#But he sees his mirror self in you and at the very least the irony of showing you mercy where he was given cruelty makes him laugh

[kakusu-shipping]

Sup mother fucker I don't know what damn thing about you and your shit but I heard you like Luca Blight and I'm willing to chat as an anon about this I've given up.

I have this unhinged thought in regarding your little post....What if the very funny thing that the reader is doing is just being a pig full-time.

This is straight up your life now. 24/7

The girly you seen in the beginning stop acting like a pig and that was her mistake she should have committed. ( lmao what if you did it unprompted with no hesitation completely unbothered)

You are on borrowed time and you don't want to become bacon so oink oink forever you guess.

Drop to the ground start rolling in the mud and eating grass

Maybe after a while he'll let you stand and not eat off the floor? .... probably not

Tis I, the Luca Blight fucker, and by that I mean I love him so deeply he's such a mess I could never fix him and neither could anyone else and I love that for him. Unhinged to the extreme

It's like pet pay but completely non sexual and not even in a Soft Wholesome Ace Dom/Sub way you are just an object to him, at most an animal to his side, a beast he can toy with as he pleases. He is a spoiled 5 year old and you are the declawed kitten his daddy got him for Christmas. He will hold you, he will throw you, he will hurt you and love you and do as he pleases and you have no say in the matter.

The concept of Luca taking you around though, to villages he burns to see that you will never have an escape, to meetings to show how loyal everyone is to him, how total his control is, how guarded you are. You're not an example to them, they're an example to you. You have nothing else but him.

And he's not even holding you out of love, he doesn't even really force you to stay, at least to him. Sure your options are Stay or Die but it's not like he's actively gripping onto you or chaining you up at night. If you ran, and died by his guards, it would not affect him, thought he would have liked to do it himself, in the end it means nothing to him to see your corpse.

He'd be a perfect Yandere to write about but he doesn't even care about you. You are nothing to him, like everyone else is this putrid world he hates. He keeps you because you're mildly more amusing than the other pigs of the lands, because you committed to being a pig for him, because you chose to live in shame on all fours eating off the floor rather than die with your head held high.

You're like him in that way.

[ataraxiaspainting]

Morningstar's Road.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan Feitan.

Synopsis: Your routine is average, to say the least. But due to Chrollo’s orders, Feitan cannot snatch you up yet – so he simply mirrors your behaviors instead for self-satisfaction. His boss does so too.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, a few suggestive actions, manipulation, some descriptions anxiety/depression for the reader, animal death, and violence/some gore.

Word Count: 4.4k.

*~*~*~*

Feitan is so close to you that he can just about hear your beating heart. He could only see the back of your head, hair loose and surely will be knotted by the morning sun, but he can smell you whenever he is this close.

You always smell so nice, but for some reason, you smell even better – of that floral-scented oil you put on your neck and wrists before you go to bed. Maybe you added extra because it is the weekend.

You are on your right side – the fetal position was always your favorite – and hugging a plush that resembles your childhood cat. This was typical behavior for you; you had cried for days when your older sister called to say he had passed from old age. You weren’t weeping anymore, but you were when you saw the stuffed animal near the window of that dollar store you pass by daily on your way to work. You named it Silky, the same as the real thing, and tuck it in whenever you are in and out of bed. Feitan somewhat wished he could get the same treatment, to be in your arms as you sleep and to feel just a hint of your comforting warmth.

Feitan brought his own blanket.

It isn’t pastel pink like your sheets or your pillowcases or your pajamas and it has holes from moths and years of being stretched as he grew and his fights came to have higher and higher stakes.

If he had recalled correctly the bloodstains from the first time he was stabbed were just under the giant white skull pattern, although since most of the blanket is black it wouldn’t show even in the brightest of lights.

If he had recalled correctly the bloodstains from the first time it was stolen are still there too; on the bottom right corner.

“This type of nen won’t last forever, Fei.”

Feitan turns his neck, his bandana doing little to hide the slight scowl on his face. “I know.”

“Now, now… I never said you did not.” Chrollo responds while giving a small smile, still having the Bandit’s Secret in his right hand while your diary is held in his left. He turns to the next page while Feitan goes back to snuggling up beside you.

If Chrollo had a third arm, he could have the rest of your coffee you didn’t finish and left in your fridge. There is a lipstick stain, the color of that tint you often sport when in your office space. A light taffy color, he muses. 

Very fitting.

“I simply wanted you not to fall asleep too slow or too deep, we do have to leave by dawn after all.”

Feitan said no answer. Chrollo is used to that – a little too used to it, maybe, but Feitan has always stood out from fellow people from Meteor City even by the Phantom Troupe’s standards.

“Same oil?” He asks, and on cue, Feitan gives a loud sniffing sound.

“Yes.”

“Cute.”

Around your waist Feitan’s left arm lays, and his right hand holds the blanket tighter than a noose.

If Chrollo were to guess, if Feitan had a third arm he would put two of its fingers on your lips to feel how soft they were. Chrollo had done so before, but his friend hadn’t. He almost chuckles at the irony. The member of the Troupe the most intimate when it comes to matters of anatomy and torture felt that his fingertips having pink on them was a line he could not cross. It’s almost funny in a way. It’s adorable.

“Boss.”

“Hm?”

“For just a while,” Feitan starts. His tone is shy, like a little boy about to ask his classmate crush for their hand in marriage. “Can you read it to me?”

“‘It’?” Chrollo teases slightly, yet he knows what Feitan is talking about.

“The thing in your hand.”

“‘Thing’?”

Feitan huffs a bit and follows it up with a sigh.

“The… diary. Please.”

*~*~*~*

I think I’m getting worse and wondering if I have ever been happy with myself.

There is this girl that sits at the desk across from mine, Lyra is her name, and I don’t hate her by any means.

I just wish I was her, you know? She gets along with everyone in our office, Her hair is always nice. She has only been here since February and has already been promoted to the status it took me three years to get. 

Don’t get me wrong, she is incredibly nice and I always have a few laughs with her from time to time. Maybe it’s just my insecurities getting to me.

I wonder if sometimes she has similar thoughts when with other people, or even me if that were possible. I know she has a habit of procrastination and has a record of not handing in her work until a few days or weeks later – those are qualities I don’t have, but maybe she doesn’t feel anything negative about herself.

I’m known as the quiet and sweet girl at my job.

I’ve always had a bone to pick with the title, in a way. All my life that is what I was labeled as. People come to me for advice, and it does make me feel good, but I wish I could be a jokester like Lyra too.

That’s all I have… at least for now, I guess. I’m going to drink tea with honey and go to bed.

May 8th

*~*~*~*

The duo entered through the front door this time. You were gone tonight, as evidenced by the messy pile of umbrellas and house shoes that flooded the entrance, so they could break in without much sneaking around. They know where you headed to – and for now, Chrollo orders Feitan not to slit the man’s throat and gouge out his eyes. Your boyfriend, the only one of your past romantic interests not yet dead. Francis.

He’s quite the simple fellow as Chrollo had noted. Feitan was only focusing on where his organs started and ended when they both saw you with him near midnight months before.

“Not yet.”

Chrollo turns his head and looks down at Feitan as they walk down the hall. 

“I know you’re still thinking about it, but your actions may cause our plan to fail.”

No verbal response, though Chrollo notices how Feitan’s steps get slightly louder.

“Fine.”

“Are you saying you’re fine? Or are you still agreeing to not go haywire on the man yet?”

“New one.”

“Hm?”

“New word.” Feitan’s nails retract slightly from your walls as he rolls his eyes. “Hay… wire.”

His hand stops at a photo of your dead cat framed on the wall – he’s a kitten in this one, with his first collar and teenager you hugging him – but your face is cropped out.

He moves the hand away from it for just a few steps. Chrollo finds it polite of him – as polite as Feitan can be with others, anyway.

At the same time, they consider bringing the photos you took off your walls and onto whatever penthouse walls Chrollo has rented out for the next few months or so. It would be cute seeing smiling pictures of you all over, especially since you’ll be switching locations soon enough, and in turn, that expression will soon enough become rare. 

But when Chrollo thinks about the idea further, a problem arises. Your photos aren’t focused on you. They’re focused on your friends and family. You are always in the corner or hidden behind someone else. It’s of your own volition. Chrollo is sure of it. Perhaps he can get Shalnark to work his magic on them and ignore the teasing. Feitan would do nothing more than threaten to bash in his teeth, as with friends he is nothing more than a ‘grumpy wet cat’ – those are Shalnark and Uvogin’s own words. Not Chrollo’s.

“No.”

“Hm?”

“I’ll cut ‘em,” Feitan suggests while putting his sharp nails on your bedroom’s door frame.

“How do you intend to do so when there’s near nothing to cut out?” Chrollo asks. Feitan goes silent until he sits on your bed.

It’s still unmade. You must have ignored that chore list of yours again and opted to work extra hours instead.

Chrollo sits down at the small part of your room that is clean; your desk. It’s mainly used for just reading and video games, hence why the only two things not neatly in piles are a book and your computer. Shalnark told them both the password, but neither of them had decided to tread into that territory for multiple reasons. Firstly, neither of them knows a single thing about the internet and simulations. Secondly, Shalnark can just get whatever information they need without them looking inside it themselves anyway. Thirdly, they already know you enjoy wholesome things on there – the opposite of what you’re reading, if the books on your unfinished read pile mean anything to Chrollo – so there is no point in venturing for unneeded facts about you.

You’ll surely tell them yourself one day. 

Eventually. In maybe weeks. Months. Years. 

Eventually.

It’ll feel like forever and a day if you decide not to talk to either of them. Chrollo and Feitan have agreed without any argument that if you want something, you will ask them. Nicely, of course. 

Broken fingers aren’t necessarily something people flaunt. 

You wouldn’t brag about being forced onto a lap for hours out on a balcony either. 

You’ll eventually tell them. You have to. For your sake.

Eventually. Nothing lasts forever, after all.

“Fei. I promise you that this will be worth the wait.”

Feitan shakes his head, scoffing. “Will it? It would have been easier to just grab her and run.”

“I know,” Chrollo leans in a little, putting his elbows on his thighs. “I know. But you’ll lament it. I would have too if I had agreed with you to go down that route.”

A stare is the response.

It isn’t anger, Chrollo knows that much.

No. 

In all the years Chrollo has known Feitan, Feitan has never gone back on his loyalty to him and the Troupe.

But. But.

Chrollo hasn’t ever seen him have such a concurrence when there is still such division in his eyes.

“Are you sad?” He asks.

“No,” Feitan replies, looking at your cat plush instead of his leader of the full moon outside.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

*~*~*~*

Francis lives outside the city in a farmhouse. It’s up a tall hill with no pathway aside from little rectangular stones here and there – and if you ignore the animals and their housing, people would think that the place is deserted.

Feitan and Chrollo make their way to the white picket fence surrounding the chicken coop. They continue to bite down into the soil for worms or leftover grain. All female. Only three were brown; the others were smaller in frame and white.

“I’ve heard his eggs go for high prices in markets,” Chrollo grins a little. “Maybe I’ll raise some chickens of my own in my later years.”

Feitan raises an eyebrow at him.

“I was joking, Fei.” He clarifies.

“Ah.”

Feitan continues to walk with his hands still stuffed into his coat pockets. 

Chrollo looks at the farmhouse up at the top of the hillside. The lights are still on, meaning you were most likely still up and about in there.

The rooster resting on top of the mailbox makes eye contact with him for a few moments.

“Don’t scream,” Chrollo murmurs, his words sweet as sugar.

“What?” Feitan asks, not even bothering to turn around.

“I’m talking to the rooster.”

“[First]’s rubbing off on you too much.” His friend rolls his eyes and makes sure not to step on a twig.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed how these animals look at us.”

“They’re animals now. What came before… that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Maybe to you – but I find it intriguing.”

“Talk later,” Putting his hand on the fence gate that leads to Francis’ garden, Feitan turns his head for just a moment. “Near. Quiet. Look.”

For once, Chrollo is the one that does the nodding.

The gate gives off a little squeak as it is opened. It reminds them of Francis’ prized pet pig Annie – though she is only allowed to be inside.

There are all sorts of vegetables and some fruits back here. Cucumbers, chili peppers, watermelons, corn, tomatoes, peaches, pears. They’re all in pristine condition, and so are the flowers growing in pots near the far-off window sills.

Feitan considers giving you the daisies. 

Chrollo considers giving you the marigolds.

They both look at the pig’s head hastily buried under the soil, her ears still popping out and facing the moon. Despite the interment being new, perhaps even being dug today, flies have already spread to the top part of the head and ears. They’re happy you didn’t see her because that would be quite an awful gift from your boyfriend.

Francis is probably happy too, not that they care.

From what Shalnark was able to gather from someone who barely has any social life, Francis moved here from another country about four years ago. He acquired this farm and its land almost immediately afterward. 

From a lottery, Shalnark had explained to them. Or an inheritance. Either way, man’s life is going pretty dang good. Too good, actually, because my senses are tingling too much.

Shalnark was right in that regard. Francis may adopt animals from time to time from farmers’ markets, but a majority of them suddenly appear a few days or weeks apart. There were three white chickens he had purchased. Then after a month or so, there were twelve. The three brown ones came all at once one day.

“Where’s Annie?” They hear you ask as you open one of the windows to get some fresh air. “She usually runs to the door to see me…”

Using hatsu to conceal their presence, the pair aren’t detected among the plants.

“She ran away.”

Feitan almost snickers at your boyfriend’s answer, looking down at the flies and corpse rotting beneath his feet. He didn’t mind the smell of rotting flesh – he has almost always enjoyed it since he was in his teenage years.

Chrollo’s feet don’t dig into the soil – he has opted to instead stand on the few pieces of stone that are by the cucumber plants. He makes a note to go to the laundromat after this; even though it has already been the third time in a row this week alone.

If he can convince Feitan, they’ll steal some things from your place to wash up too – Francis has always been touchy, after all.

“That’s weird,” You say worriedly, not looking into the garden anymore but instead inside; to Annie’s little bed huddled next to the window. “Did you leave the gate open?”

“Yes, I’m still rather upset about it but I’m sure she’ll be found soon.”

Soon. Chrollo grins a bit as he closes his eyes, imagining the moment he’ll save you from this man. Soon isn’t enough. No. This…

This is the moment.

This is the day.

This is the time.

“Feitan.”

“Hm?”

Francis will die today. Or tomorrow maybe, Chrollo isn’t completely sure.

“Don’t make it too bloody,” He instructs, getting off the stones and onto the dirty tiles of the garden’s path to the back door. “I’ll focus on her. We’ll leave the others alone.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Feitan.”

Feitan looks confused for a moment. If Chrollo were someone who hadn’t grown up beside him, he wouldn’t have noticed the small millisecond of his friend showing emotion. ‘For what?’ He wants to ask. 

Chrollo knows it. He knows it so he answers the silent question. “For being more vulnerable with her and I. [First] seems to have rubbed off on you too much too, huh?”

“I don’t like your jokes,” Feitan replies as he stuffs his pockets even more – perhaps to hide his balled-up fists. Whether they were made from the hatred of Francis or the annoyance of everything else is up to interpretation. No one will be getting an answer anyway, even Feitan himself. “You’re very happy lately.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Chrollo’s grin widens just a smidge more. “We’re about to rescue a princess.”

From that look, he knows Feitan agrees with his reasoning and is happy as well.

*~*~*~*

“You’re beautiful, darling.”

You’re laid out on Francis’ bed. It’s rather large for a room this size, but it is comfortable to undress on. You picked a periwinkle blue dress today with buttons on only its top front side. Francis wanted to help but you declined. You don’t decline a lot of things, especially when it comes to him. Francis is annoyed by that but he tries not to let it show. He hides a lot of things from you.

“Thank you.” You sheepishly smile, a light flush on your cheeks as you start to undo your buttons.

“Of course,” You’re his favorite by far. You aren’t stuck up or are with him just for his money. You’re so nice to him. You’re so sweet to him. “I wouldn’t lie to you, honey.”

You aren’t like those whores, those sluts, those fucking cheap little bitches.

“I’ll take it slow since it’s your first time and all.” He promises.

You look up at him.

Your frown is just barely noticeable – but noticeable enough for him to see.

“What’s wrong?” Francis asks.

“Lyra’s still missing… I’m worried.”

“Why?” Francis asks, getting more annoyed the more time you spend covered up. “Why are you so worried about her right now? It’s not the time for that.”

“I don’t know,” You look at the open window, cool air still blowing in along with the slight scent of flowers. “I really don’t, I just… have suddenly gotten a little sad just now.”

You’re shivering a little.

“Ah, you must be cold.” He deflects. Having only his shirt on now, he walks up to the windowsill and looks at the vegetable patch. With both hands, he pulls the window closed. “Better?”

You must not have heard him, because you keep playing with your buttons instead of being fully undressed already.

“Could you…” 

Ah. You did hear him, but you seem concerned for something else. That’s fine, as long as you aren’t playing with him and will soon attempt to run away. 

“Close the curtain? Please? I’d really… appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Francis replies, his smile returning to his face. “Anything for you. Just get comfortable, pumpkin.”

The wicked thing came all at once before either of you could blink. Shards of glass flew into Francis and into the bedroom walls. Francis screams as his bleeding hands are quick to go to his eyes, his fingers attempting to get the glass shards out of them before his vision is gone for good. In front of you was a stranger in a suit – he pushed you out of the way in a fraction of a second and onto the floor. The bed had shielded you and him. 

“Are you alright?”

You’re too shocked for words, peeking from behind the bed to where Francis is still screaming.

In front of him was a man in all black stepping on the back of his head with one of his feet. The soles of his boots seemed lodged into Francis’ scalp, and it takes you a moment to realize why. There were spikes on them; not that you could see them much because of how hidden they seemed to be right now. They’re silver judging by the color of their slight sparkle, but the rusted kind. No. Maybe that’s just the bloodstains.

The feeling in your chest is so horrible like you’re very sick. There’s pressure on your heart. It’s strangling you, despite the taller stranger’s grasp on your shoulders being so pleasant. So tender.

“What are you doing?” You screech. The sound doesn’t make either of the intruders flinch. Francis does instead. “Let go of him!”

The shorter man doesn’t look at you, opting to wedge the spikes of his shoes further into Francis’ brain. You try to get up but the man in the suit pulls you back down, shushing you as you protest and cry. “Don’t… it’ll be over soon. I told him to be gentle, you see.”

“Gentle?” You repeat.

“Yes, my dear.” One of his hands rises from your shoulders to where your eyes are. You struggle some more and the stranger whispers something in your ear. “Behave – I can always tell Feitan to torture him the amount he deserves if I wanted to. I know he wants to.”

You deflate and your eyes are forced shut by his palm. “Please stop… I don’t know what we did, just please-”

“You didn’t do anything,” The other man – Feitan if the taller man had named him right and he wasn’t just some assassin he hired; he said his name so tenderly too like he is an old friend – interrupts you. “He did.”

You feel like you’re about to throw up all the wonderful food you just ate. Chicken pot pie, beef tenderloin, roasted pork belly – it all feels like it is about to release from your throat and onto the wooden planked floor below.

“Oh dear,” Another hand covers your nose and mouth. Instead of blood you now smell cologne – sandalwood and amber. “Can you please hurry up, Fei? She looks like she’s about to collapse.”

*~*~*~*

“It’s a wonderful time to be alive,” Chrollo says as he puts the key into his car’s lock. It’s embedded with little multicolored jewels – he had commissioned some artist to customize it for him a week or so ago while Feitan went into your home on his own. “Or at least a wonderful night. Wouldn’t you say so?”

You’re in the passenger seat. You fell unconscious after Francis’ barely alive body got its fingers broken one by one. Some of his blood got on your skirt, but Chrollo is sure that the laundromat will fix that just like the workers will fix his clothes. As long as he pays them enough or threatens them enough. The latter would be more fun for Feitan but the former would let him be seen as a kind patron. Whichever way the coin flips. 

He doesn’t blame you for fainting. If he hadn’t been born in Meteor City and hadn’t been raised in a constant state of fear and a constant battle for power over others, he would most likely do the same. 

Feitan is in the back, silent. His hands now have gloves on them and are now brushing through your hair.

“Should we make the pit stop or go straight?” After the second question, the car’s lights turn on.

“Bed.”

The car starts moving into the barren street. 

“Alright,” Chrollo chuckles a little at the insistence in Feitan’s tone. “We can get some of [First]’s clothes tomorrow then. She’ll probably sleep throughout the day.” 

He doesn’t explain why because they both already know the reason. There is a short chain attached to the main bed. Depending on your behavior early on, it will either lengthen or become briefer. 

There are also some syringes in the mirror vanity that Feitan asked him over and over to keep in case of an emergency. He doubts there will be any real threat where they would have to use them. 

Feitan doesn’t. Feitan doesn’t doubt many things.

“Blankets too.” 

Feitan doesn’t ask for many things either, much less demand them.

“Ah,” Chrollo makes the left turn as his fingers tap on the steering wheel. It’s a song you enjoy listening to on your avenue home. He knows you aren’t listening to it but that doesn’t matter right now. He’ll continue to do so until your mind associates the tune with small controlled adventures to and fro and not you having a life of your own. “All of them?”

“Yes. Please.”

“You don’t say that word very often,” He teases, looking at the flat glass mirror overhead.

“Hmph.”

Putting his hand on your thigh, Chrollo continues to drive while still glancing upward now and then. 

*~*~*~*

Your heartbeat has calmed down. Feitan is now able to look at your face as you sleep. 

You look at peace now. When he had placed you on the bed, your eyebrows furrowed for a moment – perhaps your subconscious being afraid – or disgusted – by him.

The flowery scent of your perfume vanished long ago and has been replaced by a stinging one. Feitan doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind a lot of things when it comes to you.

Unlike the bodies of those who have died by his hands, Feitan places the white blanket on top of you gently like you would shatter if he was just a tad bit rougher. 

Well… Body bags don’t really count as blankets, do they? They are meant to be ripped open and stuffed full of parts no wandering soul hopes to find.

Chrollo decides to break the silence. “After she adjusts a little, we’ll leave. Or you can stay if you want. I can carry her things on my own.”

Feitan turns to look at him.

“Pictures.”

Chrollo sighs. “Alright. But we’ll get Shal to edit them. No cutting.”

“...Tch. Fine. Silky too.” A thumb is pressed against your lips. After it is lifted, there is a light pink that covers its print.

“It’s a pretty color, isn’t it?” Chrollo muses, hanging his suit jacket on the edge of his sofa as he holds his book. “I’ll try to get the same shade for her when she runs out of it. Though I suspect it will be a while before then, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Feitan states, rubbing his thumb against your lips more. “She will always be pretty to me.”

“Never took you for the romantic type, Fei.”

“Hmph.”

[kandadze]

Ep 27 loose thoughts

Well, that's one way of snapping someone shell-shocked out of making a drastic decision. I feel like PSJ snapped something in herself at this moment, too. Anyone else found the ancestor's commentary going on in the background while the girls are bawling their eyes out hilarious? Just me? Okay.

While I was waiting for the ever burning wood to activate or something, the moment WX opened the box to reveal dried flowers I choked. ZYC!!!

Baby!Yichen breaks my heart, so impressionable, so open to learn. It's interesting to see that the phrases about suffering we've seen him use as an adult might have come from WX... Not a fan of telling people in mourning to stop dwelling in misery and sadness like it's as simple as flipping a switch (not to mention, she apparently *just* met him for the first time? The heck?), but at least the rest of her words seem to have helped him... so much that he kept the flowers 😭 The irony of her snow metaphor contrasted with their current predicament is indeed exquisite, A+ for that.

Are they going to be saved by the power of lurrrrve??? (At least this time. Still holding out for how that's gonna play out in the finale.) I mean, what other way to sway an ancient creature who's seen pretty much everything there is to see, than to show them something new? What's that? A test for a future event? (I'm getting really paranoid about nothing we've seen so far being real. It's like Alice in Wonderland on a bigger scale. Or Finnegans Wake on a smaller scale. I don't know.)

Oooh Bingyi and Ying Long, our original doomed couple (of self-sacrificial idiots)! I would watch a whole drama just about them. And damn, I can definitely see where Zhao Yuanzhou got his masochism from. Stoppppp not "Just let me be the first star"! (Especially since I just remembered ZYZ's "I'll be the rain...") It's not supposed to be literal! 😭😭😭 Ahhhh this scene just broke me, also because it seems to reinforce the idea that ZYZ *has* to be killed for the greater good. The visualssss in the execution- sacrifice? What the heck do I even call it?- scene though, soooo good!

"Let me do it myself." LET ME DO IT MYSELF??? FUCKKKKKKK DAMNIT HE JUST- ::head in hands, crying forever::

"Remember. This is my choice, not yours. You don't have to bear any blame or guilt." That's not how that works. That's not how any of that works!

Again, we're dealing with choices. But the fact that ZYZ choice was the same as Ying Long's... the fact that YL says that neither he nor Bingyi had any regrets... oh this is going to hurt.

Oh? ZYZ's future is not what he wants? (And wouldn't that be funny, considering ZYZ's own words while schooling ZYC in the very first ep... 9 times out of 10, things don't go our way?)

"You two are really like us." 😭😭😭

I was wondering if they were going to show us what ZYC saw, and not only does the image of ZYZ's body on that dark floor mirror Ying Long's body floating in the water, both ZYZ and ZYC wear the same clothes as in the very few scenes from the trailer that didn't happen yet... These poor sods, they've been Going Through It for almost a decade now with the only end in sight being yet another tragedy (even if the drama seems to suggest that they don't see it that way at this point.) ::head in hands, crying continues::

"My friend is here. We'll go together." The *sound* I made. Everything else this drama has given me aside, the growth of these characters and their bonds is so well done, and absolutely precious to me.

I want Ying Long's hopes and wishes for them to become true. Seeing how there's hints everywhere in this drama, I hope the words of one of the most powerful beings in existence will count for *something* in the end! (Am I grasping at straws? Maybe. Let me be delusional for a bit longer.)

What do you mean, five, ZYC? What's Ying Lei, chopped liver?

Oof this *almost* hug before WX starts feebly hitting ZYZ. It's relief, it's anger, it's fear for the next time, it's all the feelings that became too big to contain. I feel her so much. (I would've started whacking both him and ZYC way earlier tbh 😅) And ZYZ allowing her that release before pulling her in for reassurance, patting her as if she was a scared child. 😭 Cut to PSJ, looking as if she wanted nothing more but to be the one offering the reassurance to WX. Cut to ZYC, remembering that willingly or not, he's going to hurt WX beyond reassurance. Once again, the bonds in this drama!

Wait hold up hold on what? You just removed Bingyi's blood from him, that should mean that ZYC will not have to become a demon, right? So what's that about developing the inner core? (Also, I just realized that so far all they got from this trip was "go east and ask for a dragon scale" lol) Thankfully him and ZYZ had their conversation(s) about titles and identities so being asked to make that particular choice was not completely out of left field at this point. And all he cares about is whether that means that the last trace of Ying Long will disappear! 😭 (I'm so with Bingyi on this one... I would hold onto that last shred of my friend's existence, too, *especially* if they offed themself via my goddamn sword.)

What's with that look after he says that he thinks he has it - the inner core - is there a joke here somewhere? (I *gotta* go back to learning the language, the things I'm undoubtedly missing on!) The only thing I can think of is - did they think he said he's pregnant??? ::dies:: "So what's your true form?" "Must be dragon." "I say you're a mule." "Better than being a monkey." "I'm a white ape!" ::dies again:: Nice to see we still get a friendly ribbing between all of them, and I can breathe after all the angst. Fingers crossed? There's still 5 minutes left...

Oh good, let's talk about getting Bai Jiu back! (I knew there was one more character from the opening credits that didn't show up yet... guess it's the rebel princess.) While Ao Yin is eavesdropping! Talk about good hearing. Sigh, here it comes, another goal they have that will conflict with Li Lun's; they want the scale to restore the sword, and LL not only doesn't want that to happen, the scale could potentially help him get rid of the poison.

Oh for fuck's sake, I think I was subconsciously waiting for Chongwu Camp to show up, knowing that they've eavesdropped on the gang earlier, and here they are. ZYZ should really think of putting up some sound barrier when they discuss important plans, everyone seems to know exactly what they'll be doing at any given moment!

Ahhhh we're getting a nod to that little cough and stumble WX had shortly before this trip. Something's wrong with Baize token? Or with her connection to it? We only have 7 episodes left, drama!

(ZYC is such a good little brother.) Oh great, it was the rebel princess who killed WX's dad? I repeat, we only have 7 episodes left!

Sigh... with only 7 episodes left, we *also* find out that the goddamn 3-face-mask has history with the princess? And has everyone and their mother sat on that little bridge???

This feels like the endless final scenes in Peter Jackson's "Return of the King," my head is spinning.

Note to self, *stop* looking at previews. Ying Lei, what the absolute fuck?

[cambion-companion]

Hi! I really loved your Raphael writing, so i got a lovely fic idea. Raphael x reader (platonic). Raphael discovered that reader is another cambion, even more surprising his daughter he had no idea existed. Have a good night/day😼

Hello, my dear! Thank you very much for the fic idea :) You're forcing me to exercise my self restraint I see. I will tweak this just a lil if you're wanting a reader who is Raph's daughter, she would be a Tiefling technically ;)

Let's see how he reacts.

OH and yes this about THAT Tiefling girl you see at the brothel in Act III.

little drabble ahead...

The Sharess' Caress.

A lovely den where the lonely and desperate wandered so willingly into Raphael's capable hands.

He considered himself more magnanimous than most devils, certainly better dressed.

His smile carefully shaped to exact the exact reaction from his potential clients, luring them into a false sense of security.

"Sign your name here, my friend." He said, making sure his voice held no sign of overbearance or eagerness.

The name was scrawled, a new deal was struck. Raphael was satisfied, bowing the latest of many gullible mortals out the door of his den.

He leaned against the doorframe, watching them go, smiling still; though this time he allowed a sinister edge to creep into his carefully crafted brown human eyes.

His ever-keen gaze drifted along the carpeted hallway, drawn to the movement of a gray-skinned Tiefling as she walked toward him, unaware of his presence.

As always, Raphael flicked his eyes over the creature, taking in every aspect of her that showed on the surface. Any sign of a weakness or vice he could potentially exploit.

Her orange eyes were fixed on the ground, a frown upon darkly painted lips.

She bore the obvious traits of a Tiefling descended from Mephistopheles. Interesting. Irony twisted Raphael's mouth in a wry grin as he considered just how she might be related to him.

Her horns gave him pause. Raphael's eyes narrowed. Regal horns, ridged and curving. A set of four, two smaller beneath the much larger pair. An exact mirror of his own.

"A moment." Raphael stepped out into the hallway, not directly blocking the girl's path, but garnering her immediate attention.

She halted, several paces away. Her tail swishing to and fro, a sign she may flee. "Yes?" Her voice wary. She had a modicum of intelligence at least.

Raphael didn't say anything for a moment, trying to gain a sense of how distant a relation to him this Tiefling was. "I noticed your beleaguered expression." He spoke, trying to ease her nerves. His voice just the right amount of soothing, as he'd practiced to perfection. "Perhaps I may be of assistance."

The Tiefling gave him a bemused look, pulling her chin in slightly. Raphael watched her closely, there was something about her that cried out in its familiarity.

Surely, she was not his direct descendent. Granddaughter or even daughter perhaps?

Yet if she was...what a delightful opportunity that would be.

"I don't think you'd offer me anything I haven't tried myself." She finally spoke, a lilting cadence that betrayed caution yet intrigue. "I doubt you could do what I cannot."

He almost laughed. "I assure you, there is very little I cannot do given the proper motivation." Raphael tilted his head and held out a hand, gesturing an invitation to the curious creature. "Come, if you're so self-assured what harm would you suffer from a little chat?"

Her amber eyes focused on his face for a moment, she seemed drawn to him as well. Curious.

With a twitch of her tail, the Tiefling shrugged and stepped with an air of self-confidence and a whiff of challenge into his den. Only Raphael's eyes moved as he watched her move.

Yes, perhaps she was closely related to him after all. He couldn't begin to name all the mistresses he'd taken to his bed over the centuries, it certainly was a possibility not to be readily dismissed.

And if she was his daughter...he would have her allegiance and her soul. Yet another faithful ally to bring more souls and more power to his Infernal doorstep.

[sunsetcougar]

Ok, Biotech Exorcists AU, I have a question and an idea.

Does Adam ever actually DIE in the biotech AU? I can’t remember if he does or he’s just stuck in a cell being tortured in various ways.

Anyway, the Idea.

In the case Adam DOES die, rather than having him just be dead, have him reincarnate in the human world.

Having him be “just a guy” on earth would be rather anticlimactic though so my next idea is that his life is absolute shit. Give this guy the works, have his parents die in front of him with it being his fault and then the foster system sticks him with bad guardians. Make him homeless as an adult.

Here’s the kicker though, give him 2 things, the first being 1 or more missing limbs, and give him technological prowess. Essentially, have Adam end up somewhat recreate the exorcists again, except this time the one who gets all the pain is him.

(He tests on himself) this could be his lucky break, his way out of poverty) he feels like if he doesn’t try to help people he’ll die) he doesn’t know why he’s so invested in this (he doesn’t make his own prosthetics any more comfortable, he feels like that’s cheating)

Finally, he could actually be a fairly decent person this time around, self-actualized and junk. Like he knows he’s and asshole, he’s trying to be better, sorta.

TL;DR Adam reincarnates as a human, but his life sucks so terribly that neither heaven nor hell is sure that they really need to continue punishing him, I mean He’s kinda torturing himself at this point. On top of that he’s actually an ok guy this time around so should they really?

Okay so both of these asks have been sitting in my inbox since… August. Sorry about the long wait, but I was turning them over. I love both ideas and wanted to find a way to combine both into the AU, which took some thought and bouncing ideas off of @northwind808 and @speak-easy-anon so thank you both for that.

So! Here’s how things go down, combining elements from both suggestions.

Lute has no desire to ever be near Adam ever again. She’s quite content living with Sera and Emily and getting to finally relax without an execution order hanging over her head for the first time in as long as her faulty memory can recall. But you know who has been plotting Adam’s demise for a very long time? Her name even starts with an L as well.

Lilith.

So after Lilith begins being allowed more freedom and she’s sure she could do it without being caught, she snags an angelic steel knife and makes her way into Adam’s prison. Shes not entirely sure there’s not some sort of failsafe in the deal that the elders are still working on breaking that’ll end her life with his, but she doesn’t really care. She wants him dead more than she wants to live.

She succeeds, and manages to drive her knife through his chest. And… turns out there was a failsafe, because she can feel her own heart stuttering in her chest. She’s fine with that. At least she’ll die knowing he’s gone for good.

It’s at that moment that She intervenes. Thats right, after an extended absence He, God Themself, has finally returned. Considering it’s you know, God, She’s able to look around and get the sense of what happened. They see that Adam soul is heavily tainted, but He still loves His first human. So They preserve Adam’s soul as it’s fading and flick it down to Earth to teach the First Man a proper lesson.

Lilith’s soul is preserved as well, the deal chains Adam had her wrapped in crumbling. Shes stunned she’s not dead, and is kinda to in shock to do anything but follow along with Her manifestation as they go outside and They demand a council meeting be called immediately.

On Earth Adam is reborn as a human and his life goes pretty much as Observerblock23 describes. It’s pretty damn shit, and he ends up recreating a lot of the tech that was used on the exorcists without realizing what he’s doing.

In some act of irony his missing limbs mirror Lute’s. Left arm and right foot missing as a birth defect, and the whole of his right leg gone via infection after a botched prosthetic attempt for his foot.

He spends about five years homeless in his early twenties after he ages out of the system before the tech he’s been testing on himself finally gets him a break when people begin realizing oh, it’s actually really damn good. Even then he still always feels slightly ill when he thinks too much about it, some sinking sense of guilt in his gut. He can never quite place why, his tech is helping people, he should be thrilled.

He tries to be a good person. He stumbles and fails but he’s trying. Guilt with no discernible origin and nightmares of a gray complex and blank faces push him to not be whatever monster his subconscious is convinced he is.

[levi-venn]

The Short Answer First!

"How exactly did they get into the hands of hemlock?"

The Mirror Squads was put on ice during the Clone Wars after Headshot tried to start a rebellion inside the GAR. Hemlock scooped them up during the evacuation just before Rampart destroyed Tipoca City.

"What do they think of Omega or the Bad Batch themselves?"

A fic emerged out of this question focusing on one of my favorite Batchers and my favorite Mirror Squad soldier. 

If you (or anyone!) would like to see more "Broken Mirror" stories, let me know who you'd want to see next! I’m always happy to scribble these out (I’m in Editing Hell with the sequel to my shyRobot book and I need BREAKS!!)

------

Broken Mirrors: Circuit & Tech (cadet)

Tech was very impressed with himself for two reasons.

First Reason: This self-imposed recon mission went on for a whole month now, and Tech had yet to be detected by The Target.

Second Reason: Tech had successfully kept these recon missions a secret from his brothers. This was an astounding accomplishment considering Crosshair’s sobriquet for him was “Tech the Snitch”.

Tech had informed Crosshair that informing Hunter of potential problematic situations is not “snitching”. Crosshair responded by putting him in a headlock. 

Regardless, Tech would not snitch on The Target. At least, not until he understood what and who he was. 

As far as Tech could tell, The Target was a clone, and most certainly a defective one.

If this was the case, why was he kept separate from the rest of Tech’s batch? And why did Nala Se insist that after Memento’s passing, only four of his batch remained?

Until he could answer these questions, Tech would continue his recon mission. 

Using the ventilation shafts, Tech traversed over the Regs' bunks, the mess hall, and slid down several slanted shafts towards his favorite place in the whole facility: The Data Lake.

A cornucopia of knowledge. Shelves stuffed full of dusty tomes and between pristine holobooks, recycled air filled with the musty smell of history and aged flimsies, the soothing hum of low lights in the floors and distant roar of the ocean below.

And this is where Tech found The Target once again.

Crouching in his usual spot, safe in the shadows atop a shelf bare of any books, Tech was safe to observe the clone.

The clone was taller and lankier than an average Reg. His movements were quick and deliberate. Long fingers snatching books, light feet that hardly touched the ground as he moved from shelf to shelf. He was twitchy and erratic and noisy. His leg shook when he tried to sit. He hummed curiously when he seemed to find something pleasing in a book. He snarled suddenly as he'd throw a tome across the Data Lake's floor.

It was unclear if the clone was safe to approach.

And when the clone muttered to himself, occasionally letting out a brief, high-pitched laugh, or perhaps a choked sob.

Tech didn't intend to meet him anytime soon.

***

Circuit let out a pained laughed. 

The Data Lake was bone dry of the information he sought. A cruel irony that all he needed was something to help quiet his mind, focus himself inwards, give him a few moments of reliefs.

Every book suggested mediation, a warm glass of blue milk, a reflection inward. 

I am trapped within a body that won’t rest, in a mind that won’t hush. Silly books, I am very inward. Too inward. Please...please let me out...

He flung the holobook behind him and leapt to the next shelf, fingers gliding across each spine while his glowing red goggles scanned the titles, flashes of synopses whirring in front of his eyes far quicker than a Regs’ eyes could read.

The little one was here again tonight. Watching him. As if shadows could hide him from Circuit.

The cadet was clever enough to stay hidden, but brave enough to return to this place. The cadet had no idea how lucky he was that it was Circuit he found. Void or Striker would have eaten him alive...metaphorically...probably.

“You’ve been watching me.”

No reply.

Circuit looked up at the darkness where he knew the little one hid. Too scared or too smart to move. Circuit’s helmet and gloves were still on one of the study desks. He would not be a complete shadow…but still…

He fell back into the darkness between the high shelves, skittering around the room, letting the echoing acoustics of the Data Lake mask where he moved. Deftly he climbed the shelves, avoiding cones of illumination, skirting the cadet's line of sight until...

...he was just behind the cadet.

“There you are.”

The cadet yelped and spun, hand reaching for his hip where a blaster would have rested had he worn a belt tonight.

Circuit crouched like a gargoyle inches from the cadet’s face, studying him with unblinking brown eyes behind red lenses. The cadet's eyes were round eyes, magnified behind yellow-tinted goggles. He had a paler pigmentation than his own, lighter brown hair, thinner and straighter.  

But the same brown eyes. Same wild-eyed wonder in the face of Fear.

Fascinating...

He could see his own reflection in the boy’s goggles, the gaunt cheeks, square jaw, a ghost of a Reg.

A ghost of this boy perhaps? A living spectre? A preemptive haunt?

He let out a sudden, unhinged laugh that shattered like broken glass against the soft silence of the room.

The boy recoiled, clutching his legs.

“You’re not a Reg.”

Circuit’s lip curled. Crunch often complained his smile was menacing, but it couldn't be helped. Humor always pulled back his lips to bare his teeth. 

“And neither are you, little one.”

“You're a defective clone then.”

“Defective…” Circuit hadn’t slept in fifty-four hours and his neck felt rubbery, he let it roll around briefly before looking at the cadet again. Crunch once said he looked like a marionette with its strings cut.

He liked puppets. They felt...relatable.

He didn't fight his brain as it unraveled again...

“...Deficient, yes. Demonstrative and devilish. Defiant, but dependable. Demanding. Devastating. Dev...dev...Did you know that Devronian horns continue to grow post-mortem?”

The boy perked up suddenly. “I did know that. Did you know that in Devronian culture it's customary to mount their horns of the deceased's tombstone?”

“I did,” Circuit hunched like a gargoyle, his back arching in delight at this exchange. “Did you know that a Devronian soldier's tombstone is often comprised of common cement and the bone dust of their enemies?”

The boy cracked a smile. “No…no I did not. That is fascinating.” He paused then extended a hand “I’m Tech.”

Circuit regarded the hand. It was still shaking from fear...or adrenaline…or both.

“Circuit.”

He took Tech’s hand, but did not shake it. He simply held it and squeezed, willing it to stop trembling.

Stop shaking.

After fifty-four hours of no sleep, his own hand was shaking, too. On missions he took stimulants to calm it. Now...it just vibrated freely.

Tech seemed to notice this and he put a small hand over Circuit’s as if having the same thought.

Stop shaking.

The shaking stopped. Circuit felt...not calm...never calm...

...his shoulders sagged.

“What did they do to you?” Tech asked, quietly.

That question. Such a question. Where to begin? Where to end? When does it end?!

It was as if a hundred flies were plucking at the spiderweb inside his mind, calling attention to a hundred different scenarios, experiments, trials, tears, and terror, and please...make it stop...

He squeezed Tech’s hand tight and pushed through the Noise so he could speak. 

“They put Everything in my head.” Circuit laughed at the sudden thought of a Kaminoan scientist opening his head up like a pickled meiloorun jar and pouring an ocean of Thoughts inside.

“So much. Too much. All of it. It doesn’t stop. They made my mind exceptional. Then overclocked it to madness.”

He released Tech’s hand before he could accidentally crush it and sat down, drawing his knees to his chest. 

“I…” Tech’s words were slower than Circuit’s, methodical, and Circuit could see those bright brown eyes move rapidly as he absorbed the information he received. “...also have an exceptional mind. It processes information far faster than Regs and I am able to retain 99.88% of information provided to me.”

“How is the Noise?” Circuit asked.

“The what?”

Circuit tapped his temple with two fingers. “The Noise. The Thoughts. The Waterfall of Information that gushes so loud it roars in a silent room.”

“There’s…no noise.” Tech thinks for a moment. “Or…maybe I’m the Noise. My brothers say I talk too much and fill their head with useless facts. I talk a lot because there is a lot to say and…” Tech frowned a little. “...I can’t  help myself.”

Circuit tilted his head to the side. “Headshot says I should talk more. That all those thoughts fill my head like hot air in a balloon and one day I’ll pop.” Circuit’s voice cracked as he laughed. “But...I’ve already popped. I pop every day. Popopopoppoppoppoppop.”

Tech reached out and grabbed Circuit’s hand again and squeezed it hard. 

Circuit quieted. His head bowed.

“Will we join your squad?” Tech asked. "When we're older?"

“No.” More words bubbled in his head - Nononononono - but Tech’s firm grip anchored him.

“You sound very sure. How do you know?”

“Because we are the trial run, the first pancake, a sample size, and you and your brothers are the Real Batch. The Success. You’re flawed perfectly and we are perfectly flawed.” Circuit giggled, but he forgot what was funny. He sighed…he was tired… “My brothers don’t understand. Every exercise we complete, every mission we execute, every success and win are all for you. When they push us to our limits, that data is used to pull you up to your potential.”

Circuit looked at Tech and felt an odd sense of pride. “You are the Real Batch. We are just a mirror, trapped in a foggy mirror. A dull reflection to what you are and will become.”

Tech’s eyes dropped a moment, his pupils quivering slightly as he ingests what Circuit told him. 

“Did…Memento have a mirror?”

“Yes. His name is Void.”

“We lost Memento because of his defects.”

Circuit squeezed Tech’s hand only to find that Tech was clinging to him just as tightly. “I know you did, little one. I’m sorry.”

“It was predicted that he wouldn't live long past adolescence," Tech said, and Circuit was sure he heard a small sniffle, though no tears were perceived. "But thank you.” After a moment he asked. “Is Void healthy?”

Circuit’s laugh snapped like fire popper and it echoed through the Data Lake. “What is healthy to a defective clone?” His laugh quieted, shriveling into a weak sigh. “He is as broken as any of us, but he will live as long as we are allowed to survive.”

“Are you worried they’ll retire you?” Tech asked.  

Circuit shook his head. “We are useful still. They will stress test us until we die or until we are relocated for additional experimentation. My brothers want to believe we will be a part of the upcoming war, but…I believe our journey will end elsewhere.”

“Perhaps I can help,” Tech said. “You can meet my brothers. We can be one big squad.”

More pride gushed into his heart so suddenly Circuit wondered if it would burst from his chest, a fountain of blood and happiness. He suppressed another maniacal giggle. “That’s a nice thought, but we are not the main characters of this story, Tech. We crawl so you may run. It is how it is.”

“How long have you known about us?” Tech asked.

Circuit grinned. “Since you were a legume in a tube.”

Tech frowned. “Why have we never met?”

Circuit’s tired head rolled around again. “It is safer this way. We are not safe. You are not safe with us.”

“What do you mean?”

Circuit pulled his hand away to roll up his sleeves. He showed thick lines of scars overwritten by erratic, intricate artwork of vectors and circuits and formulas. Scars were overwritten by new ink, overlapped with newer scars and scratched over by even newer ink. “Saying that we are unstable is equivalent to saying the galaxy has a few stars in it.” 

Tech’s brown knitted upwards and he reached out to take Circuit’s hand again. Circuit fought his impulse and pulled farther away.

Safer. Better this way. For him. All of this is for him...

“Will you be here tomorrow?” Tech asked. 

Circuit should've said no. He should never return to the Data Lake, sever this connection before it got too strong.

Before I feel too Real.

“I will…If I am not sleeping.”

“Oh.”

Circuit sneered. “...that was a joke. I never sleep.”

“You’re...insomniacal?”

“An insomniac,” Circuit gently corrected.

“Ah of course. An insomniac. Did you know that Insomnia causes hallucinations?”

“Yes, are you a hallucination?”

Tech gave a short laugh and shook his head. “No.”

Circuit offered his hand for a final shake. Tech clutched his hand and squeezed it tightly. “I hope sleep finds you tonight.”

Circuit watched Tech slip back into the ventilation shafts, then he returned to his own brothers in a bunk at a safe distance from where the New Batch slumbered.

Instead of crawling into his own bed, he slithered into Crunch’s bunk. Crunch’s loud snores halted with a snort and he blinked sleepily at Circuit. 

“Wot?” Crunch asked.

“Hold hand,” Circuit demanded, plopping his pillow beside Crunch’s. Short words worked best with Crunch’s brain, a brain that was as loud as Circuit’s, though far thicker.

“Mmmph.” Crunch wrapped his large mitt around Circuit’s hand and squeezed to point it almost hurt. He then resumed his chest rattling snores.

The physical contact seemed to scare away the bothersome flies plucking at Circuit’s mind. In fact, the Noise was quieter than it had been since he was ripped from his birthing tube. 

He slept for two hours.

It was glorious.

[bradandchris]

Brad knew there was no more clear or better place to be free to express yourself, to be who you are without judgement, and to promote positive self image of men who like men, than a fiercely competitive nationally televised drag competition that culminated in a paraded showdown of its self-proclaimed losers deemed so via unquestioned, ambiguous, and unwritten rules.

Did you get all of that? Read it again if you need to. The library will be open for a minute.

It was true. Just in the last ten minutes of that show viewers were forced to jump through more flossy hoops than in Fergie’s earring collection just to justify their own sanity and get hooked for another episode. It was hardly surprising straight women could relate. When it came to meeting the many sets of expectations and double standards put forth by society, were we not all consumed in various orders of intricate dance?

Brad knew he could make anything WERK in part because as a gay man he had to from the get go. He could make whatever was thrown at him WERK in the very same sense slapping the word irony on anything instantly made it ironic. The difference of course being irony didn’t actually take any work. What presented itself on the show was WERK, a hole different level (yes, hole is spelled correctly), and according to gay legend that made drag OK.

Anyone could make something ironic, and it’s usually by accident. Where it gets tricky is doing it with any thread of intention. You sure better make like Madonna and make it an art or you are that person wearing the printed t-shirt and the embroidered hat that does speak truth as proclaimed but don’t realize it’s actually about them.

Eeek. That’s always painful to come across for many reasons. For one, it’s a good guess the poorly threaded failed to friend any gay men or black women because neither have the time for something like that. Each would save the other a step at the register and likely ask for the money since they’re just throwing it away anyway.

Slap a WERK on instead, and what you already knew to be nothing is suddenly something because the gays navigate more than a google of hoops just to walk out that front door. Yes. That was worth repeating.

That’s right. No need to ask ladies, the ‘Amens!’ are are all up in here already. It is just how it is right now. At least that’s what it felt like to Brad.

As many in the erotic dancer and male model industries, Brad held no doubt that show went mainstream via the same well mirrored thread as the flick Pretty Woman just with the reverse set of players. Not everyone was on board, but it was enough sassy razzle dazzle in the right place at the right time with just enough tattered frames of attention to get through.

Both earned enough money to let ruffled feathers go, and it remain tolerated by the others as it’s understood as a one time deal. Once deemed ironic something can’t be made more ironic. The same notion apparently applied here.

Brad also knew if you make the impossible WERK the first time, you’re not going to go through it again. It’s far too exhausting and who wants to live by the skin of their teeth where they already do? You’ve been there. You are there. You made it happen, and any decent queen knows how to make her peace…

‘Did everyone not see the mf rain just now?!? Sky. Water. Fell. You’re welcome. Ok then. I gots to go!’

The door slams and that’s what happened.

WERK!

The show goes on because it must.

It was here Brad heard the snap of his own finger.

Pulled out of his own thoughts and still leaning against the palm tree in his shiny new speedo, Brad realized he was really gay. Like really really REALLY gay.

Brad let out a sigh and took note of his bulge.

Well, that certainly explained having a boyfriend.

It explained quite a bit actually.

Looking at things a little closer, Brad could say this much as to his newly realized gayness…

As long as he put out, Brad felt confident his boyfriend Chris would be ok with everything.

And that he was.

[thekingofwinterblog]

Maybe this is just a flight of fancy - but your post about Kuma just made me think about how One Piece just abandoned it's more dialectical, for a lack of a better word, direction - instead of a tyrant being somebody who in the irony of history leads to revolutionary change, ala Napoleon, Nobunga, Cromwell or even Ghenghis Khann - he instead must be just a martyr - and not a Jesus, because a Jesus turns tables over and is not allways "nice", but just a caricature of some "Nietschean" "slave morality".

This can just be seen with how Luffy more and more turns from the amoral (not imoral) free spirit that never wants to be a hero and just liberates the world by his self consiousnes dominating the stagnatn oppresion, into a generic saviour, destined by literal prophecies that are fulfilled to the T, and not just by the end of history more abstractly - like hell somebody noticed how "the will of D" was basically overshadowed with the Nika stuff - from smiling because you are content and know that history will redeem everything, to just smiling because it is the magic system in a very boring and surface level way...

So yeah, even if my ideas may sound strange I'll finish that I agree - Kuma was kinda changed from a charachter that was introguing into one that may be more sympathic but ultimately less interesting - a mirror to the Gorosei, who were a human yet poignat critique of real politiks turning people into monster, who go against their compasion, that did destroy Ohara even thought they didnt want to out of a twisted "duty", into the saturday morning literal demons that call people "insects" - and as the devil that tortures souls in hell isn't really evil, so isn't an anti-semitic caricature that has a paralyzing stare - as "evil" as King Geedorah or Godzilla, just a rubber monster, not the evil in all our hearts...

Eh, i agree with some, disagree with some of the other things.

One thing i do disagree with, is the idea that the gorosei being pure evil is a problem. It's not, it's only a problem if all of them are the exact same in personality as Saturn.

The problem with Saturn is not the fact that he's pure evil, and like the rest of the celestial dragons he has a god complex, it's that he's boring.

He's just an evil asshole, who is pure evil, and frankly, his actual main purpose seems to be introducing the magic system that his side has hoarded for themselves, so that we'll have had a taste of it by the time the final conflict takes place.

The problem with Saturn is that there isnt much to him. What glimpses we see from the rest of his circle is that the rest of the gorosei have actual real opinions on the world that is in some part based on good intentions, or at least an appeal to the greater good. By contrast Saturn is just a Celestial Dragon with actual power behind him. no more, no less.

and there are ways to make that sort of characters compelling.

the youtuber Lowart, during his retrospective on the archie sonic comic breaks down pretty well how the Brotherhood of guardians from that franchise are quite frankly assholes... but it's the most extreme member of this extreme group, Locke, who is the most compelling character of the bunch, speciffically because he has been molded by his groups century's long ideology into becoming who he is. the logical end result, of a long line of extremism, who believes that the ends justify the means at any cost... and then explores how this completely ruined his, his wife's and his sons lives.

By contrast saturn is just an asshole, who does assholish things, because he is an asshole.

also as for him being an antisemetic charicature, his devil fruit is clearly a gyuki-oni, a demonic, bovine spider monster from japanese legends.

They really do look like that. they have been a part of Japanese folklore LONG before they even knew jews existed.

By sharp contrast, to saturn, while Imu hasnt been fleshed out in full yet, it's very clear that the monarch of the world has a much more distinct personality, with hopes, dreams, and has very distinct reasons to hate the people he/she does... but you also get the sense that Imu is a very lonely individual, who despite hard words, very clearly misses Lili, and seems to see Vivi as some form of getting to do things over again.

In other words, an actual character, as opposed to Saturn's Im fucking evil guys! look at me! im EVIL!!!

No in terms of good and evil, the larger problem is that the world government's opposition has lost as lot of their greyness as the story went on.

Dragon was a man who's actions was portrayed as a lot more grey than Kuma, a man who didnt mind his son becoming a pirate so long as he actually went out to see how the world was for himself, who talked nonchelantly with his subordinate about having brutually toppled a regime in a coup in their quest to destroy the world government.

There was a sense that he was on the right side of this war... but that he had no problems with shedding blood to get the war done.

Now this trait hasnt exactly been removed, but the way the manga portrays Dragon and his faction's actions has. Now rather than a bloody conflict with lots of intentional civil wars, post time skip it's portrayed more by relatively bloodless coups that doesnt kill that many people.

just look at kuma's flashback, where the king of sorbet was removed twice, and came back a third time, all because dragon didnt have him executed the first time.

The fact is, Oda did not need to make this conflict one of black and white, and it didnt have to become that, even as we saw the true, irredeemable evil at the WG's top.

I think the single biggest showcase of what a bad idea this was, is that Oda could have used the revolutionary army's raid on mariejois as a massacre, where they freed the slave, but also put as many world nobles to the sword as possible. as it is, it makes no sense for them not to do so while at the heart of their enemy's homebase, other than that this would have made them look very, very brutal.

and yeah, im not a fan of nika, or how it overshadows The Will of D.

The powerset of gear 5 is actually great, but It did not need some grandiose backstory that connects Luffy directly with the previous great figure.

I disagree though that luffy himself has become some savior hero. On the contrary, luffy's main storyline post timeskip is how he keeps dedicating himself to assassination plots against his political rivals, on his way to become pirate king.

That is the actions of a pirate, not a hero.

The problem is the fact that due to Nika, now he is entangled to become the next joy boy, not due to his own, personal qualities, but instead due to the devil fruit he ate... which is so much less compelling, and in turn makes Whitebeard denouncing Blackbeard as not able to suceed roger despite his name, as much less compelling.

[thequietmanno1]

Thelreads, MHA 285, Replies Part 2

1) “tell me Horikoshi, what happened to the other kid the one that had a flying quirk tell me you didn’t, for example, turn him into a nomu and then killed him without us realizing, right? tell me because not showing us the other kid here would make it seem like you don’t want us to remember him”- Honestly, given the shit the kids already have to deal with in the current situation, and just how many people Garaki has no doubt transformed into Nomua, I’m not sure if that will ever be clarified to the kids. It’s another traumatic event for them to deal with when they’re already being subjected to so much trauma in the present, and just like All Might’s withholding information for Izuku’s wellbeing – and Mic is no doubt gonna have to do the same for Aizawa concerning the truth of Shirakumo’s death – they simply might not tell the kids if it ever gets found out.

2) “Bakugo, is it just me, or are you just having your whole life flash before your eyes as you approach the two calamities locked in a duel to the death? I was joking about it before you know, you don’t need to actually jump there and die, you know?”- He took that as a personal challenge.

But here, we see both the good and bad that’s come of OFA, how it allowed Izuku to stand up to Bakugo’s bullying, even when he went as far as taunting him to jump off a roof, and make him acknowledge his rival’s strengths….

3) “jesus fucking christ look how battered my kid is”-

…Contrasted against how he’s become from indulging in that strength without limitation, pushing himself into a ragged mess out of his mania to save everybody, beleivng it’s all on him and no-one else can do it. Blessing and curse, both in one.

4) “Yeah Bakugo, you always knew he would turn out like this, didn’t you? There was never a way to keep Midoriya away from this fate, quirkless or not.”- When Izuku gained the power, he gained so much from it.but he never gained enough self-respect to properly control himself when his emotions are pushed to the breaking point. For all the good he’s doing in damaging Tomura and holding him back, he’s taking on irreversible damage with every blow, all without thinking it through. Bakugo’s face shows all the concern that Izuku should have for himself, but doesn’t, in part because of how worthless he’s been made to feel from being born Quirkless.

5) “AND HE GRABBED HIM TARGET SECURED, NOW IT’S TIME TO BURN LIKE THE FUCKING SUN LOOK AWAY FOLKS, THINGS ARE ABOUT TO GET… SHINY”- The backup plan was to use float and OFA as propulsion to launch Tomura into the sun, but why go that far when Endevour can just make his own?

6) “IT’S HIM IT’S FUCKING HIM HE’S TAKING OVER SHIGARAKI NOW THAT HE’S ABOUT TO DIE JESUS NO”- The dramatic irony present from the heroes not realising that Tomura’s effectively the one fetter holding back AFO and his decades of experienced handing of his Quirk from running amok with his new and very durable body. They tried their best to beat Tomura. They succeeded.

7) “WELL AT LEAST HE WASN’T TURNED TO DUST, JUST IMPALED WITH LETHAL FORCE.”- That’s how we know who’s in command. Tomura would just dust Endeavour, but AFO will make the execution bloody and painful.

8) “OH GOD OH FUCK THAT’S NOT SHIGARAKI ANYMORE THAT’S DEFINITELY NOT SHIGARAKI ANYMORE HE TOOK OVER”- And as Tomura’s control slips away, so too does his face, leaving only the black human-shaped being that is AFO in command, his exterior a mirror of his twisted soul within, faceless and malevolent as always, no matter the age of his current target.

(MHA ch 261) 9) “What did he asked you? To make sure they were dead? Well, its not like you werent planning to give them the oldouble tap anyway, right? Nothing is dead enough that you cant kill it again.”- This statement only becomes more ironically appropriate as Tomura’s durability keeps holding him together despite everything. The man’s practically a cooked corpse here and he’s coming back from even that, and with his body staring to fall to bits like a literal Zombie’s.

10) “BAKUGO YOU BETTER NOT DO SOMETHING STUPID CONSIDERING WE’RE DEALING WITH AFO NOW DON’T JUMP IN AND GET YOUR QUIRK STOLEN, BECAUSE YOU FUCKING KNOW THIS CAN HAPPEN”- Hitting AFO in Tomura’s durable shell does nothing, but hitting the target out of the way….

11) “IS THAT ANOTHER FLASH OF YOUR LIFE BEFORE YOUR EYES BAKUGO I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD IF YOU GET YOURSELF KILLED I’M GOING TO FUCKING SCREAM”- Better warm those pipes up, it’s time to hit the high notes.

(MHA ch 276) 12) “Oh wow this does not bode well for the new big three, considering how were seeing their family members… Its like one of them is gonna die, but considering how Shoto is away from the killzone, we have a 50/50 chance of it being either Midoriya or Bakugo. I vote Bakugo, because of course I would.”- Your vote was counted, the sacrifice accepted…

(MHA ch 276) 13) “Bye bye kids, have fun as far away as fuckily possible, we don`t want any of you two dying today. Wait until Shoto get here so we have a 1/3 chance instead.”- Well, Shoto arrived, and now Bakugou’s been shishkabobbed.

14) “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST I CAN’T BELIEVE BAKUGO IS FUCKING DEAD AS IS ENDEAVOR AND SHIGARAKI BECAUSE AFO IS BACK THROUGH HIM CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK WAS THIS ALSO, HA HA FOR THE TITLE. YEAH BAKUGO IS RISING, RISING TOWARDS THE FUCKING PEARLY GATES WHAT IN THE FUCK”-

“Rising”

The arc words used alongside “origin” to mark the point wherever somebody performs a truly heroic and selfless action that elevates the from being somebody who merely took the career of a hero to actually being one in the flesh.

And just in case the Bakuagnst in this chapter wasn’t enough, here’s the volume cover.

He’s been thinking about the wrongdoing he did to Izuku for a long time, wondering how different they could have been if he’d only had to courage to reach out to Izuku as well…. NOTE: Oh, before I forget, there was actually somebody on reddit named Doodlelotl who made a few MHA chapter summeries when these were coming out the first time. They only go up to like, 337 or so, but they're pretty enjoyable. Sadly i forgot to upload them when they first became relevant, but I can patch them in here.

@thelreads

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

Next up: But Daddy, I Love Him

There is a bit of confusion over exactly what this song is about; whether it's self-contained or it concerns her relationship with Matty Healy of the 1975; whether it's only about one guy (Healy) or two (Healy and Travis Kelce); etc., but I'm going to stick to the most face-value explanation:

It's about the public's scrutiny of her personal life, and her own fans are not exempt. She uses a series of illustrations for this, and "church" is but one of them.

The anti-Swift contingent is framing this as if Taylor is characterizing the universal church (ALL Christians, or at least orthodox Christians) this way. Maybe that is how Taylor views Christianity writ large--I wouldn't be surprised if it were--but she doesn't say so in this song. That is being read into it. All this song communicates is a specific experience that I think many of us orthodox Christians have experienced, too. The Bible Belt culture is frequently a legalistic one of whitewashed tombs and broods of vipers (and I would encourage Christians who find themselves caught up in such a church culture to find a different church).

Personally, I'm surprised the first verse is what everyone lost their minds over, because things get WILD later in the song.

Given the conclusion to the song (I'm getting there), I think it's fair to say the unbuttoned dress represents an unfulfilled/interrupted desire, as in the Disney's Little Mermaid scene from which the song gets its name. It's been noted by others that the "I'm having his baby" is reminiscent of "I'm keeping my baby" in Papa, Don't Preach by Madonna. Except Taylor throws in a little SIKE, indicating that the gossips (or "saboteurs," as she puts it) are sensationalizing her relationship with this guy, and it's not actually as torrid and taboo as they're making it out to be.

There are, however, a few lines that would indicate it's not been an entirely above-board affair:

(And why should we expect that a global pop sensation like Taylor Swift would value virginity in a culture like today's? Absolutely no reason at all.)

This is an interesting line. On its face, I don't think we could say this is a biblical concept, but within context it could be a different story. If the context is meta--meaning the song is about her relationship with Matty Healy--the "disgrace" in question was her association with someone who has said controversial things and whom the fans viewed as being "right-wing" (whether or not he actually is I have no idea). In this case, Taylor is falling out of the good graces of arbitrary public opinion, and yeah, arbitrary public opinion is not a good measuring stick for one's "good name." If the context is narrative--meaning the song is telling a story about truly legalistic and judgmental saboteurs--the "disgrace" is her breaking a community's arbitrary & man-made rules about what constitutes a good name. For example, if I decided to date a man who wore skinny jeans, nobody in my community would respect me anymore (I kid, I kid. mostly).

Here's another bit that got the barflies and the Baptists talking:

Certainly there's some irony intended here, but "God save the most judgmental creeps" is a pretty charitable line if you ask me.

The "soliloquies I'll never see" seems like a reference to fans on TikTok, but it could also refer to gossips in general.

Of course, Christians know that the beats of our hearts and the chemistry of our bodies are ALSO very poor compasses by which to make decisions about relationships, much less to divine destiny. It's always unfortunate when Taylor mentions fate or destiny, because as we all know, every relationship she's ever been in has ended. NEVERTHELESS, God is sovereign, so in that sense, you go right ahead and invoke destiny, Taylor. And in the narrative sense, she does seem to be telling a story of The One:

This part mirrors the plot of Love Story, which is such a great song for this exact reason. The lovers don't flee from accountability, they don't scorn their parents and loved ones, they stand on their convictions and earn the father's blessing straightforwardly. But Daddy, I Love Him is a bit different of course, in that the gossips & busybodies are featured along with her father, but are not participants in the lovers' triumph. and there's an F-word.

Blasphemy alert! Rating: Common. Featured in about 80% of pop songs, and 60% of conversations with unbelievers.

Now, normally, I would advise one not to spurn prayer:

But if the saboteurs in question are praying against the will of God, then yeah, their prayers are useless. And if they are praying for arbitrary things ("Please make her leave him for a man who wears bootcut jeans instead"), then their prayers are unnecessary.

I'll close this analysis with a few verses I think would have been helpful for Taylor and her fictional mans in this scenario:

Fortnight

all right, buddies, we are analyzing The Tortured Poets Department from a Christian perspective that makes sense.

Disclaimer 1! We are NOT analyzing whether TTPD is appropriate for young girls, or whether Taylor Swift is a good role model for young girls! The answer to those questions is NO. Moving on!

Disclaimer 2! TTPD is a super long album! So I will ONLY be looking at lyrics with overt religious imagery or which have stoked the ire of Christendom!

[n0bamak1s]

laughing gas - mai zenin x reader

request: “Mai Zenin x Fem S/o, where the s/o gets their wisdom tooth removed and confesses their love to mai acting all sweet and cute, mai then takes care of her s/o and confesses too, we can see mai being her bratty and confident self but when she is with her s/o she just lets her walls down” - @shockfirefly

summary: in the request! (genre: fluff, friends to lovers, slice of life, humor)

warnings: reader is high on anesthesia if that counts as a warning, swearing, mostly just tooth rotting fluff (literally!!)

word count: 2k

a/n: i really enjoyed writing this request! at this point i’m basically just a mai zenin stan account tbh but the requests for her are just so fun to write. i’m almost on summer break so hopefully i’ll be more active bc i have a few ideas i’m excited to write for!!

it seriously took everything in mai’s willpower to not immediately whip out her phone to film your groggy state the moment she stepped into the room where you had just gotten your surgery done. she stifled a laugh at the bandage wrapped around your head, vaguely reminiscent of the one noritoshi had worn following the exchange event. when your eyes flicker over to meet her gaze, you give what she can only assume is your attempt at a smile, but looks more like a dog caught eating its owner’s dinner, with your face all swollen and slightly flushed.

forget that willpower shit.

she shamelessly calls out your name, to which you respond like an eager little kid. “say cheese!” she gives you an uncharacteristically wide grin to signal you to mirror her actions. you seemed to not learn from your previous mistake and attempted to smile back at her, before immediately cutting yourself off with a muffled groan. she hardly bothered with hiding her giggle this time, but at the very least she had the decency to cover her mouth as she cracked up.

with an annoyed pout on your face, you huffed and turned to the nurse standing beside you, who you were apparently to loopy to notice had joined in with mai on giggling at your grogginess. “she’s so mean to me!” you said, though your tone had no real irritation to it.

“it’s just to send to utahime. she wants to make sure your doing alright.” mai lied straight through her teeth, though you seem satisfied enough with that answer as you started to push yourself up from the seat you’d been in. mai quickly rushed to your side, knowing you weren’t sensible enough at the moment to ask for her help. before you could stand up and inevitably wobble over, she looped an arm around your waist and moved your arm so it was slung over her shoulders.

“alright champ, let’s get going.” she tried to remain as nonchalant as possible with the close proximity, but unfortunately for her, you seemed determined to embarrass her as much as possible.

“well at least buy me dinner first, ya casanova!” you said (much louder than necessary, mind you). honestly, it wouldn’t be surprising to mai if you could be heard from the waiting room.

with an over enthusiastic wave from you and an awkward thanks from mai to the nurse, you guys set off on your way.

to be fair to you, it was surprisingly a relatively tame trip to the door, with you focusing on keeping your steps in tune with mai’s. you were too lost in thought to embarrass yourself until you had made it to the waiting room. you had rather innocently pointed out a small curse, which would have been completely harmless had it not actually been an old woman, and had you not spoken with an inappropriately loud voice. the poor old lady who had fallen subject to your anesthesia induced self gave you an agitated glare as mai waved sheepishly in apology. the moment you guys were out the door, you turned back to glance through the glass.

“we’ll get her later, mai!” you patted her on the back with determination, your voice still muffled in a way that made you sound like you belonged on sesame street. “she can’t fool me, stupid curse!”

had it been anyone else, mai would have simply rolled her eyes and tugged you on, but since it was you, she found herself laughing along, a quiet laugh, like the sound of a wind chime in early spring weather. the sound seemed to catch you off guard, causing you to stop in your antics before turning to face her. she paused when she felt your gaze back on her, looking at her like a kid would look at fireworks for the first time.

she raised an eyebrow at your sudden change in demeanor. “what?”

“your laugh is pretty.” you stated simply, clearly having some pride at being the one to get her to laugh like that.

she turned away for a moment, hoping it would stop you from seeing the flush spreading across her face, knowing you’d never let her live it down. “thanks.” she muttered, praying she sounded at least a little bit cool and composed.

the short walk to the car was filled with you pointing out random cars asking if they were mai’s as you rested your head on her shoulder, before deciding the swelling was too painful for that.

a large grin which quickly turned into a grimace (you really never learned) appeared on your face when mai finally informed you that you’d made it to the right car. she held your hand to support you as you stepped into the seat, and once she’d sat down, reached over to buckle you in. she chose to ignore the over exaggerated wink you sent her way in favor of her own sanity.

as she drove, you babbled on about nonsense like how you were sure noritoshi had made mechamaru to hide the fact that he was secretly a robot, or how after that run you had gotten at the baseball game, you were sure you were destined to quit sorcery to go to the major leagues. to humor you, mai nodded along, before dryly responding that she’d probably be a better fit considering how good she looked in the baseball uniforms.

ignorant of her joking tone, you were quick to agree enthusiastically. “definitely! but i dunno if i’m the best person to ask, because i think you look good in just about anything.” your voice was sincere as you turned fully to look at her with slightly hazy eyes.

before either of you had time to process the admiration you had shown towards her, you glanced back out the window to the familiar sight of your school. you excitedly waved at the sight of todo and noritoshi sparring together. after catching his attention, todo didn’t even bother to stop the roaring laughter that came from your appearance, pointing out to noritoshi the similarities between your current look and his from just a few weeks ago. noritoshi gave todo an annoyed look, before glancing back over to see mai helping you out of the car, once again slinging your arm over her shoulders and supporting you with an arm on your waist.

she tried her best to ignore todo, she really did. though, it wasn’t exactly easy to ignore him when he loudly exclaimed what a ‘lady killer’ mai was. she snapped her gaze to meet his eyes, giving him a cold glare, before continuing to slink you along to your dorm.

when you opened the door to your dorm, the first thing mai noticed was a bulletin board on your wall, decorated with photos of all your friends, which most recently included your classmates. her eyes flicked to a photo of you next to another girl in elementary school with a smile that showed off your gap from missing teeth, and she chuckled softly at the irony of the photo compared to your current situation. her gaze then quickly shifted to a newly added strip of pictures from a photo booth. she smiled fondly at the memory of you, her, miwa, and momo sandwiching yourselves together in the tiny booth to take photos during your shopping trip. they weren’t ‘good’ photos, per say, in fact you guys all looked rather ridiculous trying to pack into frame, but for some reason, mai seemed to soften up at the memory of it, and how happy you looked just to be next to her.

her train of thought was interrupted by you tugging on the hand that didn’t rest on you, making her turn to see you mere inches from her face.

why the hell were you so close???

“yes?” she questioned, hoping to deflect from the fact that she was so obviously gushing over the photos on your wall just moments before.

“will you sleep with me?”

had you not had an arm around her, she probably would have dropped you in that instant. from the way she carried herself to the way she talked to others, most people would assume mai zenin does NOT blush, yet somehow you’d managed to disprove that theory way too many times today.

“WHAT?” it was her turn to be loud for a moment.

“i’m tireddddd” you whined “and you’re so warm.” you had stated it so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

she groaned, as if it would cover up her sheer embarrassment at how bold you were. wordlessly, she walked you to your bed, keeping her grip on your waist secure. it was amazing how gentle she was as she laid you down on that rock solid bed all the dorms were stuck with. she pulled a blanket over you, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the bed in hopes you’d doze off peacefully from there. when she didn’t shift from her position, you looked at her with a confused expression.

“wouldn’t it be more comfortable to lay down?” your words were still slightly slurred together. you rested a hand on hers. “you know i don’t mind.” despite your dazed look, she could tell your words were sincere as your thumb rubbed circles atop her hand.

mai turned to face you full on, her eyes gentle rather than their usual harsh look.

curse you for being so hard to resist.

“fine” her voice was quiet “but only because it’s my job to watch over you.” she stretched out her legs so she was laying down on the bed, pulling the blanket towards her so she could get comfortable.

“you’re so good to me mai.” you smiled. not a pained grimace, or an awkward baring of your teeth, but a smile. “people always seem to be so intimidated by you, but i don’t really get it. you’ve always been so nice to me. it’s nice.”

she didn’t understand how even when you were all loopy, you still managed to have such an effect on her. hesitantly, she reached up to grab your hand, intertwining her fingers with yours.

it seemed the boldness from your anesthesia had rubbed off on her.

before she had time to talk, you continued. “i always feel so glad when we get paired up for missions, you make me feel so safe. like, i know when i’m around you that you’ll protect me. i admire you so much for doing all that for me.”

she went slightly stiff at your...confession? declaration? what exactly would you call that? you had said it so nonchalantly, whether it was out of trying to play off your fear of rejection or legitimate confidence, it was hard to tell.

“plus you’re really pretty.” your hand squeezed hers as you looked suddenly very interested in the pattern of your blanket. it was odd, seeing you get so shy all of a sudden, though she supposed it was somewhat of a win for her.

as you stared sheepishly away from her eyes that traced over every inch of your face, you felt her hand come up to your cheek, tilting you to face her. she continued scanning your face with an impossibly soft expression, before meeting your eyes once again.

“you know i wouldn’t do all that if it was anyone else.” her voice was barely above a whisper as her eyes bore into yours. her face was so close to yours that you could feel her breath fanning lightly across your face. “it’s all for you.” you’d never seen her so earnest before.

you smiled softly at her, even despite the ridiculous bandages around your head, and your chipmunk like cheeks, she still stared at you with so much love.

“you like meeee.” your tone was teasing, but it was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes that you were just as whipped as her.

“dammit. you figured me out.” she said sarcastically, shuffling forward slightly so you were flush against her.

up close, the tiredness in your glassy eyes was obvious. she sighed to herself, and slowly leaned in to plant a soft kiss on your forehead.

“get some sleep.” she smiled at your eyes struggling to fight open your heavy eyelids. “we have a lot to talk about once the anesthesia wears off.”

maybe todo wasn’t so far off with that ‘lady killer’ comment.

[kim-monsterlings]

Eladan - M Orc x GN Human (Reader) // SFW

The pictures do not belong to me. I only created the mood board. Do not repost my work anywhere.

Content: SFW/Orange; surrounding a mute from birth reader and some mild self-depreciating thoughts of this, mild swearing, minor heartbreak, insecurities, drinking alcohol, light touching (hugging, stroking arms, tusks nuzzled to reader’s cheeks), very fluffy ending to make up for the heartache

Wordcount: 3067

Notes: Eladan was one of the first stories I wrote, but until “tropemas” I never finished him. There is a small follow up planned for Quinn the changeling, with info here, and a maybe NSFW for each Eladan and Vaia the cute minotaur. I hope you love them <3

“Tropemas” Summary: soulmate AU - the first words overheard by your soulmate are marked on your forearm, but they aren’t so nice

Masterlist // “Tropemas” Masterlist

Of all places, the words intended to shatter your heart came while you were working. The words so many others clutched tight and waited for, desperate to find their soulmates, left you wanting nothing more than to avoid them. Suffering with the harsh words marked into your forearm since you were young enough to remember had left you broken-hearted before the offence, and weak-kneed when it finally came.

Working in the tavern, no less. If only you could blame it on the alcohol, but the offending orc had only just begun to drink. Sat in a large booth beside a minotaur - neither of whom you'd ever seen before, but beside Quinn, an old fae friend of yours, a changeling. They'd yet to see you, and after freezing behind the bar, you weren't sure if you had the strength to near them.

The orc's pint had clattered against pierced tusks, the froth bubbling up to a thick, braided beard, before he scowled, almost shouting, "why should I waste my life on some soulmate?" The pint slammed back onto the table once more, emptied. "Fuck fate."

Fuck fate.

It hurt more then. The first sentence you were too familiar with - after years spent scrubbing at the words, hoping one day they would wash away like ink - but the following sentiment twisted your stomach into nausea. The tavern busied in your lapse, patrons flooding in with no concern to your pained smile as you served them.

Fuck fate.

Waste my life.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair for Quinn's soulmate brand to have delicate cursive, to almost whisper "take me", yet yours was harsh and unfeeling. So many times, you had considered marking it over, though artists refused. Altering a soulmate mark was immoral, no matter the price or bargain.

The orc quieted following his outburst. You wouldn't have been drawn closer if not for a call of your name - nickname, at least, with Quinn above all respecting the importance of names - and you were helpless to wandering closer.

Though this was the first night you had ever neared Quinn when out with strangers, the fae only leaned back and softened their dangerous, charming smile. Pierced and pointed tips of their ears appeared through plaited midnight hair as they turned closer. In the presence of strangers, too, they began signing in common, for which you were more than grateful for as the orc's attention swung to you.

"I wanted to say hi. Busy night?" From that, Quinn frowned. "You look tired."

"Tired," you repeated, and shrugged a little, Quinn mirroring with a small sigh. They were busy too, and you had to wonder why of all company, they chose to spend their night with an orc so horribly rude. Of course, you wouldn't outrightly say such a thing - yet. "New friends?"

"Old," they signed, before spelling, "Vaia." They tipped their chin to the almost honey coloured minotaur, and she smiled, her nose ring shifting, which left the orc to be, "Eladan. Only visiting. When do you finish?”

That cracked your mask a little. Quinn would often wait for you, to share a drink in the early morning before walking you home. Tonight, nothing sickened you more than the thought of time wasted in Eladan's company.

So, with your smile weakened, you returned, "tired." Quinn's bright eyes rolled. The excuse was well overused, but they didn't persist. "Have a drink on me."

Their touch brushed to your palm. Quinn kissed your knuckles and bid you goodnight, but only in turning did the angle of Eladan's stare strike you. He hardly feigned looking away from the loose sleeve at your wrist, and had it been any looser, the dark cruelty forever scarring you would have been legible.

The table waited hardly a minute after you left before whispering of you, but to your surprise the mumbled whisper of, "cannot speak," came from the minotaur, not orc. A weight of stares fell upon you where you stood, pretending to wipe down the bar. Vaia's deep voice carried, and though the question came as no surprise, the curiosity only served to benefit your soulmate. "How?"

"Born mute," Quinn said, and that was all.

When you looked back before passing into the kitchen, the orc had gripped his wrist tight.

Another server tended to their booth under your pleading. Most who worked in the tavern, and several customers, had been kind enough to learn some sign, or carry paper for you when needed. The night passed well, without any further heartbreaks, until Quinn's wave caught your eye.

They would be back late in the night for you so you only smiled back, smiling even to Vaia, and paid no mind to the orc yet to leave. But hidden only behind your hair now, his passing scrutiny struck harder. Was it now your shying away that earned a frown, his tusks twisted at his lips, or the refusal to turn away when he came to the bar, leaning on his forearms, that had his head tilting?

Suddenly, the colour of your outfit struck you. Something as simple as that burned in your chest and forced you to lift your head from your chest. The soft green of it matched the orc's mottled shadings near perfectly, and the irony twisted deep in your stomach.

"Pardon me," he said, in a voice so soft you almost forgot the words scarred onto you. "May I ask if your heart is spoken for?"

Why couldn't those be the words of love and affection so many had on their bodies? The pain from his attempt now to - what was he attempting? To seduce you or use you for his visit - bittered what little was left of your good mood. You left Eladan watching as you turned and walked away.

The close friendship you cherished with Quinn became your undoing. Where they went, two shadows trailed, and usually into the tavern. They hadn't specified how long the visit was, nor its purpose, and you couldn't help feeling rude asking after immediately being introduced.

Though you ought to have because Quinn thought it would be fun to introduce you all. Your refusals were ignored after desperately trying to think of an excuse, but your only excuse was work, and they could wait for you to finish. Quinn invited Vaia and Eladan to the markets, a day out usually reserved for only the two of you, and not a heart-breaking orc.

Vaia was quiet, but that was no different to how many were around you. Often afraid to speak for you couldn't, unable to really communicate but with a strained smile and nod, but the company was nice, at least, and when she began talking, drawing you to stalls when a soft fabric caught her eye, you found you didn't mind staying by her side and helping wrap the small scarf carefully by her horns, for more reason than company.

The orc never strayed far. More than often, he stood with Quinn, but his eyes flitted back to you. Vaia moved to catch up with Quinn and left you to yourself before you'd realised, and a quiet rumble of your name left you frozen in shock. He offered a small flower, dark petals and tiny in his hand, though somehow dwarfing yours. Eladan's lips rose as he stepped closer.

"Walk with me?"

Fuck fate, he had cursed, and you wanted to throw the flower, but he ducked his head and left you with an aching heart, as if already resigned to your refusal. The orc looked shrunken; shoulders fallen low as he looked back to where your friends had gone ahead without you.

"They mentioned lunch," he said then, eyes firmly on the flower twirling in your hand. "If you're hungry? Not at the tavern, that would be cruel to take you back when you are not working. Somewhere with warm food."

Cruel, and the word twisted your stomach. In an effort just to make him stop, you nodded, and Eladan's chest deflated on a rush of breath.

"We hunt when we travel. Vaia and I," he said quietly, after stealing looks in what you had hoped to be a companionable silence, walking close enough his arm brushed to yours; the arm marked by his words. "I miss proper meals. Isn't it hard working around warm food all the time? No, I… I suppose not," he mumbled when you only frowned, and his head lifted when, like a blessing, Quinn called out to you.

Eladan offered to order for you. The offer itself tightened your chest in a way you tried to fight off, immediately signing to Quinn and waiting far from the pair and by Vaia. With a nod to the jewellery now changed in her nose, she grinned and thanked you for the implied compliment. Standing beside her now had been easier before, when you didn't see the small frown on the orc's lips after you left him.

The other small tavern in your village was adjoined to an inn, less crowded and more welcoming to friends than a bar would be on a late evening. Eladan squeezed beside you in the booth not intended for so many, and Quinn sat opposite you, leaning into Vaia as you waited for drinks.

With all your heart, you tried to hate the evening. Forced close to your intended soulmate, his muscles thick and tense, it was impossible not to wonder at what could have been - what still might be, if you moved beyond the harsh words you'd grown up with.

He was travelling with Vaia looking for work. They helped people in need of protection as unofficial bodyguards. You believed that wholeheartedly, and even grinned when Vaia told a story of how she'd been the first of their company to beat Eladan in a fight, and the first to bruise his ego. If he'd caught his breath when you'd laughed, you smothered that to the back of your mind.

"If you ever want to travel," he murmured, lifting his pint up and glancing down, a small smile crinkling his eyes. "I'd love to take you. Have you travelled?"

You shook your head and sipped at your drink, which was a dangerous thing to do, now his rumbling voice had begun to sound pleasant, and the press of his thigh to yours was warm and welcomed. You couldn't pinpoint when you had stopped leaning away from him, either, his arm resting on the back of the booth behind you.

"Not many know sign. In the cities, it's... it's different, but the woods and the sea - I think you'd love it."

It wasn't the promise of the sights that made you soften and nod, but the promise of being near him, and you stiffened. By then, Vaia was already nearing the stairs up to the inn, and Eladan brushed his hand to yours in a way of goodnight before retiring, too.

That left you with a changeling who saw too much, who rose from the booth and offered an arm to hold you close. The night carried you both onward in a peaceful silence, until your home began to near. They stroked down your arms only to soften at your wrists, a flash of gold in their eyes disarming you.

"You have always been so vigilant in hiding it. The words," they whispered. "They are not kind, are they? They're… they're what he said. You overhead?"

Unable to sign with Quinn still holding you, only a sniff broke the silence. They waited for you to nod before brushing up your sleeve. Knowing the words did little to prepare for seeing them, for finding them thick and unwavering.

After an evening so pleasant by his side, they slammed a weight into you, knocking a pain which had fallen away over the course of the night, back to its place in your chest.

Why should I waste my life on some soulmate

"His arm is blank. I do not wish to overstep-" you couldn't help frowning, and Quinn laughed with you. "More so than already, but, look," they sighed. Hands gentle on yours, Quinn squeezed. "He thought there wasn't a soul out there for him. Eladan wants you."

You twisted free then, staggering back a step. "He may want a soulmate but he does not want me. He does not want some-" your fingers twisted and Quinn reached, whispering your name as you struggled to focus and sign through the rush of pain. "Some mute. He wants a soulmate, not me. Goodnight."

Quinn ducked their head and returned the sentiment, waiting until you were indoors before leaving. They didn't see you collapsed to your knees and tracing the words by heart, wishing as you had so many times before that things were different.

True to their word and for that you were beyond grateful, Quinn didn't overstep. No more outings as a group were encouraged and you threw yourself into work, spending the nights walking home and chatting with your friend, and only them, waiting until the two guests would finally pass on.

Maybe it was wrong to think so, but you didn't want him. Eladan wanted a soulmate too late. The words were always and would be scarred, stinging, a reminder of how for years you had anticipated it being in disgust at finding you mute. Whether that was so or not, whether it was a mistake, your heart had been burdened for a time long before he had tucked a flower to your ear and teased smiles to your lips, and he would be leaving soon.

Soon, but without any timeframe. It was below you to outrightly ignore him, even on the night he came into the tavern alone. Eladan's warm smile didn't meet his eyes when you left him nursing an almost untouched pint, and for once it was you looking over your shoulder to the lonely orc.

For a breath too long, your stare lingered, entranced by the muscles flexing as he shucked off a jacket, small beads in his beard clinking. The move was one so insignificant - simply removing his leathers, as many would - but he bared his wrists, his plain, empty wrists, like he wanted you to see.

Eladan's shadowed eyes fell from you to his wrist when you were drawn helplessly to the booth. "What I'm thinking," he began quietly, with his thumb rubbing in circles you had drawn time and time before, but where yours were an effort to scrub away words, his were to summon. "I think you already know, don't you?"

Unable to deny it, you did nothing but turn.

Tonight, Quinn wouldn't be there to accompany you home. Maybe it had been a set up - an overstep you doubted, but it didn't surprise you to find an orc the last patron left in the early hours of the closing tavern. Eladan left with his jacket over his shoulder and reached out to brush your hands together before leaving.

You couldn't find the strength to stay standing any longer. The churning in your stomach forced you out for fresh air, collapsing back into the wall for support when the first, long-suppressed sob tore from you.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair to be so heartbroken before ever learning who your soulmate was, and to now want to be with them, to learn them, yet feel the pain of their imprint lingering behind any soft smile or effort in carrying a conversation.

Nor was it fair to be completely unsurprised by the tentative call of your name from your soulmate, the very same who had waited for you, stumbling across you pressing a hand over your mouth and choking back cries.

Eladan's knuckles first brushed from your damp cheeks to skim along your throat. Gentle enough was his hold that you could lean into him and he trembled at the closer embrace, shifting to tuck you against his chest when a shudder wracked you.

"The first words you heard me say," he murmured. "Of all the things that night for you to hear, I think you heard the worst."

The tiny, indistinguishable hum that came from your throat earned a weak smile. Eladan nodded more to himself as he tucked his fingertips beneath your coat and bared your wrist, the words as dark and legible as always.

Why should I waste my life on some soulmate

"Fuck fate," he whispered then, the following words that had served only to worsen the wound. Eladan curled himself closer and nudged his tusks to your cheeks in a move as tender and intimate as you would allow.

For him to twist free from you and turn his head down came with a strike of shame. Had you so easily fooled yourself? To think that this warrior orc, one who spat harsh words and was only passing through, would want you of all people made you weaken and sniff, trying to lean away.

Eladan frowned, braids flicking beyond his shoulder. His fingertips pressed against your cheek to return your unfocused eyes to him, before his hand curled into a fist, arm folded across his chest, and he moved his fist in a slow circle.

"I'm sorry," he signed. The next attempt became so jittery, his movements rigid and nervous all at once, that you reached for his large hands and squeezed. He weakened again and brought your touch to brush against his tusks as he spoke aloud. "Those words were from anger. I thought I was the only soul not to have a match out there. I never thought… you," he breathed, and closed his eyes. Just this once, you told yourself, you would let him lean into you; you ignored that it had happened before, that you'd let him come close already. "I want you. I want to want you for you, for more than fate's hand, and if you would give me the chance - please, I," he caught himself then, his voice cracking. "Quinn is teaching me, um- I-" You couldn't help your smile when Eladan wriggled his fingers free to sign, "please. One chance."

"One," you returned, but it was enough for him to shudder and clutch you tight.

He fumbled behind your back enough for you to recognise hand movements, before he grunted, "thank you."

[minor-solemnity]

Invention and Intrigue pt.4

Tag List: @jinxqsu​ @naps-and-lemons​ @riddles-wifey​ @mainlynonsense @cakesarecute

You look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive. 

You still spend a lot of your evenings with Tom. The only difference being that he touches you more often seems to reach for you without conscious thought or effort. You’ll be sit side by side and his fingers will tap rhythmically on your upturned palm. He’ll kiss your cheek after he’s walked you back to your common room and when he leaves, he’ll pause before letting your hand drop from his, as though he has to consciously remind himself to let you go. For someone who so rarely displays joy in physical proximity in public, he is surprisingly demanding behind closed doors. You’re charmed. 

In public, you both keep your distance. You smile at him politely in the halls and he nods in acknowledgement in return. You like it this way. It makes the moments when his guards drop that much more satisfying, and honestly, you’re not sure you’d be able to stand Melanie’s excited gushing if she were to find out that you were dating. 

There’s also the matter of his Slytherin cohort. 

If you were a more idealistic person, you would probably be annoyed by the fact that he keeps his distance. You would probably question what you are to him. If he viewed you as something fun to pass the time with, but not good enough to be seen in public with. You’re not an idiot, no matter how much you might act like it sometimes; you know that your blood plays a large role in why he is so keen to keep your budding relationship a secret. 

But you aren’t a more idealistic person and therefore you understand perfectly that his friends (though really, you’re not sure if you can call the boys he spends time with his friends) would likely abandon him if they knew about you. You’re honestly not sure how Tom even managed to build such a loyal following in the first place. You’ve not spoken about it, but you’re aware that Riddle isn’t a pureblood surname.

And so you spend two glorious months sheltering your relationship from the world, wrapped safely in your shared love of magic and the possibilities it holds and, more often than not, the green blanket that Tom had gifted you. 

It’s on one of these nights in early summer, when the sun has only just started to set, and you’re making the most of the warmer weather that it all goes horribly wrong. 

Tom leaves you in the entrance hall because he is Head Boy and apparently that means he has responsibilities that don’t include walking you back to your common room. You’re halfway up the steps to the first floor when the stunning jinx hits you. Distantly you hear footsteps and then there is a shadow looming over you and a familiar loud cackle ringing in your ears before everything fades to darkness.

You come to in a classroom you vaguely recognise as the one that Tom had taken you to when you’d kissed for the first time. You spare a moment to appreciate with grim irony that you weren’t wrong in your prediction that going into the dungeons would lead to (a probably very painful) death. Lestrange stands in front of you and your heart starts hammering when you see he’s holding your wand loosely in one hand whilst his own is pointed directly at your chest. You glance at the door behind him, wondering briefly if you try and make a run for it, but Lestrange is bigger, stronger and faster than you and without your wand, you are more or less helpless against him. “People like you contaminate everything,” He spits. You know exactly what he’s talking about. He must have seen you with Tom, must have realised what you were to him. By the looks of it, he isn’t best pleased. In fact, his aristocratic features practically distort themselves under the weight of his disgust.

Lestrange raises his wand and you are preparing yourself to welcome death with open arms when the door slams open. Tom is a rigid pillar of anger. There’s absolutely nothing behind his eyes and whilst he isn’t the most expressive person under normal circumstances, it’s nothing compared to the blank, cold rage that you see in him now. In front of you, Lestrange stills, something flashes in his eyes that you think might be fear before it fades. “Stay out of this, Riddle, if you know what’s good for you,” He says, and he’s angry, yes, disdainful and haughty, but you don’t miss the slight hesitation in his voice.

Tom doesn’t either because the mirror that is his expression cracks and a slow, cruel smile twists his upper lip. He looks terrifying and you’ve never been more grateful to see him. “Put your wand down,” He says, and it’s soft, cajoling, completely at odds with the predatory gleam in his eyes. “Put your wand down and look at me.” 

And the thing is, Lestrange does. If you were unconvinced of the sway that Tom holds over his peers before, you aren’t any longer. You think that they would walk through fiendfyre if he ordered them to. Tom doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move a muscle. He isn’t even holding his wand and a thought begins to form in your mind that he might just tell Lestrange to leave. You hope he doesn’t. You don’t care if it’s cruel of you, but you want him to suffer. 

Lestrange makes a strange choking noise, and it takes you a moment to realise that he’s trying to suppress a sob. For a moment, you wonder how Tom is managing it without his wand but then you remember the book he’d been reading months ago and your wonder morphs into shock and then awe. Legilimency. 

With his back turned to you, you can’t see what’s playing across his features, but his hands are shaking and your wand clatters to the ground. Seeing the opportunity for what it is, you dart forward and scoop it up, immediately feeling safer and less afraid. Tom motions for you to join him, and for the first time since he appeared something resembling human emotion flashes across his face. As soon you’re close, he wraps an arm around you and presses his mouth against the top of your head in a vague approximation of a kiss. From where you’re now standing, you can see Lestrange’s expression all too clearly. His features are no longer distorted in disgust but rather in anguish. Eyes wide and unseeing, he shakes in front of you, any sense of superiority reduced to ash.

“Leave.” A single word. An order, a command and Lestrange is scrambling out of the room. It’s only when you can no longer hear his footsteps that your breath hitches and you begin to shake. You’re not sure how long you stand there, face buried in the folds of Tom’s robes, his hands rubbing gentle, comforting circles against your back, but finally, you begin to calm down enough to disentangle yourself from him. He leads you back out of the dungeons and towards safety.

When you get to the entrance hall, Tom turns and offers you his hand. “Walk with me.” His eyes are still hard, as though he still hasn’t shaken the cold contempt he’d exhibited earlier. 

He must see the trepidation play out across your face because his expression softens marginally, dark eyes searching yours almost imploringly. Slowly, tentatively, you reach out and curl your much smaller hand in his. The dry warmth of his skin seeps through you, calming you in a way that you’re not sure is entirely advisable. 

Six months ago, you had thought of Tom Riddle as an enigmatic, child prodigy. The finest wizard to step through the gates at Hogwarts since Albus Dumbledore himself. A portrait of politeness and charm. Now you look at him and see raw, unfiltered ambition, power and intellect combining to create a formidable young man who won’t be satisfied until the world is remade in his vision. You also see the way he looks at you, as though you are something precious and fierce and delicate and dangerous in your own right. He isn’t afraid of violence, you think he might enjoy it, but when he touches you, he’s gentle and careful. Protective and maybe a touch possessive. 

It’s an intimidating thought, to say the least. To feel safe and assured in his presence is probably akin to self-destruction, but here you are: walking, hand in hand, through the rose garden. 

“You know, I thought I had a good idea of what my future would look like,” He murmurs, running his thumb across the back of your hand. You hum noncommittally because your suspicion that his interest in the darker aspects of magic isn’t entirely academic is now confirmed. He has plans for his future, and now, you suppose, he has plans for yours too. “I think that the future might look very different from now on.”

“How so?” 

“I’ve decided to take Slughorn’s advice and go into politics.” The words themselves don’t surprise you. Tom’s ambition, his intelligence, his ruthlessness all spell the beginnings of a lucrative career in politics. What surprises you is the fact that this wasn’t his original plan. But then you think about how you even came to know him and what drew you to each other in the first place and you begin to understand that Tom’s plans likely never constituted anything you could call legal. “When I first came to Hogwarts, I knew immediately that if I wanted to get anywhere in this world, I would have to ingratiate myself with the old families. They’re the ones who hold the real political power in this society. They’re the ones who have the final say on what legislature passes and what fails before it even reaches the Wizengamot. I’ve worked hard to… cultivate a loyal following, purebloods who will carry out my will without complaint.”

That still leaves you though. You’re not so modest that you’re unaware that you are, at least, a factor in Tom’s change of heart but that still doesn’t erase the unspoken issue that Lestrange’s actions had dragged into the light. “They might complain if you were to be seen with me, Tom. They will complain.” You sigh and regret for a future that has not yet come pass fills you. You can see it now, Tom, as Minister for Magic (because you cannot imagine that he would settle for less) with a beautiful pureblood wife to give him credibility in the eyes of a traditionalist society. “As you said, they’re the ones with the real power.”

“You misunderstand me.” He says and he leads you to a bench where you both sit. He turns his body towards you, sitting so close that your knees knock against his. He doesn’t let go of your hand, instead, he interlaces your fingers, holds it against his chest. You don’t want to hope that maybe this isn’t the end like it surely must be, but you find yourself hoping nonetheless. “They’re weak,” He says plainly. “They’re weak and they’re frightened. Lestrange attacked you from behind and stole your wand because he is afraid of you. I would burn their entire world to the ground for you.” He pauses and then smiles, slightly sinister, slightly cruel, entirely lovely. “As it stands, I merely intend to irrevocably change it. They will follow if they know what’s good for them.” 

Melanie says that you’re dramatic, but you don’t think you hold a candle to Tom. Conviction and sincerity blaze across his face and you can’t look away. You pull the hand which is still wrapped tightly around yours to you and kiss his knuckles. “I'll be with you every step of the way.”

END

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4)

A/N: Tom becomes minister for magic - his political enemies always seem to mysteriously disappear or otherwise change their minds. Reader makes sure that no one can prove anything tho. The Statute of Secrecy is dismantled and integration is in baybee. 

[museincarnate]

Ronin's own phone would be returned to his pocket, albeit after a slight gaze shifting towards it; the irony of its mirroring to his own appearance finally setting in, as he scoffed over the matter. Like most aspects of himself, that seemed to be just as much a reminder of his broken past. Turles's humming would shake the Revived Saiyan out of his self-induced trance, only to cause him to tilt his head curiously, when the former pirate seemed to think about the possibility.

When Turles gave his answer and reasoning behind his lack of urgency in making such an important decision, Ronin only managed to shrug almost indifferently; his mind quickly seeming to wander elsewhere. It wasn't his intention to come across as rude, but he'd stood up from where he was seated, and seemed to turn an invisible doorknob in front of him; a strange smirk etching itself on his features. "All this talk about Sol-Lago is making me want to scope it out before we travel together. I look forward to seeing you, when you're ready. Maybe I'll have some stories to tell, by the time you get to see Sol-Lago for yourself."

And just like that, he walked through an invisible door, as if a wall was between him and Turles's eyes. For as vulgar, and bitter as he was, Ronin sure seemed to do what he wanted, whenever he wanted. He didn't have the best manners, but at the very least, he seemed rather dependable with the task he and Turles agreed to working on, together.

While Ronin didn't want to sound selfish, or careless about what he spent his time doing, he would subtly nod at the fact that he didn't want to hang around the whole time; wishing to put his focus towards what he'd initially told Turles about, or scoping out the subjects of his ire. Once the former pirate pulled out his phone, however, the Revived Saiyan would pull out his own; its cracked screen damaged case practically reflecting its owners cracked flesh and own history. "Yeah, here's my number, since I got this thing working again, not too long ago."

A chuckle of Ronin's own would escape him, as a smirk managed to creep back onto his face; the aforementioned differences between Sol-Lago and Turles's universe causing a hypothetical scenario to rest within the Revived Saiyan's head. "You know, Turles... With all the Saiyans and business you could get into, there... Who's to say that you won't come to call Sol-Lago home, too?"

[burnedbyshoto]

life is not a shoujo manga

— Kaibara believes that his life with you could be a shoujo manga. Why? One, he’s in love with you and two, you work at a maid cafe he is prohibited from visiting. But nothing happens in life without doing what you’re told NEVER to do.

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pairing: kaibara sen x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, modern!au, reader is a sex worker, maid cafe but make it kinky, dubcon (spoiler: reader just services kaibara despite his embarrassment), semipublic sex, master and maid dynamic/kink, blow job, sex on a table, marking

word count: 4,570

a/n: this is for the bnharem collab for sex work lmaoooo, this was hella inspired by maid-sama,,, kinda sorta, not really, but hey!!!! check out the rest of the masterlist and I hope you enjoy this!!! happy birthday to me :D

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Kaibara Sen was pretty confident in the fact that he was not in a shoujo manga.

There are, however, some claims that he can unashamedly admit make him believe that he might be in one. Here is his gathered evidence:

1. He had a crush on a girl (you) that was practically written to be nothing more than a crazy, hopeful fantasy.

Explanation:

Kaibara has known you for his entire life, but you, the airheaded, mind focused on only those around you, had never noticed him. You were bright, intelligent, witty, with blazing eyes and a curling smile, you were an enigma in the world, and he was a bystander just waiting for a day when you would notice him. Popular as you were, Kaibara knew he stood no chance at ever playing a role in your life. There was no room for his initial stoic personality, the way that he walks away from you as you near because, god forbid, you see his ears tinge pink.

All in all, you never knew he existed, and his crush would have to remain one-sided and unknown. But you see, reason number two is yet a testament to his denied belief that he lives a shoujo manga.

2. He had gained your attention one day by catching you one day when you tripped off a brick wall.

Explanation:

Talk about falling into the arms of the one you’re destined for! Kaibara had been walking home from the end of his first year of high school, and as he turned a corner, there came a yell and he looked up to see a body plummeting towards him. With adrenaline coursing through his veins and superhuman strength supplying him the strength and ability to catch you, Kaibara caught you bridal style. He held you there for a few moments, the air suddenly blowing and the blossoming cherry blossoms swirling with the winds. He swore your eyes brightened at the moment you locked eyes.

3. He had a (former) love rival.

Explanation:

Pretty self-explanatory, Kaibara would admit. Before his introduction to you, another male student in your class had been essentially building up his intentions to ask you out. Kaibara wasn’t one to step on people’s toes; he respected people too much and often just didn’t want to spend energy where he thought was unnecessary. But you were never unnecessary. Kaibara wanted you and found himself clashing heads with this other love rival, but he seemed to have won the moment Kaibara was accepted into the same university as you.

4. You were working at a maid cafe.

Explanation:

Kaibara did not have an older sister for no reason. Maid-Sama and Ouran Highschool Host Club were constantly on repeat when he was growing up! Because of this selected memory and application, he believed that time and time again, whenever maids were involved — or any type of service job — it was shoujo material.

Four points and that was four more points than most romances, and Kaibara was convinced that he was in line to become the main star of a real-life adaption of some obscure shoujo manga. All he had to do now was seal the deal and get you, his now best friend of nearly four years, to fall in love with him.

“I have work tonight,” you sigh from your place on Kaibara’s bed, your face twisted in a dissatisfied pout, feet kicking a bit on the mattress. 

“Call out,” Kaibara simply replied, his head resting upon yours as you both watched an old All Might film. “I don’t understand why the maid cafe is open so late anyways. Who’s even awake and wanting to go out?”

You chuckle at his words, fingers tapping on your thigh — as they do when you’re a bit nervous.

“It’s a cafe for foreigners and people who are up late,” you repeat the same line you always say when Kaibara asks why you would go in so late. “It works out, and it pays well.”

“How long is your shift tonight?”

“Ten until three.”

Kaibara groans, “that’s rough.”

You snicker a bit in unknown irony, “you have no idea.”

Time passes, and Kaibara realizes that it’s nearly nine-thirty by the time you pull away from the small mirror on Kaibara’s desk (he bought it so that you could do your makeup in his room), and he looks at you in your beautiful form. You looked ethereal in the makeup, big eyes, and painted pretty lips. You turned to look at him, a grand grin painting your lips, and for whatever reason, a spoof of unspoken for confidence, Kaibara feels himself speaking before he can stop himself.

“Go on a date with me? Next weekend?”

You froze, before chuckling, lips splayed in a lazy grin, “you’d want to date a maid?”

“Undoubtedly.”

Kaibara watched as you flustered a bit, teeth tugging and tearing into your lower lip as you shook your head. “You’re a dork, Sen,” you push back a strand of hair as you stand up, “but let me think about it? As much as I love the idea of potentially being your girlfriend, I need to think about how you would feel about my job.”

And Kaibara smiled despite himself, his mind thinking about how sometimes shoujo protagonists often deny their own feelings at first. Not that his life was a shoujo manga anyways.

“I can do that.”

You laugh, the sound pretty and light on his ears, and you shake your head. Kaibara warmed at the sound and stood up too, already knowing that it was time for you to leave.

“Alright, but I must leave you now, my eternal love,” you grin, speaking with a mock accent. Your arms open for your goodbye hug he has since been accustomed to giving you when you both went separate ways. “I bid thee well when I’m away for the week.”

Ah yes, you would be gone for an entire week on account of a school trip you were taking.

“I do not know how I may live without you at my side, but I will try,” Kaibara spoke back with a low accent, too, his smile hidden in your neck as he hugged you near. “Have a good shift, and be safe on your trip.”

“Obviously!”

Two things about your job besides the obvious (that it was a maid cafe) that Kaibara knew.

1. You made a lot of money there.

He wasn’t all too sure as to why. He’s been to a maid cafe before and has definitely been called Kaibara-sama by pretty-faced females in French maid costumes. He knew that it was a popular place for otaku men and foreigners, but he also knew that pay range-wise, it wasn’t that much better than a typical waitress job.

2. Under no circumstances should he, or anyone for that matter, follow you to work or try to see you while you worked.

This made sense to Kaibara even if he didn’t particularly agree. There was no denying that he wanted to see you in a maid costume, he’d be a liar if he said otherwise, but he realized how embarrassing it could be for you. The fact that he knew where you worked was good enough for him.

Kaibara sighed, his body collapsing onto his bed, and he pulled out his phone. He checked the time on his phone and smiled, seeing that at this point, you were already at work because you sent a text saying that you had arrived. A small notification warning him that his phone was about to die pinged on his screen, and he frowned, hand reaching for his charger.

But instead of the white cord, his hand grasped onto the rose gold charging cable he knew was yours. You needed the charging cable; you were leaving on a trip basically right after work! Kaibara’s mouth twisted, weighing his options in his head. He knew that you had no other charging cables; you had a knack for breaking them without meaning to. 

Shaking his head, he stood up.

This was about your charger for your phone.

It would be okay! He would simply step foot into the maid cafe, hand your coworker (he was hopeful he would see you) your charger, and leave! He wouldn’t stay! Nope! Not at all.

Kaibara nodded at his resolution and pocketed your charger before turning on his heel and marching out of his room.

It took a bit to get to the cafe.

Fushi’s Maid Cafe is what it was called.

Its hours of operation were quite weird, at the very least in Kaibara’s opinion. On its website, it said that it was open between 11 am and 5 pm, a reasonable range for its demographic; however, there were many times in which you would go in much later in the night. You were in a 10 pm until 3 am shift after all.

It was currently midnight as the trains were down for the night, and Kaibara had resolved to walk a near hour to drop off your charger. He didn’t really mind, especially if he sees you in that costume.

‘No!’ Kaibara thought, ‘you’re in a shoujo manga, not a hentai!’

He frowned, remembering to continue to claim that he was not living in a shoujo manga, and strode to the door. Confidence in every step, his game plan being repeated time and time again. 

Kaibara swung open the door, readying himself to hear the onslaught of a chorus of ‘Welcome home, Master!’ but instead… oh…

He froze.

“F-Fukuda-samaaaaa!”

He blinked.

And as the door closed behind him, the most fucked out, blissful voice that he had only heard in his wettest of dreams called out, “Welcome home, Kaibara-sama…”

Kaibara locked eyes with you sitting alone at a table, your eyes laced with blissful lust, lips pouty and wet. The maid costume you had on exposed your beautiful breasts, shoving the curves, the tender flesh, and your sweat shined softly off it. Kaibara felt his breathing become shallower yet deeper as the sounds of meeting wet sex, lewd cries, the maids begging for more, demanding more. The clients — the masters — speaking in tongues as they fucked the women against the chairs, tabletops, anything in which they could balance. 

Oh.

It made sense why you never wanted anyone to follow you to work.

Kaibara had been so caught up in the scene before him, the somehow sex maid cafe themed orgy (sexy party? But there was no group sex minus the man in the back fucking three maids!) that he hadn’t noticed you approach him. He tensed yet again when your hands fisted into his shirt, your warm breath brushing against his exposed collarbones, a curling sweetness emitting from your person and knocking his breath away yet again.

“Kaibara-sama, I never expected you to finally come. I’ve missed you,” you whine, pressing your body so close to his. Your stocking-covered thighs were brushing against his slowly awakening dick. 

“Y-Y/n,” Kaibara stuttered, and he winced at how not part of the plan that was. “I-I thought this was a maid cafe?”

“We are a maid cafe,” you sigh as if he was asking an amusing yet dumb question. Your arms wrapping around his neck, and hips rolling against his. “We service our masters however they see fit! I wanna help Kaibara-sama feel good now that he’s here.”

Kaibara hisses under his breath, the feeling of your thigh rubbing against his growing dick insatiable as it is slightly uncomfortable due to the rough fabric of his jeans. “I’m here to drop off your charger! You forgot it! I-I’m leaving after this.”

You grin, your laughter bell-like in his ear as you nuzzle your nose against the smooth curve of his neck. “I left it there on purpose; I wanted Kaibara-sama to follow me here and see if he could still love me like this.” Goosebumps flash across his body, and Kaibara whines at the back of his throat as you begin walking backward, taking him to the table where you once sat. “I never wanted Kaibara-sama to see me like this, never wanted Kaibara-sama to see and know what a big whore I am before he confessed his feelings to me. But Kaibara-sama followed me to my work and didn’t run away… I’m so blessed.”

Your hands landed on his chest, and Kaibara yelped as you shoved him onto the spacious, comfortable chair before the table. Your teeth bit into your lower lip, eyes practically glowing with lust as a single sleeve began descending from your shoulder.

Kaibara suddenly forgot how to breathe.

“I’m at your service, Kaibara-sama,” you whisper, eyelashes fluttering. “How may I help you?”

Kaibara was going to respond eloquently and affirmatively that he didn’t need you to service him, but the Kaibara-sama sounded so lovely.

“I— um, well— I— ohmygoD!” 

Kaibara nearly leaped out of his own skin as you pushed his knees apart and kneeled before him. Your eyes locked on his before glancing down to the prominent bulge in his pants. You grin, fingers stretching out and eagerly unbuttoning his jeans and pulling out his hard cock in less than ten seconds.

“Wowwww,” you breathe, eyes lighting up at the still hardening dick you were holding in your hands. “Kaibara-sama… you’re so big!”

You stared at the easily nine-inch dick in your hands, the slight curve to it making your core burn, and the bluish veins dancing under the skin making your mouth water. He was better than what you had expected him to be, and you wanted to know how he tasted, how he felt in your mouth and your pussy. 

His erratic breathing caught your attention, and you looked back up at him, the scarlet on his cheeks, the expression that told you that he was battling instinct and morals. It was up to you, his maid, to make the decision for him, it seemed.

“I’ll take good care of you, Kaibara-sama,” you promised, heart hammering in your chest as you leaned forward, and without much of an issue, swallowed at least half of his cock.

Kaibara’s reaction is instantaneous; the near howl of pleasure and surprise ripping from his throat is a sound you’re almost unfamiliar with. He was such a serious man; even when he was comfortable and energetic, there was a sense of seriousness to him. There was a time, however, that you remember him being near-feral, demanding, excited. It was when there was a competition or when his feelings truly and utterly overcame him. You smiled around his cock, your teeth barely scraping the length of his cock, and giggled.

You overwhelmed him.

But there was no time for celebrations, no time to think about how you were serving your master to the best you could; his hands were suddenly fisted into your hair, and his hips rolled up into you, fucking your throat. Tears sprung in your eyes, the uncomfortable sensation of his cock flushes down your throat, pressing so heavy on your tongue.

“F-Fuck, this feels so fucking good!” Kaibara gasps, his eyebrows scrunching and hips lifting off the seat to continue face fucking you. 

You relax your throat as best you can, chokes and gags pittering out of your mouth despite your best attempts. You hum, forcing your throat to allow the tip of his cock to go even further down your throat. Kaibara moans loudly, the noises he makes dripping down your back, making you feel sweaty, hot, and flush. His noises stir the heat between your thighs, making one of your hands go down beneath the layers of your puffy skirt to press to your throbbing clit, desperate to relieve the building, untouched tension.

“No!” Kaibara hisses, a single hand leaving your head to grab onto your wandering hand and bringing it back up. You yelp around his cock at the sudden movement, and you’re forced to come off his cock with haggling, rough coughs. Tears fall down your cheeks, and there's a thick line of saliva and precum trailing between the tip of his cock and the bottom of your lip. “You’re my maid, right?”

You cough, your lungs are burning with wrongly swallowed saliva, and the recent asphyxiation you had. Cocking your head to the side, you startle when he suddenly leans in near, pinching your cheeks between two fingers and drawing you near him.

“Answer me, y/l/n-chan.”

“Y-Yes!” you squeak, swollen lips trembling and your breathing hitching as you shiver. There was a fire in his eyes, a type of lust-fueled rage that made your skin tingle and crawl in the sweetest of ways. “I’m here to service Kaibara-sama.”

“Then why are you trying to relieve yourself?” he snaps, face so near you want to kiss him, and you whimper because his scolding and humiliation do nothing to ease the fire in your cunt… it only ravages it, letting it fester into a raging wildfire. “You’re here for me, your master, so fuck me — focus on just me.”

“Yes, Kaibara-sama!” you shiver, body tingling as you reclaim his cock in your mouth.

And unlike before, where Kaibara merely sounded like a man who was feasting upon the food of the gods, he sits up straighter, more commanding, a man who sat in his chair knowing his worth. He took on the deception of a master.

“Hold my dick with your hands,” Kaibara grunts, hands fisting the hair at the nape of your neck and forcing your head to tilt up towards him. “I can’t trust you.”

You nodded your head, hands coming up to hold onto the base of his cock that your mouth couldn’t take in. You were fucking him diligently and intently with your mouth, driving him further down, your tongue and hollowed cheeks doing all it could to please your master. You sucked his dick with the intention of promising him that you were worth it, of making him fill your mouth and throat with him so he could never doubt that it was him you wanted, him you wanted to consume.

“Such a good sluttly little maid,” Kaibara praised and degraded. His hands tighten almost painfully in your hair. “Taking my big cock so easily... Don’t tell me you’ve been practicing on other men.”

You make a noise that screams no.

You would never!

“Oh, no?” Kaibara grunts, his tongue licking out past his lips, and you shudder under his gaze. “Did my slutty fucking maid keep her mouth clean for me?”

You whine in approval, your lungs burning as he keeps you still on his cock, eyes deceivingly angry.

“Good… that just means I’ll have to fuck your whore pussy so good you’ll never ask or seek a  new master,” Kaibara grinned, and your eyes widened. 

It happened so fast, you were on the ground one second, and in the next, he had you pinned with your back against the table. It was almost uncomfortable, the edge of the table pressing into your spine, and your hands scrambled to latch onto his shirt as his jeans fell to his knees and his hands gripped the top of your maid outfit down, exposing your naked breasts. 

His hands found a place on your breasts, warm and calloused fingers moving against smooth, soft skin. You moaned loudly, hips twitching unconsciously as he brushed against the swell of your nipple. 

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Kaibara groaned, fingers pinching roughly against your skin, and you warbled a scream. It wasn’t painful; it was pleasurable. Your head swam in a way it never had before when you had serviced other men, your clit was throbbing with an increase of needed attention, and your voice keened with his praise. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you — wanted this. I wanna make you feel so good, let your master fuck you however I want, y/l/n, I promise I’ll make it worth it.”

You nod your head, words failing you, and you watched Kaibara let out a heavy stream of air out of his nose, a near perverted, happy grin on his face.

“Say it.”

“Fuck me, Kaibara-sama,” you whisper, hands fisting into his shirt. “Ruin me. Claim me. Make me yours.”

His eyes flash dangerously.

“You were never not mine.”

And with a hand looping underneath your knee and with the sudden shove on your shoulder to knock you back, Kaibara pressed his cock against your wet, sopping entrance and shoved into you. You scream loudly, hands digging into his back as his cock enters you, unforgiving and demanding. Your legs wrap around his waist, heels digging into his hips as you shudder and shake, body twitching under the dull, hot stretch of him in you, your body sweating with the consuming heat and pleasure that his entrance gives you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you squeal, fingernails digging into his skin, face burying into his neck. “Kaibara-sama is so big, he’s stretching me out so much, I’m— I can’t—”

Kaibara clicks his tongue, his nose nuzzling into your cheek, “Don’t say that, y/l/n-chan. Don’t ever tell your master that you can’t. You can do anything so long as I ask of it, right? I don’t like the word can’t.”

You whimper, head nodding in understanding as you shift your hips partly for needed friction, partly for relief. 

“Stop that,” Kaibara orders, hands suddenly on your hips, preventing you from moving. “Ask permission from your master if you can move. You are here to serve me; you are not here for yourself. Do you understand?”

Your breathing is heavy, your legs shaking as you nod, breathlessly saying that you agree even though you need relief. You need to please your master; you have to make sure he continues to want your service: just you, no one else.

“Good girl,” he praises and somehow pushes even further into you.

You moan loudly at the movement, fingers digging into his skin yet again, and Kaibara laughed, teeth nipping at your collarbone. Your back is entirely arched, jaw slacked, voice dead on your tongue because the feeling of him buried deep within you is staggering. You let out a single happy noise, your mouth gasping for breath as your voice finally begins to come back to you.

“So tight, so hot,” Kaibara groans, his teeth dragging up and down your neck as his hips roll back and thrust back into you at his own pace. It’s steady, slow almost—a steady beat like a subtle heartbeat that kept you sane. “Don’t be quiet… I want to hear what I do to you; I want everyone to hear what I do to you.”

And a hand pinches your clit at the same time he slams roughly, with tremendous strength into you, and you wail.

It’s as if that wail was a starting sound, the sound that told Kaibara that he was in the clear to do whatever he wanted. To fuck you as he deemed, to make you fulfill your duty to providing and exceeding his every need and demand. He fucked into you, each snap of his hip, every roll, sending loud slaps through the room. The table creaked and shifted with every advancing move, and you rolled your hips up, fucking back into him, desperate to make his breath hitch and hiss in pleasure. His teeth buried into your skin, sucking and nibbling marks onto your skin, subtle and near bloody marks to show the world that you were his.

“Kaibara-sama!” you scream at a particular thrust, back arching wildly, eyes slamming shut as you moan to the heavens. “Kiss me please! Please kiss me—”

Kaibara’s mouth was over yours immediately. You cried into his mouth, shuddering and shaking as he continued his maddening dance with you, the endless, exciting cycle of tingling sensations and exploding warmth. His tongue entered your mouth, tasting of him, iron, and sweat. You moan louder, your velvet walls clenching and milking against his length. You don’t want to ever pull out; you want him, his seed, everything.

He kisses you like a madman, someone who believed that if he stopped, he would die.

You eat it up, returning it in full, unable to even believe you want him to stop. 

“You drive me fucking insane,” Kaibara pants, hands coming back down to your hips and keeping them in place as he suddenly, powerfully, and somehow rhythmically pounding into you in short, strong fucks. 

It’s overwhelming, the feeling of his girth stretching you out and abandoning you so quickly, the way his tip licks against your cervix, teasing up against your sweet spot. His face is desperate, needing, and so powerful that you cry to him, your master, your god. Your pussy is soaked with your essence, the sex spilling it all-around your thighs and on him, the wet squelching pounding making you embarrassed and so much more turned on. His teeth sink into your jaw, and your body is begging, twitching, the heat in your stomach overwhelming and no longer building but waiting for it to be unleashed. 

“K-Kaibara-sama!” you cry, a warning for the near-inevitable.

But you wail his name, the electricity in your veins and blood scorching the levels of your skin, and Kaibara takes that as a reason to do more, to fuck more. He drills into you at a new speed, a new power. Your head is swimming in the delirium, and your body trembles, the words “more, faster, harder” spilling from your mouth without consent, but tears build in your eyes as his fingers seem to almost spin against your clit and you scream.

You cum loudly, aggressively, all your energy destroyed as you hit the high. Kaibara moans against your bruised and marked skin; the warmth heat of spilling seed expelling into your cunt is a sensation that drives you insane as he collapses his weight on top of you. You’re breathless, speechless, a part of you unable to comprehend that your crush had fucked you before he had kissed you, that he was the best fuck you had, and how this man wanted you back.

It’s quiet for a bit, the two of you laying on the table as cum dripped out of your cunt, and he rested his head between your exposed breasts.

“So,” you finally rasp, a soft grin coming onto your face. “You have my charger?”

-

“18000 yen?!” Kaibara barked, eyebrows furrowed as he stared at the older lady at the counter who was billing him for his session.

“We are a sex club, Kaibara-sama,” she sighed. “Not only did you have a three-hour session with our most requested maid, but you also marked the merchandise.”

“I couldn’t?!” Kaibara snapped but cooled down almost immediately when the lady pointed at a: ‘Fines for every mark on the maids!!!!’ sign. “Oh.”

“Take it from my paycheck,” you sing from beside him, bundled up in a coat, the marks he gave you completely hidden now. It was the end of your shift and closing time, after all. “I got him riled up without telling him the rules.”

Kaibara chuckled as you arranged a proper check for him.

He thought about what he thought of his life, and while he couldn’t say that his life wasn’t a hentai right now, he knew, without a doubt, that life is not a shoujo manga.

[neuxue]

Hi, neuxue......If you don't mind me asking, who are your favorite “villains” (or antagonists) in MXTX works? Whether it’s a final boss like Jun Wu or more of a side character like Xue Yang. (Whether you want to do a ranking or just write out in no particular order)...Sorry if you've answered this question before....

If I don't mind??? If I don't mind? Please, my friend, you give me an opportunity to talk about favourite villains and I am yours for as long as you'll listen.

Not going to attempt to order them so we'll just go by story:

CQL

Xue Yang - characters who don't realise what they want, or that they've found a way to have it, until the moment when they destroy it!! Who destroy it because on some level they don't truly believe they can have it at all, and because it's easier to lose something when you can convince yourself you were always going to, and that it was your own choice. The whole time-bomb of Yi City just wrecks me.

I'm also generally here for his brand of competence and mercuriality - the knife-edged playfulness that doesn't quite mask a deeper darkness, the tendency to dance just a little too close to the edge with the particular carefree abandon of one who cannot imagine living beyond youth.

Finally... oh man do I even want to try to articulate this? So, he has several traits that often get used as a shorthand for not just ‘evil’ but ‘inherently evil’. Which... frustrates me. But with Xue Yang... yes, he's cast as a villain and yes he loses everything and yes he dies alone and unmourned... but there's a sense of 'it didn't have to go this way'. If the cart driver had been kinder; if his capability had been put to some use other than ‘weapon’. Or that moment in Yi City where he seems to delight just as much in cheating at a silly game of choosing sticks as he does in tricking Xiao Xingchen into killing people. This idea that there could have been another path. (And also, via Yi City, that he is not... inherently unlovable). His story ends in tragedy, but it’s not framed, at least the way I (choose to) read it, as ‘your story can only end in tragedy, because of the way you are’. It gives the option to read it as ‘you are not inherently monstrous’.

(Which then almost feeds back into the tragedy of the first point, because it’s only there in a kind of meta sense: Xue Yang himself? only ever receives the you are a weapon, you are a monster, that is all you can be side of it. Oh man okay I’ll stop here before I get pulled into a whole essay on this because suddenly I want to).

Jin Guangyao - I love a schemer! I love a pragmatist! I love ruthless competence beneath an inscrutable smile! I love characters who will tolerate nothing less than absolute perfection in themselves because they have learned the hard way that it’s the only possible way to survive. Characters who are not exempt from their own ruthlessness, their own cost-benefit analysis. Characters who have learned from their world that happiness must be sacrificed at the altar of survival, and who will do so with heartbreak but without hesitation when necessary. The only way is forward; to look back is to fail, but the irony is they can still never outrun their pasts.

Also he’s another one where there’s such a sense of it didn’t have to end this way. So many points at which things could have been different, so many alternate versions in which his capability could have been channelled towards a different goal, if the goal carved into his bones didn’t have to be survive, in a world that will try to make that impossible. 

I love villains and antagonists of all stripes and moralities, but in this instance what I love is a character who doesn’t want to be a villain, doesn’t want their hands stained with blood, doesn’t want to hurt those they love... but they do not see a choice. 

Wen Zhuliu - he’s highly competent and wears fingerless gloves; what more do you want from me?

Honestly though, he fascinates me. In part it’s the fact that we just don’t get much interiority to him, and only one exchange of dialogue that really suggests his motives, but we also get these little moments, that collectively build this sense of a kind of... lawful neutral, I suppose? Not even villain-by-necessity so much as villain-by-...debt? loyalty? But he also so clearly has such a strong sense of honour, and I just love trying to reconcile all of those pieces into a cohesive whole. 

The other thing that really gets me about him is his extraordinary power and how it’s regarded - especially when juxtaposed with Wei Wuxian’s. In both cases you have a single individual who holds a terrifying and mostly unique power that threatens or pushes the boundaries of their whole society and world. Wei Wuxian commands ghosts without a sword; Wen Zhuliu can extinguish someone’s power with his hands. But, crucially, the difference between them seems to be... that Wei Wuxian is a wildcard; Wen Zhuliu is leashed. And so I have to wonder once again at the strength of that leash, and at what would happen if Wen Zhuliu, like Wei Wuxian, decided to rebel. And in that whole question lives in this really interesting space of... what is it people truly fear? The power? The wielder? That person’s ability to choose? The uncertainty of what they will choose? The possibility of them realising they can?

***

TGCF

He Xuan - I mean the theme here obviously is competence, and He Xuan has a killer aesthetic to go with it, but mostly it’s just... the way his whole character is an exploration of revenge, and the line between vengeance and justice, and the question inherent in the irony of... throwing away the very thing you wanted vengeance for, in order to exact that vengeance.

(And also the whole cycle-of-revenge in doing unto another what was once done unto you, in the process of exacting that vengeance).

I’m just. Unbelievably here for a good betrayal story, and this one has it all! The intimacy! The self-betrayal! The emptiness and hunger!

And while with Xue Yang I love that moment of realising what he wants, or what he’s losing, only in the moment when he destroys it... with He Xuan what I love is that he goes into this, in so many ways, knowing what he’s doing. This is not spontaneity; this is the ultimate premeditation. He knows what he has, in his guise as a heavenly official. He knows, intimately, the person he is betraying. He has given great thought to the how of that betrayal. 

(Is it worth it, in the end?)

(After all, he’s still here)

Bai Wuxiang - one of the dynamics that will wreck me pretty much every time is what I like to call ‘intimate enemies’. Enemies-to-lovers can fit under that umbrella, but it’s a broader umbrella than just that. The idea of characters who (either one-sided or reciprocally) know each other so deeply, and can wield that knowledge to wound. The awful gentleness and precision of holding a knife to the core of someone’s identity. 

That, plus the identity fuckery in general. The way Bai Wuxiang frames himself as Xie Lian’s mirror, and the way he then reflects and warps and tugs at those pieces of Xie Lian’s self and name and will, trying to shape them in his image, but so gently. The way he talks to Xie Lian! The way he strokes his hair as he stabs him! It’s just so much, okay!

So yeah, a lot of it is that I’m just very into the highkey fucked-up dynamic he has with Xie Lian. But also Bai Wuxiang’s own story hits me in a kind of... if you’ll forgive a Wheel of Time reference: betrayer-of-hope betrayed-by-hope kind of way. That he tried so hard once, only for it to fall to ruin in his hands, and now he watches another try (and fail!) as he once did. And the way he seems to, in trying to mould Xie Lian’s present to his own past, be searching for a kind of... vindication? A confirmation of that inevitability? That of course he failed, that he could never have succeeded, because this is the nature of humanity, and it is not worth saving, and so his attempts weren’t failure. 

But the thing with that is: it’s a lose-lose situation. If he succeeds and Xie Lian fails, yes, it gives him that sense of ‘there was never another way, and no point trying to find one’ but is that really... winning? Is finding vindication in despair truly a success? And yet if he fails and Xie Lian succeeds, then does that not also feel like a sword to the heart: that it wasn’t inevitable, and that means he has to come to terms with his own failure and the heartbreak it wrought?