angry about. They're not listening. They're NOT. NOT LISTENING. LALALALA.

Eventually, they would snap. "Hey! You shouldn't talk about someone like that when they aren't around to defend themselves!"

Rain (dating stage): At this stage, Rain isn't going to wait around to knock that kind of behaviour on the head. "Hey, dumbass!" Everyone turns in shock, including Taj and S. "All you're achieving here is everyone knowing that you didn't do enough to satisfy MC. Be quiet"

Taj (crushing stage): Seething in their chair, tapping their foot on the spot as they glare across the room at the individual. They don't even really understand why they're so mad. So what if MC had a past lover? Everyone has a past? Why should that bother them? ...It's probably because the person is a complete trash pile of a human. Most are. They just wish they would shut up.

Taj (dating stage): Expect World War 3. As soon as their mouth opens and MC's name slips from their tongue, Taj is plotting. S can see on their face Taj is about to do something drastic.

"Don't, Taj..."

Too late. Taj approaches the individual with their hood pulled tightly over their hood, looking every bit the thug they will pretend to be. Then, when they get close, they snake their hand against the back of their neck threateningly. "I suggest you stop talking. In fact, it's in your best interest to never mention MC's name again."

N (crushing stage): N clicks their tongue, watching the idiot go on and on about MC, and they find the display distasteful. How pathetic. They can only imagine what MC ever saw in this person. That's assuming the cretin is even telling the truth. Not that it's any of their business. MC can do whomever they please.

They will need to shut this human up, however. They are much too loud. "As riveting as this tall tale is, feel free to keep it in your fantasies. I have a headache."

N (dating stage): N will just listen, their smile slowly growing and growing as they tap their fingers against the surface they are leaning on. The more graphic the conversation gets, the wider N's smile gets. As soon as some of the details begin to line up with their own experience with MC, N's mind is made up. The human will be lucky to ever talk again.

Umbra (crushing stage): Umbra watches the individual like a quiet shadow, their face neutral, but to anyone who knows them, that's when they are at their most dangerous. Unless you were watching them carefully, you wouldn't have seen them leave. They lie in wait. As soon as the disgusting individual is alone, Umbra has them isolated and pressed against the wall, a knife to their throat. "Mention MC again, and it will be the last thing you do. I don't do second chances."

Umbra (dating stage): They're in agony. They're trying to do better for MC; be better for them. They've been meditating more, exploring breathing exercises... They can't let worthless lumps of meat like that human bring out that side of them anymore. The anger is there, though. It's bubbling with every word they speak.

It's just words. They mean nothing. MC can handle things like this. They said they could. Still... what remains in their imaginations can't hurt anybody.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

I'm Your Man - Robert 'Rosie' Rosenthal x OFC - Chapter 8

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 |-| Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

AO3

Summary: After an encounter at Coombe House leaves Frankie and Rosie's relationship fragile, they seek to repair it when she is given leave for Christmas

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 6.5k (BUCKLE UP FOLKS)

Tags: @mads-weasley @xxluckystrike @curaheehee @footprintsinthesxnd @dcyllom @storysimp @latibvles @love-studying58

The sun disappeared as soon as it had come, and as the weeks rolled steadily into December the men at Thorpe Abbotts learned the truth of the great English winter. At sunrise, the grass lay encrusted with frost, but by midday the ice was washed away by downpours, leaving the fields a muddy marshland. Every day was dreary, cold, and damp, and Rosie was beginning to feel mocked by it, the outside world mirroring the misery he felt within.

Frankie was avoiding him. She wouldn't admit to it, but she hadn't spoken to him alone in weeks. Sure, she would sit with the Riveters in the pub or come to see them before a mission, but since their trip to Coombe House, he couldn't get her alone. Whenever he thought the chance had arisen, some pressing matter would suddenly arise that she had to attend to, and she was gone as soon as she'd arrived.

He missed her. He missed her so badly that it hurt - he missed her face being the first he saw after every mission, missed being able to tell her everything, missed making her laugh. Rosie didn't care that she hadn't kissed him anymore. He just wanted her back.

"Tell me what happened again," George demanded, perched on the edge of her bed, watching Frankie as she brushed the stubborn knots out of her hair.

Frankie sighed. "I have told you a million times already."

"I know. I'm just still trying to fathom how you could be such a fucking idiot!" She cried, grabbing one of her pillows and throwing it across the room, colliding with Frankie with a soft thump.

"Oi!" Frankie exclaimed, lobbing it right back, a shriek escaping George as it smacked her in the face.

"He's so obviously in love with you - has been for months - I just don't get it. Coombe House was the perfect opportunity. Bit of a snog and a shag, yunno."

"Jesus Christ," She muttered, shaking her head. "You're the one who warned me against getting too attached. I'm just... starting to think you were right."

George's smile dropped, and she swore she felt her stomach lurch. "Oh, Frankie, no-"

"What? Am I seriously supposed to just go for it knowing what will happen if he doesn't come back?"

Frankie hadn't uttered a word of this to her, but it was clear it had been plaguing her for some time. "I'm not supposed to be a cautionary tale, I'm supposed to be your friend. Which means I want you to be happy - find it where you can, don't just avoid it because of what happened to me."

Her entire face furrowed with her frown. "I'm just... I'm in too deep already. And I'm scared, George."

"Oh, c'mere," George sighed, rising to stand as she gestured for Frankie to come closer. Enveloping her in an embrace, her nostrils inhaled the always-lingering scent of engine oil. "I don't regret Curt. I miss him like hell and sometimes it feels really really shit. But I wouldn't trade the time I had with him to make it hurt less - if anything it's more special to me now. Don't hold back because you're scared it'll hurt later, because if anything does go wrong you'll regret it more than anything."

Frankie frowned, chin burrowed into the crook of George's neck. "You think so?"

"I know it."

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The pub was packed as always, the sea of faces ever-changing with the constant stream of replacements. It didn't matter that it was just as busy as it had always been, the place felt half-empty with so many familiar faces missing. Rosie's Riveters were always guaranteed a table, their reputation as the 100th's finest flyers preceding them - boys would actually give up their chairs when Rosie came in, and he could never dissuade them, no matter how much he cringed at the attention.

Half-empty pint glasses littered the table, conversation and laughter flowing freely among the team, but Rosie couldn't help but let his gaze wander. She was usually here - usually posted at the same spot at the bar with George, hogging the space in front of the beer taps so they could always get the bartender's attention whenever they needed another round. But when he looked up now, their spot was taken by a pair of replacements who scarcely looked old enough to fly.

"Rosie agrees, dontcha?" Bailey's voice came, and it was as if he'd been forcefully dragged back to reality.

"Hm?"

"Brooklyn's better than Queens, ain't it?"

"Oh. Definitely," He nodded, attempting to be as subtle as he could as he continued to scan the room.

Suddenly, the piano in the corner started up, thumping out a raucous tune. He'd only seen it used once or twice the entire time he'd been at Thorpe Abbotts, but the nearing advent of Christmas seemed to be putting the Brits in much higher spirits. A crowd of RAF and WAAF staff had formed around the piano player, drinks in hand as they began to perform a sequence of rowdy old drinking songs, more yelling than they were singing.

The words were foreign to American ears, but the English seemed to know them all by heart, belting out sordid tales of prostitutes and the like in a jolly, musical fashion. The pilots seemed roused by the scene, and Bailey began to clap along to the beat in encouragement, grinning as he watched the crowd. There was a sense of joy in the air, enough even to make Rosie crack a smile, elbow resting on the back of his chair as he listened.

And then he saw her.

Frankie was leant against the lid of the piano, pint in hand, belting out the words with the rest of them, grinning as she sang. She was wearing her proper WAAF uniform, her hair curled tight beneath her chin, lips painted a deep red. He never saw her in dress uniform, and for a moment he was taken aback by how well it suited her. Before Rosie had formed any sort of plan for what he was doing, he had risen to his feet, and was crossing the room towards her, weaving his way through the crowd.

A hand seized his arm. George was certainly strong when she wanted to be, and she wanted to be now, dragging him sideways away from the group, gnawing at her bottom lip, her teeth coming away with lipstick stains.

"It's my fault," She stated firmly, speaking loudly to be heard over the music.

Rosie's brow furrowed in confusion. "George, what're you talking about?"

"It's my fault Frankie won't talk to you - I only just figured it out, I'm sorry."

His shoulders squared, a frown forming. "What do you mean it's your fault, what did you do?"

"I... I told her that I haven't been speaking to the pilots since Curtis Biddick died - you don't know him, but he was... kinda my boyfriend."

"Oh, George, I'm sorry."

"Yeah, it sucks. But I think she took it to heart, and now she's scared to get too close to you in case something happens."

"... She told you that?"

"Not explicitly, but I'm not an idiot. And I know her very well."

Rosie nodded hurriedly as he considered this, passing his weight from one foot to the other as he debated approaching Frankie. Sucking in a deep breath, he nodded determinedly. "George," He held her by the shoulders, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "Thank you."

"Don't ever do that again."

"I am sorry," He nodded, hands held up in surrender as he backed away, turning on his heel to make a beeline towards Frankie. George watched him go, brow raised at the sudden spring in his step.

"Weird bloke," She muttered.

They were halfway through a frankly awful rendition of Three Jolly Rogues when Frankie heard someone calling her name. Her gaze travelled across the crowd, words trailing off as she noticed Rosie at the edge of the group, unable to penetrate the mass of people as he craned to catch her eye. Eyes widening for a moment, she instantly felt her heart begin to beat faster as she chugged the remainder of her beer, abandoning her empty glass atop the piano as she tried to shove her way through to him.

"Frankie!" "Rosie!"

They spoke simultaneously, words to rambled and quick to make out, especially over the din of the pub. "Let's - let's go outside, yeah?" Frankie called over the music, and he nodded in agreement. His hand on her back came as a reflex, an instinct as they moved towards the door. She didn't step away.

Stepping out into the night air was like running head-first into a wall of ice, the sudden cold almost making Frankie gasp, her breath erupting in a visible cloud in front of her face. The sheer number of bodies inside the pub kept it permanently warm, so much so that it was easy to forget they were in the thick of December. Sucking in a breath, she rubbed at her arms to generate some warmth, her uniform jacket offering little in the way of insulation.

Rosie opened his mouth to speak, but she got there first. "I'm sorry. I've been treating you like shit and you don't deserve it, I was just being a fucking coward and-"

"Hey - no, no, no, you're ok. George told me what was going on and I get it. I get it, ok?"

Her expression was contorted in something like fear. "You do?"

"Of course," A smile flickered across his face. Of course he did. "I have no idea how hard it must be for you to wait for us all to come back, knowing what can happen up there. But... I don't wanna sound selfish Frankie but I can't stand the thought of dying without us being friends. You make coming back worth it and I- ... I miss you."

Frankie was silent for a long moment, and Rosie braced himself for whatever she was going to say.

"Come to my house for Christmas," She said. His mind had been racing trying to predict her response. He had not expected that.

"... What?"

"I got a forty-eight-hour pass for Christmas, I'm going over to my Dad's house. You can't spend it with your family, and we've got plenty of room... Well. You'd probably have to sleep on the floor but-"

She trailed off as she realised he was laughing, her brow furrowing as Rosie chuckled, nodding continuously. "Yeah," He beamed.

"Yeah?" The corner of her lips curled upwards in that wonky smile he so adored.

"Yeah, I'll come," Rosie grinned, taking a step forward and enveloping her in a hug, arms wrapped tight around her shoulders and she instinctively reached around to hug him back, her head resting against his chest.

"That would've been really awkward if you'd said no," Frankie said, her voice muffled against his jacket. Rosie laughed again, and she felt the vibrations through his chest.

"I was never gonna say no."

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They took a train on Christmas Eve, each carriage so packed with servicemen and women on leave and families visiting each other for the holiday that they were forced to stand, shuffling awkwardly out of the way whenever someone had to squeeze past. The pair had nothing to do except for a single pack of cards, although it soon became evident that the lack of space forced them to stand so close that they could always see each other's hand, and every game rapidly became pointless.

"So George isn't coming? Or Ken?" Rosie asked, fiddling with his watch as they plodded steadily onwards through the countryside, plumes of smoke from the coal engine partly obscuring the view of the trees and fields outside.

"George's family lives down in Dover - though you'd never guess it from her accent," Frankie chuckled. "She's got a pass too, so she's gone down this morning. Ken got invited for dinner by the parents of those lads he's always looking after - he'll be over there tomorrow."

He nodded along as she spoke. It had been almost an hour since anyone had tried to shuffle past them, so they'd taken to sitting on the floor, legs outstretched as far as they could go across the dirty old carpet. "Say, how'd you and George meet anyway? I never asked."

"We were both working at RAF Docking from about the middle of '41. There were a lot more WAAF there than at Abbotts, so we didn't bunk together, but we just sort of stuck, I s'pose. She only came here because of me - I got asked to come 'cause of your manpower shortage, but she reapplied so she could come too. Good thing too, I'd have been fucked without her. I think we got a bit co-dependent," She smiled to herself as she spoke, and he couldn't help but mirror it.

There was not a single sign or announcement to indicate where they were on their journey along the way. Frankie had told him it was a part of the government's anti-invasion measures, so that any would-be invaders would be unable to find their way, but really it just made him paranoid that they had missed their stop. Nevertheless, the moment they pulled into their station, she was up on her feet, a sudden air of excitement about her as she scrambled to gather their belongings. Rosie followed her out onto the platform, trying not to cough at the puffs of coal smoke that filled the station.

"Not far now," She assured him, a suitcase full of clothes in one hand, a satchel of presents in the other. It was a surprisingly sunny afternoon, although the biting cold would have suggested otherwise, and he trailed after her as they descended the high street, Rosie's head turning this way and that to take in his unfamiliar surroundings.

Frankie breezed through the place with practised familiarity, letting out a huff as she realised she'd almost lost him to the Shakespeare memorial as they passed. He had become entirely distracted by it, peering closely at the engravings that lined the base of the statue.

"Oi! Don't go all tourist on me, flyboy - I won't be late for dinner," She teased, and Rosie held up his hands in surrender, scurrying to catch up.

He could tell they were close when her shoulders drooped, excitement replaced by a comfortable calm. They reached a row of short, terraced houses, set back slightly from the main road, the thin strip of shared lawn still wet from the morning's blanket of frost. Frankie had begun grinning as she approached the house on the far end of the row, a spring of holly tied to the knocker with a messy knot of string. She shot him a smile, knocking firmly upon the wood, before spying an elderly woman a few doors down, struggling under the weight of her shopping bags as she fumbled with her door keys.

"Let me help with that, Mrs Higgins!" Frankie called, leaving Rosie alone on the doorstep as she hurried to help the old woman, gently prying the bags from her grip.

"My, Frances, haven't you grown!" Mrs Higgins declared, beaming up at her, made tiny by her stooped shoulders.

"Not since I was twelve, dear," She assured her, helping her in through the door as she carried the shopping behind her. Rosie smiled, watching on with his hands in his pockets, and he wondered how he could feel nostalgic in a place he'd never seen before.

Suddenly the door to Frankie's house swung open, and he found himself faced with a red-faced man, peering down at him with a frown. "Can I help you?"

"Dad, that's just Rosie! Let 'im in!" Frankie cried from down the street, hurriedly exiting Mrs Higgins' house as she scurried to catch up.

Mr Bevan was a huge man in every sense of the word - so tall and wide that he practically filled the entire doorway, and it almost seemed a miracle that he and his daughter were even related. But the moment he heard Frankie's voice, his face lit up with such love Rosie wasn't sure he'd ever seen anything like it, unleashing a hearty, belly laugh as she ran into his arms, practically throwing herself at the man.

"Rosie? Who's Rosie?" Another voice rang from inside - a girl's voice, high-pitched and certainly familiar. "I thought you were bringing the pilot!"

"Rosie is the pilot!" Frankie called down the hall, chuckling as she broke free of her father's embrace. She ushered Rosie inside, piling her bags at the bottom of the narrow staircase. As he entered, a girl was peering suspiciously at him from the kitchen doorway. She couldn't have been older than thirteen, a crop of golden hair flowing from her scalp, and at her hip cowered another child, a little girl of about three of four, hair so blonde it was almost white.

"But Rosie's a girl's name!" The older girl protested.

He chuckled. "Well, in fairness, my real name's Robert."

"Alice, be nice," Frankie scolded gently, lifting up the smaller child with one arm as Alice's cheeks bloomed a bright red. He realised she must have been Jill, recalling her name from the phone call all those weeks ago at Coombe House.

The Bevans' house was inescapably narrow, the five of them struggling to pass each other as bags were brought in and Frankie's father bustled through to the kitchen to put the kettle on. But as she sidled into the living room, she let out a gasp, a grin creasing her cheeks.

It was a sparsely furnished place, but in all honesty there probably wasn't room for anything else. A thin pine tree was propped up in the corner, strings of tinsel and chipped old baubles hanging from its branches, and newspaper chains hung from the curtain rails.

"Oh, isn't this just wonderful," Frankie remarked as Jill wrapped her chubby arms around her neck in a sideways hug. She turned her head, nodding at Rosie, prompting him to say something.

"Oh! Yeah. Very nice, it's just like back home," He nodded in agreement, slightly tense under the eyes of strangers, even if they were both little girls.

"Rosie, d'you want a cuppa?" Mr Bevan's voice boomed from the next room. For a moment he panicked, staring at Frankie with wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

"Tea. Do you want tea?" She whispered, putting Jill down on the sofa.

"Oh, uh - Yes! Thank you, Mr Bevan!"

"Oh, bloody hell, it's Allen, son," He shook his head, carrying in a teapot on a tray to place on the small table in the middle of the room.

"Even the boys at the garage call you Allen, eh Dad?" Frankie pointed out, pouring a cup of tea and straining the leaves before passing it to Rosie.

"Reason I hired 'em," He agreed, lowering himself into one of the armchairs with a heavy grunt. Rosie accepted the tea with a smile, and had just brought the cup to his lips when Allen leant down and unstrapped his foot, pulling it off and propping it against the wall. He almost choked. Alice let out a snort that sounded remarkably like Frankie's.

"Christ, sorry lad," He laughed, red face turning even redder. "Probably should've warned you about that."

Rosie forced out an awkward chuckle, nodding along. Jill was sat beside him on the sofa, staring up at him with wide eyes, mouth hanging slightly agape. He smiled down at her, noticing Frankie as she smirked at the whole scene.

Their dinner was a meagre feast of beans on toast, and Rosie suspected they were saving everything else for Christmas Day, saving it up to put on a true banquet. He and Frankie had been relegated to the living room to sleep, and she took the sofa whilst he lay on a pile of cushions and blankets on the floor. It wasn't a house built to serve any more than three - after all, it had only ever intended to house Frankie and her parents.

He was staring up at the picture frames that lined the wall as she came in - messy childhood drawings on aged paper, a laboured scrawl captioning each one with things like 'Me and Daddy' and 'My House'. Frankie had been putting the girls to bed, and padded across the carpet with a sigh, the sofa springs creaking as she collapsed backwards onto them.

"Did you draw those?" He asked, pointing up at the wall.

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. "God, they're so awful, I keep telling him to take them down."

"No! They're great! I think it's really nice."

Frankie stared down at him for a moment. He'd changed into his pyjamas already, lying straight across the living room floor, blanket tucked under his arms. She began to giggle, cheeks flushed from the cool draft that filled the room.

"What?" He asked.

"It's only nine. You look like you've had mummy come and tuck you in for bed," She teased, unable to look at him without collapsing into giggles again.

"I'm tired!" He protested, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Yeah, yeah. So am I, to be fair. And - fair warning - Jill will be in here at five in the morning tomorrow to open her presents. She's so excited, I don't think she'll sleep a wink."

Frankie lay back along the sofa, feet propped up against the armrest as she draped a blanket over herself before reaching out to turn off the lamp. "They're sweet kids," Rosie spoke into the darkness.

"Alice is cagey around new people - just tell her a good flying story tomorrow and she'll love you. I think Jill loves you already. She doesn't talk much, but she'll want you to play with her toys, so you'd better do it," She instructed him, and he let out a chuckle.

"Alright. I promise."

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Rosie was awoken by the thunderous sound of little footsteps barrelling down the stairs, a shriek escaping Jill as she streaked into the room, making a beeline for the sofa as she hurled herself on top of Frankie. She let out an agonised groan at the sudden weight, retaliating as she tickled under Jill's arms, eliciting a series of squeals from the girl.

He groaned, grabbing one of the cushions and pressing it tight over his head to dull the sudden noise. He heard Frankie laugh, and felt her warm breath against his ear as she bent down to whisper "Told you so."

It was a half hour before the rest of the family made an appearance, time which Frankie spent desperately trying to prevent Jill from tearing open her presents, insisting she had to wait for her sister.

"Just one? Please? Please!" She whined, feet dangling off the edge of one of the kitchen chairs. Rosie wandered in and the girl went suddenly quiet, nervously pursing her lips.

"Hey Jill, why don't you show Rosie your cars, yeah?" Frankie said, pausing mid-sentence to let out a yawn as she put the kettle on the boil. The child's brow furrowed, considering this, and when she looked up at him she spoke with the seriousness of a businessman conducting an important negotiation.

"Rosie, will you play cars with me?"

"Absolutely I will," He nodded, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. Jill grinned, pushing herself down from the chair as she scurried back into the living room. Rosie shot Frankie a glance, brow arched in confusion. "How does she have so much energy?"

"She's a kid," She shrugged. "I think they're all like that."

The cars were rusted and chipped, paint peeling off to expose the tarnished metal beneath, and Rosie couldn't help but suspect they must have been Frankie's years ago. He could picture her as a girl, playing with tiny tin cars on the floor of a garage somewhere whilst her father worked away fixing the real thing. The idea made him smile.

Jill made little whooshing engine sounds as she wheeled the cars around on the rug, occasionally ramming one into the table leg as she mimicked a crash - there was a groove in the wood from years of games such as this. Rosie found he did not know how to play with a child as small and as quiet as Jill, but he lined the toy racing cars up in a nice, neat row for her, quickly discovering the girl much preferred to destroy that work than admire it.

"This one's yours," She declared, holding out a chubby hand to present him with a tiny metal biplane, half of its propeller long since broken off.

"Why thank you," He grinned, accepting it gladly. They had been playing for a long time before Rosie realised he too had begun to mimic the sound of engines, lips pressed together as he tried to replicate the hum of his B-17.

Allan and Alice appeared after a while, and once the girls had opened their Christmas presents it was all hands on deck to prepare for their midday feast. The children were placed in charge of the bread stuffing, a charge they appeared to take incredibly seriously, and Rosie was presented with a pile of carrots and potatoes to peel. He sat at the table, dutifully toiling away, the kitchen gradually growing hotter and hotter as the chicken they'd bought from one of the neighbours slowly roasted in the oven.

The creak of a chair beside him caught his attention, and Rosie looked up as Frankie sat down, sliding a glass of sherry towards him. "Frankie, it's ten in the morning," He pointed out.

"If you're not at least halfway drunk by lunchtime, you're not doing Christmas right," Frankie shrugged. He noticed her father had already finished a glass. Taking a sip of her drink, she reached across the table, seizing one of the unpeeled potatoes from his pile, using a knife to whittle away at the skin. "You're very slow at this," She pointed out.

"Sorry, I'm not a practised potato peeler, dear."

She chuckled. "Guess we'll just have to train you up... Merry Christmas, Rosie."

He tore his gaze from his work, nicking the skin of his finger slightly with the blade, although he couldn't make himself mind. "Merry Christmas."

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A myriad of wonderful smells had filled the kitchen by the time they sat down to eat, his chair perched on a corner of the small table between Frankie and Jill. The girls had created little paper crowns for the occasion, crafted out of scraps of wallpaper and decorated with old buttons. Rosie's sat far too small atop his head, but he fought to keep it balanced on his scalp, replacing it every time it fell off. It was a simple banquet, but after the work they had put into creating it, he could've sworn it was the best food he'd ever eaten.

"This much like your Christmases in the States, Rosie?" Allen asked.

Rosie nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yeah. Good food and good company, that's what it's for, ain't it?"

"I'd offer to let you call your family, but we don't have a phone," Frankie admitted, reaching across him to take Jill's plate so that she could cut up her chicken for her.

"It's no trouble, really. This is all wonderful," He nodded again, and Alice snorted as his paper crown slipped off of his head, tumbling to the floor.

Frankie shot the girl a look, brow arched in warning. He suddenly remembered what she had told him the night before. "Say, I haven't told you any of my flying stories yet, have I?" It was as if Alice were a dog, the way her ears pricked, intrigue suddenly lacing her expression.

"No. You haven't."

"Please do!" Jill added, and her older sister nodded in agreement.

Rosie began to recount some of his most interesting missions - the narrow misses, the daring manoeuvres - every detail embellished for dramatic effect to such an extent that he was at times bordering on fabrication, and he could tell from Frankie's smirk that she knew not everything he was saying was strictly true. She was smiling at her father across the table, the two of them enjoying the utterly transfixed expressions plastered across the children's faces, so enthralled that they almost forgot to eat.

Any scepticism Alice had shown before was long gone, staring wide-eyed across the table at him, her cheeks blooming red as if she'd come face to face with her lifelong hero. Either that or she was developing a crush. Frankie was beginning to suspect the latter. When dinner was finished, the girl approached her as she was filling the sink with water to wash up, leaning over to whisper in her ear.

"Frankie - Is Rosie your boyfriend?"

"What? ...No, honey, I don't think so."

Alice's brow furrowed, a look of absolute horror painting her face. "What do you mean you 'don't think so'?"

Frankie chuckled. "You'll get it when you're older."

She rolled her eyes, golden curls bouncing as she gathered the dirty dishes, stacking them in an orderly pile beside the sink. Bing Crosby came over the radio on the windowsill in front of her, the faint drawl of the King's Christmas speech coming from the main radio in the living room. Her dad had taken off his false leg again, revelling in every moment he didn't have to wear the thing, and Frankie was elbow-deep in soapy water by the time Rosie reappeared.

"Where'd you go?" She asked, looking up as he came in through the back door, paper crown still balanced atop his head.

"Getting rid of leftovers - the neighbour took the chicken scraps for her dogs."

"Ah," She nodded, suppressing a smile as he sidled next to her, seizing the dishcloth and beginning to dry the plates and cups she had finished scrubbing.

"... Yunno. Alice thinks you're my boyfriend."

Rosie nodded, laughing softly. "I think Jill thinks we're married."

"Oh she loooves you," Frankie teased, knocking against him with her hip. "She'll be wanting you to put her to bed later."

She wasn't wrong. The adults sat around the living room that night, the children long since sent to bed. Empty glasses covered the coffee table as they held their hands of cards close to their chests, finally able to have a proper game - albeit a slightly addled one. The room itself smelled of sherry, and their cheeks were all flushed pink, laughing as they played, the radio still turned on in the corner, although nothing came from it but static.

They were having such a good time that they didn't hear the little patter of footsteps trailing down the staircase - didn't look up until she was stood in the doorway, a ragged old teddy clutched in her hands. Jill's voice came out meek and exhausted. "I can't sleep."

"Well, I'm not surprised, my lamb," Frankie's dad spoke warmly. "You ate a whole month's sweet ration today."

She rubbed tiredly at her eyes, and Frankie pushed herself up off the sofa. "Alright, let's go, eh?"

"I want Rosie to do it," Jill insisted, sleepy brown eyes looking back at him. "Please?"

Frankie glanced over at him, shrugging as if to say 'I don't see why not'. "Sure thing," Rosie nodded, grunting slightly as he hopped up from his seat. Jill grinned, clutching at the cuff of his sleeve with a tiny hand as they headed up the stairs together.

Returning to her seat, Frankie grinned, watching them go until they were out of sight. It was quiet for a long moment, and she reached over to turn off the radio. Her father cleared his throat slightly. "You never mentioned - how long have you been with yer fella then?"

She had been halfway through a last sip of sherry, and choked suddenly on it, almost spitting it back out. "Who, Rosie? No, dad, we're just-"

"Oh, bloody hell, petal," He shook his head, and she wondered how he could make a term of endearment sound so frustrated. "I'm not blind as well as legless."

"You've still got one leg Dad-"

"Don't gimme that. That lad's in love with you, else he wouldn't have crossed the bloody country on Christmas Eve to come eat old carrots with you. And you! Christ alive, you look at him like you used to look at Danny-boy from down the street when you were goin' out with him. Except worse."

Frankie let out a long, agonised groan, slumping so far back against the sofa cushions it was as if she were hoping to melt into the furniture. "Dad!" She exclaimed. "... He's American."

He snorted. "Bloody hell, didn't think I raised you to be a snob."

"No! Not like that! I just... he lives in America. I can't leave you, Dad."

"Oh, piss off, yes you can. You think I'll grow this feckin' leg back overnight through the grace of your presence, love? If I let you waste your life sittin' around here, then I've failed as a Dad. I've failed your mum, n'all."

"Don't say that," She shook her head, tears forming and clouding her vision.

"No. I mean it. If that lad is gonna make you happy you go with him, dammit. Gettin' to raise you has been the best thing that ever happened to me, but you're your own woman now, Frank. And I've got a couple more little-un's to deal with. Can't have you hanging around, there's not bloody room anymore."

Frankie laughed, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. Her dad made to stand, groaning as he put weight on his false leg, and she jumped to her feet to help him, but he raised a hand to her, and she had no choice but to back away.

"I love you, petal," He beamed down at her, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead. "And now I'm going to bed. Too much bloody sherry." She squeezed his hand, stepping out of the way so he could hobble past, grunting slightly as he hauled himself up the stairs.

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By the time Rosie returned, Frankie was lying on the floor atop the pile of cushions and blankets he had used as a bed the night before, staring at the pictures on the wall.

"You're in my bed," He pointed out.

"I got the sofa last night - your turn."

"No - no. It's your house, you take the couch."

"Look, Rosie, we are going back tomorrow and I'll not return you to the boys with a bad back. Make me look like a bad host n'all."

He let out a sigh. "Fine," It was dark in the living room, and she couldn't wholly tell what he was doing until she felt the blanket lift up, and he burrowed beneath it beside her.

"... What are you doing."

"Compromise," Rosie shrugged, their shoulders pressed together. "... Who's Danny?"

"Oh my God!" Frankie exclaimed, covering her face with her hands, voice strained in embarrassment. "How much of that did you hear?!"

"Just a little. I was waiting for Jill to brush her teeth. So?"

She sighed, arms dropping to her sides in defeat. "He was my boyfriend for a bit when I was seventeen. It wasn't a big deal, but Dad loved him so he brings it up all the time."

He chuckled, nodding. "You were right, by the way. I do like your dad."

"Told you."

Neither of them said anything for a long time, the room plunged into silence save for the sound of them breathing. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out his features, her head lolling to the side as she stared at him.

"Actually, I lied," He confessed. Her brow furrowed in confusion, watching as Rosie rolled onto his side to face her. "I heard everything."

Frankie did the same, the pair facing each other properly. "You sneaky shit," She teased, and he let out a huff of laughter.

She heard him take a deep breath before he spoke again. "Was he right?"

"About what?"

In the dim light, she could see his brow furrow. "You know what."

Rosie's hand moved to cup Frankie's cheek, but before he could make a move she had closed the gap, and he felt the warmth of her lips press against his, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose. The blankets rustled as she pressed herself against him, wrapping an arm around the back of his neck as he lifted his head up off the pillow, moving to hover over her, their lips never parting.

After a moment, she pulled away, and they both took a second to catch their breath. "Jill's probably gonna get up again in a minute. She's a nightmare to put to bed, I swear."

"Understood," Rosie nodded firmly like a man on a mission, peppering kisses from her cheek down to the crook of her neck as she squirmed, trying not to laugh as she planted a palm flat on his forehead, prying him away.

He sighed, and a bubble of laughter escaped her throat. "I'm serious! We will scar that child for life."

"Alright," Rosie huffed, lying back down beside her. He raised his hand to her face once more, her skin sticky with sweat as he pushed her hair out of the way, getting a proper look at her as best he could in the dark.

"Did I ever tell you how beautiful you are?"

Frankie hummed. "No. Don't think so."

"You are beautiful," He mused, winding a strand of her hair around his finger. "Even in the dark - even when you smell terrible and I say I don't care. Which I don't, by the way."

She snorted with laughter, briefly pressing her lips to his once more. "Well, I also don't mind when you smell like shit."

"Aw, that's sweet."

A small voice came from the doorway, and for a second both of their hearts stopped, hurling themselves away from each other as they tried to be as inconspicuous as possible. "I still can't sleep," Jill protested, frown audible in her voice. Rosie felt the urge to laugh at the accuracy of Frankie's prediction, and she clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

"That's ok sweetie, I'm coming," She called. The blankets rustled as she moved to stand, pressing her forehead against his just long enough to whisper.

"I told you so."

[namiusedbubble]

When they have a crush on you

SEBASTIAN SALLOW:

☠️  Sebastian is not the type to hide his crush. Even before he figures it out, everyone around him will know because of how differently he’ll treat you compared to everyone else.

☠️  He’s charming and friendly towards you, which happens to be his biggest tell as he can be quite snappy and temperamental to anyone who interrupts him.

☠️  He tends to become hyper-focused on things, whether it be spending hours with his head buried in a book or diligently searching spider-infested catacombs for a dark relic, there is no stopping him until he gets what he wants. That naturally extends to wooing you.

☠️  Suddenly he’ll find any and all reasons to spend time with you. Oh, you’re good at Herbology? It just so happens that Sebastian is in desperate need of a tutor! Oh, you’re a good duelist? Please help me take down this goblin camp real quick before meeting my family Why don’t you join this exclusive little dueling club I’m in? 

☠️  Not only does he want to spend as much time with you as possible, he also wants to be as close as physically possible without crossing any of your boundaries. He’ll push you behind him when facing enemies, he’ll constantly lean against things with his arm next to your head, and he’ll offer his hand to help you up and down ledges or off your broom.  

☠️  He has a jealous streak, so if he sees you becoming particularly close with anyone he deems a potential romantic threat, he’ll insert himself into the situation and either make an excuse to pull you away or pout and glare until the other person becomes uncomfortable enough that they’ll excuse themselves just to get away from him.

☠️  In any case, I don’t imagine you’ll remain in the “crush zone” for very long. Sebastian can hardly go five minutes around you without saying too much or revealing his or someone else’s secrets, let alone try to keep his feelings hidden when they grow every day you spend with each other.

OMINS GAUNT:

🐍  Ominis is a bit more subtle in his affections than Sebastian. It will take him a while before he approaches you, just so he can be sure he actually wants to pursue you and it isn’t just a fleeting crush. 🐍  He’ll sit near you, but not next to you, in classes and at meal times. He likes hearing your voice as you chat to your friends or make snide remarks about the professors when you think nobody is listening. Sebastian will often catch him smiling at seemingly nothing whenever you’re around. 🐍  You’re both desperately trying to keep yourselves awake in History of Magic one day when Ominis makes a witty comment at the expense of Binns, and he’s floored when you laugh next to him, quietly leaning over to share your own comments about the professor’s riveting tale about another centuries old wizarding war. 🐍  From that day on, Ominis went out of his way to make you laugh. Whenever he’d find you in-between classes, he would sit next to you on the bench and make passing remarks about the other students. It seemed he knew everything about everyone and had something to say about all of it, and you found his little quips absolutely hilarious. You’d always thought Ominis Gaunt was a refined, quiet gentleman, yet here he was tearing into Leander Prewett with no remorse and telling first years that the giant squid liked to feast on children walking too close to the lake. 🐍  He would be so sweet to you, doting, even. If you’d had a particularly stressful week catching up on assignments or running errands for everyone and their dog, Ominis would offer to keep breakfast for you so you could sleep for just a few minutes longer. When he notices you rushing about the castle, he’d stop you to ask if you’d taken a break that day and if you’d like to accompany him to the library for a spot of light reading. On the various occasions you’d come back injured, he would offer you his arm as a way to keep you steady. Eventually, offering you his hand or arm becomes second nature and you’ll find yourselves walking like that even when there’s no need to support you physically. 🐍  I think it would take a long time before Ominis admits his feelings. He enjoys the safety of the courting stage because his family are less likely to involve themselves. He’s also afraid you’ll reject a serious relationship with him because of their reputation and behaviour. He might huff and puff about how it’s a gentleman’s responsibility, but he’d secretly appreciate if you were the one to make the next move.

GARRETH WEASLEY:

🧪  I imagine Garreth would have to be friends with someone before he develops a crush on them. 🧪  While this social butterfly could easily make friends with a wall, that doesn’t mean he knows how to flirt with one. He’s so subtle with his intentions that it’s easy to assume he’s just being his regular, friendly self.

🧪  He would take a break from his experiments to brew you an endless supply of Wiggenweld potions for your adventures. He knew you were capable of handling yourself, but he worries about you and wants to help in any way he can.

🧪  He’d make it a point to accompany you around the castle, offering to carry your books or help with extra assignments. He’d refrain from using you as a guinea pig, but he would ask you to help him find ingredients for various potions, sometimes even at strange hours of the night. Most of the time, he has no use for the things he is asking for, he just wants to spend time with you.

🧪  Despite the Weasleys not having a lot of money, Garreth would always offer to treat you to a butterbeer at The Three Broomsticks. He often buys (and occasionally swipes) bags of your favourite sweets from Honeydukes, even though he isn’t partial to them himself. He thinks he’s being subtle by asking you to share, but it doesn’t escape your notice that he never takes a single one, instead leaving them all to you.

🧪  Garreth eventually confesses his feelings to you while drunk on the effects of Felix Felicius. He had been trying to brew it for you, knowing you had a particularly difficult mission ahead, but he had to try it first to make sure it wouldn’t turn you purple or make you break out in boils.

AMIT THAKKAR:

⭐  This poor boy somehow manages to be both a stuttering and word vomiting mess around you.  

⭐  One minute he is telling you all about the great tales he plans to write, how Binns will be assigning his books to every student at Hogwarts by the end of the decade, and then you’ll give him that smile and he’s suddenly blushing and stuttering uncontrollably.  

⭐  He’s most comfortable around you at night, when the stars are there to calm his nerves. This is when you’ll get to see the true Amit, the cute, gentle boy who will point constellations out to you for hours if you’re interested. Although he’d much prefer to find real constellations and their associated imagery, you can occasionally rope him into a silly game of ‘connect the stars’, only because he loves the way your face brightens when you vaguely recognise a mooncalf or niffler dotted in the sky. 

⭐  He is incredibly intelligent, so if you ever need help with a subject, you can rest assured that Amit is more than willing to offer you (and only you) his tutoring services, free of charge! ⭐  Amit is 100% going to support you in all of your endeavors, regardless of how much interest he has in them himself. You play on the Quidditch team? He’ll be at every single practice session to cheer you on. You enjoy ballroom dancing in a room full of dead people? He’s now practicing in his common room every night so he won’t step on your feet (Go to sleep Amit, it’s three in the morning!). You name it, he’ll be there, probably reading a theory book about the history of the hobby. ⭐  It might take him ages, but he will 100% confess to you in the cheesiest way possible. Maybe it will be through an original poem personally delivered to you by owl, or maybe it will be through spelling “I  ❤️ U” in the stars. Regardless, he’ll make sure you’ll be melted into a puddle by his sweetness.

[redgoldsparks]

June Reading and Reviews by Maia Kobabe

I post my reviews throughout the month on Storygraph and Goodreads, and do roundups here and on patreon. Reviews below the cut.

Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland by Patrick Radden Keefe read by Matthew Blaney 

This is one of the most gripping and well-researched nonfiction books I've read in a long time. Keefe draws on many research trips, interviews, news paper archives, and personal encounters to tell several interwoven narratives of violence and protest during the time of The Troubles in Northern Ireland. He follows the story of the infamous Price sisters, women who joined the IRA while in college, helped plant many bombs, and became hunger strikers after receiving hefty prison sentences; Jean McConville, a widowed mother of ten who was dragged from her home and disappeared by the IRA; Brenden Hughes, a commanding office of the IRA who escaped assassination attempts and prison, who committed a huge amount of violence but ultimately became disillusioned with what he had done; Gerry Adams, who claims he was never an IRA office despite massive evidence to the contrary, who helped negotiate the peace treaty before launching a successive political career; and many more. I highly recommend this book, especially to anyone wrestling with the moral question of violent versus nonviolent resistant, and what the long, messy process of building peace can look like, at least in one specific place and time.

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata translated by Ginney Tapley Takemori read by Nancy Wu

Keiko Furukura has never fit in with the others around her. Early in elementary school she learned to keep her mouth shut because people often found the things she said (which felt logical and obvious to her) deeply upsetting. But at age 18, Keiko applied for a job at a convenience store and found her life's calling. The store is the only place where she feels really comfortable, needed, useful, and able to interact easily with others inside the routines of customer service. When the book opens Keiko is 36 and has been working the same low level job for her entire adult life. She has no desire for change but others around her are beginning to pressure her more and more to pursue a "normal life", that is, marriage and a better paying job. Keiko can be easily read as an autistic, asexual character; I really enjoyed how her perspective on life was written, even when I enjoyed less the actual things going on around her. A whiny, sleezy man takes up a lot of space in the second half of the story, but I found the ending very hopeful.

How to Love by Alex Norris 

Short, sweet, and insightful. Norris brings the humor of their "Oh No" comic series to this guide to feelings and relationships, but mixed with deep compassion. The visual metaphors are hilarious and perfect.

Becoming Who We Are: Real Stories About Growing Up Trans by Sammy Lisel and Hazel Newlevant and others 

A wonderful collection of short comics about trans people with different stories, experiences, jobs, and dreams. Each story is illustrated by a different artist which gives each tale its own voice. An accessible and affirming collection, especially for young readers!

Fool’s Quest by Robin Hobb read by Elliot Hill

This book picks up right after the traumatic kidnapping at the end of the previous volume, but packs a surprising amount of big plot twists in before the journey to recover the young people even begins. This book suffers from some middle book of a trilogy pacing issues; the action beats of the story sometimes falling at awkward spots, and the story continuing past what might have felt like its more natural ending. That didn't stop me from being RIVETED during the entire 33 hour audiobook. I am so obsessed with these characters. I feel the weight of everything they've been through, the six decades of in-story time, and the consequences and ripple effects of everything that has gone before. This volume continues to push a running theme of very gender-ambiguous characters; there are now two characters who defy an easy binary, and Fitz is finally coming to terms with that in one of his oldest and dearest friends. I'm excited and slightly terrified to head into the 16th and final book of this series soon!

Vera Bushwack by Sig Burwash 

This book is simultaneously a fairly quiet story of a gender-nonconforming queer living with just a dog on a piece of rural property, working on building a cabin from scratch; and also an ambitious exploration of gendered power fantasies. At the start, Drew is learning how to operate a chainsaw to cut trees and clear property from a rural neighbor. Flashbacks and phone calls reveal how Drew got her dog, some of the shitty men she's had to deal with, a past lover who helped her cut a trail to the river, and a tomboy childhood. These scenes of rough realism are interrupted when Drew jumps on her dirt bike or revs the chainsaw and her fantasies spin out across the page, full of wild horses, monster trucks, naked cowboys, symbols of complete and total freedom. This book is deceptively complicated, full of bold creative choices that I really appreciated, even if they didn't all work for me. I have a feeling this story is going to stick in my head for a long time.

In the Form of a Question written and read by Amy Schneider 

A very engaging memoir from Jeopardy champion Amy Schneider, born and raised in Dayton, Ohio, who moved to Oakland, California as an adult and never left. Each chapter title is a question and cover topics thematically rather than chronologically. Schneider is very forthcoming and honest, writing about everything from her transition, her open marriage, her first sexual experiences, recreational drug use, polyamory, community theater, relationship with her parents and more. She has a humorous and yet compassionate voice, relating tales of her hatred of boy scouts, ADD, and failures to understand her own gender without belittling her younger self. Towards the ends of the book she writes of her experience of fame and what she got out of her time on Jeopardy saying that stepping into the public eye as a trans woman and being met mostly with support and love changed her life as much as the 1.5 million she won over a 40 game winning streak and various other tournaments. If you are a fan of Jeopardy, or just curious, this is a fun listen.

Ruth Asawa: An Artist Takes Shape by Sam Nakahira 

Ruth Asawa was born in Southern California to parents who had immigrated from Japan before WWII. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, her whole family was displaced to the internment camps, loosing their farm, all of their farm animals, and nearly everything else they owned. Ruth finished high school inside a camp in Arkansas but was able to leave when she apply to and was accepted into college. She was faced with discrimination and racism, but eventually she was able to pursue her dream of becoming an artist at the experimental Black Mountain College in North Carolina. She studied under influential and well-known teachers who helped her find her own creative voice. She also met the love of her life there. The couple eventually relocated back to California, which had just legalized interracial marriage. Sam Nakahira captures Asawa's courage, determination, and incredible talent in tender line art with delicate grey scale washes. Asawa's best known work, her innovative wire sculptures, are gorgeously rendered. Asawa's insistence on treating every activity of her life, from gardening to parenting to drawing to sculpting, as creative, is a good reminder for me and every artist that living itself can be a creative practice.

People From My Neighborhood by Hiromi Kawakami translated by Ted Goossen 

A charmingly strange set of interconnected stories about a neighborhood in Japan full of unusual characters. The unnamed child narrator tells us of the middle aged woman who runs a karaoke bar out of her house, the old man with two shadows, the child who is passed from house to house by lottery because his parents cannot support him, a diplomat who might be an alien who no one ever seen, the arrival of a mountain of sand, a school built of candy, a girl with prophetic dreams, and more. The stories escalate in weirdness over the course of the book and also introduce more reoccurring characters. The short 4-6 pages chapters made it compulsively readable. I had a great time with this, despite the lack of an overarching plot.

The Contradictions by Sophie Yanow

At age twenty, after a bad breakup, the author signed up for a study abroad program in Paris. Lonely and soul searching in a foreign country, Yanow spots a girl riding a fixed gear bike. Yanow is a committed bicyclist and chases the girl down to learn she is also an exchange student, also recently broken up with, a committed anarchist and a shoplifter. Yanow and her new friend decide to take a poorly planned trip to Amsterdam, intending to hitchhike the whole way. About as many things go wrong as you might expect. In beautifully minimalist black and white panels, Yanow perfectly captures the naivete and first political awakenings of a young college student trying to seem cool and so taking risks and hiding passions in order to impress someone new. A quick read and a master class in understatement.

Little Weirds written and read by Jenny Slate 

There was a lot I enjoyed in this memoir, as well as some aspects that worked less well for me. I enjoyed Slate's writing style and the focus on small moments of beauty and reclaiming one's right to live fully in one's body, acknowledging all of its human needs for softness and love. I liked her whimsy and sense of humor and kindness. I do wish that some of the chapters had been slightly more grounded in some of the facts and loose timeline of Slate's life. I didn't know anything about her before starting the book and it took me until almost the last chapter to learn she was the middle of three sisters; a line earlier on had made me think she was maybe a twin. It became clear that she was writing through the process of emotionally recovering from a divorce, but I only learned from wikipedia that her ex-husband had also been a major creative collaboration partner. I wonder if she expected most people reading this book to already be familiar with her biography? Regardless, don't go into this book looking for facts; go instead for a nonlinear reclamation of some simple but hard-won emotional truths and skip any chapter that isn't speaking to you.

People of the Book by Geraldine Brooks, read by Edwina Wren

This book tells a fictional history of a real manuscript- the Sarajevo Haggadah, a beautifully illuminated Hebrew manuscript created in fifteenth-century Spain. The frame narrative follows an Australian manuscript conservation specialist, Hanna Heath, hired to re-bind the pages in the mid 1990s for a Bosnian museum that until extremely recently was in the middle of a war zone. Alternating chapters dip into contentious periods of Europe's history, usually moments of high tension between religious groups (WWII, Vienna at the turn of the century, the Spanish Inquisition in Venice, the banishment of Jews from Spain in 1492, Muslim/Christian conflicts in Seville in the 1480s) and trace how the Haggaadah managed to survive fire, flood, blood, war, and exile in the hands of many different people. This is an ambitious book that mostly achieved is goals; I got through the 14 hour audiobook very quickly. One unfortunate side effect of the narrative structure is that I as the reader didn't spend more than a few hours with any of the characters, and so didn't develop a particularly deep emotional connection with any of them, including Hanna, the lead. My rating is more of a 3.5 or 3.75 rounded up. But still, I appreciate Brooks eye for capturing just most exciting or tense moment from a historical era and will likely try a few more of her books in the future.

Punk Rock Karaoke by Bianca Xunise 

Three friends, recently graduated from high school, struggle to keep their punk band together through the demands of early adulthood. College applications, jobs, family obligations, and makeout partners are all knocking on the door, demanding to be let in. Will Ariel, Michele, and Gael be able to stay true to their creative spirits and to each other? I had a great time with this fast-paced, sweaty summer, friendship-focused book even though the majority of the punk music references went right over my head.

Parasol Against The Axe by Helen Oyeyemi 

Helen Oyeyemi continues to baffle and dazzle me. This one is set in and narrated by Prague, which is a tricky city full of its own complicated whims and desires. Into this self-aware city enter several women: Sofie and Polly, an engaged couple, celebrating their bachlorette weekend together with friends. Hero, a somewhat estranged friend of Sofie's, who come to Prague mostly to avoid a piece of registered mail which is chasing her down. And Thea, a woman willing to commit violence for the right price, on a hired revenge mission that happens to intersect with a dark episode of Sofie and Hero's past. Does that sound straight forward? It isn't. Oh yes and there's also a book, Paradoxical Undressings which tells a different story to every person who cracks open its covers. This book allows Oyeyemi to tell many nested and fantastical anecdotes from Prague's Communist past. As with most Oyeyemi books, there are a few threads I was left scratching my head over, but I had such a good time on the ride that I don't mind. I'll just have to read it again and see if I catch them (assuming it's the same book when I open it a second time!) 

The Sacrificers Vol 1 by Rick Remender, Max Fiumara and Dave McCaig 

The art is absolutely stunning, but the story is a bit too cruel and dark for me to really enjoy. This book takes the concept of the child sacrifice of Omelas and expands it out into a whole fantasy world, in which gods maintain their power through the consumption of innocents. The stunning color panel carried me though the first volume but I'm unlikely to pick up a second book.

Brides of High Hill by Nghi Vo read by Cindy Kay

Another satisfying installment in the Singing Hills Cycle! In this one, Cleric Chih accompanies a young woman and her family to the remote estate of her prospective husband. But all is not as it seems. The potential husband looks at least twice as old as the young woman, and he has a son shut up in a pagoda and kept drugged in his gardens. Everyone on the estate is in some kind of danger, but the secrets are thicker and deeper than even the Cleric can guess.