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sanakimohara · 5 months

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“COLA” B.C. PT.2

“Wish you wanted it a little bit. More, but it’s a chore for you to give…”

Synopsis: Having a crush on her best friend’s older brother was a secret Y/n L/n had managed to hide for years. She presumed those feelings had disappeared over time, but when Chris—or rather, Chan, as he’s called by the rest of the world—makes a surprise visit to Australia to spend his last break of the year with his family, Y/N is bewildered to find that she, in fact, is still infatuated with her best friend's brother. Unbeknownst to her, Chan is already well aware of it and isn’t above taking advantage of her innocent crush on him. All fun and games, right?

WARNINGS: [MDNI! 18+] pining, fluff, smut, a bit of angst, cursing, smoking, and alcohol use. oh and the DDGL dynamic is implied…

A/N: Let’s hope I don’t scrap this and at least finish writing it…also Chan is his current age 25 and the reader is 18+

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People.

She hated so many people around her but had no other place to go.

Airports always irked Y/n. Maybe it was because she’d been to so many in her childhood, forced to behave like an adult in the presence of a crowd all the time, and always afraid of losing her parents when they were there. Which was rare to say the least.

The repulsion and discomfort never really left her system when it came to large crowds. Even at the ripe age of 19 Y/n would rather walk all the way to the Bang residence then deal with constant bustling of an airport.

Unfortunately, walking to her destination would be miserably hot in the Australian weather so she was stuck with waiting for her planes boarding announcement to be made all alone. Thankfully, she’d arrived at a decent time and since it was a continental flight it wouldn’t be long before said announcement would be made.

She occupied herself with a book, earbuds tucked securely in her ears, and her favorite boba drink nestled between her thighs as she read to pass the time. Y/n’s eyes scanned every word on the worn pages of her book, soaking in every detail it could give even though she’d read twice before, but an enticing dark romance novel tends to keep her attention better than anything else.

She delights in the fantasy that’s described in its pages. Where the plot is lack, steamy and disgustingly lustful filler scenes are written, and when a major event does take place it dwarfs in comparison to the impact of headlines the next smutty paragraph brings.

Dark romances are her escape in some way, an acceptable binge she’s allowed herself to indulge in. It’s not a dirty secret or a guilty pleasure for her to read them but rather a way for her mind to envision less then pure fantasies of her design.

Each one of them involves Chan is some way.

She’ll never admit it to anyone, nor dare to say a word alluding to her desires, but it’s hard to put down a book that helps you satiate a hunger you can’t manage right?

Whatever the answer is, Y/n continues to bury herself in the images described in the pages she scans, and if anyone who knew her had walked by they would’ve recognized the tale tell blush starting to coat her cheeks. A sure sign she was either flustered or perpetually turned on.

Luckily, no one around her noticed the tinge to her cheeks, and so she was left to enjoy her book in peace for the time being. Thirty minutes and a couple of sips from her drink later Y/n heard the announcement that informed passengers it was time to board. “

Flight C18 to Sydney, Australia is now boarding. Passengers please make your way to gate 3 and loading dock 3A.”

Y/n nearly jumped out of her skin as the announcement echoed around the waiting area. Her heart thumped in her ears as people around her started to make her way to the designated gate. She clutched her book close as a few strangers briskly walked past her. For some reason or another she assumed they’d judge her if they saw what she’d been reading.

A ridiculous fear, but a fear she favored anyway.

With a few swift movements Y/n packed her book away into her carry on bag and finished off her drink before gathering her bags and phone. She double checked if she’d grabbed everything before making her way to Gate 3 but stopped when the subtle echos of cheering sounded from somewhere in the airport.

“Wonder what’s that all about…” a man asked another as they walked past her.

Y/n had the same question and looked around to pinpoint where the shouting was coming from. When she pinpointed the oncoming noise she rose to her tip toes to see who the crowd was bombarding all of a sudden.

Her investigation was cut short though when a woman tapped her shoulder. “Are you line for the ticket check miss?,” she asked and Y/n nodded sheepishly before responding, “I am, sorry I got a bit…distracted.”

The older woman only nodded in understanding, following behind Y/n as she walked up to the gate assistant and handed them her ticket to check. “Must be some sort of celebrity with how much racket those people are making…” the woman scoffed under her breath and Y/n stifled a giggle at how annoyed she sounded.

“Maybe,” she mumbled to herself, taking one last glance back at the moving crowd heading towards the gate before going to board the plane.

By the time Y/n had officially steeped onto the plane she could hear the shouts of excitement roaring where she’d been standing only moments ago. She didn’t bother to look back, deeming it impossible to get any clue to what’s going from staring again, and opted to find her seat. Which was in Business Class as per usual.

One of the few perks she was happy to have due to traveling so much with her parents when she was younger. Less people were crowded together in Business Class and she sometimes ran into interesting or famous people too.

That was if they were seated next to her and as of right now she hoped no one would be. Sleep and read was her only objectives during this short flight and being next to someone might force her to be social at some point.

Y/n found her designated spot, sat down, got comfortable, and placed her carry on in the seat next to her. The cabin was still fairly empty and so she assumed it would stay that way. All there was left to do was wait for take off which the pilot announced would be in a matter of minutes.

She took the opportunity to text Hannah before putting her phone on airplane mode for the flight.

<< Boarded and about to lift off Han! 💕

>> yay finallyyyyy

>> can’t wait to see you. Mom and dad keep asking how long it’ll take you to land lol.

<< that’s sweet of them :) tell them I’m excited to see them after so long btw!

>> what about me??!? :(

<< Han you’re so dramatic…

<< of course I’m excited to see you too dummy..

Y/n smiled at her phone as she hit send, finding it cute how clingy Hannah could be, but her happiness was cut short as someone came to stand beside the seat her bag was placed in.

“Uhm, sorry but I think that’s my seat..”

Her heart fell to her stomach and if it weren’t for the cushioned seat underneath her she would’ve fell straight through the floor of the plane out of shock.

Her cheeks flushed pink and she gulped softly as the familiar voice spoke up again.

“Miss, sorry, but this is my se-“ Chan immediately cut himself short as the girl in front of him lifted her head to look up at him.

His mask hid most of his shocked expression when their eyes met but Y/n could still see the recognition in his chocolate brown eyes.

She didn’t know what to say, how to say it, or even how to react to seeing the one person -the one man- she’d hoped not see.

This can’t be fucking happening…., she thought watching his eyes crease into crescent moons from the smile forming behind his mask.

“Long time no see, princess,” he greeted her in plain English, accent clearly coming through as he called her the same nickname he’d given her the last time they met.

Hearing it, hearing him call her that again, and just being face to face with him had her chest feeling light and her mouth running dry.

She hadn’t moved or stopped staring at him since their eyes met and Chan was slightly worried he’d startled her into a permanent stupor, but then she blinked slowly and timidly spoke back to him. “H-hi Chris..”she inwardly panicked hearing herself stutter and fought the urge to bite her lip in embarrassment. He’d know she was incredibly flustered then and whether that’d make the situation more awkward or not was the least of her concerns now.

Chan laughed softly when she addressed him as Chris. Even after years of knowing him she’d refused to call him anything else. Every once in a while she’d slip and call him “Channie” but that was rare. He didn’t hold it against her though, moving her bag, and sitting himself down next to her instead. Y/n instinctively flinched form his sudden close proximity and avoided looking at him as he got comfortable next to her.

She was almost certain he could hear heartbeat thudding like rolling thunder in her chest and she prayed to god her face wasn’t ten shades of red.

It definitely was.

Chan didn’t point that out though, choosing to enjoy her flustered state rather than teasing her further.

*buzz buzz*

Her phone vibrated on the floor, laying right next to her feet, and it caught Chan’s attention.

She froze, wondering when she dropped the device and how she failed to notice, but snapped out of her thoughts when Chan spoke.

“Let me get that for you.”

He reached down before she could react, picking up the device and placing it back in her lap. Y/n felt her skin grow hot as he gently returned her phone, his hand grazed over her thighs as he withdrew and it felt like he’d shot electricity through her from the subtle touch. It was an accident, she reminded herself as he leaned back into his seat again.

A pure, one time, accident. That’s all.

She shifted her legs, unconsciously pressing her thighs together as a ripple of warmth coursed through her core, and she cursed herself for wearing a shorter skirt than usual.

“Thanks,” Y/n whispered to him, not fully composed yet, and still trying to act normal around him.

Finding her footing felt impossible the longer he sat near her though.

Chan removed his mask, flashing her a kind smile, “You’re welcome. I did sort of scare you, so it’s the least I can do, Princess.” He nudged her shoulder with his and Y/n forced herself to smile despite wanting to scream from the feeling of his muscular arm against her.

This was going to be the longest 5 hour flight of her life….

And he was going to enjoy every last second.

*********

Soon, the plane was off the ground and headed to Sydney but Y/n was still trying to maintain her demeanor towards Chan.

She was failing miserably.

During take off all she could do was stare out the window and try to breathe like her life depended on it.

Ascent and descent on aircraft was her worst enemy and Chan only had to take one glance at her to notice how pale she got as her manicured nails dug into the lush leather of her seat.

He wasn’t the type to not help someone in need or at least a girl who hated ascending turbulence on a plane. So, he reached over, gently resting a hand on her leg, massaging the expanse of her thigh as a gesture of comfort.

At first Y/n was board stiff under his touch, quite literally considering hurling herself out of the plane the second she felt his firm and warm menstruations on her thigh.

Ever so slightly she started to unwind, welcoming the steady pace of his hand running up and down her skin. She let out a sound, somewhere between a sigh and a whimper -Chan couldn’t tell but it made his head spin a little hearing it.

She was so cute.

Still the same pure girl he remembered.

He watched her expression transform from anxiousness to relief as the plane leveled out. She lifted her head off the window, glancing at him with a look of gratitude on her face, and he bit back a smile at the docile action.

“Feelin better?,” he inquired just loud enough for her to hear and she nodded, eyes fixed on his hand that was still on her thigh. He’d stopped stroking it when she sat up right but had yet to withdraw his hand completely.

Y/n swallowed thickly as her mind delved into what would happen if he just slid his hand a little higher up her skirt. But….his hands felt and looked so perfect on her thigh and she could see every vein in them too.

What would it feel like to have them wrapped around her throat, or better yet, clasped over her mouth while he fucks her-

She bit her tongue hard as self inflicted punishment for imaging such inappropriate things but it was proving difficult for her to not let him do it.

He’s your best friends older brother…snap out of it, she scolded herself for what felt like the 50th time since Chan’s surprise appearance…

She took a breath, peeling her doe eyes away from where his hand was and looked him dead in the eye. With the little confidence she had left she answered his question assertively, “Yes, I’m fine now. Thank you for…comforting me.” A shy smile graced her lips and Chan hummed in approval, satisfied with her response, and finally willing to retract his hold on her.

“Good…I’m glad I could help…” he held her gaze, voice uncharacteristically low, and his dark chocolate eyes sharpening on her when she looked away from him.

Y/n had to fully cross her legs at this point, needing pressure on her mound in someway or another. She masked the action as an effort to fix her skirt and then lowered it as if she were some proper lady of a royal family.

Chan didn’t comment, smirking to himself at her innocent attempt to be modest. He’d seen and slept with enough women in his time as an idol to know the signs.

She couldn’t hide anything from even if she tried.

Y/n, on the other hand, couldn’t stop fidgeting, every now and then squirming in her seat as if to get comfortable. She wasn’t obnoxious about it, more naive of her arousal is what Chan called it, and he found it increasingly adorable as the flight went on. If he so much as stared at her for too long she’d squirm like an ant under a magnifying glass. Chan could only imagine how’d she react to him touching her intimately.

That thought alone gave him a hard on.

He controlled himself well though, not letting on how he felt was a skill he’d mastered after years of practice.

Eventually, they made small talk at some points of their trip. She asked why he was in Australia despite his supposed ‘busy schedule’ and he told her the truth.

“I wanted to surprise my family. Since I didn’t get to see them on my break earlier this year I’m making that up with this trip.”

Y/n smiled, forgetting the heat persistently pooling between her thighs, and finding it endearing how much Chan valued time with his family.

“That’s sweet of you Chris…” she chirped with a beaming smile.

He nodded, “I’m guessing you’ll be staying with us again for the holidays?”

Y/n hummed in agreement, “Hannah wouldn’t let me say no.” She giggled softly and Chan laughed lightly at the mention of his sister.

“Yeah, she was pretty ticked you didn’t come last year..”

His face shifted from joyous to slightly reprimanding, “I was too..”

She bit her lip as he stared at her, “I…I got really busy…”

That was a lie. A lie that Chan didn’t believe for a second .

Y/n glanced into his eyes but regretted it seeing the stern haze in them. He knew she was lying and he hated being lied too. That was a fact she’d discovered while watching him and his members on some reality show a long time ago. She also knew it from Hannah herself. He mentioned his hatred of lying many times in many coded ways in his weekly ‘Chan Room’s’ as well.

Of course he saw right through her but at least she’d attempted to cover up her faults from last year.

Y/n did not want divulge her true reasons for ditching her plans with the Bang family but she knew his next words would be, “Don’t lie to me…” and at that point she’d have to tell him.

She’d have to tell him he was the primary reason she chose to cancel.

It wasn’t something she wanted to reveal, ever, so before Chan could interrogate her Y/n stood from her seat and excused herself to the restroom. “I’ll be right back.,” she chirped with a false sense of calm

However, this meant she’d have to shuffle past him to some degree. Not ideal, but necessary if she wanted to escape his questioning.

Chan raised a brow at her. Letting her squeeze past him and into the aisle. Her skirt rode up a bit as she did so, giving him a split second glance at what she wore underneath, and that gained her an instance of much needed distraction on his part.

Pink lace, I knew it…, he thought.

Y/n hurriedly smoothed her skirt back to normal, trying very hard to ignore his lingering gaze as she scurried off to the restroom. Her head was spinning the whole ten foot walk there and it felt like the air was swallowing her whole until she shut herself in the semi-clustered bathroom.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” she whispered as her nerves blazed and her mind raced to come up with a plausible excuse to answer Chan’s oncoming questions. Nothing seemed to be sufficient. Every excuse she thought of he’d probably disprove or see though. It was impossible.

The throbbing in her core was no help either, it intensified every time she thought about him, and at this point she couldn’t think straight at all.

“God, I can’t do this…” she whined in defeat, going to the sink for cold water to dab on her neck for some sort of relief. The shitty attempt at control helped for milliseconds before the feeling of Chan’s hand running up and down her thigh had her body shivering again.

A quiet moan escaped her throat and Y/n dabbed more cold water on her neck to relieve the tension she desperately needed to release.

“Pull it together,” she scolded herself, glaring at her reflection, and attempting to find any flaws that might be there. If she walked out of this bathroom worse than she came in Chan might out her completely.

He already had, years ago, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.

Still, that just wasn’t an option she’d like to choose right now and so after a few minutes of steady breathing paired with a silent moment to think Y/n felt composed enough to exit her seclusion.

She opened the door, expecting to walk right out with no problems, but there stood Chan already peering down at her.

A very heavy silence passed between them.

Y/n managed to hold his gaze despite her heart rate accelerating. On the other hand, Chan wasn’t sure why he’d followed her. At first he chalked it up to a sort of proactive protectiveness.

She was his little sisters best friend after all and any stranger could try to harm her. He’d do the same for any other friend…right? Wrong…

Another lie.

An invisible little truth he told himself was valid to justify his urge to watch over her.

The truth was he had less than pure intent to guard her and more interest in helping her solve a problem she clearly wanted to hide from him.

“Sorry, do you need to?…” she politely shifted away from the entrance, allowing him the opportunity to pass by her if he needed to, but he didn’t move a muscle…

Y/n swallowed thickly as familiar sparks ran up her spine the longer he held eye contact with her.

“You okay Chris?..” she sounded concerned, successfully masking her real reaction to his unwavering gaze.

Her voice snapped him out of whatever trance he’d been in and he returned to his normally friendly disposition.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Princess. You were just gone for a while and I thought something might be wrong.” He laughed softly, as if to throw her off with the sound so she wouldn’t think too hard on what he’d said, but Y/n held onto his every word.

He’d followed her, waited for her to come out, and admitted it too.

Creepy,,,but something in her liked it.

Her stomach was doing flips, cheeks turning a light shade of pink as a soft “oh..” slipped past her lips. It felt odd to have someone this interested in her, especially Chan, but he seemed to be like that with everyone he knew.

She couldn’t take this one instance as anything more than her best friends protective older brother looking out for his sisters pleasantly naive friend.

Nevertheless , she found it attractive. The idea that Chan wanted to protect or guard her was enough to feed her fantasies for the rest of her life.

Chan shifted, standing to the side and motioning for her to walk past him, “Shall we.” Y/n nodded, smiling softly as she walked past him and back to her seat. He trailed after, stopping to reach into the overhead compartment for his carry on bag.

She caught sight of his shirt lifting, his skin taut with muscle underneath the black hoodie he wore, and his jeans resting on his hips perfectly to show off the band of his boxers that hugged his sculpted v-line just right.

Y/n wanted to reach out and graze her fingertips over his skin, have the blessing to touch him just once, but settled with just stealing glances at him as he retrieved whatever he needed from his bag. He suddenly looked down at her, a smirk on his face as she quickly turned her head towards the window. He’d caught her staring where she shouldn’t be and gave her no time to act as if she hadn’t been.

“You okay?,” he asks her, gaze lingering on her frozen posture before refocusing on the items in his bag. She clears her throat quietly, nodding in response, and shifting in her seat.

Chan didn’t pry further, knowing she was the quiet type of girl who’d get even more shy under pressure, so he let her be. Y/n kept her eyes fixated on the cloud filled sky outside, hands tucked under her legs.

Embarrassed couldn’t begin to describe how she felt right now but it was dangerously close.

Chan had caught her staring and not even at his face.

She was fucked.

Totally fucked.

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TAGS: @imastraykidsfan 🖤 + @channniesslefttt 🖤

Just wanted to thank you all for supporting this series and all my other posts. It’s good to know I’m not the only delulu and extremely unhinged stay out there….thats all I have to say lol 🖤

BONUS CONTENT +

#Spotify #skz #stray kids #skz smut #bang chan #bang chris #stray kids x reader #bang chan smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #chan skz #chan x you #christopher bang

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writterracoon · 13 days

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Hades 2

Lately, I've been a bit obsessed about Hades 2, I've been watching people play the test run , listening to compilations of interactions and scouring theories.

While doing all of that, I noticed something of a pattern, a theme that often came back and I think I may have found out one of the MAIN theme and conflict of the game and I've seen nobody talk about it yet, so here we go.

More under if you're not against being possibly spoiled.

I think one of the major themes of Hades 2 is going to be about Humanity and its complex relationship with the Gods, the way the gods treat mortals and the way mortals treat the gods.

here are my evidences

The interactions

the first thing that put me on this path was this interaction between Melinoe and Nemesis.

In this conversation, Nemesis and Melinoe are talking about Retribution and Justice and how Nemesis believes that Kronos taking over the underworld and challenging the Olympians may be what they deserve. Notice how Nemesis specifically mentions mortals and the Golden Age.

For those who don't know, in greek mythology the Golden Age was the first Era of Humanity and when Chronos was the ruler of the heavens. It was a time of peace and harmony for humanity where there existed no plague or famine, there was no need to work as they could simply pick their food from nature itself. They lived long lives, remaining youthful and died peacefully in their sleep.

Nemesis is I think trying to hint to Melinoe that maybe the situation is not exactly as black and white as it first seems and that humanity may have a bigger role in this than first thought.

A second interaction i want to bring to mind is about Moros and his relationship with mortals.

Here Moros admits that sometimes he because of was simply bored he would knowingly bring doom and pain to Mortals ending their lives painfully.

Archnea's interactions are also the strongest contenders for that theory, as they bring back that theme of divine cruelty, the gods view of mankind and how they callously treat them.

She has been wronged by the gods for the simple reason that she was better than them at something and they naturally couldn't stand it so they cursed her to live as a spider. She is filled with resentment for them and even warns Mel not to trust them. Also, note how she admits she fears the gods more than she fears Chronos.

2. Dora

Now Dora is a bit particular because we don't know much about her, but I have seen a theory and some interaction with Moros seem to be pointing toward it, which is that she might be Pandora, the original sinner of Greek mythology.

the myth of Pandora goes a bit like this: During the Golden Age, after Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gifted it to humanity, the gods decided to punish Prometheus by punishing humanity. They built Pandora, a woman beautiful beyond compare, and gave her a box full of the evils of the world. They then send her to seduce Epimetheus Prometheus's brother, who despite his brother's warning is promptly seduced by Pandora's beauty and welcomes her into his home. She then opened the box and released the evil of the world upon mankind, thus ending the Golden Age. Only hope stays inside the box.

Again if this is indeed true, it would follow the theme of the gods inflicting pain and suffering upon mankind for petty reasons, uncaring about the consequences of those actions.

3. Hades I

During the first game, many interactions points toward the gods general uncaring attitudes about mortals. Demeter thinks it was a mortal who stole her daughter away, so she decides that she will punish them all by starving them with an eternal winter. The other gods make almost mention of it only to say how much it annoys them.

4. Speculation

This part is not so much about evidences and more about speculations about the story of Hades 2 based upon my theory that mankind is going to be central in this tale.

The reason how Chronos is so powerfull, powerfull enough to free himself from Tartarus and claim the Underworld for himself, is that mortal were tired of being the gods' playthings and prayed to him, they prayed for his return, for the return of the golden age, where pain and suffering were unknown to them and the gods weren't using them for their own amusement.

The gods are going to have to deal with the fact that their poor treatment of humanity has consequences and those consequences are the return of Chronos and a second titonomachy.

Melinoe will propably have to face the fact that Chronos is wrong in challenging the gods and that the current status quo cannot be sustained any longer. The Olympian gods will have to change how they treat mankind if they wish to even have a stand a chance against chronos.

(TLDR, The Olympian gods have treated mankind like shit for a long time and now they are dealing with the consequences of those actions when the mortals are praying to Chronos to come back and restore back the golden Age where their lives weren't even half as awful. Melinoe will have to deal with the fact that her family might very well deserve what is happening to them and if she wishes to save them, the gods will have to change.)

#I taught of all of this under the shower #might do more if I find new interactions that support this theory #but im actually pretty proud of this one already #I think it would be thematically intersting if a story about gods ends being in the end about mankind and its struggles #Apollo bless me with your dodgeball #hades 2 #hades ii #Hades 2 theory #hades supergiant

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davidfarland · 2 years

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7 Considerations for Characters

Of all the topics on how to write, I suspect more books have been written on how to create solid characters than on anything else. So there are a lot of great resources out there on how to create characters, and I can’t even touch on every topic that I would like in the space of an article this short.

Let me just say a few things, though. We are often told that our characters should be “round,” rather than stick-figure drawings. If you were an artist and you painted a picture with stick figures, people would say, “Well, that’s not very realistic. It is hardly recognizable as human.”

In stories, we usually don't want that response either. We want our characters to have dimension. Such characters have (but are not limited to) the following attributes:

Character Consideration #1: Specific Physical Bodies

Real people have physical bodies with inherent limitations and strengths. These bodies get hungry, hurt, and have urges all their own. They also have a history of ailments and injuries, various scars, and of course plenty of traits that we may or may not want to include in our tale—including things like foot size, ear size and shape, and so on. Trying to describe some of these traits is danged near impossible.

Character Consideration #2: Relationships

Real people have families and friends. For a while in young adult literature, just about everyone was an orphan. That’s because editors didn’t want authors to have to deal with family issues. Yet far too often, authors don’t create extended families primarily out of laziness. Similarly, each of us has various levels of friends, business colleagues, people we are attracted to, and people who are attracted to us at some level. We might include in this list of associations things like pets and plants. Does your heroine keep African violets around the house, and tenderly nurse her geraniums? A likeable character is usually one who shows kindness to others, who seeks out deep and lasting commitments—even if it is just to her flowers.

Character Consideration #3: Vocation

Real people have jobs—usually a history of them. For example, I’ve been a meat cutter, a prison guard, a missionary, a movie producer, novelist, video game designer, technical writer and editor, grocer, gourmet ice-cream pie maker, and farmer. In the modern world, we tend to develop large skill sets as we age, but there was a time when a person started life as a farmer and ended up buried out by the grape vines.

Character Consideration #4: Social Status

Real people also have a place in society. These societies might include political groups, religious and civic organizations, and so on.

Character Consideration #5: An Internal Life

Real people have an internal life, invisible to the naked eye. This is a good category for a lot of things—emotional needs and phobias, ideals, and so on. These might include secret beliefs, hopes, desires. It also includes our own personal way of seeing the world, and includes how we cope with it. Sometimes our personal ideals are at odds with our public affiliations. For example, while most people profess some sort of religion, very often our personal beliefs might vary in some way from the official doctrine of the church that we espouse.

The internal life of a character is of course where we get the “meat” for our novels. A movie can easily capture the exterior of a character, but novels do a better job of capturing the internal feelings, moods, and beliefs. Yet that’s only part of the reason why novels are so popular and are often said to be better than the movies they inspire.

I’m convinced that we have an innate need to get to know one another from the inside out. . . . So we spend a great deal of time analyzing the motives, beliefs, and actions of others.

The internal lives of our characters are the most fertile ground that an author may plant his story in.

Character Consideration #6: Internal Conflicts

As we explore the internal lives of our characters, one of the most important areas to explore is that person’s internal conflicts. What happens when a person loves and fears the same thing? What happens when a man’s conscience won’t let him carry out his boss’s (or wife’s, or master’s) orders? Most people are filled with interesting contradictions, and usually that provides the best material for our novels.

Character Consideration #7: Voice

Each character has a unique way of speaking. Finding a character’s voice and accent is often a key for me when writing a book. The character never comes alive until I can hear him talking in my own imagination.

In Conclusion

Please note that people are not stick figures. In a good novel, the author creates a number of characters who are put in opposition, and each of them is satisfying and believable. Your imaginary characters never really quite come alive, but at times it can feel like they’re taking over your story, bent on achieving their own ends.

#writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writeblr #writing help #writing reference #writing advice #oc

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ladykailitha · 1 year

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Little Runaway Part 5

Oh god, guys. I love you all. I got so many comments on the last one. I love writing smart Steve. He needs more credit than he gets. And once I’m done with it, I think you guys are going to love Ser Stephan of Harring’s Town, it’s Eddie and the rest of the D&D loving nerds learning the depths of Steve. Also I love tagging people but for my sanity I’m going to have to top it at 20. So I only have 6 more slots.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

The unfortunate thing was that actual police work took time, and between Eddie running interference for Steve and Dustin, and Wayne doing what he could to keep Clint Harrington off the scent, it still gave Steve cabin fever.

“At least in my car, I was constantly moving,” Steve grumbled as Eddie got ready for another D&D session.

“You know I can’t bring you,” Eddie replied from the floor where he was sorting through his notes. “Ted Wheeler would squeal on your ass so fast.”

Steve groaned and threw his head back on the bed. His ribs had almost healed and the bruises had faded. And now that he was getting actual sleep at night he was becoming restless.

“Read or something,” Eddie murmured.

Steve looked over at the small bookshelf in the corner warily. “It’s all fantasy, though.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Eddie asked, looking up at him sharply.

“Isn’t it all princesses and dragons and fairy tale stuff?” Steve asked.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “No. I don’t know what fantasy you’ve read, but you are reading the wrong stuff, man.”

He stretched out, leaning up on his knees to reach a book off the shelf. Steve bit his lip and forced himself to look at anything but the long line of Eddie’s body, his shirt riding up to show a sliver of his taut belly.

Eddie sat back down and Steve could breath again.

“Here, start with this one,” he said, handing it over.

Steve took the book and turned it over. “The Hobbit?”

“Yup!” Eddie said. “It short, it’s got a great story, and it’s one of the best fantasy out there.”

Steve frowned appreciatively. “Yeah, I’ll give it a go.”

Eddie stood up with a bounce. “I’ve got to go, I’ll catch you later. Wayne’s got the late shift, so you’ll have the place to yourself for a bit, depending on how late we run tonight.”

Steve nodded, already cracking open the book to start.

Eddie grinned and hurried out to his van. A van that was running much better now that Steve had looked it over. With any luck, the piece of shit would keep running long enough for Eddie to replace it.

He made over the to the Wheelers, their summer time host for the Hellfire Club. They were the only ones that had a basement big enough for the three campaigns that were being run to gather at the same time.

He had barely sat down when there was a ruckus upstairs followed by a very angry Clint Harrington stomping down the stairs.

Dustin hid behind Lucas, who just eyed him confused, but let him hide anyway.

“Where is my son!” Clint bellowed. “I know he plays this devil game! You bring him out to me this instant!”

Eddie stands up and if it had been quiet before, now it was deafeningly silent. Everyone in that room had seen Eddie at the top of his game standing on tables in lunchrooms.

“Mr Harrington I presume,” he began with a mocking bow.

“You’re that Munson kid, right?” Clint said, turning on Eddie.

“In the flesh,” Eddie said, smile slowly spreading over his features. “Your son isn’t here. King Steve wouldn’t deign to mix with the likes of us.”

Dustin glared around Lucas, but Eddie winked. He ducked back behind the tall basketball player.

“Don’t you lie to me!” Clint roared. “I’ve seen the magazine!”

“And it had his name on and everything?” Eddie asked calmly, tilting his head and eyeing the man sidelong.

“It doesn’t have to!” Clint snarled. “He could have picked up at any store.”

“Or it could have been left there by any of his friends,” Eddie pointed out. “Speaking of which, Mr Harrington, who are Steve’s friends?”

“You think I don’t know who my son hangs out with?” Clint bit out.

“You thought he was playing D&D without you knowing...” Eddie said reasonably.

Clint snarled and turned on his heel, stomping back up the stairs in a fury.

Karen came down and apologized to them all. “I don’t know where he got the idea Steve was into D&D.”

But everyone knew that it was Ted that had told Clint about them holding D&D here.

“It’s fine, Mrs Wheeler,” Eddie said with soft smile. “Just some asshole wanting to rage at something.”

Karen pressed her lips together, but merely nodded before heading back upstairs.

Once she was gone Dustin came running up to Eddie.

“That was my magazine!” he cried. “I did this to Steve!”

Eddie grabbed his face and said, “No you didn’t. Mr Harrington has been hurting Steve for a long time. If it wasn’t the magazine, it would have been something else. You hear me? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And that’s when the entire Hellfire Club erupted.

Everyone was firing questions at Eddie and Dustin.

“Calm down everyone!” Eddie shouted over the din. Once everyone had quieted he said. “Look, his dad beat the shit out of Steve, but he was able to get away. He is fine, just laying low so his dad doesn’t find him. And things are being done to make sure his dad never hurts him again.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell us?” Will asked. “It’s been two weeks. We were really worried about him.”

“Because the more people who knew what happened,” Dustin said, “the more he would be in danger.”

Everyone turned to Dustin.

“Who else knows?” Lucas asked.

“Just me and Dustin,” Eddie said. “And I only know because I could stash Steve where he wouldn’t be found by his dad.”

There was some muttering, but everyone seemed to agree it was the best course of action.

“Come on, guys,” Mike said. “Let’s start playing.”

“I’m not sure I’m in the mood,” Jeff murmured.

Eddie shook his head. “To hell with that. We’re going to play to show that asshole that he doesn’t get dictate what we find fun.”

There was some grumbling and it seemed like Mr Harrington was going to win when Erica spoke up.

“Hey, Eddie, can we name the evil wizard Hint Clarrington?”

Eddie burst out laughing. “Hell yeah we can!”

That got everyone else laughing and in the mood to play again.

Part 6 Part 7 Epilogue

Tag List: @yikes-a-bee @satan-is-obsessed @silversnaffles @marvelousforlife @goblin-eddie @moonage-daydreaming @knightofthieves @homohomohoe @books-are-my-life-since-1996 @yearningagain @sadcanadianwinter @steve-the-hairrington @flusteredcas @swimmingbirdrunningrock

#My writing #stranger things #steddie #gay steve harrington #abuse tw #ladykailtiha writes

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kitorin · 10 months

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2:59 am - Isagi Yoichi

kind of a part two to this, but can be read as a standalone!

Horror movies are cool.

The plots were fascinating, the acting and CGI were equally captivating. The problem was that they were scary.

It's obvious that they would be, that's the whole point; to evoke thrill and to trigger chemical reactions to simulate what it'd be like to be in danger. But Yoichi can't handle that well. Barely.

He loved all movies nights with you regardless of the genre, wrapped up together with a thick blanket, hours spent staring at the laptop with intrigue. Horror movies were no different since he was with you.

Even if it's a situation that physically cannot happen, like ghost stories or tales of the supernatural, for some reason he now suddenly believes that they exist.

Yoichi knows better than anyone else that he's always been a crybaby, bursting out into tears at the mere change in weather, or whenever his dad changed the channel to anything that wasn't soccer. He even started crying when he was watching his friend play Minecraft, and an Enderman teleported out of nowhere while screeching. Roblox horror games terrified him as a child, and his parents couldn't 'boo!' him because it'd always result in inconsolable bawling. It was obvious that jump scares was never his cup of tea.

But to be this affected, was almost embarrassing.

The clock's about to strike 3 am, the time that's dubbed as devil's hour. Yoichi doesn't even know why it's labelled as that, yet he's still paranoid something will happen, in the middle of your hallway.

There's a light on, for the sake of your younger siblings to feel a bit safer. Yoichi can't believe he's taking comfort in something that was implemented for a literal child to overcome their fear of the dark.

Just don't look left and right, focus on wherever's got light.

If he was thirsty he always could've waited for morning to come, but using the bathroom was a completely different story.

It's not his fault the premise of so many horror movies involved a dark corridor, and a grotesque entity emerging out of nowhere from the shadows. It's a miracle how you're able to sleep peacefully after a whole night of watching horror movie after horror movie.

Yoichi takes a deep breath, quickly striding from the restroom to yours. With a sigh of relief he gently closes the door, ready to join you to sleep again.

"Yocchan?" A groggy voice calls out to him.

He shrieks, loudly, it's so out of character considering his level headed and confident demeanor on field.

An awkward silence fills the room, as he realizes, it was just you.

God please kill me now, is the first thing that comes to mind.

You owlishly blink, still dazed from just awaking from your slumber. "Calm down, you'll wake up my siblings." You groan and yawn. "Did something happen?"

"No, you just surprised me there. Thought you were sleeping." Good, now please pass out so he'll never have to think of this moment again.

"Liar."

"It's true."

"You're a professional soccer player, you've been able to beat that German dude who's the best striker in your age group, and you're scared of me speaking?"

At this point he was praying you'd pass out right at this moment and forget about this by the time morning comes.

"I'm just madly in love with you to the point than anything you do makes me want to scream." It's an embarrassing truth, but far from a lie. "C'mon, you need to sleep, we stayed up really late."

You jokingly scoff. "Fine."

He slowly walks over to your bed, tightly wrapping his lean arms around you, hiding from his irrational frights. When you turn off the night light he's paranoid again, grip around you strengthening.

"Yocchan."

"Yes love?"

"You're clinging onto me, really tightly."

He gulps a bit, weakening his arms. "Sorry." He buries his face into your neck instead, still scared of his own thoughts. Only a few more hours til the sun rises and the day starts, he only has to endure this for a bit more, all he has to do is pass out and he'll be okay.

"You're trembling." You mumble as you're about to doze off. "Are you cold? I'll get you a hoodie and another blanket just in case-" You barely get up before Yoichi pulls you back into bed.

"No, tonight was just scary." No point in hiding it now. "Just stay. Please. I keep thinking that stupid doll from that one movie will appear."

"Idiot." You locked him into your embrace again. " You should've told me, I don't even like horror that much, I just didn't want to watch them alone." Your fingers reach towards his face to give his cheeks a firm yet gentle pinch.

"First you pretend you're good with chili at the noodle place now this?" His mouth almost burns at the mention and thought of the memory. Sure he couldn't handle it and was turning red, but they still tasted amazing and it was worth seeing you enjoy yours.

"Yes yes, I know I'm stupid. Stupidly in love with you." It's cheesy yet it still makes you grin. "I wanna sleep now. G'night. I love you."

He knows he shouldn't go overboard and do the things he doesn't synergise with well just because you like them. But anything's worth it if it's with you, he'll eventually recover from having too much chili and one day he'll be able to sit through a jump scare without his soul leaving his body.

"I love you too." You mumble in response, smile tugging at your lips and feeling the warmth of his proximity.

With the comfort of you and your words, and how the blanket engulfed you two, any intrusive thoughts remaining in Yoichi's mind dissipated that night; though your siblings still can't comprehend why and how that scream happened last night; and who did it.

Tagging : @kiyumiya

#this is kinda messy + unproofread but oh well #blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk #fluff #isagi yoichi blue lock #isagi yoichi #bllk isagi #isagi yoichi x reader #isagi x y/n #isagi x reader #isagi x you #isagi yoichi x you #isagi yoichi imagines #isagi yoichi fluff #fanfic #yoichi isagi x you #yoichi isagi

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 1 year

Text

Pub Crawl {2}

Oneshot Summary; The handsome stranger isn’t much of a stranger anymore as you get to know him. John Price, is his name, Captain John Price. In fact, the gentleman of a soldier makes you much less calm than what their night out was attempted to be and as the night goes on you realise that maybe the feeling is mutual.

Pairing: John Price x reader

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Chapter 2/3

Word; 15k

Warnings; nothing major, implied age-gap

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: *Dropping my 15k flirting Price fic and runs*

MAIN MASTERLIST

Pair. Three of a kind. Full house. They played often, you understood. Cards dealt, a flick of the corner, bets placed.

Johnny seemingly sobered up his ecstatic personality once the games began. No less favouring running his mouth, but less expressive. Eyebrows, for the time being, are set as if carved into stone. A new glint -a competitive one- gleamed like well-polished medals in his eyes. But those sparks also spawned his tell-tale cues.

Ghost had an unfair advantage in your eyes. Those sole expressions previously visible through his eyes swept away as if he put another coverage over his face. An invisible but nonetheless detectable one. But what you evidently lacked in piecing his character together -those blank niches yet to be fleshed out- the other men around the table knew, taking advantage of it as well. Hence, you commenced eyeing the others rather than Ghost to catch his tells.

Kyle kept a constant easy smile in the corner of his lip. His previous persona not having changed much since he brought out the deck of cards. But with contrasts so slight, what you guessed would be signs of... not anxiety, but whatever emotion worked itself through his body in other high-attentive situations wormed itself into his game as well. Attention honed in on the deck, sharp eyes following the card being pulled, flipped and placed amongst the rest. A quick dart of eyes up and down the row. An additional check of his cards.

John... John was good. You noted it quickly. He was expressive but not revealing. A quick pull in the corner of his eyebrow gave you the impression he'd gotten an intriguing set on his hands. With the bet set, no 7am drills for a week, along with the seemingly amused cock of his head when Johnny countered, I'll be washin' for double the time, another card flipped to the community and his action of upping his stake to three weeks, you'd been sure he'd gotten himself a winner. He had won. But not impressively, at least not when he flipped his two cards. A pair of fours, no match amongst the community cards. You'd watched him play closely after that.

Marissa, understandingly more acquainted with their group than you, play against them well. Betting with free drinks and whatnot, occasionally winning thanks to her familiarity with watching them, you suppose. Nor does she react when new names start slipping into the air. Shut it, Soap. Come on, L.T. You can do better than that, Gaz. Nicknames, military ones, they nearly favour using more, you realise. That's why they sound so natural coming from their tongues but never leave Marissa's.

You started suspecting that getting introduced to their real names, apart from Ghost's, was merely first-encounter manners.

It would probably have remained that way if you stayed a stranger.

"Already, Cap'n?" You're brought back from your thoughts as Johnny utters the question, not in the slightest accompanied by the dissatisfaction as a complaint should, but rather the glee of unbelieving bafflement.

Eyes landing on the table, you notice what had caused the Scot's outburst. John had thrown his cards into the discarded pile, signalling he was out. One of the rare occurrences seeing it was only the first round.

But the man at your side only shrugged, and those around the table didn't press too hard on the fact. Bigger chance of them taking home the round when he wasn't in the contest.

However, what you hadn't expected as your eyes continued to follow those still playing, was John shifting closer, clearly showing he redirects his attention to you as he leans on the armrest just beside your own, slouching back somewhat in his seat to not invade your space all too much.

"Ain't too rowdy of a crowd for you, are we?" Your head is pulled towards him first, eyes following a moment after as you watch the second community card be flipped. King of Spades.

Just as your eyes lock, Johnny, with perfect timing, exclaims something triumphantly in incomprehensible Scottish. Your smile brought on by the action is directed towards John, a similar one reflected on his face, along with the tip of his head, expressing a silent 'as I said'.

"Don't underestimate my time spent in companies like these", you reply. The corner of your lip tugs upwards as you lean backwards, the skin over your shoulder blades moulding to the imprint of the backrest until you can feel its slight poke into the bone.

He quirks his brows, head tilting as he dips his head closer. "Do tell?" Curiosity laces John's low-spoken voice, the same interest shining in his blue eyes.

"I-", you start, hesitating to continue. Glancing at the others to see how invested they were in your conversation versus their game. When finding Johnny in an argument with Ghost, and none of the others even batting an eye in your direction to miss their altercation, you turned fully to John, shifting in the seat until feeling the subtle poke of the armrest into your ribcage instead of back. "I've done a few basic military courses through the private sector. Ain't much, but I've done the basic".

"Few basics, eh?" He shifts his foot to lean on the table's leg. The thigh closest to you falls outwards slightly, widening his seated position, accidentally brushing against yours. He moves it away to still have his body directed towards you but not touch it. "Have a feeling there's some advanced there too?"

Your eyes widen, lips parting, a question of how he could've known -because despite being worded as a question, it was a statement- on the tip of your tongue. But before you can ask, John continues, seemingly knowing where your train of thought went.

"In this line of work, you know a fair share about the private as much as the public sector. Those workin’ in private industry are probably familiar faces". You can't help but smile at that. Indeed, your instructors had mentioned their time of enlistment more than once.

Tipping his head, John encourages you to tell him more about what he'd mentioned.

Without hesitating, you did. "Had an instructor who'd worked in intelligence, interrogations more specifically, so I approached him about it. Besides curiosity, I don't know what he saw. But he offered to give me lessons, said he had some connections still in service, contacted them, and some were gracious enough to teach me some things".

"Fuckin' hell", he huffs in surprise, arms crossing over his chest. "Thought I recognised it". It sounded more like he said it to himself, but his eyes never left yours.

"Recognised what?"

"Those eyes, all of you interrogators share them". He leaned closer to you as he said it, one of his hands sneaking from his crossed arms to amusedly gesture towards you, yet the look in his eyes was soft.

"We do not!" You didn't realise you spoke louder. Nor that the round had ended. Therefore, the groups' attention fell on you at your protest.

"What the two of ya talkin' about then?"

Your eyes briefly found Johnny's before skating back to John, who, this time, seemed to be in no hurry at all to answer the Scot. Instead, the amusedly raised brows along the tug in his lips were directed at you as he remained in his position.

Realising he left it all for you to tell them, you sighed. No need to fight it. With the intrigued look reflected in Johnny's eyes, you instinctively knew it wouldn't be possible to brush it off. "Just told John about some training I've done-"

"Come one, love, seemingly ain't no secret if you told me". You sent him a look, annoyed he'd caught how you'd attempted to, not even smoothen over but exclude what kind of training.

You weren't ashamed of it, far from it, in fact. However, you felt yourself shrink into your chair somewhat at the thought of telling the men watching you with intrigued eyes at John's words. They were soldiers. Working, breathing soldiers, for goodness sake. Even if you didn't believe they would laugh in your face when telling them, it felt so... petty compared to whatever they must do, not something that should earn this much attention from them, out of all people.

And yet, it was John's soft nod, one you don't know whether it was even consciously done, that calmed your mind. He hadn't laughed, perhaps in surprise but not to mock you. He'd seemed slightly... impressed.

"Alright", you directed at him, to which he cocked his head, easy smile still slightly hidden by his moustache, then turned towards the rest of the company. "I just mentioned how I've dabbled in the military".

As suspected, they reacted. But not in the way concern had made it play out in your head.

Ever the expressionist, Johnny's lips parted, his complexion drawing together in reflection as if wondering if he'd heard right. At the momentarily distant look entering his eyes, brows knitting together forming harsh lines on his forehead, you assumed he recalled your sentence. But once the Scot realised he didn't imagine the statement, the morph was swift as his complexion settled in astonishment, mouth opening and closing.

Even Ghost revealed more than what you'd gotten used to during the evening, enough for you to paint a picture in your mind of his reaction. It was impossible to catch the whole expression behind his balaclava. Still, despite the blank facade that those hidden features formed for you, the slight widening of his eyes suggested his eyebrows rose and remained pinned higher than their natural place on his browbone intended they should. The tick of his head, just a twitch to the side as his eyes skated over you, assessing, before settling on your features with a narrow, suggesting he verged between not believing and awe of, perhaps, fooling him.

However, Kyle was the sole one whose immediate reaction was to voice his surprise. "Pardon?" His question worked wonders to finally set off the perplexed Scot and make him spit out the words he'd chewed for since you told them.

"Ya mean, what in the steamin' hell did ya just tell us?"

"As unbelievable as me having worked behind the counter?" You offered the wide-eyed man in a chuckle, finding amusement rather than timidness growing in your chest at his actions, to which he jerked his head as if asked the stupidest question.

"More so!"

You exchanged a look with Marissa, who sat relaxed in her chair, knowing very well of this fact.

It had emerged during one of your late shifts, you'd mentioned it in passing, and she'd physically stopped when she heard it. She'd more or less forced you out on a relaxing night, 'of course, it will include drinks', as she'd probed for every last detail with wide and amazed eyes. Never would've believed that of you, she'd laughed in near disbelief, ‘at least I know you'll be able to hold your own behind the counter’.

Johnny picked up your silent exchange, a look from you conveying that this was as bad as when she'd gotten to know and the slight tip of her head 'sue them' in reply, and turned to her. "Ya knew about this?"

"As much as I know about you lot", she flashed him a grin. "If not more, to be honest, yapped about it for weeks", she snickered.

"Oh shush", you feigned ignorance -sure, you'd talked to her about the further training you'd done in intelligence, but only because she'd asked- yet, the blue eyes of the Scotsman jumped back to you.

"Ain't none of that, bonnie, didn't know ya were one of us!"

"Nor am I". You pointed out, underlining it with a finger directed Johnny's way. "Learned a few things through the private sector, never listed. So I never did the official stuff, simply something attempting to emulate it".

"Why?" Ghost's low voice questioned. His dark eyes steadfastly focused on you. You found yourself opening and closing your mouth. Why indeed? You hadn't known what fucking else to do with your life.

"Was curious about the paths I could take", you shrugged. "Realised it wasn't really for me in the long run, but learned an interesting thing or two".

Ghost let out a breath, not a scoff nor a laugh, just a drawn-out gust of air. "Good choice". His words caused your brows to raise, but you didn't press. If anyone knew what they were talking about it, it would be the men around you.

"So what ya learned then?" Johnny leaned forwards on the table, earning your attention.

"Well, I had a standard boot camp, learning the basics of physical training, firearm and close combat".

"Not bad", Kyle nodded, lips pursed. "Didn't think you would've been thought firearms here though, over in the State's maybe...". He trailed off with a shrug as his brows rose and fell.

"As the Captain said-", you nodded towards John, not catching the way his head turned to you as he straightened in his seat somewhat while the others raised their eyebrows or cocked their heads. "-most, if not every instructor, was past military members. So special licenses for firearm exercise wasn't too difficult to get, I suppose".

There was a slight pause as they watched you until Ghost spoke up. "How strict were they?"

"If you mean wheater I had to withstand them screaming at me with no care for personal space and calling them by rank or else, I'll run till my face was in the mud, then strict is the answer to both".

"Explains it", John mumbled under his breath. You spared him a glance, and he tipped his head as he unwinded his arms, letting each rest on their corresponding armrest. His fingers tapped the wood, and when it was apparent that you didn't understand his comment, he offered you a gentle smile as he explained. "Not usual for civilians to call us by rank".

"Oh", god, you felt stupid. "Sorry, sometimes it just happens, I guess". You cringed, frowning, disturbed by having fallen into old habits while delving into the subject. And yet, it hadn't felt unnatural calling John by his rank. It fit him. "Even though I don't meet many army affiliates anymore".

Compared to the first time his rank had fallen from your lips, he didn't regard you with that veiled expression. This time, it was something else, mirth intertwined in the lighter specks of blue in his eyes, whereas something... darker infected the aegean shadowing of his hues.

You don't know whether John got reminded of what branch you'd explored as your eyes remained locked with his, attempting to decipher whatever you couldn't in his gaze. But, as if remembering you hadn't indulged the rest with the fact, he spoke. "You haven't told them about the most interestin’ part".

This time you didn't fight him on indulging the rest. Instead, you turned back to face the rest. "Right, I specialised in intelligence at the end as well".

"Ha, yer the same as the big guy!" Johnny turned to Ghost before his eyes shifted back to you. "Ain't no way I would've guessed that one".

"Infiltration, Johnny, not intelligence", the man corrected him. "I use what they give me". Ghost nodded towards you. You didn't feel like correcting him, more so you knew you didn't need to.

"I 'now ya prick", the Scotsman scoffed with a roll of his eyes. "But ya bloody work with information collection as well, if I'm not wron', standin' there as a feckin' reaper durin' inquests".

You chuckled. "Can't say I got that advantage". Those dark eyes shifted to you, and Ghost didn't need to say anything for you to understand what he thought, the entertained expression in his eyes stating a firm but amused ‘no, you don't’.

"Well, let's see how much you learned, then", Kyle smiled, expertly shuffling the cards before he started dealing them, a card landing before you even before you'd managed to answer the question. "Ain't no backing out now", he smirked, continuing to deal out the cards to everyone around the table.

...

You played well, though you thought it was more so because of you being used to the game than being able to read them. Your collection of their tells during the initial rounds helped, yet it wasn't the sole reason you managed to beat them. Luck played a big part. But that, you wouldn't tell, not when noticing the rile you got on one person in the group.

"Come on then, Johnny, what's your move". You hummed, leaning forwards so your elbows and crossed forearms rest on the table, observing the Scot across from you. His eyes intensely honed in on the fourth community card that just had been pulled.

When his eyes switched to watch you, you promptly saw it. Not the card he'd hoped for. Cocking a brow, you offered him a smile.

"Feck", Johnny grumbled. Sore looser. He grabbed his cards and threw them into the discarded pile, mindful not to let them accidentally flip. "I fold". Joining Marissa and Kyle.

Your eyes flickered to Ghost, awaiting his action. Without delay, he delivered it. "Call".

"Call", John's voice sounded in succession, your own falling suit, causing Marissa to flip the fifth and final community card.

Ten of hearts.

Not a bad card, but since the initial two community cards had been revealed, you'd been set for this round. You rapped your finger against your elbow. Compared to Ghost, who thumbed the edge of his card, you recited your hand in your head. Aces, red and black, heart and spade.

Your eyes were set on the tall man, observing the glimpse down at his cards, the move a quick flick of his eyes before his index and middle fingertips pressed the edges flat against the table as his gaze rose.

Ghost's auburn eyes locked with yours, dead straight, staring back. He'd felt your attention on him, no doubt, yet you didn't retaliate once you had his in return. Instead, you cocked your head just the right amount to not let it rest against your shoulder, practised smile stretching your lips.

"It's your turn, Ghost, in case you forgot". You know he hadn't. But, you also knew that he weighed his options at the moment, cost and benefit, what play was synonymous with what. Ghost's considerations depended on you, what your game was, deceit or honesty. And he knew, much like John had pointed out, how you, those interrogators, worked; it was never either or but a balance of both. The question is what direction the scale tipped towards the most.

"You're good", was all he said, throwing his cards into the growing pile of discarded cards, signalling his fold. Your smile could've grown, showing your satisfaction in how your mask had been better than the faceless man's. But, instead, you kept the same expression as you turned to glance over your shoulder, elbows still planted on the tabletop.

"John?" His attention was already on you. No need to call for it. And yet, you like to see him work, strip your utterance of his name and the redirect of attention on him bare. Attempting to spread the layers until he could read between the lines, much like Ghost.

Unlike his working comrade, however, he doesn't move. Instead, he remains lounging, two fingers resting on the table edge, his left hand on his thigh. And yet, when John doesn't shy from your eyes, you find the opposite of his stoicism.

His eyes seem alive, an entity on their own apart from his being. And yet, you can't discern the story they're showing you.

"Call. Your move". It's like a breeze over your back, like a phantom finger trailing your spine. You pray the shiver doesn't leave goosebumps in its wake.

You take a moment, a last one, to observe him and what dances in those eyes.

Around the blackened void charrs a blue flame seemingly devouring the air, sucking it from deep in your lungs. It doesn't leave you breathless, but it damn well delays your contemplated words, your final play. Instead of rolling from your tongue, they get stuck on repeat in your mind, a manuscript yet to be followed but halted at the knot forming in your larynx.

"Call". The word isn't clipped nor abrupt. Yet, at the perimeters of your spoken choice of play are frayed edges, the consequences of those fires dancing over your features, those you decided not to avoid despite their blaze.

John flashes a smile, probably satisfied with your choice of not folding and letting the game reach its rightful end. "Show me 'em cards".

You do as told, nails catching the edge of your cards and, with a flick of your wrist and right arm settling on the armrest, you open up your upper body by turning it towards him, confident in your four-of-a-kind. Aces, nonetheless.

When those blues flicker down, inspecting your hand placed face-up on the table and having earned several impressed hums and whistles, you dare cock your brows in conviction. Beckoning John to mimic your move and show his lesser hand. However, you witness a swift, minimal quirk of his eyebrows. And, when his eyes seek yours, features morphing to copy your facial expression, you know.

You don't need to look at his cards when he leans forward to flip them, just shy of propping his arms and upper-body weight on the table in contrast to the actual move of a forward shift in his seat. Regardless of the amused flash in his eyes, the quirk in the corner of his lips telling you he’d won, you follow the curses uttered by those around the table as their eyes find the hand his cards, paired with the community ones, created.

A flush, hearts, one that would've been royal if the ace wasn't in your possession.

"Next time, love". John pats your clothed knee as his hand slips down the table top while leaning back again.

"Battle of wits, indeed".

"I'll go prepare the drinks then".

Johnny's voice, subsequently Marissa's, is distant. Your eyes are stuck on the cards flashing red and white, but you don't mourn your loss, all attention on the warmth that seeps through your skirt at his touch.

John's hand momentarily settles at the last tap before he retracts it and drops it on his thigh once more, his fingers tapping a joyful celebration against the muscle.

And yet, the phantom touch, the memory of his heavy and warm paw engulfing your kneecap without needing to try, remains. It unfurls an ecstatic quiver in your chest.

"I'll go see if Marissa needs help". You flash a quick smile, trying not to rush like your heart does in your chest when moving out of your chair.

As soon as your back is turned to the group, feet moving you forward on their own command, you momentarily close your eyes, taking a deep breath. This feeling wasn't new. But hell, it had been long enough since you felt it that you hadn't noticed it since the start. The way your gaze wanted to travel to John. How he kept your attention and his presence in your immediacy never felt odd despite meeting him less than an hour ago. Fucking hell, women, calm yourself...

Your eyelids fluttered open, gaze settling on Marissa a few paces ahead. The breath you held -which hadn't done much to lessen your rapid heartbeat- was released in a last attempt to shake off, or at least tame, the feeling John had awoken. Without success.

As though your eyes now glued to her back worked as a call of her name, your friend's brown eyes flickered over her shoulder with the slight turn of her head. Perhaps she'd thought it was a particular Scot rather than you because her brows raised. Nonetheless, she let you catch up with her as she slowed a fraction.

"Don't", you warn Marissa when her lips part, possibly to ask about why you were here and not at the table. Knowing very well you could always pay later in the evening for the drinks you'd bet and lost.

At your clipped word, she instantly smirked. Yet, she didn't say anything, at least not until you'd put some distance to the men still seated at the table as you rounded the bar. You know something's coming when she leans on it, cocking her hip and not reaching for anything needed for the drinks instantly.

"So, how are you finding them?" The questions seem innocent enough that you can't help but smile and chuckle. A minimal shake of your head accompanied the released breath of nerves mimicking the feeling of jumper cables hooked to a car, a stream of high voltage sent straight through your nervous system.

"Pleasent, quite the characters but nonetheless pleasant". Marissa hums in agreement at your answer.

"Despite their habit of arriving at times when not many others are here, they're hard not to notice". You quirk a brow as she moves to bring a liquor bottle from the wall. Standing still when part of her still was in working mode was never her strong suit.

"Don't think you complain, though", you mused. The nerves in your body slowly reduced at the lack of John's immediate presence and attention on you. Marissa's eyes find yours over her shoulder, and you cock your head, attempting to smoothen down your amused smile as you continue. "Starting to believe Johnny ain't the headache you'd made him out to be".

"Oh, a headache he is", she retorted. But, your grin turned victorious as she turned away again, not succeeding in hiding her smile before it was visible to you nor continuing her sentence before you pointed it out.

"I saw that". With your muted laugh, a finger was waved in Marissa's general direction.

"Pushing it in my face, ain't you?" She faced you as you stepped closer to help her carry some of the bottles needed for the Scot's mixture, a quirk between her brows present. You sent her a mocking kiss, one she rolled her eyes at, yet couldn't help the tug in the corner of her mouth at your antics as she turned with the bottle she'd fetched.

Following suit, you brought the ones you'd grabbed before joining her at the metal countertop, where she'd put forth a glass for Johnny's drink.

At the thought of his name, you glanced towards the company at the table.

The deck of cards was put away, and they sat talking, laughing. Instinctively your eyes sought John, you couldn't hear his sound of amusement, but you could see it. Whatever Kyle had said made him shake his head before tipping it forward, his shoulders jumping. Something warmed in you at the scene, a softer glowing sensation, different from when he'd sat so close to you.

"You and a certain someone seem to get along, though".

"Hm?" Your eyes travelled from John back to Marissa, whose eyes had made the same journey as yours, though her's seemingly only had been a quick shift back and forth. Nonetheless, one with enough time for an inquisitory look to bleed into them. "Uh yeah, I guess he's nice", you shrugged, attempting to bat away the feelings returning in your chest at the swift glance and redirection of the conversation towards John.

Marissa, however, only rolled her eyes. "Oh, for the love of- missy, that's not what I meant", she said, grabbing the tequila bottle and pointing the muzzle at you before beginning to pour the amounts needed for the drink. "I see the way you both don't and do look at him, don't believe that boy you met got even half as much of your attention when he practically was begging for it while dear John simply has to be present".

"Marissa-".

"Oh no, don't deny it". Your friend put down the bottle, grabbing the first mixture you'd brought with you. "I know a bloody skittish escape when I see one, probably threw my name in as an excuse as well", she referred to when you'd left their company previously and joined her instead.

You jerked a hand upwards, mindful to not make the action too big for the men to catch. "Yeah, because when you'd left me alone with them previously, it's gone just wonderful". Despite being nothing more than a memory now -initial awkward instances of getting to know new people brushed to the past- you couldn't deny as soon as Marissa left your hypothetical side, things hadn't... not gone awful, but not as good as you could've hoped.

"You're getting along just fine with them. It's a certain someone you seemingly worry being around by yourself".

"Stop waffling", you huffed at the last part of her sentence.

"What? You seem to get along more than fine with John, you two in your little bubble".

"We don't have no bubble", you scoffed. "And he certainly doesn't feel like I bloody do".

"And what is that?"

"Fine, I'll admit, he looks good".

She doesn't stop blending the drink more than to throw you a quick glance, a smirk adorning her lips. "Oh, I know your taste in men, and so, I know he looks more than just good". You quickly move your elbow, jabbing her in the side. Sadly, the action only brought a huffed chuckle from her as she managed to not spill a drop of liquid. Lucky she'd put down the bottle and reached for the next. "But that's not what I wanted to know".

"Jesus, okay, what do you want me to say so you'll focus on pouring the drink?" You feel jittery at the subject, so in an attempt to occupy your fingers rapping against the not-so-cold anymore metal counter beneath your hand, you move to fetch a pint glass to start pouring Kyle's beer.

"That you admit you don't only think he's nice on the eye, but you're attracted to him". You swallow, your throat dry.

"I-I... yeah". The confession isn't grand, nor does it come with a feeling of lessening the sensation in your chest. "Is that what you wanted to hear?" You mumbled under your breath, eyes flickering towards Marissa. She's put down the bottle she previously kept elevated, both hands now resting on the counter, head turned towards you, eyes fixated on how you rotate the glass in your hand before flickering up to meet your gaze.

"I never think I've seen you this flustered about someone, missy", she comments. "What about the man got you acting like this?"

"Fuck, how would I know?" You can't help the laugh of disbelief. Marissa was right. You didn't usually act like this. Like you'd said to Johnny, working behind a bar had steeled your nerves from copious things, especially when befriending the dark-haired woman standing beside you on top of it. "I don't know how to even begin describing it", you sighed, frustration polluting the exhale.

A pinch of her brows, brief as though not meant to move her eyebrows before she cocked her head. "Try".

Concerning you'd given up on trying to evade the topic at this point, you did as she said without much fuss. "I just kinda... it feels like I'm drawn to him. It doesn't feel like anything special in that regard, but it ain't just a normal feeling, you know?"

"You're overthinking it". Marissa turned her body to you, hip against the counter, arms crossed. "Yes, you're a problem solver. You like to analyse things. Ain't for nothing you find a bloody military course in interrogation fascinating, barely any mans that do. But that puts you at risk of overanalysing, which you're doing right now. This-" she motioned to you and with a nod that passed over anyone's head aside yours that caught her eyes travelling to who you only guessed could be John. "-isn't something that needs to be solved. So go with it, see where it ends up".

"I hate when you offer solid advice, you know?"

"You mean when I've solved the problem before you know how to solve it yourself". Your eyes drop, finding your barely visible reflection in the beer glass, huffing at Marissa's reply.

"Yeah, especially fucking then".

"That's what friends are for", she hummed, and you heard her finish the drink she'd spent remarkably more time on than necessary. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

"About what?" Your head tilted in her direction.

"About the glass you've been holding like a fool for the past minutes", she deadpanned. Although knowing she wasn't serious, you stopped fiddling with it, instead stepping towards the drafting station. "About Price, of course".

"For all I know, he can just behave like a gentleman compared to most". She rolled her eyes at that.

"Can't believe you're sticking with believing that. He's more than a decent man, I agree, but so is the rest of the lot, and they ain't acting the way he does".

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"He's bloody interested in you, probably feels the same attraction you do".

Your head turned to her, eyes wide as if it would emphasise your slow-spoken words. "He doesn't".

"For someone as bright as you, it certainly is fucking unbelievable how blind you can be", she muttered, causing your bows to furrow.

"What now?"

"I've seen the little bubble the two of you enter when you talk, the guys probably have noticed too, though Johnny is the one whose mentioned it", she hummed. "Pointed it out whilst the two of you chatted during the game, even referring to some conversation of yours' from before that". She sent you a look, continuing by poorly mimicking the Scot's voice. "Never seen Price like that. He's so... easy with her, sure as shiet ain't as close-lipped as Ghost, but he doesn't partake leisurely in and especially doesn't initiate conversations with someone new. Normally likes to keep to himself. Starting to believe the old fecker got heart-eyes".

You hoped how you accidentally set down the glass you had just been about to raise a bit too harshly was enough cover for the shrill-sounding noise escaping your throat.

You don't look at Marissa instantly. Instead, you keep your head bowed slightly, wide eyes staring at the wet remnants of froth from previously poured drinks in the drain beneath the draft. Attempting to steady your heart that had made an unhealthy leap at the words allegedly expressed by Johnny and passed on by your friend.

Loosening the grip on the pint glass, you force down your shoulders as you raise it and your free hand to the lever, slowly tapping the beer.

You send her a quick glance at the instance you do. "Keep your voice down".

"It's already low", she smirks at you.

"Well, then keep quiet altogether".

"Why for?" The smugness in her voice made your molars grind together, eyes flitting to the steady flow before you.

"To not attract attention from the ridiculously handsome man sitting not far away", you noted how she shifted in your peripheral.

"You mean the ridiculously handsome man who hasn't been able to stop throwing looks towards you for the past, like, five minutes? Yeah, you don't need me for that attention".

Don't look. And yet, you couldn't help how your eyes, as if drawn to John like magnets, sought him out. And, of course, your gazes lock the second you find him.

Although half a room away, his gaze felt heavy. The spotlights in the roof made light dance across his features, causing parts of his hair and beard to verge on golden bronze while others dimmed into a brown saber. Handsome, incredibly so, in an old-fashioned sense.

You didn't notice how your tongue peaked out to wet your lips, the act as unconscious as the reason for it, yet you became aware of it when John's eyes dropped from yours. You couldn't physically see where his eyes fell nor feel them in whatever place he looked. Not as when you could feel how your gazes lock despite the distance separating you. But, it made your thoughts rewind, bringing forth what you'd done to the front of your cognisance.

A flush spread through your body, and you didn't wait for his eyes to find yours before dropping your gaze.

Despite redirecting your attention to the glass in your hand and setting down a satisfyingly filled pint, in the upper corner of your vision, you noted how a conversation immediately swept over the table. Whoever initiated the exchange earned John's attention as you felt his eyes leave you altogether.

"You're a menace, you know", you mumbled beneath your breath as you glanced at Marissa, knowing you would regret it the moment you did but unable to anyway. Flashed a grin, one as victorious as yours during the initial phase of your conversation, you were proven right. "Glad I quit this job", you huffed, setting down the beer you'd drafted beside the drink she'd mixed for Johnny.

"Don't say things like that", she returned, her attention flickering away from you. "Especially not when it seems you're gonna have to battle your fears and put those skills I taught you to use, someone apparently having spoken some sense into the old man". The last part of her sentence was mumbled under her breath, yet you caught it, brows knitting together. "He's coming this way", she clarified once her eyes landed on you. This time, you didn't give her the thought of doubt.

"Don't you leave", you warned, but she'd already stepped out of your reach, sending a wink as she brought the guy's pick of poison with her, one in each hand. "Traitor", your hiss was barely audible under your breath, instinctively silenced as you had no choice but to turn towards John as Marissa left the two of you to your own with a nod in his direction, one he answered with a slight smile.

You follow John as he steps up to the barstool, registering the height you'd suspected kept his broad frame -one that narrowed nearer to his hips- upright as he moved with a slight sway to his body from his strides. You realised that he carries himself with tactical ease, one he must have learnt to get comfortable with on the field so much that it stuck to every other situation.

As he settled atop the stool, finding a comfortable position with a slight lean forward of his body whilst his arm rested atop the wooden countertop, your eyes stopped jumping over him to settle on his face.

"So, what can I get for you, patron?" You put on a charade, brushing up precisely those skills Marissa had taught you. Still, you're unable to stare into those pretty blues that this close shine like the curaçao bottle at the second level of the liquid shelf for too long, fearing your tongue would turn to lead and your heart pound out of your chest.

And yet, you can't help how those butterflies in your stomach taste freedom, yearning, to have him within your close vicinity once more. So, to cage them, you lean forwards to mimic his way of resting his forearms atop the wooden desk separating you. A heavier bend in your waist concerning the metal bar pressed into your hips.

"Drivin’, remember?" He returned, but you found yourself shrugging rather than taken aback and stunted at what to say next. Seemingly easier than you'd thought to fall back into old times when standing on this side of the counter.

"You're sitting at a bar if you remember", you shot back. John's lip twitched upwards. With the subtle action, you felt encouraged enough to continue a conversation you'd had many times but not with someone you cared to maintain the chatter with. "What's your usual under non-driving circumstances?"

"Old-fashioned".

The irony. You hummed, in both amusement from your thought and John's answer, continuing with a nod. "Scotch?"

"Yes". Something sparked in John's eyes as you turned, still partly facing him whilst also able to look at the liquor wall. While one arm stays on the wooden counter, the other accommodates your new stance by being propped against your waist.

Letting your eyes glide over the assortment, they finally settle on one of the finer bottles. "Ardbeg, 19-year-old, something of your taste?" His eyebrows raise in what you could gauge was surprise, to which you only flashed him a smile. "Had a feeling concerning the chasews".

"You're good". John's praise of your knowledge about the correlation between his earlier choice of heavily roasted nuts to the smokey scotch you'd asked him about softened your prideful smile, shifting to bashful rather than the obligatory ones you'd offered in the past to brush away the compliment.

"Have to be when working behind a bar". Your head rolled to rest on your shoulder when you switched to look at him, thanking him for the compliment with the smile he'd brought forth but raised an inquisitory brow shortly after. "So?"

He looked at you for a second before he hummed. "Those bottles often get opened after certain missions, but yes".

You gave him a final nod before pushing away from the counter, gathering the sparse ingredients you needed to piece together the drink you had in mind. Feeling his eyes on you for every step you took.

As you returned to where he sat, your gaze met John's. But, the eye contact was brief, this time his gaze flickering away. Even though it was down to the bottle you held out for inspection, together with an explanation of what would replace the alcoholic liquor of his drink.

"A distillery toying with the idea of percentage-free liquor inspired by scotch, dare to try?" His eyes scanned the label plastered on the bottle in your hands before his eyes found yours, slight creases entering the corner of his eyes, smile prominent on his features despite a lack of bow by his lips.

"Why not", he shrugged. Flashing him a delighted smile, you put down the bottle and began making the drink before him.

You felt his eyes on you -attention that faded to no longer inducing a nervous excitement, instead an avid one, seeking to keep it on you as you busied yourself with something you were skilled on- as you picked up a rocks glass.

Not needing the measurement cup to know how much amaretto versus visionary scotch to fill it with, you grabbed the mixing liquor, free-pouring to the desired amount before switching to the virgin scotch and doing the same.

Considering the simplicity of the beverage -the sparse ingredients coupled with only a square ice cube and a swirled orange peel to be added- there wasn't really any need to taste it. But old habits die hard, and before you even noted your move whilst reaching for the ice, you swirled the liquids around with a straw, tasting it with practised ease as you retracted it. Of course, the absence of smokey scotch and its burn could never be neglected, but it was a good drink nonetheless.

"There, a non-alcoholic Godfather". You put the now-finished drink before him with your free hand as you threw the straw in the trash.

John tipped his head in gratitude, eyes falling on the drink presented to him. It was your moment to observe him as his fingers gripped the chilled glass, swirling the drink -something you imagined was out of custom- before he raised it.

As his lips meet the rim, his eyes seek yours. Despite presenting an opportunity -without limitation- to observe his opinion of the drink he sipped, something seeped into those blues that already was your weakness. You couldn't figure out what it was, but it felt intimate, a bubble -to use Marissa's words- closing around the two of you. Those nerves slowly began to buzz again when you didn't have anything to occupy yourself with.

A hum preceded his opinion as he lowered the drink. "It's good". He tipped the glass back and forth before leaning slightly forward, pointer gesturing towards you to the extent it could regarding his grip on the glass. "Better than Marissa's".

"Oh, be careful of saying that beneath her roof". You hid the warmth in your body at John's low-spoken compliment, a rough whisper, with the tease. "She won't accept that the student has become the master".

He chuckles at your banter. "I'll keep it our secret, then".

The smile forming by his comment is instantaneous, a soft stretch of your lips as his words registers. Despite the previous teasing smirk accompanying John's comment, it dissolves into one mirroring your own behind the rim of his glass once more raised closer to his mouth. You can't help but duck your head, the same intensity in his gaze bleeding into your chest.

This man, the thought is followed by a slight shake of your head. You look up through your lashes, not brave enough to reveal your attention, in spite of wanting to or not, tracks back to him by fully tilting your head and facing him. You catch John's eyes flitter over you before he notes your gaze has returned to him, causing his blues to connect with yours.

His head tilts as he lowers his glass, dwarfing it between his hands once it sits on the counter. The quirk in both his brow and the corner of his lips shifts the tension in the air to something airy and lighter. And, like linked to him, your lip quirks.

You sway on the pads of your feet, forwards until your weight is placed on your toes, heels lift from the floor, and then back to reverse the action. The itch in your body makes a restlessness nest, the feeling of standing in the same place for too long joining the sensation John's attention settles in your body. And finally, it makes you break away from his presence, grabbing the bottles and returning to the shelf to place them in their proper place.

A sound akin to the roll of a glass' bottom rim against wood fills the air behind your back, whilst the slight ting of glass-connecting-with-metal sounds in front of you as you set down the bottles you'd brought.

To use Johnny's words, at least allegedly concerning the information originated from Marissa, your conversation with John had been easy. But so most were, even when you'd sat amongst the others. However, this time, something about the silent interaction afterwards felt different.

You don't know what about it settled those butterflies in your stomach, their cage dissolving along their colourful selves, metamorphosed into an intangible pleasantness as you felt his eyes on you.

Perhaps it could be that you didn't worry about paying too much attention to the weather-worn Captain now when it solely was the two of you compared to then when the rest of the company you got introduced to sat around the same table, just an arm-length away. Nonetheless, the previous nervousness accompanying John's presence, his attention on you, now felt comfortable, as if it belonged, and you didn't want it any other way.

That was when he didn't aim to give you a bloody heart attack.

"So, how did a girl like you end up behind a bar like this?" You thanked the heavens that your back was turned and that you just had placed the bottles back on their corresponding shelves once those smooth words left him. Because you wouldn't have been able to stop your brows from shooting up and lips from parting as your stomach lurched upwards once you dropped down from standing on your toes. Well, that wasn't hard to interpret.

"Was that a pick-up line I heard?" You turned, brows now quirked in intrigue as your lips pressed together to smoothen down a grin at the giddiness flowing through your body after the initial surprise.

John tipped his head side to side, eyes flittering down to watch the liquid in his glass before clearing his throat and giving you a shrug. "An attempt at one".

You giggled, the sound foreign to your ears in this setting, yet it brought his eyes back to you as his shoulders dropped somewhat.

"Not the worst one I've gotten", you said, not an unwelcomed one either. You shift your weight onto one leg while crossing one ankle over the other. It naturally makes your body fall against the counter at your lower back, and you bring your hands to rest on the edge for additional support.

"No?" A quick tick of his head along a swift rise and fall of his brows accompanies the question.

You hum, shaking your head. "You wouldn't believe half the stuff we hear behind this desk".

He did something you hadn't anticipated then. John patted the stool beside him as he straightened and leant back a notch. "Let's swap some war stories then because I can think of a few things from only what we soldiers endure".

Go with it. See where it ends up. Marissa's words rang clear in your head and made your legs guide you to reach the offered seat.

As you sit down, John angles his chest towards you, letting his hand bring his glass more to his right rather than straight as when you'd stood on the other side of the bar. It only remains there for a few seconds, though, seeing how he raised it and tipped it towards you as he spoke.

"So, love, tell me how you came to tolerate every man on the spectrum of inebriated".

A chuckle leaves you, hands coming to clutch your elbows already resting on the bar top, head tilting towards John. "Without pulling forth my whole record for scrutinisation-". The man beside you huffed lightly, to which you flashed a swift smile before continuing. "-I can tell you it took some time getting used to and knowing how to respond to men when their tongues get too loose for anyone's good".

"Though I don't dispute the fact-".

"Talking from experience, John?" You cut his sentence off, a ribbing smile accompanying your tease.

His glass stilled where he'd spun it in the air, snicker -something more delicate than his other sounds of amusement- escaping John as his head dipped in a shake. "Can't escape the fact that everyone's been young". His blue eyes find yours again, mirth swirling in them, originating from perhaps a not-so-fond but nonetheless prevailing memory. "Though life's had its way with me like most others".

"Can tell you it's been kind on you. Ain't everyone who turns into a gentleman compared to daft wankers".

John stilled, lips pressing thin as his brows pulled together.

The expression was new on him, causing you to cock your head, awaiting what seemed to be a response when he rolled his shoulders and straightened. Yet the reply on his tongue was seemingly quelled when he decided to sip his drink. His reaction felt... odd. But you didn't get to ask if he could indulge you in what fleetingly occupied his mind as he picked up the conversation again, seemingly preferring to talk about something else.

"So how come the break-in-time, 'cause you don't look like a newbie?" You caught on quickly that John backtracked to where his previous sentence probably would've ventured if you hadn't interrupted him.

"Had never worked in this kind of setting previously".

His brows quirked. "No? You look like a natural".

"That I have to thank Marissa for, didn't know a thing before moving here and getting the job".

"Ain't from around?"

"Mm, no, neither born nor bred".

"Why did you choose to settle in these ends?"

"Honest?" You straightened your arms, clasping your hands together. "Don't really know, just felt I needed to get a move on, didn't feel like I fit the picture at 'home' anymore, ended up staying longer than I thought". You gave a half-hearted chuckle, eyes locked on your thumbs. Right on top, switch, left on top.

"Care to explain?" You turned to look at John. He'd turned more towards you, his head tilted.

"Not much to explain, frankly. It felt like a search for something, but I don't know what", you shrugged one shoulder.

"Know the feelin', still grapple with it occasionally". Your head cocked, a silent expression of surprise at someone who felt so calm and naturally secure in himself that you hadn't imagined much else applying to other aspects of his life.

You pushed slightly against the bar, swivel chair turning more of your body towards him to physically show the same interest in his words that he'd done yours, and it urged him to continue.

"Our line of work attracts people without sense of direction in life like flies. Couldn't tell how much better judgement I have to knock into some of 'em recruits daily".

"Would've been one of them", you quipped, recalling how his words aligned with your reason for dipping a toe in their element without the compulsory enlistment. John shot you a look, the sharpness of a chide not as present as entertainment.

"But you didn't need it to realise you were meant for somethin' better". John's continuation was swift enough the meaning buried beneath his sentence was swept over in seconds. But, regardless, you caught it. "Despite my years in the field, doubt still trickles through, wondering if any of the sense you enlisted along with still exist".

"Don't think the one promoting you to Captain did it for your lack of sense". Your reply was soft-spoken, genuine, despite the opportunity for jest. And you knew John heard it, saw it when his eyes flickered over your face, a smile reaching his eyes and highlighting the crow's feet in the corners of them. That alluring depth entered his eyes, and something unravelled in your chest, equally as profound and warm.

As though hovering too close to an edge you weren't ready to jump from, one corner of your lip ticked upwards, a small gesture but enough to shift the energy in the air. "Trust me, you could say I'm a good judge of character".

"Are you know?" John mused, raising both brows in a mocking gesture.

"Oh, piss off", you chuckled, the back of your hand lightly swatting his upper arm.

His smile turned into a grin, not as chaotic and thrilled-puppy as Johnny, more a gradual glow lightening all his features. It was something soothingly warm about the look on him despite the harsh contrast when sparkling eyes peeked from dark lashes and pearly teeth flashed amidst the umber bristles obscuring his lower face.

"If you wanna prove your skill, read 'em". John motions backwards with a nod of his head. For the first time since Marissa left you and the Captain alone, your eyes travel over your shoulder to the company still seated at the table.

Johnny was turned towards Marissa, one arm hooked on the back of her chair, talking animatedly with his other hand. Your friend sat with crossed arms but equally shifted towards the Scot to give him the same attention. By the looks of it, they argued about something. Albeit heatedly, you noted the grin pinning Johnny's lip upwards, and even if mostly seeing your friend's back, you caught how she slouched backwards in her chair, shoulders not pulled high towards her ears.

Though not surprised by the two, what did catch you off-guard was Ghost. Or more so, his smirk. You don't know when it had happened, not more than after you'd left the table, but the baklava was rolled up enough that his neck along lower face was visible, showcasing the stretch of his lips.

It hadn't hit you that Ghost's drink had remained untouched since he took it from the tray. Not until you saw him raise the glass and sip what must've been a drink Marissa know to exclude ice from or else it would taste like watered-down tea.

Before he caught you looking -because there must be a reason he'd decided to show just the slightest part of himself despite wearing a mask in public- you turned to face John again.

"I was taught interrogation techniques, not mind reading", you joked, attempting to deflect what he wanted you to do, but you only received a look from him.

"Can't trust you if you don't show what you go for". John leaned closer as he kept your gaze. "So go on then". For a second time, he jerked his head towards the others.

"Fine". You caught the upward tick of John's lip and intrigued quirk of his brows before you turned in the chair, back resting against the wooden counter.

Despite your attention now being fixed on the ones at the table, you noted how John mimicked your motion to swivel the chair and face the company the two of you previously accompanied.

At first, your gaze merely flickered over them in turn. Johnny. Ghost. Kyle.

The most challenging task is always reading without intent. Your former instructors' voice echoes in your mind as you grapple with where to start.

"What's my goal?" You looked at John, awaiting his guidance. He rolled his head towards you, blue eyes meeting yours.

"Whatever you can get".

"So descriptive". You rolled your eyes and earned a chuckle. But you did as he said, attempting to present how far you'd gotten on the puzzle their personalities posed as since you first entered.

"Ghost", you declared to steer John's attention to who your intention was set on.

"Starting with the toughest", he mumbled.

You disregarded his comment, knowing that although it was true personality-wise, you had more solid facts about him than the others.

"Johnny has called him L.T., presumably a Lieutenant then", you began. Then, with your gaze flitting over his stature, you observed the man as he engaged, or more so listened, to the conversation Kyle maintained. "A man of few but well-chosen words, rough around the edges, has a sharp tongue, expressive eyes, though I doubt that makes him cover his face." In your peripheral, you noted John tilting his head towards you, making you tear your eyes from Ghost.

"How so?"

You gave him a half-shouldered shrug, meeting those blues. "You boys see shit that no one should, that we civilians agree on despite not knowing what that shit is all the time. So it wouldn't be weird if you wanted to separate yourself from it. For some, it could be on the field. Others, of it." Your eyes trailed back to the tall man, yet to add anything to his conversation aside from an occasional nod. "Though I don't know his reason, I would call it a coping mechanism. One that's hard turning off entirely, and he probably views as an equally big part of himself as whoever is beneath the mask."

You glanced at John, whose eyes were still set upon Ghost, but he gave an almost absentminded nod. The confirming hum accompanying the action made you think you hit the mark to a certain degree.

"Kyle?" John directed you to Ghost's conversation partner, and your eyes were set forward again, a slight furrow entering the space between your brows as they narrowed.

"Nickname Gaz", you declared the information you'd retrieved from the rounds of poker. "Not as reserved as Ghost, but thanks to Johnny, his knack for social settings appear bleaker". That earned you an amused huff from John. "He's kind and got humour, caught a few of his quips. But, he's also calm-mannered, poised, much like you".

"Hm, good kid, we work a fair share together". You looked at John, his eyes meeting yours a second later with a tilt of his head. "Any guess on rank?" You drew in air through your teeth, making a repeated sound with your tongue, and weighed your head from side to side.

"Could be a Lieutenant, but... he feels younger than Ghost, so I would opt for Seargent without too much knowledge of your ranking systems' correlation to age or serving time". You awaited his confirmation or denial.

"You're correct." He gave you a definitive nod, a smile grazing his lips as he continued. "Gimme MacTavish now".

Encouraged by his validation, you glanced at Johnny, still conversing with Marissa. "Easiest personality-wise, charismatic and easy-going, don't think I've seen him without some kind of smile this evening. Although he's more complex as a soldier, I don't have anything on him regarding that. Maybe that's why he's called Soap." You looked to John for help with raised brows, curious to see how close to the truth you were with the guess.

"He's a good soldier; his nickname comes from that", he smiled at you.

"Like my version better", you chuckled, and his smile grew, causing the bristles on his upper lip to curve, accommodating the move.

"Final thin’ then, what rank?"

At that, you actually let out a short laugh. "Would've guessed a Corporal if it weren't for you saluting his talents".

"Give up?" John's question was followed by a quirk of his brow and a sip of his drink.

"Do tell because I have no idea".

"He's a Seargent".

Your brows raised. "Yeah, no, don't believe that ", you shook your head with a laugh. "From what I've seen of him tonight, it doesn't fit his picture".

"A difficult soldier to spot outside base indeed", John referred back to your initial assessment of Johnny.

"Did I still pass the test then?" He lowered the glass he'd kept close to his chest this whole time, bending his left elbow to let it rest against the bar.

"Yes", thanks to his newly acquired position, his slight lean towards you was a mere shift. "Knew you would".

"How could you've been so sure?" You challenged him. "I could've choked under pressure".

John's brows quickly moved up and down as he raised his chin, remaining silent for a few seconds as he observed you. "No, you wouldn't have because it's your second nature. Noticed it when you came in here earlier." He gestured to the pub entrance with the tip of his glass.

As if able to get the outer-body perspective John had of you as you arrived, your eyes trailed the direction he motioned.

"How so?" Your gaze was back at him, yet his eyes remained stuck at the doorway.

"You were alert; those eyes of yours were sharp, observant to a degree I recognised ...", John's sentence trailed off when he turned back to face you, his eyes flickering over you before meeting your gaze. "Not gonna lie, the dress had me questionin’ longer than usual if you were one of us".

"What settled your mind?" He grinned, head tilting side to side.

"It's my job to notice people like you that ain't as sweet looking".

You wished you'd had a drink to cool yourself with as heat spread through your body at John's comment. To say it had taken you off-guard was an understatement. It was so unlike his earlier, not forced but definitely not innate, pick-up line; this was a taste of that same effortlessness he'd displayed during your game of cards.

Flustered, searching for your wits, you find yourself tongue-tied. And it didn't get better when you spotted John's smile behind the rim of his glass as he sipped his drink, eyes still on you.

Thankfully, he broke the mere second-long silence that had felt eternal when he swallowed the beverage.

"Maybe we should call you if we need a new face for interrogation". It was a joke. An offered out of your own flustered state.

"I bet Ghost is enough". John chuckled, yet the sound quietened when you swivelled your chair to fully angle your body towards him. "But, I still bet I could attribute with something".

"What you suggestin'?" His eyes jumped over you, a slight quirk in his brows.

"Can give you pointers on how an outside eye asses you".

"Now, can you, eh?" One of his already intriguingly raised brows arches. Your pulse increases, a slight tapping emerging at the base of your throat when John sets down his drink, turning his chair to face you. Instinctively you press your legs together, giving John enough room to not touch you with his knees as they slot on either side of you. "What would you say others see then?"

You justify the trail over his frame as required to answer his question. But, you know it's futile, knowing very well the roam of your gaze was to take in his broad body, still accentuated despite his arms crossed over his chest and the slight haunch in his back to lean slightly closer to you.

"A tight-knitted group", you say, eyes locking with his as you continue. "Yet, what the Captain says goes".

A slow side-ways tip of his head accompanies his amused huff. "That's the whole military".

You hold up a finger and raise your brows. "Ah, I'm not done". John raises his hand at your smile-accompanied accusation. "This group of yours, they look up to you, respect you, that's why they follow you. They put their trust in their Captain because he's earned it." Something softens the amused upward-turns of his features at your words, his arms settling on his thighs.

"Playin’ at an old man's pride?"

You chuckle softly. "Ain't playing anything; already said you must've earned your rank".

"You're startin’ to sound subjective, love".

"Oh, sue me", you roll your eyes, a slight smile spreading on John's features as his knee knocks against yours in jest before falling outwards again. "Fine then, if you want objective, I'll give it to you. If anyone wants to aim at your group, they'll aim for the heart". You nod towards him, inclining what you didn't spell out.

With a shift of one foot to rest on the floor to not have him fall out of his seat, John moves closer by a slight bend in the waist and forwards tip of his head. "If that's your best take on bein’ objective, I can't imagine your subjectiveness".

An all too cheerful-sounding scoff is directed at him as your knee falls out to mimic the bump he'd done against your knee previously. A grin breaks his lips apart.

"I'll tell you, it works wonderfully for persuasions". Your teeth dig into your lower lip as you feel the smile you want to suppress spread anyways. John's eyes flicker down, returning to your gaze when teeth flash as your smile turns into a grin.

"Not doubtin’ that". John could've said something else entirely. You didn't need too much imagination to convince yourself he had. The cadence of his voice, the smooth churning of something purely described as deep, rich, mingling with the accent already coating his words in almost a droning hum, a pleasant one for your ear to experience.

You swallow, the intensity in those blues causing a quiver in your fingers. You attempt to shield it by putting your right arm on the countertop and tapping the wooden counter with your fingers.

A loud noise makes you jump, fingers curling into the wood, eyes falling from John's and seeking the source of the sound.

"Keep your heads on your shoulders. You need to be sober enough to get to the base at the latest 01:00 for drills at 07:00. I'm not puttin’ in a word against office duty if you don't". You switched to look at John -or more so his profile concerning he'd twisted his neck to watch the men seated at the tables- as he's seemingly unphased by the sudden disturbance.

"Does that apply to you too, Captain?" Your eyes widened, gaze snapping from John's profile. In the corner of your eye, you catch how he cocks his head and swivels his chair until he is sitting in a similar position as previously.

You hadn't anticipated the comment from Kyle. Johnny, maybe, but not the brown-eyed man now watching his superior with a grin as his eyes remain solely on the man at your side. Connecting it quickly to what Marissa forwarded from the Scot -something you gradually started to believe- you knew it was a jab at John and not necessarily you. Still, the attempted silent snickers from the others urged a rush of heat through your body, head ducking instinctively.

"You seem to forget I'm already on office duty and won't partake in the drills tomorrow, Sergeant". John replies without a hitch in his breath, an assertiveness in his tone you hadn't anticipated. It's enough for you to raise your gaze and focus on him.

As your eyes flitted over him, you realised his whole demeanour changed. It's the same shift you'd seen earlier the night, now clocking it's a switch between John and his role as Captain. However, unlike earlier, it doesn't make you uncomfortable. Instead, the opposite, an appreciative smile spreading when the arched brow daring Kyle, or anyone else, to make a further comment is met with silence.

As John turns towards you again, not entirely but showing his focus tracks back to you with the shift, you catch him mumbling beneath his breath. 'These lot...'

He sighs, shaking his head. "You mind?" Your gaze locks with his before flickering down to the metal case he fishes from his back pocket, opening it expertly with his thumb to show the cigars inside. He doesn't reach for one until you shake your head.

"Only if it smells like a cigarette". As John reaches for one of the dark auburn rolls, balancing it between his fingers whilst pocketing the case, he scoffs as if honestly offended.

"Then you wouldn't be the only one", he muttered, reaching for something over the bar.

You can't help how your eyes travel down to the small strip of skin he reveals when his shirt inch upwards. Before he notices, you promptly avert your eyes to see he's recovered a similar tray serving to collect ashes as he'd sported over at the table in the absence of a proper ashtray.

As he placed it on his right side, away from you, he fished out the same sleek metal lighter he'd used to light the cigar earlier the evening.

"Hate when Ghost pulls those out". A flame flickered to life as he popped the cap with his thumb, the orange-yellowy flare brought to the butt of the roll now resting between his lips.

Your eyes skate over to Ghost, then back to John, eyeing him as he puffed at the end until dropping the pocket lighter with a satisfied hum when a subtle curl of smoke rises from the glowing tail.

"Didn't know he was a smoker", you say.

John glances at you, dropping the cigar enough to flash you a smirk. "We all have our copin’ mechanism. Some of us just have more tasteful ones". You chuckle with a shake of your head, following the cigar as he raises it to his lips.

He inhales a mouthful, not a lungful, John’s chest not expanding more than marginally. With his eyes closing, his hand drops to the side until his elbow rest against the counter and the cigar rests over the ashtray. When he releases the cloudy vapour, he turns slightly to the side.

As he faces you again, his eyelids flutter open, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards instantly when he discovers your eyes never left him. "You're starin’, love". You frown despite his teasing tone, nabbing the first thing that comes to mind.

"If you continue at this pace, those will kill you". You nod to the cigar in John's hand. Yet, you only get a chuckle and an amused look in return.

"If nothin’ on the field has done it yet, I take the risk". You let out a light exhale. From how John doesn't even wince but savours the taste before pointedly turning away from you and blowing out the smoke, you know you won't be able to change his habits.

You watch as he puffs the cigar, his blues not leaving yours longer than it takes to empty release his breath. The scent of smoke slowly tints the air, but there are hints of something else in those blue whisps.

"What's that?" You ask, and his brows raise as to what you're referring to. "The scent?"

John hums. "Maduro; carries a distinct coffee and dark-chocolate aroma".

"Don't know about that". You muse. Sure, it doesn't smell like acrid cigarettes, but neither would you've guessed coffee and chocolate. John smiles with a shrug before taking another puff. "You know your cigars".

"Like you know your liquor". You unabashedly shrug as John reaches for the glass he's let sit on the counter for a bit. He pauses mid-way to his lips, eyes flickering down to its contents. Or rather, the lack thereof.

"I can make another one". You say, not until now, realising all that's left is the half-melted ice cube.

Without even waiting for John's answer, you prepare to stand. However, with a shake of his head and shifting his chair towards you, he stops you mid-action.

"Sit. I enjoy your company more than a drink". When John sets the glass on the counter, those blue eyes don't fall from yours. A sincerity is laced within his gaze, and the smile he's so prone to bring forth stretches your lips again.

As you sink into your seat again, one leg crosses the other, the slip of your dress accommodating by baring your thigh. Your legs fall closer to John with your move, and your exposed knee grazes against his thigh. When he further angles his body towards you, it rests against his leg. As neither of you breaks the point of contact, you feel the warmth he emits even through his jeans.

"Never got to know how you find your way to this pub?" The air is comfortable, and you rest your elbow on the counter, head falling against your hand as you watch John.

"Kyle got a whiff of the place through some mates; it just so happened that it lived up to its reputation". Not surprised. You hummed at his answer.

"What made you regulars?"

"Because I can have a drag of this without lookin’ like a kicked puppy on the streetside", he jokes with a motion to his cigar, and you huff out a laugh, still reprimanding him with a slight nudge to his leg with yours. "Happened to be that most took a likin’ to something after our first visit". Your brows cock, eyes instinctively fleeting sideways, briefly catching Johnny gazing at Marissa as she entertains a conversation with Kyle.

When they return to John, you find him watching you as he inhales a drag of smoke. "I can guess someone's reason-". You refer to what your attention strayed towards. "-but what's yours?"

"Hm, the ambience, like the conventional setting Marissa got goin’ despite innovated. Not a fan of many of the brand new places". You nod, noticing how John works his jaw, lips subsequently pursing, before he speaks up. "How come we haven't seen you around before?"

"Why, would I've added to the ambience?" You can't help the quirk of your lips at how his brows raise, feeling as if it was finally your turn to be put on the spot but the other way around.

Before he answers, a low chuckle escapes him as he ducks his head before rolling it to the side to look at you. "Maybe I would've added you as a reason".

You bite your lip, barely able to contain the giddiness his comment elicits. Only managing when actually answering his question. "It was some time ago I worked full-time. Nowadays, I only jump in occasionally when Marissa asks".

He nodded. "What do you fill your time with otherwise?"

"Free-lancing", you explain. "Nothing all too fancy, but I get to do things I like with the freedom I want-". You clip the end of your sentence, stopping yourself before formulating your the intended question that would’ve followed. Naturally, you want to know more about his work in return, but you hesitate, not desiring to destroy the mood if he rejects explaining.

"I can hear you thinkin’". John nudges your knee with a slight move of his thigh, bringing you out of your thoughts. "Go on", he urges you. And, like so many other times during the evening, something about his encouragement makes you fold.

"Well, concerning Marissa has mentioned you, I can't lie and say I haven't been curious about you lot since arriving. But I didn't want to pry, know you're off-duty if you're here". He keeps looking at you as your head stops resting on your fist, instead moving your hand when you explain yourself, patiently waiting for the question you build up to with a barely visible smile. "I-I just wondered what you do? You guys aren't really rookies, and it was hard not to notice a certain reluctance to initially mention you were in the military...", you trail off.

John remains silent for a few beats, head tilting as he watches you, and you fear you overstepped even though he urged you to ask the question. "We ain't directly military".

"No?" Your brows furrow.

"Special forces". Your lips part, hand dropping until your forearm rest against the wooden counter. Oh.

"What branch, if I may ask?"

"SAS". Really fucking oh.

"And you made me think my training was even the slightest set apart from absolutely fucking petty compared to yours", you huff in disbelief. Your comments bring out a deep laugh from John, a grin pinning his lips upwards.

"It ain't all too bad".

"Not all too bad- the fucking SAS, John". You lean slightly closer to emphasise what you said as if he didn't realise his occupancy. "You're a Captain in the SAS out of everything on this spinning globe".

He shrugs, disturbing his slowly diminishing cigar's linear ringle of smoke. "Ain't too shabby, I guess".

"Fucking hell", your hand jerks upwards, shaking your head in disbelief as you straighten up again, an unbelieving smile etched onto your lips. That earns you another laugh from him as his hand, having rested on his leg, pats the middle of your bared thigh.

"I'm takin' the piss".

You accusingly raise your brows at him. "You better be". His hand stills and gently squeeze the spot where he touches you, an offered 'my bad' as his gaze locks with yours. It takes mere seconds before your smiles reflect one another.

"Well, gentlemen, I think it's time to shoo you out. I don't want to be responsible for your absence on any important matters in the morning." At her voice, your eyes are drawn to Marissa. She rises from her seat despite some protest from a certain Scot, to which she only offers a smile and a 'sorry, Johnny-boy'. As she turns her neck towards you, her brown eyes flicker down to see John's hand resting atop your thigh. Although her smile remains the same, you note the twinkle entering them when noting your proximity to the older man. "Ain't that right, Price?"

"Always good to know you look after them", he returns, hand slipping from you to brace against his kneecap as he straightens somewhat.

"Your boys ain't the biggest group of troublemakers, but always good to have someone look out for them", Marissa shoots back. But, with a quick shift of her gaze to meet yours, you know the comment isn't as innocent as it appears. Having spent enough time with her, you can hear the unspoken continuation. While your attention is on someone else.

As your friend turned and began collecting what littered the table, Johnny followed suit to help her while Ghost and Kyle rose from their seats, gathering their belongings.

The shift in the edge of your vision brought your eyes back to the man at your side.

You watched as John stubbed out the unsmoked bit of his cigar. His opposite hand rose to run across his beard, and until then, you hadn't registered the fine specs of ash coating parts of his facial hair.

"Ready?" You ask when the action slows, unable to hide your amusement. John's gaze jumps to you, creases entering the edges of his eyes as he notes you'd followed his movement.

"The only downside", he chuckled as he rose from his seat.

One of your brows cocked. "Only one?"

"Hush now". His reply makes the laugh you repressed escape anyways, but it fades when he stretches out his hand for you.

Your brows raise momentarily, eyes flickering down to his hand and up to his eyes, not even debating before accepting his upturned palm.

John's hold is gentle as he helps you keep your balance whilst stepping down from the bar stool. "Thank you". He smiles in return and drops your hand, and you instantly miss his touch.

John turns and moves toward the only occupied table during the evening, and you watch how Ghost throws him his jacket that he expertly captures and supposedly was to retrieve. Your attention is pulled from them when Marissa passes you.

"Do you need any help?" You follow your friend as she rounds the bar.

Her head raised as she set down what she'd carried from the table. "No need. I'll fix this tomorrow morning". She gestured to the dishes before her.

"You sure? I can help so you can sleep in tomorrow?"

"We can help". Compared to the first time the Scottish accent appeared by your side, you don't startle when Johnny rounds you, placing the rest of the dishes beside what Marissa already brought.

"I have a few deliveries that I need to be here for tomorrow anyway, so I'm just gonna lock up for the night. Head on out with the rest". She waved the two of you off, and you simply shrugged.

"Fine, we'll wait for you outside", Marissa sent you an appreciative smile as your reply stopped the Scot from possibly debating with her.

"Alright, Riss", he simply settled on. "Come on then, lass", Johnny slung an arm over your shoulder.

"Am I your human crutch now?" You poked the dark-haired man's side.

"Haven't had that much", Johnny defended himself. "I remained on good behaviour today", he puffed out his chest as you caught a laugh from your friend just as she ducked into the back.

"Hard to believe when coming from the man daring me to a drinking game", you teased, knowing he wasn't any further inebriated than barely tipsy, concerning he wasn't stumbling over his words or burdened you with his weight when he turned the two of you with a chuckle.

Facing the exit, your and Johnny's eyes fall on the others moving towards it.

You instinctively pay more attention to John as he steps away from their table. But, with his jacket already clutched in one hand since previously, your brows furrow. To your attention, he hadn't brought anything else. And that's when you see the accessory not fitting his general appearance. In John's other hand is your purse.

While something warm worms into your chest, you feel the body beside you move, silent amusement causing Johnny's chest to vibrate. You twist your head towards him, being met with a wide grin as his eyes drop to you, returning from having caught the same sight you'd done.

"You've really put ya charms on the old man, now 'ave ya?" His bright eyes are creased in the corners as his hand squeezes your shoulder.

Your mouth drops open. "I-I...uh", you stumbled over your words, suddenly bashful at having someone beside Marissa point it out. Even though he's already mentioned it to her, you remind yourself.

Your wide-eyed look earns a not-so-suppressed laugh from Johnny this time around. "No need explainin'". His smile softens somewhat, yet the glint in his eye is still there as he leans in slightly. "Only hope the old fecker doesn't fuck it up with a bonnie like ya". You duck your head to hide a laugh, nerves dissipating at the Scot's comment.

"He's got his charms". You look up, gaze locking with John's briefly before facing the man at your side. He gives you a wink before letting you go, leaving you to take the lead when nearing the others.

Your focus shifts to the exit.

Ghost pulls the door open, its never-fixed natural chime filling the air. Kyle follows him shortly, pushing the door slightly wider for John to catch with the same hand he holds his jacket. However, instead of exiting, he waits for you to come close enough to wordlessly hand you your purse and motion for you to head out before him. You smile as thanks for both actions.

The air is lukewarm. Not cold by any means. Still, a shiver prickles your skin when a warm gust blows past.

"You can't possibly be cold". You turn to look at John as he follows you onto the sidewalk. To give space to Johnny trailing after him, you take a few steps to the side before angling your body towards him as he steps up to you.

"Says the man who brought a jacket". You nod towards the material in his grip.

"Fair". John chuckles as he stops close to you, his free hand hooking into his pocket, his thumb sticking out.

As the door closes, you look away from those blues you'd stared into for the better part of the evening, focusing on what was beyond the pub window. You see Marissa with her bag slung over her shoulder, meaning she must've finished the closing procedure in the back.

Next, your eyes are drawn to the only one moving in the company. Ghost's dark frame melts into the building's facade more so than the still-bright evening as he moves towards one of the cars parked a few steps away. The late setting sun reflected in the windshield, and the cloud-free sky lightened the night considerably regarding the time.

The slight shift in your peripheral finally draws your eyes back to John. As your attention land upon him, you note he followed your previous line of sight of watching Ghost leisurely come to lean against the rear-view mirror as he waits. Soon though, his blue eyes settle on you.

"How'd you get here?" It's a simple and innocent question depending on how you interpret it. But you can't help but do anything but.

"I was already out and about, so I walked". John nods, looking away for a second as you notice his jaw works from the muscles in his temple. When his eyes return, he tips his head somewhat downwards and slightly raises his brows. "I could drive you home if you want?"

You immediately press your jaws together to not break out in a lunatic smile. Those butterflies are back, wild and whipping in your stomach, not because of nervousness but excitement. As you watch John, gaze into his blues, you breathe in.

Mingling together is the noticeable but hard-to-place smell of warmth in the air still present from when you arrived and the scent of John you'd grown accustomed to during the evening.

"My mother warned me of jumping into strangers' cars". You attempt to play down your immediate reaction to his offer.

It earns you a chuckle. "Can't say I pose as the friendliest either". John looked over his shoulder to the big black rover parked further down the street than Ghost had. You can barely shield your amusement despite attempting to when he turns back. "What?"

"Could think you worked for the Mafia rather than the military".

His brows teasingly narrowed at you. "That so?"

You nod with a light hum. "At the least thought it was more Ghost's style than yours", you'd lowered your voice to not let the man you referred to catch your sentence.

"Can't blame you", he chuckles with a slight head shake as your eyes fall back to the black rover ahead.

"Oh, jump in the car". Both you and John followed the voice to find Marissa. You hadn't heard her exit the pub and lock the door, but evidently, she must have done it slightly before butting into your conversation concerning how Johnny and Kyle joined Ghost by their car.

"I'm going the other direction anyways, and I know Price won't kidnap you". You knew she could've and would've given you a ride. She'd done it frequently when you worked together. You cocked a brow at her, one she disregarded when she redirected her eyes to John. "And, if you do so happen to take such a liking to my friend that you decide to abduct her, I know where you live".

"You don't know where I live", he huffed out a laugh.

Marissa only smiles in return. "Maybe so, but I do know where that base of yours is and that some of your boys will be there". She put a hand on her hip, and at that, he put his hands up in mock surrender, eliciting a chuckle from your friend as she turns back to you.

"Hear from you in the morning to know wheater you end up home or in a basement?" She said, but the look in her eyes said something else entirely.

You couldn't help but shake your head, knowing she had said it because she wanted all the details. "Sure". She brought you in for a hug before stepping away and heading in the same direction as the boys had, her car parked in front of theirs.

"Thanks for coming by tonight", she called as she stopped by the vehicle.

"You know I can't say no to you", you returned with a smile.

"Nice to meet ya, lass", Johnny called out as he opened the passenger seat, a grin present as his eyes shifted. "See ya, Cap'n". John gave him a nod in return as you waved to the Scotsman. Like his goodbye, your action responds to Ghost's nod and Kyles's wave.

"Seems like I'm taking you up on that offer", you said when finally turning back to face John.

"Come on then, love", he gave you a side-ways nod as he directed you to his car.

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emmettkane · 16 days

Text

Fallout New Vegas represented a subtle evolution from FO1 and 2, from a world where people did whatever they needed to do to survive, to one where they tried to rebuild according to their resources and needs. It explored how, under the gun, people would hold onto their traditions, how the old ways that destroyed the world would attempt to insidiously weave their way into the new one.

It also explored how, despite that insidious instinct, things would change for the better, or that, at the very least, they could change for the better. New traditions would arise, new practices, and eventually, the old ways would either fade or mutate into something unrecognizably different.

The fallout show chose to erase those ideas, set things back to zero, undo the growth that had already happened and replace it with a civilization that was neither stuck in their traditions nor willing to advance, a hopeless tale justified by a shadow-government of hyper-competent, hyper-intelligent billionaires who cannot be reasoned with or overcome, and who apparently do not make meaningful mistakes.

---

The intense narrative regression that takes place between Fallout: New Vegas and the show is frustrating, but what's even more frustrating are the people who so gladly embrace it.

In a recent interview, Todd Howard asserted that Fallout games would never be set outside of America, and noted that "It’s okay to leave mystery or questions..." and that 'Americana naivete' was core to the identity of the game franchise.

I'll try to ignore the fact that they felt the need to 'answer the mystery' of 'who dropped the bombs' in the show, a mystery that, given the miserable, myopic answer (evil billionaires oh nooooooo) would have been better left unanswered.

The more egregious idea is that Americana has a deep relevance to the themes of any of the official stories in the setting. Even in Bethesda produced titles, it is, at most an aesthetic element.

Anticommunism, consumer culture, American exceptionalism, rugged individualism, western chauvinism, and other ideas that could be explored through the lenses of retrofuturism and Americana are roundly ignored in Bethesda titles, where those lenses are used entirely to generate advertising and nostalgia-bating appeal instead.

In earlier titles, those subjects are expressed, but are either not the main focus of the games or are simplified. The intro cinematic to the original Fallout includes a shot of an American soldier executing a soldier of annexed Canadian and then waving to the camera, followed by a power-armored head placed proudly before an American flag. The opinion here is not clarified further because it doesn't need to be: American imperialism is bad, and was likely a contributing factor to the apocalypse.

---

Some people think that Liberty Prime from fallout 3 and 4 constitutes a commentary on something, or espouses some value or philosophical ideal.

If it does, and if you agree with it, congratulations, you are the commentary.

#emmett's mind #fallout tv series #fallout #fallout new vegas #opinion #essay #criticism #fallout tv series critical

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masshysteri4 · 9 months

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GOOD OLD FASHIONED LOVER BOY

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How would the housewardens feel with an overly affectionate S/O

Housewardens x reader, GN reader

Riddle Rosehearts

Would take some time getting used to, he grew up in an environment that was not very affectionate. Don't get him wrong! He loooooves your affection, but definitely ease him into it, don't immediately jump into kisses and cuddle seshes, start small with locking pinkies and patting shoulders in private

"WOAH, I-I mean... Let's settle down a bit strawberry.!"

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Leona Kingscholar

Doesn't care, like, literally. Most of his time is spent sleeping or lazing around and you best believe he would pull you down with him anyways, he can either be your best dream or your worst nightmare, I daresay he's even more affectionate then you. Imagine laying down all day with the person you love, one of you lazed on top of the other, that's you and him most of the time.

"You have classes? Nuh uh."

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Azul Ashengrotto

Bro would die 💀 since he's really self conscious he would immediately pass out at any physical attention, but he wouldnt go off on some self deprecating spiral (idia) No he's to prideful for that, like riddle it would take a little bit of time but would come around to love your affection, even longer to initiate it, throw in some praise and he's putty in your hands.

"I hope Im not bothering you starfish..."

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Kalim Al Asim

This could not be better! His love language is a physical touch, so expect to be tackled, bit, poked, kicked, punched, hugged, etc etc all hours of the day, not that he would hurt you tho its affectionate ♡ Jamils pour soul has to deal with him AND you now as he's attached to your hip all hours of the day. He just loves you too much and finally has someone to match his love energy >_<

"HIIIIII اميرتي" *tackles you*

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Vil Schoenheit

Not very affectionate sorry, At LEAST not in public anyway, he has a reputation to uphold! He'll let you lay on him as he sleeps, or cuddle his lap while he's doing his makeup, and anything else in private but in public is a big no-no, he love you an will meet you halfway but he's more of a words of affirmation guy, please praise him in return o((*^▽^*))o

"Not here leibling, but rest assured tonight I'm all yours~"

♧♤♢♡♧♤♢♡♧♤♢♡��♤♢♡♧♤♢♡♤

Idia Shroud

Would pass out 2.0, he's been lonely for a while and yknow hasn't been outside in a while 💀 He likes you hugging him while he's gaming, and while he getting his 2 hours of sleep cuddle up to his "I paused my game to be here" clad chest 😍 honestly id say physical touch is his love language underneath gift giving, but in public he'd DIE

"y-y-y-you wannnnna hug m-m-m-m-me?!"

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Malleus Draconia

(Oh boy my favorite)

PLEASE! Touch him, kick him, bite him ANYTHING! HE'S DESPERATE! Ultimate definition of touch starved, I'd say physical affection is like #3 on his list of love languages so imagine how the other 2 are. My boy is giggling and kicking his feet, writing in his dairy about how you held his hand today like a schoolgirl, he definitely wants to recreate fairy tale scenes, be the princess to his frog 😍he's legit sad if you dont at least grab his hand daily

"YES ahem I mean yes, I will lock pinkies with you while you rant to me about the..." FNaF" lore *giggles*"

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FIRST FIC DONE! PLEEEEEASE GIVE ME CRITICISM I NEED IT!!!

#twistedwonderland #twistedwonderlandxreader #riddle rosehearts #riddleroseheartsxreader #leona kingscholar #Leonakingscholarxreader #azul ashengrotto #azulashengrottoxreader #kalim al asim #kalim al asim x reader #vil schoenheit #vil schoenheit x reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #malleus x reader #malleus draconia

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bugeater101 · 2 years

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Truth or Dare?, pt. 3

Synopsis: Minho and you played a game of Truth or Dare, and when you don't comply with the rules and refuse to obey your orders as a loser, you must face the consequences.

Content: swithc!reader x switch!minho, fem!reader, perv!minho, best friends to lovers, school au, pussy slapping, spanking, face slapping, restraint, oral (f. receiving and m. receiving), brief use of colour system, slight voyeurism, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex (USE A CONDOM!!!), overstimulation, fluff ending (basically aftercare to make up for the fact that Minho's a jackass).

Word Count: 6.5K

Author's Note: Part 3! I hope you guys have liked this mini-series. I'm feeling not great about my writing right now and am just generally unconfident in what I've created recently. So, I hope I continue to improve as I create more content for you guys! Again, if you have any suggestions/asks/hard or soft thoughts, send them my way! I love hearing from y'all and it makes my day that you decide to share your perverted fantasies with me lmao. Anyways, enjoy! As always, though both characters in this fic are students, they are 18+. Therefore, do not interact with my work if you are a minor. Other than that, thanks for reading!

Taglist: @scribblemetae, @mygsis, @9900z, @taekbokki

part 1, part 2, part 3

Anxiety raked your body as the minutes ticked by. The silence of your home reminded you of Minho's expected arrival and what was to come, despite your lack of knowledge about Minho's objectives. After disobeying him, Minho's reaction was exactly what you had expected: enraged, frustrated—showing all the tell-tale signs of feeling unrespected. So, you knew that, regardless of your efforts to text him to talk it over (or even beg for forgiveness), his need to reassert his position as the Truth or Dare victor was greater than your desire for mercy.

Your body remained stiffed from the day's earlier encounter, hair unkempt from fiddling with it and your uniform still in its dishevelled state. One thing had changed, however: you removed your underwear.

Okay, you admit it. A thong is like panties and you'd hoped that maybe Minho would be kind enough or pussy-crazed enough to let it slide. But, you should've known better. He wasn't the sweet nor merciful type, so he certainly wouldn't take disloyalty too kindly.

The clock at the corner of your room clicked with every passing second, the room's air tense as you sat still on your bed. What was Minho going to do to you? It wasn't this question or your lack of knowledge of what was to come that made you uneasy. You knew that, though he was cruel, Minho wasn't overly harsh. No, what really frightened you was your helplessness.

You had succumbed to every craving you had for him in mere days. What had started as passing thoughts of him in not-so platonic ways turned into you acting out your innermost desires those damn toys that started this whole charade. Now, this devil managed to sneak out of your fantasies and was living out his own dreams in your reality. It seems that every push you made to get away from such thoughts now brought you closer to them than ever. Minho was on your mind, and you couldn't wish it or force it away.

6:56 PM. Minho would be here any second; he was always punctual. In fact, you were still amazed by his coordination today. Even if he pulled the fire alarm just to see you, he must've studied which way your class specifically would have exited, where you would've been according to your position in the class itself, etc. You had to hand it to him, Minho knew how to get what he wanted. Planning, time, and effort went into getting you alone. So, you disobeying his orders wasn't just a defiant act against him, but to everything he had done, everything he had put effort into. He was a man who enjoyed precision and order, and your defilement of that meant you must pay for it in a similar nature: in your own degradation.

A loud knock at the door made you jump, and you sit still as realization washes over you. 7:00PM. It was time for your punishment.

"Come in!" You yelled from your room, your voice somehow steady. With the switch of the lock, the door is forced open. Another second passed, and it seemed like Minho materialized in your room, locking the front door, taking off his shoes, running towards your room, and locking your own door behind him in mere milliseconds. Your brain was on the fritz, unable to keep up with what was to happen and what was happening.

Minho felt the denseness of the air as soon as he entered your normally relaxed sanctuary, his uncomfortability reflected in the stiff way he dropped his bag and began removing his school tie.

"Please relax, y/n," he mumbled, your eyes wide as you stared at him. "This won't be fun if you don't like it." After removing the tie fully, Minho held the satin fabric in his hand, his eyes studying you. He turned, heading towards the light switch to turn off the overhead light and turn your fairy lights, illuminating your room in a soft incandescent hue.

"But if you choose to like it," he continued, his voice low and intriguing, despite your efforts to keep your emotions at bay. Minho turned around and looked back at you. "If you choose to enjoy it, you might just end up loving it." A smirk rose on his face as he came closer to you, each step making your thighs tighten together and your stomach knot a little more. He stopped a foot away from you, staring down at your figure, studying how your top—even when resting—can barely contain your bust. Fuck, you were pretty. It made Minho want to skip all over the pleasantries, all of the things he had planned for you, and get straight to what he's always wanted to do with you: kiss you. Kissing you slowly, holding you close with no barriers separating you, and not fucking you, but making love to you. God, he wanted to treasure you, let you know just how this wasn't just a quick fuck, a thing of teenage hormones or clouded judgement, but that he really wanted to do all of that with you.

Yet, on the other hand, he was mad.

Not just mad, but pissed. Downright enraged at your behaviour. So, before he could skip to the good part, he had to make you work for it. You had to know your place, and realize just how much you wanted him, too.

"Get on all fours," Minho demanded. According to his expression, there was no space to mess around or tease him. He was calling the shots, taming you, and if you were to try and change that dialogue, then who knows what measures he would go to. Your body immediately went into action, rushing to the centre of the bed and placing your hands and knees parallel to each other, facing away from Minho. Your immediate obedience was appreciated and expected: you didn't intend to piss off Minho more than you already have. Yet, he wouldn't be too easy to please.

"Ooh, so now you want to act all good?" He scolded. You felt the bed shift behind you, and you knew that Minho was now positioned behind you on his knees. Suddenly, you felt a deep pressure between your shoulder blades, forcing you onto your elbows and making you arch your back so your ass was pointed in the air. "Lean forward, baby," Minho growled. "I want to see what you've been hiding." Your new position made your skirt ride higher up your thighs, slightly revealing your ass and a bit of your pussy. You whimpered as the cold air met your already soaking heat, making Minho chuckle.

"Aw, look at you," he cooed. The humiliation made you press your hot face into the bed. Yet, despite your embarrassment, your headshot up once you felt Minho's cold fingers push your skirt higher and higher.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, massaging your plump flesh as you let out a small whimper. "You deserve this. Now, you're gonna take your punishment like a good girl, right?" Before you could respond, your voice caught in your throat as his cold fingers met your cunt. The wetness that had troubled you the entire day was now being spread across your lips, allowing Minho to easily tease your clit and stick the tips of his fingers into you. A smile spread across his face with every little moan you let out, teasing and playing with your pussy but offering you no satisfaction.

"I'm glad I'm finally getting my reward," he groaned out. "And I'm glad you're finally being punished." Out of the blue, pain shot through your entire body as Minho retracted his hand and left a quick swat to your cunt. Then, with a swift movement, he reached forward and grabbed your clasped hands that rested on the bed and ripped them apart. Your face and upper chest crashed into the bed as Minho pulled your hands back and tied them behind you with his tie. Despite the softness of your fabric, the tense knot told you that there would be lasting marks.

"Minho," you mewled out, your back curving deliciously as Minho stared at your feeble form. His hands resumed to grip your ass and love handles, imaging what it would look like fucking your cunt like this from behind, all tied up and ready for him to be used.

"Be quiet," Minho stated, making you sniffle. "If you wanna be good, you gotta learn your lesson, hm?"

"Minho, I— ah!" A sharp smack cut you off before you could even argue against him. Your moans filled Minho's ears as he slapped your ass, loving how it jiggled with every harsh hit and how the redness spread across your backside. However, he knew he loved two things more: how there would be a mark in the shape of his hand left on your flesh, and how wet you were getting from this.

"You slut," he spat, giving you a break by rubbing two fingers throw your folds while his other hands gripped your constrained hands. He leaned forward so that his lips were at your ears, and the closeness of his body to yours allowed you to feel his length against your cunt through his pants. And, with his chest pressed into your back, you could tell that somewhere along the way he had unbuttoned his shirt and allowed it to hang off of his body, untucked.

"How dare you enjoy this," he groaned in your ear. Tears prickled your eyes as you fought hard to respond to his scolding.

"I'm sorry, Minho," you hiccuped. Minho scoffed.

"You wanna feel better? You've been enjoying this entire punishment and you're even pushing your cunt into my cock right now." Though this shocked you, you realized it was true. You had subconsciously moved your body closer to his, pressing yourself further into him and rutting a bit to feel his hard-on against your pussy. Somewhere in the mess of things, he had also unzipped his pants, revealing the front of his boxers and allowing your dripping lips to soak them. You gasped slightly at the discovery, tears now staining your cheeks as you began to profusely apologize,

"Minnie, I'm sorry," you whined. "I just wan' have fun with Minnie, but now I've been bad... I'm sorry." Small sobs left your lips as Minho continued to play with your clit. His heart only ached slightly for your state, because whose wouldn't? You were normally so strong-willed, so powerful, so determined, and now... now you were his plaything, huh? Minho laughed then, realizing how you finally got what you had coming, that this was what it was all building up to. He had tamed you.

"Thank you for apologizing, y/n," he said slowly, love tracing his voice as he finally pulled his hand away and started slowly massaging you instead. He pressed kisses along your back and ear before nibbling it slightly, allowing you to calm down before he continued.

"Colour?" He asked after a minute.

"Green," you responded quietly.

He nodded in response and continued to kiss you. Kisses eventually moved down your back and were now pressed into the back of your thighs and ass, trying to replace the lingering pain with love.

"Lemme make you feel better," he whispered as you buried your face into the bed. "Let me praise you after taking your punishment so well."

"Please, Minho," you begged as his kisses teased closer and closer to your pussy, though never even grazing it. You were initially expecting him to immediately pull away in response to your begs, continuing on and not granting you any relief. However, maybe your pleas had gotten to Minho, and it was making him a bit of a softy.

As if reading your mind, Minho's lips finally met your clit. You immediately moaned out, responding to the sweet relief his kisses offered.

"Fuck," you mewled as his nose buried into your hole while his tongue vigorously sucked on your clit. His hands occupied themselves by gripping your ass and wrapping around your thigh. His tongue moved sloppily, drool and your juices leaking down his chin as he moaned into your pussy, a puddle of your precum soaking the sheets below you.

"Mmh." Though his voice was muffled as was yours, his trapped as he continued to lap you up while yours was drowned out by the bed below you, you both knew that the other kept begging for more.

In order to give your more pleasure and satisfy his own, Minho suddenly flipped your entire body over like it was nothing, as if his carnal desires allowed him to move whatever he wanted with ease. You gasped as your body was flung across the bedspread and now rested flat, knees spread by Minho's hands and your arms tied behind you, with Minho between your legs. He stared at your expression for a second, face reddened partly with tears and partly due to shame, but overall overwhelmed by crushing neediness.

"You're..." he panted as he looked at you writhe below him, attempting to push your knees together to ease the pain between them. His chin glistened with your cum and his spit, his tongue slightly licking his lips to taste what remained of you. "You're so pretty," he gasped out. Before you could respond, Minho flung himself forward and began kissing you passionately, his tongue finding yours and his lips softly touching yours. He pulled away and began kissing your neck and jaw, making you moan out.

"Minnie!" You cried.

"Can you taste yourself, y/n?" He hummed in between kisses to your collarbone, "Can you taste yourself on your lips? You taste so fucking good, so perfect for me." Minho sat back on his heels then despite your efforts to bring him back to you, which were quite useless due to your impeded state. Minho's hands found your shirt and ripped your blouse open, scattering the pearlescent buttons across your bed and floor.

"Minho!" You shouted, shocked by his aggression. Minho, however, was entranced by your tits, mouth drooling not only because of how he missed your taste but because of how plump your chest looked.

"S... sorry for the mess, y/n," he mumbled. His eyes met yours and he chucked. "So... no bra either?" You felt dumbstruck for a second by his coy attitude, his humour being a surprising but not unwelcomed reaction. You smiled.

"I thought that since you said 'no underwear', I should apply that to all undergarments," you responded happily. Minho smiled at you before shaking his head.

"God, y/n, what you do to me." Before you could respond, Minho's mouth met your nipples and sucked them, pushing your tits together in an attempt to lick them at the same time. You whimpered as he massaged your tits, loving the way he kissed the middle of your chest while each hand pinched and pulled your nipples. Here and there, he would flick them or push your tits together in a feeble attempt to try and suck them at the same time again. You twisted under him, wrapping your legs around his waist and feeling every little rutt he made into the bed below you.

"Minho, please," you begged although you didn't know what you were pleading for. He continued his actions, thrusts going deeper into the bed below him as he tried to catch his high. Your writhed below him, trying to tear your hands apart and finally touch him, but were trapped due to the tie around your wrists. You begged and pleaded, whimpers filling Minho's ears.

However, though Minho loved your whines, he was getting sick of you. Not you entirely— he loved your body and your reactions to his touch and how you let out little hiccups here and there—but he was finding the whole begging thing getting old.

"God," he groaned, pulling away from you. "Y/n, you talk too much," he cooed at your innocent, needy gaze. That look made him want to scoff, laugh at you, because how could you look at him like that after all you've put him through?

Sitting up on his knees, he pulled you up with him and then shoved you back down onto the mattress so you sat on your knees. You stared up at him, his bulge prominent in his opened trousers and the curve of his abs making your mouth water. The tightness on your wrists became more noticeable as you wished to reach out and grasp his cock, to see if he was really seven inches like he told you. Luckily, Minho did it himself. With one hand petting your head, his other slipped into his boxers. He threw his head back and hissed at the direct touch on his dick, teasing himself right in front of you and enjoying every second of your desperate whines.

"Aw, look at you," he chuckled breathlessly. "You want cock, y/n?" You nodded, thinking it was an adequate response. However, Minho tugged your head aggressively and pulled you up to face him.

"Hmph! Fuck— Yes, Minnie, I wan' cock," you sobbed. A kiss on your forehead indicated that Minho liked that response. Dropping you back onto the bed, Minho moaned as he tugged harder on his dick, growing larger in the confines of his clothing.

"Show me, then." Minho pulled his cock out, the red tip snapping against his abdomen and making him moan.

Fuck. He was right about the size.

"I know baby," he laughed, "I don't like to lie." His hand stroked his dick right in front of your face, dragging from his base to his head, slightly thumbing his slit when it reached the tip and making him gasp. Fuck, he was big. How could he have not told you until you pressured him to? You've wanted to fuck him forever, and little did you know he had the most perfect cock; thick, huge, and with the slightest curve that you knew could fuck you good.

"Minho," you whispered. "You're mean." He laughed at you, hips slightly stuttering as he continued to stroke himself. Precum leaked from his tip as you stuck your tongue out, desperate to catch some.

"Baby, are you hungry from some cock?" he asked cutely, bending his head down slightly and pulling up your head to meet his.

"Mmhm," you hummed, nodding aggressively. "Wanna taste Minnie and show him how good I can suck." Though you tried to maintain eye contact with Minho, your gaze kept fluttering down to his angry head, aching to suck on his tip and make him cum down your throat.

Minho noticed your desperation and cooed at how your eyes begged for your throat to be filled. Standing straight, he brought his hand to your chin and made him look up at you.

"You think you deserve a reward for being so good?" Nodding again with a series of mhm's, Minho sighed and decided to take pity on you. "Get on the floor baby." You began to climb to the floor but stopped once you reached the edge of the bed. Turning to him shyly, you looked up at Minho and gestured with your head to your restrained hands.

"Can Minnie be nice and untie me?" you mumbled weakly. Minho raised an eyebrow, confused as to why you would want to be released. You understood his confusion and continued. "I wan' give Minnie pleasure with my hands and mouth... wanna make his cock feel as good as it can." Minho almost attacked you with kisses upon hearing how desperate you were to please him, falling for you all over again. Instead, he opted to untie your hands, telling you "of course, y/n" with a sweet voice. As soon as you were freed, you moved onto the floor and pulled Minho to the edge of the bed, him laughing at how excited you were to be filled with some cock. You stroked his thighs that were slung over the side of the bed, running your hands up his abs and touching everything you couldn't the first time. You sat up on your knees and kissed his lips, tasting the lingering juices on him and savouring how charming his kisses were. Your lips then worked their way down his jaw and neck and pressed sloppy kisses down his entire torso until you reached his cock. You were about to place your mouth on him, drool leaking from your mouth and landing on his head, making him groan.

"Wait, y/n," he panted. His words worried you, making you pull away and sit back.

"Minho, what's wrong?" You asked urgently. Minho immediately calmed you, placing his hands on the bed and leaning back.

"Don't worry, y/n, I'm fine," he reassured. "But, I need you to do something for Minnie, okay?"

"Anything," you immediately responded, making his heart warm. Minho looked down at you then down at the bed.

"Get the box," he demanded. You stilled, eyes wide. God, he could eat you up right now. "Let's finish what we started yesterday, hm?"

Instantly, you dove under the bed beside him, making him chuckle at your eagerness and the sight of your ass arched next to him. He was tempted to spank you again, fuck you while you were unaware and helpless under the bed, but the redness of your ass and his need to get his cock sucked made him think again. You reemerged in the blink of an eye, presenting the box to Minho.

"Baby wants me to choose?" he asked.

"Yes, Minnie," you gushed.

Minho stared you down again. "You weren't going to be given an option in the first place." He threw off the box lid and immediately found the bunny vibrator from yesterday, turning it on and testing to see if had enough battery to last the rest of the night. He grabbed the box and shoved it back under the bed, keeping only the pink vibrator in his hands. Tossing the toy to you, he leaned back on his hands and glanced down at his cock.

"Well?" He asked. "It's not gonna suck itself, y/n. Show me how well you use that mouth of yours and how you use that toy on your tasty little pussy, okay?" Even before giving a "yes" or even a nod, your hand was back on Minho's thigh and moving to grasp his cock for the first time. As soon as your hand held his base, you kissed the tip, causing Minho to throw his head back and moan loudly. You licked his shaft from base to head, wetting his cock before kitten-licking the head and sucking it eagerly. Minho had a white-knuckle grip on the sheets, trying to contain himself so he didn't preemptively cum in your mouth.

"U-use your toy, baby. Do as you're t-told," he stammered out through gritted teeth. You happily obliged, letting your hand stroke his cock while you licked the head of the vibrator just like you did yesterday, making Minho groan at the sight. Then, after wetting your toy, you finally placed the buzzing vibrator on your clit, riding your skirt up a bit to give Minho a view while you sucked his dick.

"Fuck, baby," he panted out as you returned to his cock. With every hum and moan you released with his dick in your mouth, he did the same, mewling as you eagerly licked him.

"You wanna suck me dry, y/n?" He asked while you pumped him harder, grinding on the vibrator below you and getting it wetter and wetter. "Want me to fill you up, don't you?"

"Mmhm," you mewled against him, making Minho moan in response. However, instead of continuing until Minho came undone, you had something better in mind. Pulling off of him with a pop, a string of drool still connected you two, causing Minho to lean back on his elbows as he urged you to keep going.

"C'mon, baby, you were doing so well," he whined, still trying to maintain his dominance in spite of his neediness. You glanced up at him and smirked. First the first time, you knew you had the upper hand. With his cock in one hand and your cum-covered vibrator in the other, you placed the buzzing bunny on his cock head and made him writhe beneath you.

"Fuck, baby," he panted out as he gripped the sheets tighter below him. While one hand played with the vibrator on his tip, your other held his balls and your tongue traced the length of his dick. Minho's chest rose and fell deeply, trying to stop himself from coming so quickly. One of his hands rose up in an attempt to pet you, to give you some love in return, but it instead threaded through your hair and pulled it, earning a moan from both you and him.

"God, y/n," he groaned as you licked, pumped, and fucked him every way you could.

"Minho..." you mumbled, "you taste so good." Your mouth and vibrator switch places, sucking him fervently while the vibrator rubbed him quickly. Minho began to pant and mumble incoherently, his grip becoming harsher as his hips fucked into your mouth. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chanted in an attempt to keep his orgasm at bay, though he knew it was no use. "Fuck, baby, yes, yes, please, I'm going to cum, please! Fuck, Fuck— ah!" Cum shot from his cock and into your mouth, milking himself dry on your tongue as you lapped him up.

"Y/n... y/n, fuck," Minho gasped as he tried to catch his breath. "So good, baby. You suck cock so fucking good." He stroked you lovingly, loving how you licked the cum off of your lips and the vibrator. You pulled yourself off him, allowing him to calm down and to shut off your toy. However, no matter how much Minho came or how much he tried to settle himself, he was still incredibly hard. And, his cock was covered in cum. You whined at the sight, unsatisfied at your performance and looking up at him with desperate eyes.

"Minho," you mewled out.

"What?" he asked, still trying to catch his breath. Then, he noticed his current state and how red his dick still was, and how you rocked with your hands clasped on your lap: you were waiting for permission.

"Y/n, I—" he began, but he had guessed wrong. You were done taking orders.

"I don't care Minnie," you cut him off. You couldn't wait any more today. You had grown impatient, waiting for Minho's permission to do any little thing. You've had enough. You grabbed his cum-covered dick and began licking off every little bit of it. Sucking on him eagerly, Minho's hands didn't know what to do. Overstimulated and just as needy as you, he didn't know whether to pull you off or push you further on his cock.

"Y/n— I— ah—please, sto—ah!" Every sentence, hell every word he spoke was lost to him. All he could think of was how good you were at sucking him off, and how he needed more of you. But fuck did he need a break. "Y/n, please!" He begged in a raspy voice, sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. Finally, with the little strength he had, Minho managed to pull you off his cock. Both of you gasped for air, trying to stable yourselves. However, before you could gather yourself, Minho pulled you up and threw you onto the bed.

"Minnie!" You gasped as you bounced on the mattress. When you looked back at him, Minho's entire demeanour had changed from the quivering mess he was before. Somehow, in mere seconds he had thrown off his shirt, boxers, and pants, with his cock standing prominently against him. "Minnie..." you repeated in a small voice, trying to pull at his heartstrings.

"Did I give you permission to touch my cock?" He growled, walking towards you slowly. Though you wanted to retreat against the backboard of your bed, your limbs couldn't find the energy or courage to move.

"No," you answered, knowing that even a stutter could set him off. He kept moving towards you, taking a step onto the bed with his knee and proceeding to crawl towards you.

"Then why aren't you being obedient?" he spat. Suddenly, he grabbed your legs and pulled your forward, your thighs crashing into his and making you yelp. With unfathomable strength, he ripped—literally ripped—your already ruined shirt off of you, leaving you in your skirt and tie.

"Minnie!" You cried as you stared into his dark eyes

"Can't trust you one bit, can I?" he questioned as he proceeded to pull your tie off you, gather your hands in his, and retie them together. "Have to keep you restrained like the little bitch you are?"

"Min— fuck!" Though you tried to protest and defend your actions, you were cut short by a swift smack across your face. You stared up at Minho, his breathing hard and your eyes wide.

"Sorry, baby," he said. "But you gotta learn to be good."

Harshly, Minho wrapped your legs around your waist and pinned your tied hands above your head, making it so you were once again face-to-face with him.

"Now, say 'please, Minnie,' okay?" He whispered.

For the first time that night, you stuttered. "P-please Minnie?" Minho smiled in response. He had finally broken you.

Then, you felt his tip tease your clit, both of you moaning out from the overstimulation. Gathering your juices on his cock, he finally decides to slip his tip into your cunt, letting you stretch around him.

"God, y/n," he gasped as he buried in his head in your neck, trying to get closer to you. You could barely respond, mewling out a hum in an effort to tell him how good he feels.

"Ready for me?" Minho asks, raising his head to meet yours. However, instead of your eyes catching his own, they were sweetly staring into nothing. Meeting his eventually after tracing the walls, your blank stare juxtaposed Minho's gleeful one.

"Hey, where are you baby?" He giggled in between breaths, removing his hand from your tied ones to brush some hair out of your face. He kisses your cheek, inching slowly into you as he proceeds to pepper your face with light smooches.

"Minnie," you whine out as he stretches you out.

"There you are, y/n," Minho coos as he pushes inch by inch into you. "Come on, take this big cock into your tiny hole like you know how." After what felt like hours, Minho finally bottomed out in you. You both panted at the sensation, feeling every ridge in his cock in you while he almost came again strictly from how your gummy walls hugged him. Minho, after finally calming himself, began to rock into you, pushing and pulling himself out of your cunt with a groan.

"Fuck, fuck, baby," he cried at the sensation, holding you close.

"Minnie!" You moaned out from the stretch.

"Goddammit, y/n," he groaned in a low voice as he pulled out again. "You gotta learn to be g-good." You could barely respond, instead simply uttering his petname over and over again.

"Say my name," Minho whined as he sat up and spread your legs out, removing his hands from your restrained ones.

"Minho, please keep fucking your baby," you begged as he readjusted himself, briefly depriving you of his cock.

"Fuck," Minho whimpered as he began to fuck you again, this time harder and deeper. "You talk too much, baby," he groaned as he threw his head back before having it fall forward again, watching his cock piston in and out of your swollen pussy.

"Minho, I'm sorry," you cried. Though your hands were free, you still were able to bring them down your clit and play with it, wanting to reach your high quickly after being edged all night.

"Y/n, s-stop," Minho mumbled as he watched you thumb your bundle of nerves. Every brush to your clit made you squeeze tighter around him, sucking in his cock and making his thrusts shallow and quick. "If you k-keep doing that, y-you're gonna m-make me cum."

You wanted to chuckle at Minho's deterioration in front of you, but you knew you were no better. After this entire night, you couldn't hold a candle to his power over you. With every eager pump into you, Minho brought you closer and closer to your climax— and he could tell. Minho's thrusts started to become sloppy, using the last of his strength to keep his hips from stuttering or stopping, despite the urge to edge himself a little more. But, he was too overstimulated, and even another glance down at his cock buried in you could make him cum on sight.

"Be good baby, c'mon," he moaned as he fucked into you faster and faster, gripping your thighs tighter with every thrust into you. "Come around me, y/n. Do it, baby, make a mess,"

"Fuck, Minho!"

"Be good, be good, come with me, be a good baby, please," he moaned as his hands slapped the fat of your legs. "P-please cum, baby, be good like you know how to, please! Please, baby, fuck! P-please— fuck!" Minho's hips stuttered as you came around him, soaking his cock and making a mess on the bed below you. You cried out his name while he continued to pound into you, unable to control the movement of your fingers nor handle the speed of Minho's thrusts.

Minho's hips stuttered a second before pulling out, making you mewl as you watched him vigorously pump his dick before cumming the second time that night, panting your pussy and tummy in his cum.

As if running a marathon, Minho collapsed onto you, caging your body in his while you panted below him, both of you attempting to catch your runaway breath.

You felt like you were a million miles away, descending from Cloud 9 and attempting to ground yourself again. Then, you felt a small pressure on your cheek, then jaw, then forehead, then temple. Minho was drawing you back home, easing you down with gentle kisses and sweetly stroking your jaw as your breathing slowed. When you finally came to, you looked and saw a tired Minho beside you, wide-eyed and enjoying your exhausted expression.

"Y/n, you're back," he whispered as he brushed away some hair that had stuck to your face. You smiled in response, unable to find the words that told him all you wanted to say. Something along the lines of "thank you, I'm here, and I love you" would have been good. Yet, you still could not conjure the boldness nor the energy to tell him that. Instead, you rolled over slightly so you both laid on your sides, and you buried your face into your pillow as you held each other close.

"So," Minho continued as he stroked your cheek with his thumb, "did you enjoy your punishment?" You laughed at his joke, enjoying his lightness considering how heavy he was mere minutes ago.

"Fantastic," you giggled. "I should rebel more often just so you could punish me more." Minho smiled and came closer, brushing his nose slightly against yours. You had never seen him this giggly, this playful or amused. And it was true: he felt relieved and relaxed for the first time in a while, happy to be here with you in such circumstances, to hold you like this, to finally say that you are, in more or less formal terms, his.

"Maybe you should. Now," Minho rose up, gaining newfound energy. "You stay there, I'm going to get a cloth to clean you up and some snacks. Anything in particular you want?"

You shook your head no, surprised at how responsible Minho had become due to your rather impaired state. Minho rushed off then, leaving only momentarily and returning in the blink of an eye, snacks and a warm washcloth in his hand. However, though he wanted to make you smile, all you did was laugh.

"You just ran around my house completely naked, Minho," you chuckled. Minho didn't glance down to see if you were correct—you obviously were—and instead placed the snacks on your bedside table, along with a water bottle, and slowly cleaned you up with the cloth.

"Damn, not even a thank you? And what happened to 'Minnie'?" He asked as you melted into his touch.

"You are insatiable," you laughed again. "Thank you, Minnie." You emphasized the nickname, making him smile.

After cleaning you, Minho disposed of the dirty washcloth and reached into the backpack that he had brought with him, pulling out two hoodies, a pair of boxers, and your panties from yesterday. He tossed one of the hoodies to you and your underwear. You stared at them in shock, surprised he had the generosity to give them back to you.

"They're clean, by the way," he said as he slipped the boxers on. "I, um, had some fun with them yesterday night and had to clean them anyway." You laughed, slipping on the soft white garment and the black hoodie he had thrown to you, basking in his lingering cologne that stuck to the soft cotton.

"Thank you," you responded. "I also had some fun last night after you left." Minho cleaned your room as you talked, putting away the box of toys and placing your bunny vibrator aside to clean it later, silently enjoying how he finally got to see you use it. Minho laughed at your response, kicking his dirty clothes and the scattered buttons from your blouse aside to clear your floor. Then, his eyes then up at you. He had never seen you so beautiful, so comfortable in his clothes, and so natural. It was like you were meant to be there with him, right here, right now.

Of course, he could never let himself be so open about such feelings. This was Minho, after all. Instead, he jumped into your bed, making you bounce at his actions and lightly hitting his arm for disturbing you. He crawled up to you, snuggling into your chest and letting his weight press you down into the mattress.

"I guess we're perfect for each other then," he said as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him. Your hands played with his hair, petting him slowly and relaxing into his touch. You smiled.

"I guess we are."

#skz smut #stray kids smut #leeknow smut #leeknow fluff #leeknow x reader #leeknow x y/n #perv!leeknow #stray kids leeknow #lee minho

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kaylinalexanderbooks · 2 months

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WIP Questionnaire

Thanks @buffythevampirelover for the tag! This game looks fun!

Rules: answer as few or as many as you'd like!

1. What was the first part of your wip that you created?

TSP: Lexi was! TSP started out as a school project, and we had to create a character sheet for our first person narrator! That was "Alexia" who is now just "Lexi" (but her full name is still Alexia).

SOTL: The concept! "School for fairy tale characters" was basically it. I got discouraged a bit when I found out this concept already existed, but that didn't mean I couldn't do my own take!

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

My favorite types of intros for TV shows are original theme songs or very catchy instrumental music. 30-60 seconds is a good length. I'd hope that for TSP and SOTL. Hope this isn't a cop-out.

3. Who are your favourite characters you've made? Why?

TSP: My favorite characters to write for are Lexi, Gwen, Akash, Robbie, and Carmen. Lexi because the arc I gave her is an exaggerated version of something that speaks a lot to me. Gwen because I wasn't expecting her to be as interesting as she ended up being planned to be. Robbie and Akash because of how funny and sweet their dynamic is. Yes, I love them separately, but they're a package set. Carmen because she's just so damn interesting I love studying her under a microscope.

SOTL: I am barely into writing it, but it's Jack at the moment. Shocker, he has three chapters while Tierney and Úrsula have one each! But the reason is that he is average at everything, but he doesn't let that get him down! He's funny and relatable and a dork.

4. What other pieces of media do you think would share a fan base for your story?

TSP: Hm, good question. The only thing coming to mind right now is Young Justice (the cartoon). Starts out with this fun group of kids, becomes extremely dark. Ensemble cast. Sneaking around. Superpowers. Fight scenes. Drama.

SOTL: Insert fairy tale retelling here.

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your wip?

TSP: Juggling everything. The world building, I guess. Making all the characters distinct was something I struggled at for a while, but I'm getting much better at it. Trying to figure out how the world works is challenging, but I am having fun. But juggling all the moving parts to make it cohesive is a challenge.

SOTL: What is plot?!! Also battling my ambition to do every fairy tale ever. I'm gonna have to make a lot of background characters that will get their own side stories separate from the main series to get all that I want. I probably will do that.

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

TSP: Yep! Alium has a lot of fantasy creatures, animal hybrids, and fun things I just made up. Custos the dragon is the only truly prominent one right now. He's a blue fire dragon and is adorable. I also have kitsunes. Animal hybrids include unibison, ferretsnakes, cowyotes, beaverducks. Things I made up include the elemental foxes and blue hedgehogs.

SOTL: Hofiwi is an anthropomorphic bear! She was cursed to be anthropomorphic, this is not a normal thing in this world. I love her and she's just planned at the moment. Can't wait to do more.

7. How do your characters get around? (ex: trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

TSP: Hovercrafts, dragons, teleporting, trains, and some other power-based travel

SOTL: I'm still figuring this out no one has gone anywhere yet. Dragons or carriages would be cool. Maybe I can mix them with something modern to fit the setting.

8. What part of your wip are you working on rn?

TSP: World building! Specifically the power database since that will be the backbone for everything.

SOTL: Reading fairy tales... I need to do that more

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe?) of your wip do you think will draw people in?

TSP: Powers, diverse cast, queer/disability rep

SOTL: same as TSP but fairy tales!

10. What are your hopes for your wip?

If I see one (1) fanart between either my life will be complete.

This was fun!

Softly tagging @mk-writes-stuff @jezifster @blind-the-winds @little-peril-stories @sleepywriter00 @mysticstarlightduck @sarahlizziewrites @writernopal @gottestod-writes + anyone who wants to join!

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites - giving a slightly harder nudge than usual cause I really want to see what y'all have to say! Still optional obviously

Blanks below the cut!

1. What was the first part of your wip that you created?

2. If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

3. Who are your favourite characters you've made? Why?

4. What other pieces of media do you think would share a fan base for your story?

5. What has been your biggest struggle with your wip?

6. Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

7. How do your characters get around? (ex: trains, horses, cars, dragons, etc.)

8. What part of your wip are you working on rn?

9. What aspects (tropes, maybe?) of your wip do you think will draw people in?

10. What are your hopes for your wip?

#writing tag game #wip questionnaire #the secret portal #tsp #teaspoon #school of the legends #sotl #writing blog #writers on tumblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing on tumblr #writeblr #writeblr community

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g5mlp · 11 months

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Here's the entire My Little Pony 2024 Franchise Overview presentation. This was originally distributed online in mid-June 2023, and we reported on it then, but there are a couple of details that didn't make it into the post.

Download links 2024 Franchise Overview 2023 Marketing Plans Hasbro Brands Overview

Slides 2–4. Various random stats which are mostly not important or not properly contextualized. I have just a slight feeling that the stat on slide 3 implying that MLP is bigger than Barbie at the moment is cherrypicked.

Slides 5–6. Slide 6 is the first slide with specific data about Tell Your Tale viewers. It tells us that Tell Your Tale outperformed Make Your Mark on audience approval and toy purchase basket size, and that it outperformed other franchises on repeat toy purchase rate. There are a few more of these stats on slide 20.

Slides 7–9. Tell Your Tale Season 2 will be real, and will have four specials (the accompanying visuals don't seem to be related, other than the beach stuff for special 2). They didn't really explain what "hair play in every episode" or "more magical moments" will mean, although maybe the former is intended to encourage the purchase of toys.

Slides 10–12. This is basically a summary of things that have already been done within the MLP brand over the last few years. "LBE" means "location-based entertainment".

Slide 10 seems to indicate that there are about 7 songs left to be released in Tell Your Tale Season 1.

On slide 12, from left to right, the featured things are the VR book My Little Pony: Virtual Magic; the Sofia Carson-narrated Calm "sleep story"; the I Can Read Comics Level 1 book Sister Switch; the first issue of the G5 IDW comics; the MLP mascots at the Galaxyland theme park in Edmonton, Canada; a render of the lobby of the My Little Pony & Transformers Playlodge in Shanghai; and the "Flight to Equestria" ferris wheel at Galaxyland.

Slides 13–14. Mostly licensed merch, although the Izzy brushable on slide 14 still hasn't been seen anywhere other than this presentation.

Slide 15. Another indication that Make Your Mark won't get anything in 2024: the best they can say about it is that it will "live on Netflix" (i.e. won't be removed from Netflix), which was probably going to happen anyway.

Given the "new episodes weekly" statement, 328 minutes can be neatly divided into 4 22-minute episodes and 48 5-minute episodes, all for Tell Your Tale. Consistent episode lengths make sense for Hasbro, since they intend to license their shows out to TV networks with standard half-hour programming blocks.

"Linear and AVOD" probably refers to traditional TV channels and ad-supported free streaming sites. Some past MLP content is already available on "AVOD" sites such as Pluto TV.

It seems like G5 music will continue to have that generic pop sound.

It's implied that some of the video games shown will be updated in 2024. Maybe not all of them, though, since the MLP Roblox game (Visit Maretime Bay) was shut down in February 2023.

Slides 16–17. They want to grow viewership a lot and convert it to toy purchases. They call Tell Your Tale their "one & only ponable content series"; obviously, maintaining two ongoing animated shows would directly contradict this statement.

The Pipp, Misty, Sunny and Izzy brushables shown all seem to be new, as is the concept art for the accessories of the former three. The Izzy brushable is probably the same one as on slide 14.

Slide 18. They will do a bunch of promo stuff, including releasing a licensed console video game in Q3 2024. The first and third Tell Your Tale specials are to be the tentpole moments (i.e. big marketing focal points) of 2024.

Slides 19–20. Slide 20 features some more new stats on how well Tell Your Tale is performing; it has 177 million cumulative YouTube views, good repeat viewership and better repeat purchase rate than Make Your Mark.

This image is from a different presentation, "2023 Marketing Plans". This slide reveals the Secrets of Starlight logo for the fourth and final My Little Pony: Make Your Mark special.

The "album launch" could be referring to the My Little Pony Theme Song (Sped Up + lofi remixes) EP that was released today. Or maybe something else?

This slide is from the other presentation that was revealed, "Hasbro Brands Overview". It doesn't really reveal anything that wasn't previously known, although it does suggest that Bridlewoodstock will feature in more marketing content through the rest of the year.

Notes

Almost all of the text in the 2024 Franchise Overview presentation is shown in the Calibri font. It doesn't seem like it was originally intended to be that way, and I think it might be due to custom fonts not being loaded properly by whoever converted the presentation to PDF. In spite of this issue, the presentation is likely genuine, evidenced by the high quality images embedded in it, including a shot from a future Tell Your Tale episode on slide 8.

Slides 15 and 18 both note that future plans are subject to change. However, it's probably somewhat unlikely that Hasbro could return to Make Your Mark in 2024. Even if they were to commission more Make Your Mark episodes right now, and could justify the budget for it, it would probably still take more than a year before the first episodes could be completed. I could be wrong about this, but there's nothing to suggest that it would be in the interest of Hasbro, Netflix, Atomic Cartoons or anyone else (except maybe the fans) for Make Your Mark to be renewed after 2023.

While the TYT Audience Report and MLP Shopper Analysis by AIM & We Are Family both seem to be focused on 2- to 8-year-old girls, it's not necessarily an indication that Hasbro is focused solely on this demographic – they might just be the most lucrative demographic, or the one whose analysis produced the best numbers to show to Hasbro's investors and partners.

#my little pony #mlp g5 #mlp #my little pony: tell your tale #my little pony: make your mark

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izumi-fanclub · 6 months

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A3! Chikage Mini Talks Translation “Ah, My Dearly Beloved”

Learning Heia period trivia with Chikage and a challenge with Sakyo

Mini Talk 1

Chikage

In the Heian period, people usually only gave their real names to those who were close to them. You’d rarely even get a glimpse of someone’s face.*

Even the main character in “The Tale of Genji”, Hikaru Genji, uses a common name.

They’d communicate with letters and waka poems, and when they visit each other’s homes to talk face-to-face it’d be through formal speech. You’d have to use your imagination and guess what kind of person who you’re talking to is.

If you ask me, that’s pretty useful in a lot of ways I think.

How come?

…I wonder, who knows.

Mini Talk 2

Chikage

I’m thinking of making an Autumn-themed curry palette.

It’d be nice to add some mushrooms or other autumnal ingredients, maybe even add grapes or chestnuts as a secret ingredient.

It should still be sufficiently spicy, of course. I wonder which spices I should use.

I’ll consult with the Spicy Cuisine Research Society too. Citron comes up with some surprisingly interesting ideas.

The taste of autumn and spices will come together beautifully. I’ll make a mean curry for you, so you can count on me, Director-san.

Mini Talk 3

Chikage

I’m not exactly big on romance novels, when it comes to stories from the Heian period however… ethically, I find it questionable; personally, I find it intriguing.

The very customs of love and marriage were determined and influenced by one’s values and background back then. It was pretty interesting for me to learn about it.

Like how someone would marry for the sake of the family, and they’d grow richer in doing so.

…I figured those kinds of values suit me. It’d still be a pain in the ass, though.

Well… someone that loves spices like I do, good-natured, a bit of a mess and worth protecting——.

If there was a noblewoman like a certain someone like that somewhere, I might be willing to be by her side.

…Kidding.

Chikage & Sakyo talk

Chikage

Ah, Sakyo-san, just who I was looking for.

Sakyo

…What do you want?

Chikage

I was planning on doing Hyakunin Isshu* for role-building, now I’m looking for someone to compete with me.

Could I ask you to be my rival?

Sakyo

It could’ve been anyone else, doesn’t have to be me.

Chikage

Oh don’t say that just yet, I didn’t say it’ll be for free. …Hear me out first.

*Chikage whispers something to Sakyo*

…

Sakyo

…Stay true to your word.

Chikage

Of course. I’ll even wrap it up in a plastic bag and hand it to you myself.

Sakyo

…Alright. I’ll bite.

Chikage

Pleasure doing business with you.

Sakyo

This is for role-building, you better not cut any corners.

Chikage

Go easy on me.

———— T/Ns: ————

What Chikage is talking about here is the tradition of women covering their heads or faces when faced with strangers during the Heian era; this is due to the patriarchy setting societal rules for women, this practice eventually dissolved as time and society progressed.

You can read more about it here. Another article with sources.

I’m guessing Chikage is talking about Hyakunin Isshu karuta competitions. Hyakunin Isshu refers to 100 specially selected waka poems from the Nara period to the Kamakura period. In a nutshell, karuta competitions involve reciting certain poem cards, and when they get to a certain point, you swat away the card. Whoever gets to it first wins, it’s a game of agility and discipline.

#a3 translation #a3! translation #a3 event story translation #a3! event story translation #ah my dearly beloved #chikage utsuki #sakyo furuichi #a3 #a3!

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aerequets · 2 years

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anya's big little sibling conundrum

posted on ao3

summary: Anya is excited about the fact that she's going to be an older sibling, until George spins a different tale. Now she can't stop fearing the worst. Luckily, she has friends and parents to remind her that she isn't going anywhere.

a/n: it's common for only children to get jealous when a new kid is on the way. although this isn't exactly anya being jealous, it's more like her being insecure. i think she would be, since she's been returned four times already (😔) but luckily she has GOOD PARENTS to remind her that that's never happening 😤 also hopefully the kids sound like kids but like idk how 7-8 year olds speak so we'll just have to deal with it ig LMAO

also just a few things:

-this is set 2 years later, so the kids at eden are 8 (anya is 7) -loid and yor are together-together; they told each other about their secret occupations, but not anya yet, because she's really young. (obvs she already knows though)

Anya was going to be an older sister.

It was a fact she’d been announcing around school ever since she’d found out. Or, more accurately, ever since her parents had decided to tell her last week. It would be bad if she was announcing Mama’s pregnancy without ever having been told. Despite the fact that a lot of the kids at school were rich and snooty and laughed at her for doing ‘commoner’ things, a younger sibling was something many of them didn’t have—and something that money couldn’t buy. Sometimes classmates she hardly talked to would come up to her and ask about it.

Anya couldn’t lie—she was relishing in the attention a little bit.

Becky had been thrilled, then devastated for a brief spell (“My Loid”, she’d sobbed), but ultimately she was almost as happy as Anya. “I’m a little jealous,” she admitted. “I’d love to have a little baby sister I could dress up. We have to go shopping for clothes.”

“We don’t know if I’ll have a sister or a brother,” Anya pointed out. Becky blinked, as if it hadn’t even occurred to her that the baby might be a boy.

“We can still go shopping,” she contended. “All baby clothes are cute! There’s gotta be gender-neutral clothes too.” She went on to detail the ways in which infant fashion was, in fact, a great industry with much to offer.

Anya hummed along, but truthfully, her mind wasn’t on clothes. She was thinking of all the cool games she’d play with her sibling. They could be an agent recruit in her spy game! She’d show them cool things like silenced-pistols and hideout spots in their home. They’d share peanuts and watch Spy Wars together. And, of course, Anya would have someone to regale with the tales of her super-cool heroic deeds.

Anya snapped back to attention when Becky’s voice turned sour. “Ugh, not them again.”

She didn’t have to look at the approaching posse to see who Becky was referring to. Even though they were in year 3 now—much older, cooler, and more mature in Becky’s own words—Anya hadn’t gotten much closer to Damian. They fought less, but they also weren’t on house-visiting level yet. It was more like a truce than a friendship, but hey. She hadn’t punched him in two whole years. That had to count for something.

“Look who it is.” Ewen was the first one to speak up, a smirk pulling at his face. “Forger and Blackbell. I bet you two were talking about something stupid, like always.”

“We were actually talking about baby clothes,” Becky shot back. It had been more of a one-sided conversation, but Anya didn’t mention that. “Since Anya is gonna be a big sister.”

“We know, you’ve only told us a bajillion times,” Emile said, rolling his eyes. “Big deal.”

“Damian’s big brother is perfect. That’s why Damian is perfect too,” Ewen added, gesturing to the boy standing in the middle of their trio. Damian stayed silent and impassive while Ewen went on. “You better clean up your act or you’ll screw up the kid before they even enter school.”

“I’m gonna be a great big sister,” Anya retorted. “I’ll play with them all the time and share my toys and candy. And give them important life or death advice!”

Emile tsked. “I feel bad for the poor child already. Right, Damian?”

Damian looked haughty as ever, fists stuffed in his pant pockets, but he didn’t agree right away. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Demetrius had done that stuff with me, he thought. Anya’s eyes widened.

“What’re you looking at?” Was what came out of his mouth instead when he caught Anya staring. “Sheesh. The first thing you should teach the kid is that staring all bug-eyed is creepy.”

With that, the trio sauntered off, leaving behind a disgusted Becky and a shocked Anya. Bug-eyed?!

“Whatever, don’t mind them,” Becky huffed. “I know you’ll be a great sister.”

“Thanks,” Anya said warmly. Sometimes she thought about how lucky she was to have Becky as a friend. At that moment, George walked by, stopping when he saw them.

“I heard about your baby sibling,” he said. Anya puffed up.

“Yep, I’m gonna be a—”

“I’m sorry,” George sighed. Anya froze mid-sentence.

“Huh? What for?”

“What? You don’t know?” George turned his face up to the sky and, at that moment, a breeze ruffled by, exemplifying the melancholy expression on his face. “Why…your life as you know it is about to end.”

“WHAT?!” Anya hadn’t heard about anything like that. Was the baby going to kill her once it came?! But surely she’d win, right? She’d done Mama’s special training. But—no, wait. Anya balked. The baby was inside Mama. Did that mean it had her strength, too?! Anya’s head spun as she imagined a swole baby. She might just lose her life.

“Stop talking nonsense,” Becky snapped, dragging Anya out of her reverie. “What do you mean, her life will end?”

“You wouldn’t know, since you’re an only child,” George replied. “But I do. I got a baby sister last year.”

They’d heard about it. George, normally gloomy and sighing about his lack of a social life, had actually been excited and chatty leading up to the birth of his sister, just like Anya was now. “We know,” Becky said. “Congratula—”

“Don’t congratulate me!” George screeched, suddenly all up in their faces. Becky yelped and leapt back. “I was just like you. A fool, a clown, prancing around—” Anya took great offense to that. “—telling anyone that would listen that I was gonna be an older sibling. But do you know what being an older sibling entails?”

It was silent for a few seconds before Anya realized George’s question wasn’t rhetorical. “Um, no?”

“You become second place.” The fire that had lit in George suddenly died as he wilted, shoulders slouching. “Suddenly there’s an adorable baby. Who’s gonna pay attention to you when there’s the baby? Tell me, are there things you like to do with your parents?”

“Yeah!” The list was too long to fully recite, but Anya still prattled off, “Having teatime, playing spy, going to the park with Bond, doing picnics, watching Mama beat up bad guys, going in the secret doors in Papa’s office—”

“Get ready to give all that up,” George interrupted decisively. “Because there won’t be any time for that stuff anymore. It’s either gonna be feeding the baby, or changing the baby’s diaper, or putting the baby to sleep, or playing with the baby. No room for you in there.”

Anya’s jaw slackened in horror. Could it be true? She didn’t want to believe that her life with Mama and Papa would change like that. But… Her heart seized. But I’m adopted. Even Mama knew that fact now, ever since she and Papa had come clean to each other about everything (not that they knew that Anya knew). What if they liked the baby more, since it was actually theirs? What if they decided they didn’t need Anya anymore? Realistically, she knew her Mama and Papa would never do that. But anxiety was rolling through her stomach. They’d already started telling her that with the baby, a lot of big changes would come.

Was one of the changes going to be Anya becoming an outsider?

“Stop scaring her!” Becky scolded, looping a protective arm through Anya’s. “You’re such a downer, George.” With that barb, she dragged Anya away, muttering all the while about how stupid George didn’t know what he was talking about. “That’s not going to happen to you,” she told Anya, impassioned. “For one, my Loid does not discriminate. He’s not going to act all cold towards you just because there’s another kid. And Master Yor has a heart as open as the wide sea! She’s got enough space for a million kids, let alone just two.”

Even though Becky calling her parents “my Loid” and “Master Yor” still weirded her out, Anya was comforted by her best friend’s reassurance. Becky was right: Papa was the most just, level-headed person in the world. And Mama’s heart was the only thing as big and strong as her muscles. She felt her heart lighten up a little as relief filled her core. Everything was going to be fine.

Or so she thought, until she reached home later that day.

When she opened the door, she was met with the sight of Franky lounging on the sofa.

“Scruffy?” Anya asked as her Papa was entering the room. “Why are you here?”

“That’s exactly what I said,” he sniffed. He sounded discontent, although he looked awfully comfortable with a cup of coffee and a plate of snacks spread out before him. He turned to Loid. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not a babysitter?!”

Loid ignored Franky and turned to Anya. He was pulling on his suit-jacket, the one he wore when going out. “Hey there. How was school?”

“Meh. It was the same as usual. But…” Anya considered asking him about what George had said, but decided against it. It was stupid, and Papa was about to leave anyways. ”Where are you going?”

“I’m picking up Yor from work early so we can go to the hospital,” he explained. “The doctor is going to check up on the baby’s growth.”

“Whoa. Can I come?”

Loud chuckled. “Unfortunately, it’s not exactly a thing you can bring a child to. It’s more between the parents, the doctor and the baby.” Anya felt a sting at that sentence. “Which is why Franky here generously offered to stay with you, as he often does.” Franky scoffed.

“Oh… um…” Anya floundered. “Can you help me with my math homework before dinner?”

Loid’s eyes widened. “You want to work on math?” When Anya nodded, a proud look crossed his face, one that Anya relished in. But the good feeling quickly dissipated when Loid sighed regretfully. “It might take some time at the hospital. We’re planning to be back by dinner. I’ll help you afterwards if there’s time.”

“Oh.” Anya swallowed dryly. She’d never been disappointed to not do math before. “Okay. Bye, Papa.”

He knelt down to hug her. He’d been doing that more often lately. Will he stop once the baby comes? Anya wondered. “Goodbye Anya,” he said, turning around to pin Franky with a stare. “Make sure you behave yourself.”

“Hey, why does it feel like you’re saying that to me?”

Loid got up, put his hat on, and departed with one final wave, leaving Anya and Franky in the living room.

“You know, I could help you with math too,” Franky said. “I’m a bit of an engineering genius myself.” Anya must not have done a good job of masking her unimpressed-ness, because Franky sat up straight with an incredibly offended look. “What’s that expression?! I’m offering to help you out here!”

“Why would I want to do math?” Anya asked. She decided to bum around in her room with Bond until her parents got back and left, leaving a flabbergasted Franky behind.

A few hours later, Anya heard the front door opening and rushed out of her room. “Mama! Papa! You’re back!”

“Hello, Anya!” Yor opened her arms and swept Anya into a tight hug. She noticed Franky in the living room and smiled at him. “Hello, Franky. Was everything alright?”

“Hey, Yor. Yeah, everything was fine.” As gruff as Franky was with Loid, he’d taken to being extra nice with Yor ever since he found out about her pregnancy. He said it was because he wasn’t going to risk his neck by invoking her (or Loid’s) wrath, but Anya had read his mind. He was excited about meeting the baby in the future. It was a fact that had made Anya laugh before, but now her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Would even Franky be forgetting about her in lieu of the baby?

“How’s the baby coming along?” Franky asked.

Yor and Loid exchanged a smile. “The fetus is about seven centimeters long now,” Yor said. “And the heartbeat is going strong.”

“How big is seven centimeters?” Anya asked. Loid thought for a few seconds before gesturing to her hand.

“It’s roughly the size of your fist,” he said. Anya clenched her hand and held it up. The baby was awfully small.

“Hmm. That’s good.” Franky’s stiff words were offset by the growing grin on his face. “Hey, now is the time to start thinking about names, isn’t it? I propose Franklin Junior. Very distinguished.”

Loid’s lip curled up in disgust while Yor laughed. “What if it’s a girl?”

“Frankette. Frankina. There’s lots of options.”

“Shouldn’t you get going?” Loid asked. Clearly he wasn’t going to risk the chances of Yor actually liking Franky’s suggestions. “It’s getting late.”

“Wow. You’ll have me over three times a week to babysit but I can’t stay for five minutes on my own?”

“You could join us for dinner,” Yor offered. Franky’s scowl eased into a smile as he turned to her.

“Nah, I was just kidding. Besides, I have got a hot date tonight.” He gathered up his things and patted Anya’s head. “Bye, kid. Enjoy your dinner. And I’m raising my rates for babysitting from here on out!” With that, he slammed the door shut. Loid rolled his eyes.

“Always a handful,” he grumbled. His face melted into a warm smile as he turned to Yor, though. He’d started doing that even before they had told each other their secrets. “I made roasted vegetables earlier today. Do you think you can eat some of that?”

Yor nodded, resting a hand on her stomach. She was only a little over 3 months along, so her coat still covered the small bump. Papa said the bump would get bigger and bigger until it was the size of a watermelon—Anya couldn’t imagine that. “I think those will be good. My body doesn’t reject them as much, at least.” Yor had been suffering morning sickness for the past few weeks. The doctor said it was normal, but Loid still tried finding foods that would make her as less sick as possible.

They sat down to eat dinner. They all talked to each other like usual, but Anya could read their minds and tell that they were thinking about the baby, too.

We could convert the unused bedroom into a nursery, Papa thought. I’ve seen magazines and some parents do themes for the rooms, like nautical, or astronomical. Not to mention, some colors like subtle blues relax the body and mind. Something desaturated and pastel would be best to aid the baby’s comfort and growth to the fullest…

I wonder if we could use Loid’s old bedroom as a nursery, Mama was thinking at the same time. We could do cute decorations for the baby! Like knives… oh, that’s not very child-safe. Some well-contained poisons, then? A couple splashes of red on the wall for color-pop…

Anya shivered. She didn’t really get it—the baby was hardly the size of a tennis ball right now! She couldn’t even read its mind because it didn’t have any thoughts yet. But Mama and Papa were already thinking about its room, and how they would decorate it, and what names would be good if it was a girl or a boy.

George was right. Things had been changing under her nose and she hadn’t even noticed. Where did that leave her now?

“Anya?” She jumped and looked up to see her parents watching her in concern. Yor cocked her head. “Are you alright? You haven’t eaten much.”

“I…” She hesitated. She didn’t want to complain and sound like an immature little kid—after all, she was eight now (technically seven, but that was irrelevant)—and put them off. She would have to ask George what to do at school tomorrow.

“I don’t like carrots,” she said instead, pushing them aside on her plate.

“You should eat them,” Loid chided. “Carrots are good for you.”

“I think your little sibling may like them, too,” Yor said, a faint note of surprise in her voice as she had another piece. She hummed as if it were gourmet steak. “Oh! That’s good.” Anya wrinkled her nose. Of course the baby liked carrots.

“Are we looking at a carrot craving?” Loid asked teasingly. “I have to say, it’s better than olives dipped in jam.”

“That was just for a couple days,” Yor said, cheeks stuffed with carrots and reddening. “Don’t bash it till you try it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, leaning his chin on his hands. Anya could detect the sappiness entering their voices (and minds) and quickly shoveled the rest of her potatoes into her mouth. “Mmkay I’ma go now!”

She had to figure out what to do, and quickly.

…

The next day at school, Anya spent lunch break looking for George. She didn’t think it would be hard before, but she’d neglected to remember that 1) Eden’s campus was massive, 2) she was tiny and getting around took forever, and 3) George was a recluse, which meant he wasn’t in any of the places she checked first.

Becky, bless her heart, was accompanying Anya on her search. Anya hadn’t told her why she wanted to meet with George, but after a while Becky frowned.

“Hey, you aren’t still bothered by what he said yesterday, right?”

Anya froze in the middle of checking underneath a rock. Could Becky read minds too?! “Uhh… nooo?”

Becky sighed. “I knew his words would bother you. He’s not right, you know.”

“You don’t get it!” Anya burst out. “I didn’t notice before, but the baby is all Mama and Papa think about. We don’t do stuff like before now. I even asked Papa to help me with math—which he loooves when I do—but there wasn’t time for even that! What if they already like the baby more than me?”

“Of course things are going to be different now that there’s a baby. That’s not a bad thing,” Becky soothed. “And they’re not gonna like the baby more. You’re their child, too!”

But I’m adopted. Anya bit her tongue. Nobody else knew that except for their family. Nobody else knew that Anya had been returned four times already because those other parents hadn’t liked her enough. She couldn’t lose this life she had now to the same thing. The very thought of it brought tears to her eyes.

“Oh, Anya!” Becky rushed forward, handkerchief already in hand. “Don’t cry…!”

“Ugh. I’ve seen enough of this,” a far-off voice muttered. The girls turned to see Damian stomping out from behind a pillar, looking incensed, with Ewen and Emile trailing close behind.

“Damian?” Becky was aghast. “Were you stalking us?”

“N-NO!” He yelled. “I just saw you two—running around looking for—and—ARGH!” He facepalmed. “Anyways, I just happened to hear what you guys said.”

“So you were stalking and eavesdropping?!”

“That’s not the point!” Damian snapped. He rounded on Anya, one finger outstretched. “You’re being totally stupid!”

“Wuh?” Anya sniffed. She couldn’t recall doing anything to make Damian this mad at her. At least, not yet. “What’s with you?”

“What’s with me? You’re the one taking George’s words seriously and crying about it!” he retorted. “Everyone knows that guy’s a total drama-queen.”

“But-but he was right,” Anya said, voice wobbling. “The baby isn’t even born yet and… and Mama and Papa are already way busier than before.”

“Well, duh! If you’re growing a whole human, then things are gonna change for everyone around you.” Well, when he put it like that, Anya couldn’t even argue back. “You don’t even have to do anything for your parents to love you,” he continued. “And you won’t have to do anything special after the baby is born, either. They’ll love you anyways.” He scuffed the ground with his shoe. “That’s just what your parents are like.”

I’m the youngest kid, and I’m nowhere near the favorite, he thought bitterly. So clearly it’s not a rule for parents to prefer the second kid.

Anya stalled as she watched Damian. His words were relieving in their truth, sharp-tongued as they were, but his thoughts hurt to hear. All of the things she’d been fearing for the past day were things Damian already went through. She really was lucky. Mama always made sure to give her lots of hugs and she always protected her from bad guys. Papa, even when he didn’t show it, was proud of her for the good things she did. They talked to her and laughed with her and took her places. Her Mama and Papa were nothing like Damian’s parents.

She wished his weren’t the way they were, either.

“Sy-on boy…” Anya was considering risking her life and giving him a hug (hugs always made her feel better, after all) when they heard approaching footsteps. All of them turned to see George, timely as ever.

“Ah, Anya!” He waved. “I was looking for you.”

“What? Why?” Becky was in front of Anya in a flash, glowering. “Are you gonna put more trash in her head?”

“Yeah, back off,” Damian said, much to Anya’s surprise. But George held his hands up, placating.

“Actually, I came to tell you I changed my mind about the sibling thing.”

Anya was too confused to even read his mind on this one. “...what?”

“You see, there was this action figure I wanted, but my parents got my sister a doll instead,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. “But they gave it to me today and said it was a surprise. So siblings aren’t really all that bad.”

It was silent. A breeze sent a few leaves twirling by as they all stared at George. Then—united for maybe the first time in all their years at Eden—Anya, Becky, Damian, Emile and Ewen turned around and walked away together.

“Hey, where are you guys going?”

“Total drama queen, like I said,” Damian muttered. At this point their lunch break was almost over. Anya felt a little embarrassed for wasting her (and, inadvertently, everyone else’s) time with such a silly problem. Despite that, though, she felt more relieved than she had been in the past 24 hours. Mama and Papa weren’t going to get rid of her. If Damian could see that, it must be really obvious.

It was when Becky got in a heated argument with Emile and Ewen about tanks that Damian, walking kind-of-next-to Anya but a little too distanced for them to be considered walking together, cleared his throat.

“You should talk to your parents,” he said. “About what you told Becky, I mean. There’s no point in keeping that stuff to yourself.”

Anya tilted her head as she considered him. He was staring at the ground as they walked. She couldn’t figure him out, and his thoughts weren’t clear enough to be of any help. “Why do you care, Sy-on boy?” she asked, out of genuine curiosity rather than as a jab.

His head snapped up at that. Anya could practically (and literally) hear him pushing down the urge to pick a fight. Instead, he gritted his teeth, then sighed. “It’s what I would do,” he admitted, “if I had the chance. You’re lucky.”

She knew that she was lucky. Throwing all caution to the wind, Anya crossed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around him in a quick hug.

As far as hugs went, it was pretty awkward. Mostly because he’d gone so rigid that it felt like she was hugging a mannequin. When she pulled back, his face was so red—practically exploding with anger!—that she instantly regretted her actions. Would he put her in jail for touching him? What if she had to spend the rest of her life paying off the debt from touching his rich-person clothes (they all had the same uniform, but still)?! She had to deflect his attention!

“You should come to my house when the baby is born,” she blurted.

He said nothing. When she peeked into his mind, it was empty. How could it be totally empty? Was this what people meant when they said blind with rage?

“Pink tanks are equally as functional, if not more!” Becky’s voice, growing in volume, floated over to her. “Who’s gonna look at a pink tank and expect actual damage? It’s a sneak attack in your face. It’s a Trojan horse! I’m not wasting time on this anymore!” She stomped back to Anya and grabbed her wrist. “Come on. It’s a total mistake to think these idiots could actually hold a good opinion,” she huffed.

Anya heard it when Becky had already dragged her a few paces away from the boys. It was quiet, and could have easily been lost in the surrounding noise, but she heard Damian say it nonetheless.

“Okay.”

…

When Anya got home that day, both Mama and Papa were sitting in the living room. It was a little surprising since she hadn’t seen both of them at the same time this early in the day for a while now. On top of that, it looked like they’d been waiting for her from the way they both got quiet upon her arrival.

“I’m home?” Her statement came out like a question from her confusion. “Is something happening?”

“Why don’t you sit down?” Loid said, angling his head towards the sofa. Warily, Anya approached. She wished Bond was in the room so she could take a peek into the future.

“Uhh…am I in trouble? I swear I didn’t mean to break the green bowl! It was an accident!”

“You’re not in—wait, that was you?” Loid squinted at her. Anya laughed a little too loudly and scrambled onto the sofa.

“So what’s going on?”

Loid relented and traded a look with Yor. Anya could hear snippets of their thoughts, but couldn’t make any sense of them. Talk to her…recently been feeling…developing…killing anyone who dares harm…efficient communication… It probably didn’t help that their wildly different thoughts were jumbling together.

“We’ve noticed that you’re a little down recently,” Yor said. “And we were worried about you.”

Anya felt a pang of guilt at those words. They had worried about her. She almost decided not to tell them what had brought her down because it felt even sillier now, but Damian’s words floated into her head. There’s no point in keeping that stuff to yourself. It’s what I would do if I had the chance. He was right—Anya could bottle it all up and get worried about it again in the future. Or she could confess to her parents and hear what she needed to hear from them.

“Um… well, the thing is…” Anya felt awkward looking at their faces while confessing possibly the most embarrassing thing she’d done this year, so she fidgeted with her fingers in her lap instead. “See, George at school, he got a baby sister last year. And he told me that once a baby is born the first kid gets forgotten about. He said it becomes about the new baby and there’s no time to do fun stuff with your parents anymore. And I kinda remembered how you were always so busy, even though the baby is, like, only as big as my hand right now.” She was rambling, but was met with silence, so she continued. It was actually a little relieving to spill it all out. “So I got scared… because… I’m adopted and I thought once the baby was born you might not want me anymo—”

Anya found herself suddenly yanked into a solid, warm embrace. When she reoriented herself, she realized her Mama had wound her arms around her, one hand on the back of her head. Warm drops plipped onto her head and Anya realized that Mama was crying.

“That will never happen,” she whispered, kissing the top of Anya’s head. “Oh, Anya. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Even more embarrassingly, Anya felt a lump in her throat. “Because it’s stupid. And I know you and Papa wouldn’t do that. But I got scared by what George said anyways.”

A third, warm hand smoothed down her hair. Papa was sitting next to them now. “Your feelings aren’t stupid,” he said softly. “I was thinking about how we might not have properly gotten you used to the idea of having a sibling. But you handled everything so maturely.”

Anya didn’t think freaking out at George’s dramatics and crying in front of her friends was very mature, but Papa’s praise made warmth bloom in her chest anyways. “I was?”

“You were excited about your sibling before anything else.” Yor slightly eased her hold on Anya. The girl leaned back to see both of her parents beaming down at her. “Do you know why this baby is going to be an extremely lucky child?”

“Because they’ll have you and Mama for parents,” she replied, remembering Damian’s words again. You’re lucky.

“And you as a big sister. You’re going to be an exemplary role model, Anya.”

“...I am?” Anya blinked. “Even with my grades… and my bolts?”

“Yes. Because those things don’t make a person.” Papa poked her chest. “You have a big heart, Anya. You do what’s right and you care about the right things, too. I believe the baby will flourish under your guidance.”

“We’ll always love you, Anya,” Yor added. “No matter what. And your little sibling will, too.”

Anya felt like her heart would overflow. Her Mama and Papa couldn’t undo all the times she’d been returned, but for the first time Anya was grateful that she hadn’t stayed with the Levskis, the Williams, the Roches, or anyone else.

Because then she would have never been a Forger.

“I’ll tell you everything from now on,” she promised, voice muffled by Yor’s sweater. “I promise.”

“Good.” They stayed like that for a while, the three of them wrapped up, and at some point Bond woke up from his nap in the other room and came over to join them.

Anya got a fuzzy glimpse of the future from the dog. It looked like she, Mama and Papa were out shopping somewhere, pushing a shopping cart. They were looking at different baby toys.

Anya was excited. She’d make sure to pick out the best toy for the baby.

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