#I just wish my hair was more naturally wavy like his

[eleiyaumei]

Unpopular Hakuōki hairstyle opinions

The only love interest whose hair looks better before his makeover in EB is Sōji. (Ryōma and Iba look good before and after.)

Chizuru looks best with short hair.

Am I biased because I just got my hair cut at shoulder-length for the first time in my life?

Maybe ^^'

Edit: (I hope this is a popular opinion:)

Shiranui has the most beautiful hair out of every character in Hakuōki.

[throwaway-yandere]

𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting. 

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either. 

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white. 

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?" 

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man. 

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts. 

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species." 

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

[gladiatorcunt]

summary: priest!leto x afab!reader x priest!paul (title from scorpio by pour vous)

cw: blasphemy if i’m being so real, spit roasting, reader is lowkey losing it but they’ll be okay, dubcon, pwp-ish (there’s set up but it’s not that long imo), mention of paul being into predator/prey, daddy kink coded without the actual daddy kink, horror elements, unreliable narrator vibes, mention of them being willing to non con reader if things didn’t go their way, no incest between leto & paul 💀, reader’s their sad loser turned attic spouse, mention of eventual impreg, implied soft dom!leto & mean dom!paul, religious practice inaccuracies, possibly predictable plot twists, implied painful anal but reader’s too out of it to feel it, implied natural aphrodisiac in their spit, reader bleeds

wc: 2.5k

block & move on if uncomfortable,

do not translate/repost/give my works to ai

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You’ve been feeling… lost. The trees keep secrets from you and the clouds mix together like egg whites. You wish you knew what kind of pill you need to be on, you wish you knew what was wrong with you. You’re paranoid and seeing blank eyes watching you through the brick and mortar of your apartment. Your skin burns hotter than hell and sometimes you think that there are claws grabbing at your ankles when you sleep.

Church hasn’t been something you’ve bothered to attend since you were a kid, but you yearn for it now.

You pull your tattered coat around yourself as you step into the ancient building. The Church of Caladan is the oldest church in the country, if not the world. You hope you don’t look silly when you take caution with how hard your feet hit the stone. ‘You break it, you buy it’ must apply to old churches too.

Your unease rolls off you in waves, and a couple nearby priests seem to sense it in the same way that horses can sense fear. For a second you imagine bursting into flames, but there are hands groping your flesh through the great hellfire.

They’re about even in height, though one is clearly older. The gray hair weaved into his temples suits him more than it shows his age. The younger man has the same dark and wavy hair, but his gaze is a touch more haggard and rife with burden.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn't have burst in here…. I'm just looking around.” You rush to explain so they would go away, internally cringing at yourself.

“No, we want newcomers to feel comfortable enough to ask questions. I’m Leto,” He says and shakes your hand. “And this is my son, Paul. He’s recently started working here at the church with me.”

Paul steps up to shake your head as well, his mouth doesn’t move but you swear that the corners twitch. The stained glass windows cast a multicolored hue on his eyes and you find yourself lost in the swirling pools of light. Then black holes swallow the brightness in the irises, cosmic cannibalism.

You blink in alarm and awkwardly take a step back from the two priests. Father and son share a look between them that has the hairs on the back of your neck standing them.

Leto clears his throat and pointedly grabs your hands in both of his, encapsulating them in his warmth.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Paul’s never dealt with a lamb as darling as you before. He’s never dealt with one at all actually, you two can go through this together.”

Paul smiles but it fits all wrong, with teeth that should be fangs and with a tongue that appears forked. You blink again and all is well, the man before you fits his human skin like a glove. Maybe you should give them the benefit of the doubt, you’re convinced you’re going crazy anyway and Priests would never be capable of hurting someone. Ghosts aren’t real and Demons are just a crazed mother’s bedtime story.

“Um, okay. Thank you for accepting me.” That’s all you want, deep down, and they know that. “I felt moved to be here, I can’t explain it.”

Leto nods and Paul rubs your shoulder in sympathy. They would hiss that they know full well what called you here, but you might bleat and scurry away. You make a sad picture, abandoned and half insane, but that’s what they are for. To soothe and to serve you, to purify you from the inside out.

“Then all the more reason to stay and sit for a moment, don’t you think?” Paul finally speaks, the boyish tone surprising you.

“Paul’s right, let’s get this jacket off you, poor lamb. You must be freezing to death.” Leto coos, shushing your protests and carefully pulling the cheap thing off of you.

They take you on a little tour of sorts, pointing out the architectural details of the building itself as well as passionately delving into its history. Centuries of worship and service to the community, strangely never having sustained any kind of property damage. The priests speak of the church as if they were wandering through the halls all this time, and they chuckle when they tease you about how relieved they were that you didn’t suffer from a nosebleed. They’re quite common apparently.

“I think that should do it, i’d hate to think that we’ve been talking your ear off, dear.” Leto says, rubbing the inside of your wrist and directing you towards the large piano on the stage at the front of the church.

He must notice the sudden spark in your eyes at the sight, because his crow’s feet wrinkles deepen as he pulls the black piano bench out. Leto’s palm spreads out wide and he gives the leather seat a firm pat, signaling for you to sit down. Butterflies swirl in your stomach with anxiety but you feel too shy to refuse the clearly eager offer. You take a seat in front of an onyx grand piano far grander than you’re used to seeing in a church.

Leto soon occupies the space next to you. The bench is small enough that your thigh is pressing against his, warmth bleeds through your clothes and the indication of muscle really makes you wish you were alone in your room with a rose toy. You place your fingers on the pristinely polished keys and clumsily play some hodgepodge of a melody that you remember from your childhood. A mix of tchaikovsky and children's church songs.

You jump and play the wrong note when you feel thick fingers slide up your thigh. Your cheeks burn with heat but you focus on the music. Leto sighs with sugary sweet satisfaction but doesn’t move his fingers any further. He also doesn’t try to play, it’s almost like he only wants to bask in the domesticity of watching you perform. You think you hear him whisper “That’s it, who knew such a talented lamb would be gracing our doorstep?”

You get a flash of riding him on the piano, gasping into his hair chest when it breaks under the weight of your passion. Thin fingers come from behind to caress your ass as it moves, much colder than the cock you’re bouncing on. Then it fades away, and you’re back to making a fool of yourself with your little song.

Paul watches from the pulpit, eyes drinking in the way your curves expand and move as you squirm. His grip tightens on the bright wood but you’re none the wiser. You almost forget that he’s even there, something which he realizes because he strolls to stand behind you and his father. The music stops once you feel his breath on your neck and he bends down to tenderly pull your hair off of your shoulder, getting himself acquainted with the texture as he rubs his fingertips down the strands.

A distant voice calls out for Leto and he stands, smiling apologetically and thanking you for the performance. You feel adrift as you watch him walk away, reminding yourself that a man like him has other things to do than coddle you.

Paul slides a hand down your back and guides you down to the pew right up front, with a view of center stage, sitting right beside you with a wink. Once Leto returns, you spot the silver tray of communion wafers in his hands. The tray is set on the pulpit by his side.

The older man's eyes darken as he puts one in his mouth, and your brain shuts down when he snatches your face in his rough palms and kisses you sense no less. The wafer cracks as his tongue passes it into your mouth, the salty crumbs oddly making you crave something even saltier. There’s a sticky sweet sensation traveling through your body as you exchange saliva with him, your brain feels so foggy.

You break away, curling your hands into the collar of Leto’s uniform.

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your voice is small and not completely filled with disgust, you’re honestly too desperate for some form of human contact to make good decisions.

“We’re helping you, honey.” Leto purrs into the seam of your mouth, shaking his head in apparent fondness.

You’re too cute for your own good, at least they don’t have to worry about covering their tracks. Any incubus or succubus would be glad to get a hold of someone as lonely as you, but they wouldn’t love you like you deserve. You haven’t been watched by anyone as long as you’ve been watched by them. He hopes that Paul doesn’t shove his foot in his mouth and let it slip that he wished you gave them the opportunity to take you by force. His son carries a torch for a bit of predator and prey action, he likes playing with his food too much. You’re different from the scrambling mice that get torn to bits, though, you’re forever.

Plus, if you don’t get it now, he has no problems with explaining everything when you’re too weak to get up and try to run away.

Paul buries his face in your neck, spilling the vial of wine he had in his pocket down your shirt. It soaks the tank top underneath and though you try with all your might to wriggle away, the desire to resist gets brushed away under a heavy fog.

It’s nice to be touched, to be wanted after a lifetime of feeling the exact opposite. Perhaps this is why the lord guided you to his grandest home, so you could take his prophets into your body.

The black vanishes from Paul’s eyes and you sink against his chest, making out with his father as your eyes roll back into your head.

No words are uttered verbally as Paul shuffles to the side and pulls you to lie back on the pew’s cushion. Leto deprives you of his tongue and gives you a chance to breathe, which both men do with you in sync, resting their foreheads against you.

The nectar on your tongue tastes divine, little lamb, a voice whispers in your mind.

Let us give you purpose so you no longer need to roam, another begs.

You’re crying from the relief of having your mouth filled, Paul tilts your head up by your chin as he slowly slides his cock into your mouth. The ridges and bumps of what feels like piercings sends a jolt of arousal through you.

“Fuck-” He hisses and rubs your neck, watching you adjust to the stretch. “So warm-”

Leto tuts and clamps his hands around your hips, you’re already too fucked out to register sharp black claws taking care of your clothes. Leaving you bare. A shiver passes through your body as he drags his huge hand down to your pussy, being mindful not to accidentally scratch you. He intends for there to be no blood, this time, not a lot.

You gag on Paul’s length when Leto slams your hips against his pelvis, grinding not one but two large cocks against your cunt. If you were looking at his face, you’d see pitch black eyes and intimidating fangs, but all you can focus on is the hazy candle light and what must be someone playing an organ.

You catch a view of one of the stained class windows, a pair of angels cradling a lamb. It’s the only damaged part of the church, with cracks running along the angel’s wings. You’d think it’s a sneeze away from shattering entirely. Your view of it is blurred by Paul’s quick thrusts, gagging on it again. Drools drip onto the red carpet.

Leto grabs one of Paul’s curled horns and yanks his head to the side, scolding at him to be nicer to you. You’ve clearly never taken three cocks inside you, the one you’re servicing is proving to be overwhelming enough. Again, Paul’s new to this experience as well, just in a different way than you are. In a sense, it’s like he was born yesterday. The older man relays this to you through your choked moans and tears, assuring you that he’s taught Paul how to clean up his messes and be grateful. Something like this will be no different.

“Hush, beloved. I would have gladly speared your mouth but you would be dead before I could cum inside it.”

You see God in the sky when Leto slaps the tapered tip of one of his dicks against your slick entrance, God sees you when he gets the tight walls of ass to wrap around the other. Unbeknownst to you, it’s funny how so many things are, your blood pools around his balls. You’re in pain sure but you’ve never felt as much pleasure as you have in this instance. Both “Priests” smell your blood and well, only your body can tell the rest of the story. Later you’ll wake up to find that the building around you has ruby walls and it seems to be breathing. The shooting pain in your left hand is the result of two iron rings being chiseled into the bone of your ring finger.

The four leathery wings protruding from your back, with spikes poking out from the joints, are waiting to be discovered. As are the nubs sprouting out of your hair.

For now beads of sweat highlight your bouncing tits, Paul gropes one and Leto runs the edge of his claw along the side of the other. They’re hissing words that string together and disappear in the blink of an eye, voices slurred and sticky. Their babbling stops and starts again as you reflexively swallow around Paul’s cock when he skull fucks you without warning. They laugh too, but you can at least pretend that Leto’s tone is kinder.

“Alright, alright. That’s enough teasing.”

“But father-“

“I said no. And don’t think for a second that you’re getting anything else but their mouth.”

“Why the fuck not?”

“You lack self control, it wouldn’t be suitable for conception to occur like this. As delectable as their quivering cunt is, demons shouldn’t abstain from courting.”

“You’re saying that as you’re balls deep inside of them.”

“Don’t start with me, Paul.”

All while you’re making gurgling sounds in between the younger priest’s thighs. You hear growls that sound like a mountain lion’s emitting from both men, and the heavy thumps of something flapping in the air gets you holes clenching around Leto. Both men feverishly scratch up and down your limp body, but you’re so enraptured by the chorus of angels happening outside. You have no sense of time, it’s minutes or it’s hours before their cum spills inside of you. There’s too much to possibly keep it all inside, a good amount of it leaks from your cunt and your throat. Leto feels like Christ incarnate when you squirt all over him and yourself with the dumbest expression on your face. Multicolored pieces of glass fall down around you with the loud chime of an invisible bell.

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐈 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Zeke Yeager x f!reader [ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Cupio dissolvi means "I wish to be dissolved" and it's typically used in a religious context, but I'm using it in the secular sense to express "such concepts as the rejection of existence and the masochistic desire for self-destruction." You can thank Wikipedia for that last bit. Enjoy the pwp. Don't fuck your psychiatrist. [ SYNOPSIS ] You reluctantly decide to tackle your personal issues and end up in the clutches of a psychiatrist with questionable methods. [ WORD COUNT ] 3.8k [ CONTENT ] Modern AU, dubcon, power imbalance, sadomasochism, dacryphilia, impact play/spanking, some very brief phone sex, size kink (Zeke is bigger than you, calls you little), praise, a little predator/prey but it's mostly in the mc's head, dumbification, facial.

“Welcome. I’m Dr. Zeke Yeager. It’s nice to meet you.”

You didn’t shake his extended hand as you crossed the threshold into his office. You practically sprinted to sit down in a plush chair. You gazed straight ahead, looking past the psychiatrist. He was rendered a formless smudge, a figure unworthy of focus, as he took a seat. The wall behind him was painted a faded pink, a pathetic attempt to subdue. It reminded you of an abandoned Barbie dreamhouse.

“Thanks for taking the time to see me,” you said, words glazed with malaise.

This was the last place you wanted to be, but the only person you could blame was yourself. A brief moment of supposed clarity overwhelmed your self-destructive nature, and you made an appointment to see a psychiatrist.

“What are you hoping to get out of these sessions?” he asked.

You allowed your eyes to focus and droned, “Uhhhhhhh. Well, Dr. Yea—”

“Call me Zeke. There’s no need to be formal.”

Zeke was younger than you expected. He looked more like a high school history teacher, the kind that lets kids hang out in his classroom after school. His wavy blond hair was in perfect disarray; it was clear he put a lot of effort into looking effortless. He wore a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It fit perfectly, subtly showing off his muscled arms. He looked heavenly, like a bearded angel or Jesus himself.

Your heart was in your throat. You were always a sucker for blondes.

“I just want to feel… better?” you said cautiously, hoping you answered the question correctly.

“What does better mean to you?”

You exhaled sharply. “Less neurotic?”

“I see.”

You could tell he wasn’t satisfied with your answer. You decided to put forth a little effort.

“Less edgy? Maybe less…” You sighed. “I feel like I’m too aware of everything. It feels like everything is happening to me all at the same time. It’s overwhelming.”

“That sounds exhausting. Tell me about a time where you felt like that.”

His tone was warm though it lacked a certain sincerity. It was clear it was a practiced action. You hoped for an individualized approach, or maybe a psychiatrist that was better at acting. It was hard not to imagine yourself on an assembly line.

“Sometimes when I’m on the bus I’ll see people running to catch it, like just going as fast as they can. And then they miss it. Seeing that will ruin my day.”

“You must be a very empathetic person.”

You shook your head. “I just hate seeing someone try so hard and fail. It makes me uncomfortable. It’s so embarrassing for them.” You paused. “I guess what really bothers me is that I let something so stupid and insignificant affect me when it has nothing to do with me. I hate that I notice that stuff. I feel like I am noticing everything against my will.”

“You poor thing.”

“And sometimes I just want to explode. Like everything becomes too much and I want to burn it all down.”

He started writing stuff down in his notebook. You wanted to kick yourself for being so honest. It was almost like you were taking it seriously.

“But I’m still a good person, you know? I just think the world is constantly trying to terrorize me so I’m always alert? It’s hard to explain.”

He put down his notebook. “I never said you weren’t a good person. Do you have a boyfriend? A partner?”

He changed the subject with a smoothness you could only describe as magnificent. If any other man had pulled that on you, you would have walked out with zero hesitation. But Zeke transfixed you.

“No. I… I’m not really into all of that.”

“Not really into all of that? Interesting. Can I ask why?”

“It’s too much pressure. No one’s expectations ever line up.”

He chuckled. “People can be very opaque about what they’re seeking. Tinder’s the worst for it.”

It was hard to imagine him on any sort of dating app. He had the face of a guy that hunts his prey in the wild. You imagined him skulking around bars, watching his potential conquests drink themselves placid. It isn’t a traditional pursuit. He just watches and waits until they’re tired and slurring every sentence and struggling to use a rideshare app. That’s when he pounces.

“I’ve heard Tinder isn’t great,” you said, shaking off your weird fantasy.

“It’s only good for hookups.”

His frankness seemed unprofessional, but this was your first appointment with a psychiatrist so what the hell did you know. Maybe things were more casual, a little looser. Maybe discussing hookups was the norm. You fought off the urge to imagine what a night with him entailed, but it haunted you. Tangled sheets. His rough hands holding you down. Your knees pressing against your shoulders as he splits you in two.

You laughed nervously. “Yeah.”

“Sorry, let’s get back to business.” He adjusted his glasses, the frames gold and intricate. “It sounds like you may be experiencing hypervigilance.”

“Huh?”

“You’re always on the lookout for potential threats. You are essentially a prey animal.”

You were almost convinced he could read your mind. You never considered yourself prey, but it was clear that he did. Your toes curled. The discomfort was of an unusual flavor. Nauseating yet gratifying.

“How’s your sleep?

“Awful, I guess.”

“You guess,” he murmured. “Why is that?”

His questions felt endless, like the appointment was going to eat up the entirety of your life.

“I can’t shut my brain off.”

He sank down into his chair and spread his legs.

“How do you cope with that?”

“I really don’t… Unless weeping counts.”

“Do you feel… relieved when you cry?” he asked, staring intently at your lips.

“Kind of.”

“How often do you cry?”

He seemed too eager as he awaited your answer.

“I don’t keep track. Should I?”

“I doubt it would help,” he confessed. “What else do you do to relieve yourself?”

You glanced down at his crotch and noticed a bulge fighting against the thin fabric of his chinos. The air was sucked out of the room. His cock lured you in, demanding you to witness its growing glory.

“I don’t know,” you confessed. “Sorry.”

“I see. You seem a little combative,” he teased.

You weren’t being combative. You just couldn’t answer his questions thoughtfully on the spot. You weren’t prepared. You hadn’t planned on taking the appointment seriously. Time was needed to manifest something meaningful.

“You seem,”—you coughed nervously—“accusatory.”

He smirked. “Normally I’d refer someone like you to a therapist, but I can’t think of one equipped to deal with you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Don’t be. After some consideration I’ve decided my counseling would be beneficial. I’m going to send you off with some homework.”

You assumed your days of homework were far behind you.

“Do you masturbate?”

“I do not feel comfortable answering that.”

“It’s a simple question. You either do or you don’t.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“Just trust me.”

“Give me a reason.”

“Fine. We talked about what you do to relieve yourself, right?” You went to answer but he cut you off. “I think masturbating will provide immense relief.”

“Well… I do already,” you huffed. “So I don’t think it’s helping much.”

He looked at you like you were the dumbest creature he had ever seen.

“You need to masturbate with intention.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s hard to explain without me knowing what you’re doing wrong, which is why I need you to record yourself.”

A wet spot bloomed in your underwear.

“A voice recording is fine,” he acquiesced.

“Yeah, sure, okay. I’ll get right on that,” you said getting up.

You turned your back to him and quickly made your way to the door. The sound of his feet hitting the ground startled you as you went to turn the knob. Your brief moment of hesitation gave him enough time to grab you by the shoulder. The weight of his hand was disarming.

“I want to see you again next week, same time,” he said as he turned you around, your back against the door.

Your face was hot. “I’m not—”

“I promise I’m not taking advantage of you. My methods are proven to work,” he said, slipping his business card into your back pocket.

“So you pull this with all the girls?” you spat.

“The boys too.”

His conviction stirred up the whispers of ardor you tried to keep buried. His breath was clouded by a nauseating combination of espresso and tobacco, though the grime began to entice. You could feel the heat of his body against yours. You wanted to pull him closer so you could melt away into his warm embrace, but you couldn’t initiate something so brazen. You never had the guts for forwardness. And you liked to pretend you knew better.

“How progressive,” you finally choked out.

“I realize that this seems unorthodox and I don’t blame you for resisting.” He played with a piece of your hair. “If you value your mental health, you’ll trust me. Do I look like someone that would lead you astray?”

Kind of, you thought to yourself.

Your hesitation was palpable. He looked like he could practically taste it. He softened his gaze. It could have been a guilt trip, or just a half-assed attempt to assure you he had your best interests in mind.

“What if I don’t want to do it this way?”

“Then I might not be the right person to help you.”

You sighed. His methods did not seem trustworthy; they seemed like something ripped from a gross subreddit. HOT DOCTOR TRICKS DUMB BITCH PATIENT INTO PHONE SEX. You struggled to fully divorce the degradation from the situation. Being that dumb bitch patient was growing on you. It wove itself into your skin, becoming a part of you.

“Fine,” you replied. “But I’m not recording myself.”

“What if you call me?”

“In the middle of it?”

“Yes.”

“I…”

“C’mon. It’s not like I’m a predator. I’m your doctor.”

You wanted to trust him, but you thought about how easy it would be to use as leverage against you. A three hour deep dive video about revenge porn echoed through your mind. Opening yourself up to potential humiliation made you ill.

“I’ll call you. Maybe. I don’t know,” you mumbled.

He backed away. “Even if you don’t, try not to miss next week’s appointment. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about you."

You laughed, but failed to say anything. You slipped out the door and tried to convince yourself to give up working on yourself. Maybe you could get by living in a state of constant hypervigilance.

That night you crawled into bed, vibrator in hand. A life filled with hypervigilance sounded atrocious.

You stared up at the ceiling, your toy vibrating against your thigh on the lowest setting. It felt late, but you couldn’t check the time. You made a conscious effort to put your phone far away from your bed. You decided to humor Zeke, but you weren’t allowing yourself to call him in the midst of touching yourself.

You sighed and gripped your vibrator. You spread your legs and began to graze the inside of your labia with the tip. Normally you’d pull up Twitter and scroll mindlessly until a video of a hairy guy violently fucking a girl half his size popped up, but that wasn’t an option. You tried to imagine someone crawling between your legs, eyes dripping with lust as they work their fingers between your folds. You kept having to start over because your fantasy was plagued with your bearded fixation. The constant interruptions did little to entice you.

You pressed your vibrator against your clit. You fiddled with the settings until it was a series of long, hard pulses. You rutted up against it trying to unwind and give into pleasure. But you kept fighting off visions of Zeke rolling his tongue against your cunt. You wondered what his beard would feel like between your thighs. You wanted to know if he kept his glasses on because it seemed like leaving them on would be hotter.

You let out a dejected “fuck.”

You rolled over onto your side and stared at your phone. You wanted it to invoke disgust, disdain, but all it did was lure you out of bed. You rifled through your hamper to find your jeans. You fished his card out of your pocket. It had a goofy head shot of him and the number for his office which frustrated you to no end. You flipped it over and saw another number hastily scrawled on the back. You sighed in relief and called him.

“Yeah?” he croaked.

“Uh, sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Oh. Hello.” His voice was still tinged with sleep, but much warmer. “You don’t need to apologize. I’m happy you called. How are things going?”

“They’re… not. I can’t get in the mood.”

“Hm. You didn’t mention struggling with that during your appointment.”

“I usually don’t,” you grumbled.

He laughed. “How are you struggling? Lead me through your process.”

You swallowed hard. “I, you know, try to… imagine something, but I keep thinking about things… I don’t, um, want to think about.”

“Like what? Violence? Your family? Animals?”

“What? No! A man! A human man.”

“Your father is a human man presumably.”

“I’m not thinking about my dad!”

“It’s more common than you think.”

You were starting to regret calling him. “It’s you. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Really?” The word dripped with amusement. “I can’t imagine why that’s a problem.”

“Well, it is.”

“Jeez, what did I ever do to you?” he snickered.

“I didn’t call you to get teased.”

He coughed nervously. “I’m sorry. I can’t help myself when I’m dealing with someone as precious as you, but that’s my problem. Not yours.”

“You think I’m cute?”

You weren’t surprised by this revelation, but wanted to draw out more praise.

“I do. You’re so adorable I can’t stand it.”

“You can’t stand it?”

“Uh huh,” he replied. “I hear that sweet voice of yours and all I can think about is fucking you so hard you cry. Would you like that?”

His words knocked the wind out of you. He said it so casually, like he was talking about the weather or what he ate for dinner.

“Or I could fuck you so hard you stop thinking. I’ll just have you be my adorable idiot I take care of.” He paused. “Come to think of it, that might help with the hypervigilance.”

He said it so thoughtfully it was almost kind of sweet. You were at a loss for words.

“Say something. Anything.”

“I would like that. Both. Uh. Both would be great.”

You smacked yourself in the forehead for being so unsexy.

“You sound nervous.”

“I am, but I think I like it.”

“Oh good,”—he sighed in relief—“because my cock is so hard right now and I’d feel like a pervert if you weren’t into this.”

“You’re still a pervert,” you said, putting your phone on speaker.

“Why don’t you tell this pervert what you’d want him to do to you?”

You flopped back down on your bed, resting your phone on your pillow, and patted around for your vibrator. You wracked your brain, desperate to think of something sufficiently sexy to say.

“I want,”—you hesitated—“I want you to ruin me. For other people. I want you to do something so disgusting to me that no one else will want to touch me.”

“Is that so?” he purred. “Tell me more, cutie pie.”

“I like it when it hurts.” You winced. You were never great at dirty talk, but Zeke seemed to enjoy it. You heard him let out a pleased groan. “A lot,” you added.

“Do you want me to hurt you, my little masochist?” he asked, voice catching in his throat.

“Yes,” you said as your fingers grazed your cunt.

You heard him try to stifle a moan before going silent.

“I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this,” he finally said.

You held the vibrator against your clit. Each pulse permeated your body. “What?”

“Where do you live? We can worry about masturbating later. I need to fuck you.”

You sat up. “I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“Sex brings people together. It’ll make it easier to open up to me.”

He was just finding ways to rationalize his desires. You never expected him to want you so desperately, especially if this was something he pulled often. That should have turned you off, but all it did was make you want him more. It was borderline idiotic to invite a strange man into your home. But there was no better feeling than the ecstasy of self destruction. You relished his red flags.

“Come on. I need to taste your pussy. I’m starving.”

“Alright. I’ll give you my address, but you have to send me a picture of your dick first.”

Zeke hung up immediately. A minute later he texted you a dick pick. You stared at the screen, bewitched by his cock. It was thick and long, almost beastly. The foreskin was pulled back revealing a pink tip, shiny with precum. You sent him your address without a second thought.

I live 10 mins away from you. How perfect, he replied.

Those ten minutes took their sweet time. You stood there, staring at the door. It was as if you were in a trance. You couldn’t wait for him to walk through your door and your heart sang when he finally knocked.

“Hi,” you said, eyes full of stars.

He smirked. “Hey, cutie pie.”

He wore a fitted t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that failed to hide his semi-hard cock. A cigarette dangled from his lips.

“I’m assuming I can’t smoke inside.”

“I, uh, I guess it’s fine.”

He dropped his cigarette on the ground and carefully extinguished the cherry with his foot. He patted your head as he glided through the door. He didn’t seem nervous at all. His motions were relaxed, fluid, effortless. Twinges of jealousy pricked your skin. You still wanted him, still elated that he was standing in your home. But your brain started moving a thousand miles a second.

Was your place sufficiently clean? Did he bring condoms? Did you want him to wear one? Was he using you? Did he need you as bad as he was acting? Were you just a convenience? Did your room smell nice? Should you light a candle? What if you lit a candle and something caught fire while you’re fucking? Would you stop? What if you kept fucking and burned to death? Isn’t there something sexy about letting it all turn to ash? Could this be why orgasms are called little deaths? Did you remember to take your birth control? What if he has lung cancer and then breathes cancer into your mouth?

“Cancer’s not contagious,” you whispered to yourself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” you chirped, quickly stripping yourself naked before following after him.

You found him undressing in your room. You could barely contain yourself when he pulled his shirt over his head. His body was toned, but soft. He caught you staring and smiled awkwardly. It quelled the thoughts racing around your brain.

He got on your bed, resting on his knees. His eyes went to your vibrator.

“Aw, you really were trying,” he teased and patted the bed. “Come here. Ass up.”

You wasted no time getting into position and arched your back. He slipped his fingers into your cunt all the way up to his knuckles. He slowly pulled them out and let out a delighted hum.

He leaned over you, his beard tickling your ear. “Fucking incredible,” he murmured. “You’re going to be the one that gets me in trouble. I know it.”

He slid his cock into your cunt. You dug your fingers into the mattress as he pushed it further in. He took his time, making sure you felt every single inch of him filling you. Normally penetration didn’t do much for you. All it did was stress you out. You’d tense up and render yourself unfuckable. But Zeke was different.

He cared about you.

He had concerns regarding your mental health.

His dick was huge.

He didn’t show you any mercy. Each thrust drove his cock against your cervix. Waves of pain washed over you, the anguish further obscuring your issues. The relief was a welcomed affliction. You dug your fingers deeper into the mattress and gritted your teeth.

“You said you like it when it hurts, right?”

“Ye—yeah,” you stuttered as he continued to plunge his cock in your cunt.

He slapped your ass. The pain shot through you and you moaned. Just as soon as the sting subsided, he slapped you again. It made your heart swell. You felt like it was creeping up your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes as your ecstatic moans swelled.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, forcing you to crane your neck back.

“I knew you’d be a pretty crier.”

His praise made you ecstatic. “Make me cry more.”

He pushed your head down into the mattress and fucked you harder. You went limp. All you could do was whimper and let your orgasm overtake you. Your entire body was throbbing, singing with agony and exaltation. When he pulled out, his cock was slick with your fluids.

“Roll over.”

“Huh?”

He laughed and flipped you over with ease. You stared up at him in a daze. The world was still spinning around you. He started to stroke himself, his breathing labored and depraved.

“Close your eyes and open your mouth,” he choked out.

You shut your eyes and stuck out your tongue, eager to drink in every drop of his cum. His desperate groans made your clit throb. You were burning up, the anticipation coursing through your veins.

“Fuck!” he rasped as cum splattered on your face.

You opened your eyes as he rubbed the tip of his cock on your tongue. You felt so small in his shadow, his body looming over yours. He stared down at you, his expression a little cold, a little clinical.

“So how do you feel?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I… Fine, I guess.”

“You guess?”

“I don’t know. Good. I just—I can’t really talk right now.”

You were inarticulate in the shadow of your orgasm. Your brain existed elsewhere.

He frowned. “Alright. I have a lot of questions for you in the morning. I know you haven’t been in treatment long but I think we’re close to a breakthrough.”

[the-old-mayhem]

my hair is wavy and it goes through stages of wavy or straight depending on what i do to it. idk what his hair care hygiene routine was but im sure he had natural waves that just didn’t show in some pictures depending if product or buildup was just heavy on his hair lol

I am convinced he did.

His sister is the spitting image of him and she has curly hair as does her daughter. It's obvious the genes are there, so it's more than wishful thinking.

His hair doesn't really fit the description of "he curled it in 1985 and then it grew out".

There were 6 years between 1985 and his death, and his hair, as we have seen, went through phases of being wavy but also suddenly curly, then straight.

Whatever was going on there, it seems to me that his lack of proper hair care and subsequently, horrible vitamin deficiency / depression / dubious hygiene, made it limp as fuck.

Like, you can fry an egg on his hair grease here, of course it was straight

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | two

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she knows who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: violence, injuries, description of injuries, PTSD, bad language, again The King of Hybern...

A/N: so here it is, the second part. I really hope that you're all liking it. It's starting to settle, our protagonists are meeting and it's getting more interesting!! As always, any kind of support would be greatly appreciated! Thank you all for your time❤️

Nimue stands in the middle of her enormous room: a chamber so deep within her father's castle, it is carved directly into the mountain rock. She doesn't see natural light, hear the ocean waves, or watch birds fly.

Not that she has ever seen them. She simply knows they exist, how they sound, how they smell, because the Cauldron has told her so.

She observes her own reflection in the huge mirror on the wall. The girl she sees is truly beautiful. She possesses an ethereal beauty that seems to emanate from within her, as if she were imbued with the same magic that created her. Her long, silky hair falls in wavy cascades of silver, with flashes of light that seem to dance with every movement. Her eyes are of a hypnotic color, like the whitest of pearls, shining with ancient wisdom and fierce determination. Her skin is pale as the moon, yet it gleams with a radiant glow that seems to illuminate even the darkest night. Her figure is slender and elegant.

The reflection the mirror returns is that of an ancient, wise, powerful being.

However, she only feels like a child, surrounded by things she knows from others' words.

When her father isn't listening, Nimue asks the Palace cooks to recount to her what the world beyond the walls is like. In particular, it's the words of old Ferlan that she enjoys hearing the most: she describes the landscape beyond the cliffs on which the castle stands, the dense enchanted forests, the fertile plains where people live in beautiful villages, the beaches of black sand and cold water, the cliffs where giants were said to have once dwelled...

It's those stories that comfort Nimue's lonely heart, that shed light on her shadow-filled world.

Before she knows it, she's wandered so far in her daydreams that she doesn't even know what time it is.

That's when she feels it in the air, even before hearing it. That sweet scent that accompanies The Voice...

"You have everything in your power to be free, child," it whispers in her ear. The scent, the presence, like a smoke-shaped entity, swirls around her, caressing her cheeks and tucking strands of hair behind her ears. "No one would dare stand in your way. Once you decide, the world will bow to your will. Your father will submit to your will..."

Nimue violently shakes her head. The Voice steps back, but when she becomes still again, it clings to her skin once more.

"But father... what has he done to me?"

The Voice laughs, and Nimue feels like she's going to be sick.

"What has father done to you? You're foolish, child. Foolish. Foolish. Innocent. Foolish," it spits out word after word, and Nimue feels them like daggers.

"Father brought me into the world, father gave me life. I owe everything to father, and he asks me to fight in his name. To protect my people from those who wish us harm."

Nimue clings to her own words like a mantra.

"Father loves me..." she whispers into the air, for The Voice is no longer there with her. She wonders if it was ever really there at all, or if it was just feverish imaginings to soothe her own loneliness.

Father loves her. But she knows he's not a good person. Nimue knows what lies beyond, and she longs to see the sunlight, to see the sea, to feel the rain on her skin...

Nimue knows her father isn't a good person. But neither is she.

She knows she has to kill her father. But where will she find the courage? She only knows these four walls that surround her. What will she do when she kills him? Will the Cauldron be angry with her? What kind of child kills their own father?

She spins, and spins, and spins with the same questions for years. Since the moment she gained enough awareness in her fae body to realize that her "father" wasn't the hero of the story, and she was just another puppet in his conquest game.

The only thing she was sure of was that she wouldn't be the good one either. That she wouldn't let her father win that game.

With light steps, she leaves her room and decides to wander around the castle for a bit. Curiosity is what moves her.

In these past weeks, her father's castle has been filled with various guests of all kinds, a very diverse selection. The legions of the attor, her father's elite soldiers, the highest-ranking officials, there were even two males from Prythian and a few simple humans.

Humans. Nimue had been smelling them for weeks in every corner of the castle. That stale stench that seeped into her pores.

She wondered what reasons the King would have to bring humans into the cleanliness of his castle, but as always, even if she asked, the answer would be the same: politics is not Nimue's concern. Nimue only fights, fights, fights.

However, today the hallways were surprisingly empty. Empty of humans, attor, and even the guards.

Where was everyone?

And it was right at that moment, in that desolate and gloomy hallway, that Nimue noticed the silence.

There were guards all over the castle. Magical guards isolating something, someone. There was something blocking her senses, and no matter how much she extended her magical perception, she couldn't feel the Cauldron.

The Cauldron.

Her heart skipped a beat when she realized she was alone without the presence of the Cauldron. If until then she had felt lonely, she realized it was nothing compared to the pressure she felt in her chest.

What was happening?

She began to run, like a lost child in an enchanted forest.

While she had never seen the Cauldron after she emerged, she had always lived with its constant presence in the castle. She knew it was there, it comforted her, it kept her company. Sometimes she even believed that The Voice she heard was the Cauldron itself, seeking to keep her company.

She kept running, and running, and running, not knowing where to. As she turned a corner, she felt the need to grip the white stone wall so tightly that she felt a nail break.

What was that pain in her chest? By the Mother, she had never experienced an arrow to the heart, but she imagined that's how it must feel. What was happening to her?

As soon as she caught her breath, she continued running somewhere, with that throbbing pain between her ribs.

And she heard it:

My creature, my sweet creature.

She stopped abruptly, all senses alert and panting like a racehorse.

Come, princess. I have gifts for you. Follow my voice, sweet girl.

Nimue almost sobbed. That voice, sweet, like a mother's... The Cauldron was calling her.

She finally saw it clearly: she knew which doors to open, which stairs to climb, which corners to turn. She saw it so clearly that for a moment she was blinded by all that power that the Cauldron emanated.

"I'm coming!" she cried, desperate.

She knew which door it was behind, and when she opened it, the wave of power that greeted her completely stunned her.

And then she began to process her surroundings: in the throne room, there were all the guards, all the creatures that formed her father's court. All surrounding a truly grotesque scene.

Nimue put on the intimidating mask she had practiced so much, while her gaze danced from figure to figure: an Ilyrian (an Ilyrian male, she hadn't seen any!) lying on the floor, its black and powerful wings now nothing more than torn limbs and patches of skin. A little further away, another Ilyrian male (by the Mother, two in one day!), this one with an arrow lodged in his chest and kneeling in a pool of his own blood, next to him a beautiful blonde female with tears streaming down her face.

She kept looking, there was everything in that room. When everyone recognized her presence and turned to look at her, she felt as if time stood still as she advanced, making her way among the guards' armors. With her head held high and her curious gaze, she tried to calm her own nerves and continued observing.

There were humans there, those women her father had once called queens. Queens of what? Also that hateful Jurian, with whom she had coincided a couple of times, enough to decide he was nothing but trash. And two females...

Her gaze returned to the group beyond, where behind the Ilyrian she found a pair of fae, and unwittingly she recognized him, his darkness.

Rhysand.

She frowned and continued walking towards her father, circling the whole scene while feeling all eyes on her, following her graceful movements.

Come, child. And look at the gift, look at it...

And she set her eyes on the Cauldron.

She forgot about that phantom arrow lodged in her chest, and stopped next to her father, her gaze fixed on the Cauldron.

She felt her father's accusatory gaze on her, but putting that aside, he spoke:

"You arrive at the perfect moment, my dear daughter," and after those words, she felt as if everyone in the room breathed again after her untimely interruption.

What the hell was going on there? What was the High Lord Rhysand doing in her castle? Who were those accompanying him?

"You arrive at the perfect moment to witness the miracle of the Cauldron. To witness the demonstration these humans will perform for it..."

Her father continued speaking, but Nimue completely ignored him. She just stood there, next to the King of Hybern, and analyzed the whole situation.

The two fae males who had been hanging around her house for weeks, the blonde and the redhead, bound by her father's magic. Weren't they allies? Why was her father imprisoning them?

A little further away, the two guards holding one of the two human girls began pushing her towards the Cauldron.

She heard screams, pleas, denials from all sides. The King spoke, the human Queens, the fae female next to Rhysand, some of them shouting at each other.

But Nimue only had eyes for the poor human they were pushing towards the Cauldron.

What were they going to…?

And as if she were a feather, they lifted her above the edge of the Cauldron and submerged her in a single motion, plunging her until she lost sight of her.

Nimue felt pure terror. Memories that weren't hers flooded her.

Skin dissolving, bones breaking, desperate screams.

She screamed into the air, bringing her hand to her mouth to stifle the sob that escaped her chest. Her father stopped her by pulling on the leash, even before she had thought of throwing herself towards the poor girl.

Rage, rage, rage, rage, rage.

Everything that happened afterward was like a blink.

The Cauldron spat the girl onto the flagstones as if she were a fish out of water.

Look, child. I have given you a sister. I have created a sister for you.

Nimue breathed so fast she thought she was going to faint.

The people present were saying things, shouting, crying, laughing.

The other human fought tooth and nail against the guards, her screams piercing Nimue's eardrums, who only let herself be infected by the rage of that poor human.

Her rage. Rage. Rage.

The rage that boiled in every nerve of her being. It bubbled at the tips of her fingers, beneath her skin, in her eyes, everywhere.

If she opened her mouth, she felt like her own rage would burst forth in torrents, like a river after the snows.

Her rage was going to burst out, all over her father.

The second human kept fighting. Nimue never imagined the human spirit could be so untamed.

And the hand of that woman pointing at her father made something change in the air.

Nimue felt her leash loosen, felt her father getting a little nervous.

And she saw the moment.

She saw the weakness in the air, the King's doubt.

And she embraced it.

The second human emerged from the Cauldron, transformed into something.

And Nimue exploded.

A beam of white light burst from her chest, throwing her father backward. The King's head hit one of the columns, and everyone present in the room recoiled at such a wave of power.

What rage. What immense rage. It consumed her inside, burned her. So much, so much rage.

She raised an arm and pointed at her father, feeling how, again, energy rose from her feet to the tips of her fingers. She struck the King again with all that rage.

"You're a monster!" she shouted. She shouted it again and again, while feeling that with every pulse of power she directed towards him, she was gradually breaking down his shields.

However, the King of Hybern laughed, kneeling on the flagstones and trying to regain his composure. A venomous, disgusting laugh that made bile rise in Nimue's mouth.

In a last attempt to take control of the situation, Nimue raised a shield in the center of the room, around the Cauldron. In two agile leaps, she positioned herself next to Rhysand.

"Show me a place," she demanded. Rhysand clung to the brunette female beside him, tears streaming down his face. His gaze jumped from Nimue to the Ilyrian males, from the Ilyrian males to the new fae females, and back to Nimue. "Tell me a place and I'll get you out of here! Quickly, show me!" the princess demanded again.

The guards pounded Nimue's white shield again and again, and behind her, she felt the King of Hybern standing up.

Her gaze met Rhysand's again, and the male, trembling, took Nimue's hand.

"To Velaris," he managed to whisper.

Nimue didn't know how, but as soon as she heard the name, she knew exactly where it was, what it was. She chose whom to take: the two Ilyrian males, the beautiful blonde fae female, the two girls who had been submerged in the Cauldron, the female clinging to Rhysand, and finally Rhysand himself, whose hand Nimue held when she let her magic transport her and everyone else away from there. Away from Hybern. Away from her home.

To Velaris.

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading

If you want to be added to the taglist, just let me know! Thank you for your support 🥰

[ayato-kisser]

synopsis | playing with their hair

tags | fluff, drabbles, established relationship, ayato calls you "my love"

reader | gender neutral

characters | ayato, heizou, kazuha

kamisato ayato

At first, you said you'd wait for a response. There's no way the Yashiro Commissioner wouldn't notice if someone sat beside him, made themself comfortable, leaned their head on his shoulder, took a part of his hair and started to play with it. In fact, who wouldn't notice? Yet, he kept on going with the paperwork; you could even hear the scratches of the pen on the paper, and it looked like he was still completely engrossed in the work.

You'd twirled around the hair you'd been playing with so many times that you wouldn't be surprised if it turned out a little bit wavy. You thought that by now, he'd have at least acknowledged that you were there; did he really not care?

If he wasn't going to respond to that, what if you kissed him? You started with the piece of hair you'd been playing with, hoping to lock eyes with him. Nothing? That-

"Hm?" Ayato turned to you. "Oh my, looks like it's a kiss that you want, my love. Is that so?"

Well, yes, but at this point, was that even enough? After he'd ignored you for however-long? No, you needed him to want you. You told him he was mistaken.

"Then, what is it? Surely, you want something," he put the pen down. Perfect. All you needed was to pique his interest. Once his curiosity was sparked, he'd have no choice but to follow it.

You told him he had to guess. As soon as his signature "Oh?" reached your ears, you knew he was interested. Guess after guess, and you told him no each time.

"I'll tell you, if you give me a kiss."

"Alright, you win, my love."

shikanoin heizou

"Boo!" Heizou appeared behind you, his grin telling too much of his whimsical nature. Laughs filled the air around you as he brought his hands off your shoulders and took his place beside you.

"What's that?" he asked, taking a look at what was in your hand. It was a flower. Its petals were a similar shade of green to his eyes; perhaps it'd look good on him.

He let you put it in his hair. You tucked it under his ear and took a good look at him. Perhaps, maybe you should move this bit of hair, oh, and that one too. He waited as you moved it around trying to figure out just what you had in store for his hair- although, you didn't really know either. However it would turn out, it would turn out.

"Mmm? Are you done?" Almost. Something was missing.

You took another good look at him. Ah, what if you let his hair down? It wasn't often, but perhaps it would complete the look... it wouldn't hurt to try, right? Heizou blinked in surprise as you pulled down his hair tie, and you combed his hair with your hands. Ah, pretty Heizou.

"Are you done now?" he pouted. Right, you had plans today. Yes, you were done.

His hand intertwined with yours, and you set off to do what you planned to earlier.

kaedehara kazuha

To see Kazuha still asleep was a rare sight. His eyes reflected the red of sunrise much more often than not, and by the time you woke up, you could smell breakfast already cooking. But not today, even when the sun was fully up, albeit just barely, and Kazuha's eyes remained closed.

You didn't dare get up- if you woke him up, the moment would end. You stayed under the blanket with him, your hand wandering to his cheek, and a bit of hair found itself within the hold of your fingers.

There were no thoughts, especially this early in the morning. The sound of birds populated the air from time to time, but the sound of both your and his breaths was constant. Twirl, twist, straighten out, grab, admire, kiss.

Perhaps the kiss was a mistake. A "Mmm?" escaped Kazuha's lips as you separated yours from his hair, your breath tickling his skin. Ah, he was awake now. You released the bit of hair from your hand and wished him good morning.

"Mornin'... it seems you've woken up early today." You agreed, you did wake up early today.

"Then, shall I start your day with a kiss?"

[weirdkpopgirl]

In My Dreams | Renjun Imagine #5

Title: In My Dreams

Genre: College AU, a little angsty with a little fluff

Warnings: mentions of reader feeling insecure (what else is new 🙄)

Word Counts: 911

Author's Note: I seriously apologize for posting such depressing content lately. Honestly writing this type of stuff just makes me realize how much I hate myself. But I'm fine lol, using the Dreamies to distract me is more than enough. I really shouldn't be complaining. Anyway, hope you guys like this little imagine for Renjun ^ ^

𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪

The sigh that escaped your lips came out louder than intended, echoing slightly in the back corner of the lecture. As usual, your mind was subjected to its daily attack of self-conscious thoughts, though today they seemed particularly annoying. 

Absentmindedly you fidgeted with the hem of the black two-piece dress you had carefully chosen to wear. Was revealing your shoulders too much? Too bold? Did it make you look desperate for attention?  It was the only thing in your closet that you had yet to wear, mainly because you wanted to wait for the right time. However, you should’ve known you’d have doubts the minute you put on the dress. 

Your reflection stared back at you from the mirror-like surface of your phone screen, its intensity making your stomach churn. This morning, your wake-up routine had been prolonged by the meticulous effort you put into perfecting your makeup today and undoing the braids you’d done the night before so your hair would be wavy. 

Honestly, you weren’t entirely sure what drove you to put in the extra effort with your appearance today. Initially, you believed you were dressing up for yourself. Yet, as you navigated through a day packed with classes, a tiny glimmer of hope lingered that perhaps someone would notice, though the idea of attention drawn to you was intimidating.

However, as you glanced around the room, everyone seemed to be engrossed in their conversations about the upcoming essay that was due. Sometimes, a part of you wished you could muster up the courage to join one of those groups. But socializing never came naturally to you, and the lack of invitation to contribute only served to dishearten you.

As the professor began the afternoon’s lecture, you temporarily forced those thoughts to go away and focused on taking notes. Though it worked for the most part, your mind occasionally drifted back to the same imposter feeling you consistently experienced. Feeling as though everyone had their lives figured out, while you couldn’t be more out of place.

You were mentally ready to retreat into the confines of your apartment and change into sweats, by the time class was over. By now, your makeup was most likely smudged and the waves in your hair had gone down. Any semblance of confidence you donned that morning had diminished completely.

But just as you gathered your belongings and rose from your seat, a small folded piece of yellow paper fluttered to the table in front of you. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you glanced around, expecting to see someone retrieve their misplaced note. Yet, people were already disappearing, leaving you alone with the mysterious paper.

Trying not to dwell on it too much, you hesitantly unfolded the paper. Your breath caught in your throat as you read the words neatly written across the page. While they sounded simple, they held a sincerity that you didn’t receive often.

 ~ Hi there, sorry if this is a little forward. But I just wanted to say that I think you look really pretty in that dress today (not that you don’t look pretty every day!). Also, you should curl your hair like that more often, it suits you ^ ^  - Huang Renjun

As you reached the end of the short message, your heart was pounding in your chest. You had to reread it a few times, to make sure you weren’t just hallucinating. Of all people, Huang Renjun noticed you? The cute boy who sat a few rows ahead of yours?

A shy smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you shifted your gaze upward to the doorway where he was nervously watching for your reaction. A light shade of pink tinged Renjun’s cheeks as he offered a tentative smile when the two of you locked eyes. Still trying to comprehend was just happened, you cautiously made your way over to him. 

“Um, hi,” you managed to stammer, your voice barely audible.

Renjun stepped closer, his expression softening with genuine warmth. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I just couldn’t leave without saying at least something.”

His words only made you blush more, but the smile on your lips grew with each passing moment.

“No, I should thank you…for the note. I feel a lot better now than I was earlier,” you said, with a half-hearted laugh. 

Renjun’s ears perked up at your response. “Really? Well, I’m glad to hear that.”

A hesitant silence stretched between the two of you, filled with unspoken possibilities. But before you could gather the courage to find something else to say, Renjun reached into his pocket and brought out his phone.

“Would you maybe want to have a meal sometime?” he asked, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He extended his phone toward you, displaying a new contact pulled up on the screen.

“I’d love to,” you replied a little too eagerly, feeling your heart skip a beat.

Your hand trembled slightly as you took his phone to quickly type in your number. Renjun thanked you with a shy smile and shared he couldn’t wait to get to know you more before leaving for his next class. You had to take a moment to process everything. Did you seriously just get complimented and asked out by Renjun?

Shaking your head with a laugh, “Yeah, right. In my dreams.”

However, that belief couldn’t wipe the foolish smile off your face as you walked out of the lecture hall.

𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚༝༚𓆩⟡𓆪

[freak-attorney]

Random Ace Attorney headcanons!!! :D

Feel free to leave ur own in the notes or if u agree/disagree!!

(Also please keep in mind that I'm basing these off of the first trilogy since that it all I've played so far!)

Feel free to ask/request any other specific headcanons from me :D

Phoenix Wright

Barely passed the LSAT

Used to have panic attacks in court (is now in therapy)

Always has a hair tie for Maya

Has learned how to do Pearl's hair for her

Filipino/American

Chronically online

Finds millennial humor funny

ADHD undiagnosed

Bisexual

His hair ALWAYS has traces of gel in it

He's a dog person but loves cats

His suit is always a bit wrinkled

Survives on red bull and microwave dinners

*finger guns*

Love language is physical touch and acts of service

Falls asleep at his desk every night during a case

Needs 5+ alarms to wake up in the morning

Uses concealer to hide his eye bags

Doesn't floss

Sleeps like a starfish

Has sweat stains on several shirts

Naturally wavy hair but he straightens it

Miles Edgeworth

Always hours early to a case because he's very anxious about being late

Sometimes wishes he had a different career (outside of law) but never even considered it an option until recently

Very argumentative over silly things, eventually apologizes with a small gift or note

Love language is gift giving

Enjoys parallel play.. like he enjoys just having someone in his office while he's working even though he doesn't acknowledge them

Has good stamina from always using stairs over elevators

Can cook very well, enjoys cooking for others

Autistic (late diagnosed)

Has a collection of fidget toys that only a few people know about

Chronically OFFline

Enjoys animal crossing and other peaceful games

Has excellent hygiene

Started dying his hair grey as soon as he found one strand of grey hair

Makes a photo album for Franziska for her birthday each year

Has a blanket that he's slept with for 10+ years

Keeps every trinket that Pearl or Maya might give him

Has fresh clothes and toiletries at the office in case he sleeps there

Prefers gold over silver

Is a cat person but is okay with dogs (he thinks dogs are messy)

Has an ironing board in the wall of his office

Probably gay or somewhere on the aroace spectrum

Wears a full face of makeup to court (gatekeeps his sweat proof foundation)

Sleeps curled up in one corner of his bed

Maya Fey

Loves to do cartwheels (can't actually do a proper cartwheel)

Tries learning Japanese on DuoLingo (can't keep more than a 5 day streak)

Taught Pearl basically everything she knows

Love language is quality time

Is very good at rhythm games

Has "childish" interests like Sailor Moon, Hello Kitty, My Little Pony, etc.

Enjoys older arcade games like Galaga, Frogger, and Mappy

Wanted to be a veterinarian at some point but is a bit too squeamish for that

Is ALWAYS late even if she plans to be early

Sleeps with a night light

Has a collection of rocks that Pearl gave her growing up

Loves abstract art

Hugs very tightly

Since Mia's death her last words to anyone close to her when they separate for any amount of time is "I love you" just in case

Is naturally unorganized but started keeping a planner when she started working with Phoenix... she sometimes forgets the planner exists but she TRIES okay??

Dick Gumshoe

Love language is gift giving and acts of service for SURE

Would gladly give someone his umbrella in the rain knowing he'd get soaked

Doesn't know how to cook because he doesn't have the resources but he'd like to learn

Forgot to put water in his ramen once and almost burned his apartment down

Doesn't always shower because his water gets cut off

Smells pretty rank but Edgeworth gifts him nice body sprays sometimes

Always makes sure Edgeworth is up at a reasonable time for a case/trial even though he really doesn't need to

Always chewing gum

Dream car is a Jeep Wrangler

Demiromantic

Memorizes little details about people to give them good birthday/holiday gifts

Gets very excited about fortune cookies

Loves buffets

Gives the BEST hugs

Is scared of thunderstorms and terrified of hurricanes

Really appreciates small gifts like keychains or trinkets

Lets Maya and Pearl paint his nails

Has really large and calloused hands

Sleeps all snuggled up hugging a pillow

Used to collect magnifying glasses

Bites on his pencils/pens

Franziska Von Karma

Sapphic.

She wears press ons

Stalks the social media accounts of her clients

Sleeps in a grandma nightgown

Has two planners: one physical and one on her phone

Really wants a pet rabbit

Has so many decorative pillows on her bed and arranges them every morning

Hits people next to her when she laughs

Quietly gives gifts for holidays/birthdays without making it a big deal

Casually gives super expensive gifts

Plays Genshin

Forces Edgeworth to watch reality TV with her (Say Yes to the Dress, My Strange Addiction, ANTM, Jersey Shore)

Really likes horror movies but can't handle too much gore

Classically trained in ballet

Enjoys photography

Watches the Kentucky Derby every year

Basically raised Miles when Manfred didn't

Knows how to sew but doesn't have the time

Collects Monster High dolls

Likes dogs but LOVES cats

Finds dumb people really attractive

Needs complete silence when doing paperwork or she can't concentrate

Autistic (undiagnosed)

Doesn't plan on ever getting married

Probably one of the only characters that gets proper sleep

Prefers pleated skirts over pencil but wears them in court to look professional

Hates the texture of chiffon fabric

Always wearing a different pair of earrings

Has a couple small tattoos but covers them well

Has the sharpest eyeliner known to man

Fluent in a few languages including Mandarin Chinese, French, and Italian

That's all for now!!

[chaotic-chicken-lady]

MORE MELISHA HEADCANONS PLEASE I BEG

I HEAR YOU AND I SHALL DELIVER!! I'm so glad there are so many Tweedy fans

Again, spoiler warning?

It's kind of a long post so, look under the cut.

When Mr Tweedy would take her on dates (a rare occasion indeed) she'd actually rather enjoy herself. Mainly because it's food she doesn't have to prepare or pay for. If Dr Fry took her on a date, she'd probably treat it like a business meeting and just act as if she's enjoying herself to keep him content.

Frequently dyes her hair to hide the greys.

Hobbies? I reckon she loves going hunting with her two dogs. Probably loves a bit of cooking too and not just chicken but all sorts of decent meals. Gordon Ramsey style "WHERE'S THE LAMB SAUCE MR TWEEDY!?"

I'd like to think that within all her notebooks and things of papers, bills and stuff there are little doodles. Like on the side of her clipboard papers too.

I feel like she straightens her hair but actually has naturally wavy/curly hair.

She doesn't like children. I feel like this is an obvious thing but like yeah. Although, I feel like she'd make a fun auntie.

SO if she was an auntie, she'd become extremely protective over her niece and show her how to use an axe and stuff. She'd push other kids off swings then say they fell off just so that her niece can have a turn.

In my previous Headcanons post I mentioned how she snores, I'd like to think it takes ages for her to actually fall asleep. Just laying there, eyes wide. Whilst Mr Tweedy is sleeping like a baby. Then future wise, Dr Fry probably doesn't even sleep in the same room let alone same bed. Like he has his own little bedroom and Melisha has this massive, extensively large bedroom quarters to herself.

She hates nicknames but will tolerate them to please whoever her current husband is. "My love" "Pumpkin" She prefers acts of love rather than words of affirmation, nothing sappy/cheesy.

When she was younger... She was definitely "Daddy's Little Princess" SURELY. Just stood there looking all innocent, give it a few decades and she's a maniac chicken farmer.

Hopefully these made sense, I'm just kinda spilling information from my head lol.

If you want to know more or wish to know specific ones from prompts then go for it. Literally anything, she's all that's going through my head atm. Hyperfixation fr

[icanseethefuture333]

hello, I’ve really enjoyed all your readings so far - would you be willing to do something on felix from skz ideal type?

A reading on

Stray Kids' Felix's ideal type:

Qualities:

Channeled song: Love Like You by Rebecca Sugar, from Steven Universe, Let My Baby Stay by Amandla Stenberg, & Just A Taste by Tinashe.

For the qualities that Felix looks for in his ideal partner - he would like someone who is creative, passionate, and nurturing. They could be shy or self conscious, something about them that's a bit anxious. Felix would be willing to learn his partner's love language and assure them that they are the only one they have his eyes on. I had tension in my forehead while shuffling and The Empress card has a ray of colors surrounding the character's head. So Felix could like that his partner is intuitive or psychic, they know when to be tender towards his needs without asking. He would like to feel seen and heard by his partner. I'm envisioning like after work, he would crawl into his partner's arms and just take a nap. Felix could already know who his ideal partner is or is manifesting them, there is a telepathic connection present. There could be some sort of epiphany that will happen when they realize they are in love with each other. I am reminded of Steven and Connie's dynamic from Steven Universe, they were an inseparable duo, it's like their connection seemed divinely guided. Felix could view his ideal partner as a wish fulfillment. They could have qualities of a "starseed".

Personality:

Channeled song: Everything Stays by Olivia Olson, from Adventure Time & Sativa by Jhené Aiko ft Swae Lee.

Felix's partner's personality could be described as a "late bloomer". In their youth, they could have been "nerdy" or "quirky". They were very pure and had gentle mannerisms. Possibly teased for their interests or deemed as weird by other children. They could randomly have flashbacks and feel embarrassed, triggered, or upset about their past / past actions. This could also mean they are mourning the loss of their past. Possibly dealing with mental health issues such as anxiety or trauma. For a while, his ideal partner could have felt stuck in life, and wishing for change, but it never came. They had to learn to change the things they can control and let go of what they cannot control. They are wiser and more balanced within themselves now. Their personality is experiencing a shift. Felix's ideal partner could be described now as peaceful, mellow, rich, abundant, and lucky, but also free spirited and playful. "Green", "earth goddess", Gaia energy 🧝‍♀️🏞🌎? They could be spiritual.

Physical traits:

Channeled song: Two Melodies by Zion.T ft. Crush, Star Signs by Odunsi ft. Runtown, Gold by Jojo, Honey (Medasin redo) by Kucka, & Dreams Are Real by Tinashe (her Amethyst mixtape is signifcant).

A head turner. "A face you will never forget." The type of beauty you will see once but remember forever - mysterious and memorable. Felix's ideal partner could be described as ethereal, siren-like, they have a very dreamy appearance. Their face could be naturally youthful but looks more mature when they put makeup on / dress up for evenings. "Shapeshifter". They could appear or dress differently depending on their mood. Overall, something about them feels delicate with an edge. Felix could praise or talk about his ideal partner very proudly "My girl!". Manic pixie dream girl vibes.

Long dark (black or brown) hair (there is a bend or curl to their hair. Its thick, so wavy to curly hair texture).

Straight or round eyebrows

Pouty facial expression

"Glossy eyes", eyes are dark but shiny. Could look like orbs 👁👁

Eyes that look like they have been crying, so dark circles or puffy tearbags (aegyo sal)

Round or heart shape face (their forehead is the widest part of their face).

Small/short face

"Ears"??? Something about their ears is noticeable. Whether that means they are large, tiny, or pointy. Their ears could be cute.

Wears earrings a lot or their ears are pierced.

Wide or defined shoulders

Decolletage area is attractive (collarbones, chest, breasts, etc)

Long limbs

Long legs / leggy body

On a day to day basis they dress casual, but when they go out they dress very colorful and alternative.

Mostly wears pastels and black.

Spring color season.

Celebrities/influencers who are similar to his ideal type: Bailey Bass (specifically her role as Tsireya), heyeloisa, Maria Isabel, Hanan Ismail, Malaika Firth, Gemma Ward, Aya Jones, Pasabist, sa1ntmarta, Melodie Monrose, Jessica Alexander, Tyla, Mia Goth, lame.cobain, Cindy Kimberly, Joyce Wrice, NingNing, & Amandla Stenberg

[loki-zen]

re: hair loss, at what point as a man should you just shave it? I have/had long wavy Matthew McConaugh-hair, and I’m decently emotionally invested in the compliments I used to get. Outside of wanting to look good to women I don’t super care though, that and that my dad always wanted to grow his hair long but it didn’t work out for him, so I’m kinda doing it for both of us.

anyway, I’m on the road to approaching the “woody harrelson at the beginning of Natural Born Killers” hairline, and it’s a struggle. Been on finasteride for like 8 months, and I’m pretty sure it’s making me depressed, plus it does weird stuff to your cum, which is both gross and frightening in its implications. I had good results with rogaine, should probably start that again, regardless of what I do.

At what point does a man become sexier with the buzz cut a la Jason Statham, every Russian guy, etc?

it’s also frustrating because there’s so many memes out there about “creepy balding guys”, like it’s just this shorthand for being a coomer or a serial sexual harasser or what have you. I could live with “ugly balding guys”, there have been times in my life when I was hot and times I was ugly, I’m able to cope with that. But creepy just really sucks. I had a lot of female friends in college, and some women I’m very close to were victims of sexual violence, and so I’m probably hyper-sensitive and afraid of being perceived as predatory in any way. It’s good that I’m aware of the problems, but sometimes I wish I was more ignorant, it’d make it a lot less scary to strike up conversations with new people if I wasn’t crushingly aware of how often women are uncomfortable with men they’ve never met.

(I’m not morlock-Holmes, but I think we have some of the same dating issues)

So first off, it is obviously wrong and bigoted to make assumptions about someone's behaviour or intentions based on what they look like unless we're talking about something very specific and intentional like 'they have nazi tattoos'. If it helps any (I'm not sure it does) I don't think that these people necessarily see a balding guy and think that's a sexual predator so much as they are doing that very schoolyard thing of "we don't like this kind of people (sexual predators) and so we're going to stereotype them as being something we think is unattractive" (you see similar things with fatness and 'neckbeards').

If it is the women you actually know who say these sorts of things (that wasn't clear), it literally might not occur to them that they're making you feel this way because it's just a general-purpose insult to them that's become detached from the actual notion of a person they might know and like who happens to be male and balding.

This sort of talk is actually, if anything, dangerous to potential victims of sexual violence, because the idea that you can somehow spot Creepy Guys and they definitely look different to anyone else will tend to help conventionally attractive guys get away with it!

I don't think there are any hard and fast rules about the hair thing. Lots of guys do look cute with a buzzcut, and it is common (but not universal) in the dominant Anglosphere culture for people to find this more attractive than even very nice hair when that hair has visible male-pattern balding going on. I confess I do have this reaction myself sometimes, but I also find that the more I get to know people the more I see the nicer hair and the less I see the "but it's balding" part, but there are levels that will always look a bit odd to me (eg the shakespeare cut). Which, yknow, isn't actually a reason why people should change their hair, though I imagine you're asking because being attractive to other people is important to you.

Your female irl friends are perhaps best-placed to approximate the sort of views that predominate among the sort of women you're likely to be trying to date, and there are now decent AI tools to give you an idea of what you might look with different hairstyles - maybe try one out, see what you think and ask their advice.

Oh, also, in my personal opinion if your hair is fairly voluminous and past shoulder length you can get away with a receding hairline a lot longer - same with certain careful short but long on top looks, although they can be more fiddly.

[erinhime83]

Yes, I knew, I know, I already did designs of these guys a few months ago, but I tweeked a couple of the designs, but me being me, I wanted to post them up for people to see and make it more people’s problem, lol.  I didn’t change that much, honestly, but it was enough that I wanted to put up the new designs.  Plus, I made design sheets for the major characters, yey.

First is Buttercup, who does get a minor outfit tweek (it’s not noticeable, but I moved her belt down to her hips, and it does look a lot better).  But she ended up becoming a victim of Erin taking away everyone’s wavy hair trope that I’ve started, because, well, I ‘see’ her more with the straight hair.  She looks cute, she looks innocent, and she strays away from the traditional Altairian hair braiding thing because she doesn’t quite understand the tradition.  Same goes with the piercings – she should technically have more, but she opted to skip a few milestone ceremonies because she didn’t want to have too many.  I was talked into giving her a 'disguise' dress for when she's traveling in Lumentis for a bit, and I thought it would be funny (since it's a stolen dress), if the colors were completely different from what she would normally wear, and I'm actually pleased with how it turned out! Simple, and yet nice. I also attempted to change her formal dress, but ended up just changing the color of the circular collar for shits and giggles.  She doesn’t wear eye liner with the fancy dress because, like with every other tradition, she doesn’t ‘get’ it, plus she’s trying to get the people of Lumentis to accept her, so she’s trying to look more like them, despite failing because of her red hair.

Raito, honestly, doesn’t have any sort of change in either of his outfits, because there’s no point in changing perfection.  I love staring at him, because he looks adorable, lol.

Clover I did change a bit, shortening her sleeves, giving her a shoulder guard, and giving her a proper belt and a sash because it didn’t look right with just the belt.  Oh, and shortened her braid a little while also giving her a ribbon that happens to be the favorite color of a certain Dragon Tamer.  >.>  She looks just as badass as she did before, and I love it.  As for the other outfit, it’s supposed to be her Palace Guard uniform of sorts.  I had a bit of difficulty with it at first, because I wanted her to have the bodice, but giving her a skirt seems to have worked out nicely!  Bonus, it’s reminiscent of her original outfit, with the skirt and all.  Not really, but that was what I as thinking when I decided to give her the skirt.  I also like it because she looks feminine in her uniform, but in reality, she wants to wear pants.  But she looks great either way!   I love my nature elf warrior girl.

Odessa, well, I changed a lot, obviously.  She always suffers due to the fact that I can never pin down her design.  I liked her other outfit, but this one just suits her better.  I changed a bit of her backstory as well, which explains (sort of) why she went from shaved hair to side braided hair.  I also like the longer hair – it makes her look cute.  As for her outfit, I really like how it ended up!  I don’t have any real definitive ‘look’ for the peasants of the story, save for the Altaitians who have a Viking look, but I like that it suggests that the Ta’Norians have their own style as well.  And she gets a nice dress as well, sort of related to her backstory, but mostly because they do give her a nice dress when they make it back to the Lumentian palace.  Plus, it haves the added bonus of showing what her hair looks like down and how long it was.  (I wanted it to be longer, but I wanted Clover to have the longer hair, since I thought it would be funny if the more masculine one had the longer hair.)

Over all, really pleased with how all of these turned out.  I keep staring at the designs and wishing I had pictures of them, despite the fact that I should be the one drawing them, lol. 

[croziers-compass]

wilbur, tell us about your feelings and thoughts on hodge!! is he one of your faves?? who do you like shipping him with? what's his gender and favourite colour??

You've come looking for my feelings and thoughts on Hodgson! Headcannons and thoughts below.

Hodgson is... one of my favourites. Yes. We can say that safely. I have a broad sort of... Opinion on Hodgson from both a Terror perspective and a historical individual which sort of has given me a, we'll call him a "rpf". I did put together a large file of data regarding Hodgson's existence through history. So this is coupled with texts and readings from other various Franklin Expedition books as well as other materials and ... "Sources". So for thoughts or headcannons... He's well read and a romantic. In love with the world and poetry to describe it. He is literate in several languages with a broad spectrum of diverse literary backgrounds and enjoys theatre but not as much as he wishes. Simply because none of his favourite stories and literatures are often made into plays. He can play the piano and violin but is only alright at the piano. He prefers string instruments. He prefers romantic novels and stories to horror but does prefer it if the books refer to oceanic adventures and likes "sea horror" versus gothic horror. Though he did find "The Castle of Otranto" to be surprisingly good and owns two copies by accident.

I have a broad amount of "headcannons" regarding Hodgson that've grown substantially over the months. Some of which include, of course, interpersonal dynamics between him and his friends. He did, of course, know James before the Expedition. Both he and James fought pirates together, actually, during one of their voyages. They have a much closer relationship than what is depicted in "The Terror". They had both served in the same battles aboard the Cornwallis during the First Opium War. I ship him with both James and Dundy as they were all rather close friends as well but imagine him as having a degree of a fascination with the substantiation of certain religious themes which he is attracted to in an almost kinky way. Additionally, I imagine him having a passive but hungry fascination with one of the Barrow sons. This also ties into the concept that he's religious and is sort of "Christian" in a way. But he believes in God allegorically and poetically rather than a literal construct or concept. He's not capable of fanatical thinking or subscribing so densely to a religious ideology in such a way that he could dedicate himself to a singular pattern of thinking and believing in the world - certainly not with how broadly read, educated, and travelled that he is. Such concepts to box the world he has seen into a narrow confine of a book is simply not logical nor possible to him. But the motifs and themes of the predominant religions, to him, are a sort of... food he likes to eat. He's too philosophical to be taken over by one idea. But he does like the idea of the almost sensual allure of Christian themes. There's a romanticism there that he's appealed by and this has him using those themes a little in his social dynamics. Especially if he's trying to get under John Irving's skin or psychologically torment challenge some of James and his other more... conservative friends. Do not even get him started on St. Sebastian. I imagine that he probably was with somewhat long brown wavy hair (not quite curly but almost there) like his sister. And green eyes, historically. But that's just a personal idea. His gender is Second Leftenant. Hands down. Well. Sort of. In a way, I imagine him having an idea of Gender being more in tune with your flexibility on the ocean. In tune with the sea. Very romantic towards the ocean and the struggles of natural life and the turmoil of the oceans as a whole, I imagine he has a fluid gender that connects well to roles on ships. Which is where my whole drunken ramble actually comes from, if you have not seen it yet. I could refine it more. But that's the cruse and misshapen version of it. As for favourite colours, I think of him having a fondness for the hues and tones of the ocean as the gradients go from pale blues to deep blues with the fathoms and leagues increasing the further out you go. Also very fond of the tones and hues of the night sky and the blue-blacks that erupt from dawn and dusk.

How did I do?

[lookingforcactus]

Live action Yu Yu Hakusho liveblog: ep 1

This is so much fun. Nostalgia time. 13 year old me is LIVING

Warning for like whole ep 1 spoilers and all

Yusuke and Botan look great which I already knew going in from the gifset that informed me this show exists lol, but it's delightful, bc the characters in this show aren't necessarily the easiest to translate to live action

Botan is adorable. Her hair is adorable. And I'm delighted to see that Yusuke's hair is the Correct amount of Poufy

Plot twist: Kuwabara hot. He looks great actually. Translated nonliterally compared to Yusuke but v well. The actor is selling me on it too, fun casting

Kuwabara was always hard for me to watch in the original bc he set off my vicarious embarrassment soo hard. Glad they're less committed to making him the constant source of painful comedic relief here lol

KOENMA PACIFIER REVEAL I LOVE IT

Laughed out loud for real tbh

Idk if I'm a little disappointed he's not a baby but like live action would make that ridic hard to do in a lot of ways so I don't blame them at all. He's in his adult form which makes sense. Still damn glad they kept the pacifier it is RUINING his dignity and I love it

I also don't blame them for cutting the flying oar effects. A lil sad but the initial transition to Reikai looked great so they're forgiven

Yusuke. "No thanks." I knew it was coming and the delivery still made me laugh out loud. Just dropped it in there. Yusuke I love you please see a therapist

Fight scenes are v creative and p epic

Seriously they do a really good job of making Yusuke's fighting style as a human believable, fun to watch, and effective. He rly does come off as just kind of a natural fighting genius (with practice ofc)

Sakyo in ep 1? Weird but I'm not opposed. The wavy hair is kinda freaking me out though ngl. Smoothness was just such his THING in the show it's distracting

Really liked Yusuke's mom's introduction (not that it was flattering to her as a character) but I wish they'd done more with her in the rest of the ep. Her power hug at the end is great tho

Show's slowing down a bit but it's fine I'm still having fun, the nostalgia power will get me through basically whatever

NO PUU!!!! This is tragic but I Do understand this as an adaptation choice. Reluctantly. Tragic tho.

Bug under guy's face effect EPICALLY creepy

That said I keep watching the motion of him and the other demons in this ep and thinking about Hayao Miyazaki said about the disgusting cruelty of using effects technology to make the scary scary inhuman monsters just fucking. look and move like disabled ppl

Seriously I keep seeing flashes of the appearance and movements of people I know with developmental disabilities (particularly this one guy I know with cerebral palsy but also I've worked in care work for disabled adults and just kind of a lot of people in general) and. I hate this. Especially as a person who DOES have a (nonvisible) developmental disability myself. This is such a rising trend in horror/sff/fantasy tv/movies/video games and I hate everything about it. Hayao Miyazaki was right this kind of attitude and shit really is "an insult to life itself"

Anyway fight scene cool

I love Keiko btw. Her crying and blaming herself! Her face when Yusuke comes back! Also Yusuke "I'm not gonna die just bc you talked shit" pffft jackass (affectionate)

DEMON CREW CAMEO AT THE END

Kurama looks pretty good. Goki actually looks wayyyy better than he did in the anime imho, which I did not see coming.

Effects on Kurama and Hiei's fighting looks surprisingly great. They pulled off the rose whip way better than I thought they would, and did some great wirework with Hiei's speed and fighting style

That said....Hiei...oof. That hair was always gonna be a Challenge but I think their ambition here did uh. not play off rip. Hopefully it'll look better later on

[thesongthesoulsings]

Promised Legacy

Summary: Aesop and Katherine Sharp are not only parents but also lovers - something that often is forgotten in busy everyday life. This OneShot tells a tale about the rekindling of passionate intimacy, the desire for another child, and promises being upheld.

Link to Ao3

He entered the kitchen, breathing in the delicious smell of cake baking in the oven.  

Katherine’s slender form – clad in a summer dress and apron – moved around the room while cleaning. Her soft singing filled the air and her wavy voluminous mane, which was illuminated by the setting sun, moved with her motions; she was barefoot.   

He leaned silently against the doorframe, deciding to watch her for a moment longer, not expecting the profanity leaving her lovely mouth shortly after.  

She turned, feeling eyes on her, and cursed.  

“Fuck! Merlin...” Her wincing was followed by a look at her raised foot, provoking a chuckle in the Potions Master.  

“I told you to stop walking around barefoot.”  

The dark voice was a welcome embrace to her, after having waited for him all day long. The kids, which were now playing outside in the garden, had exhausted her and made it seem like a prolonged waiting period.  

Twisting her mouth she grumbled – a habit of hers he had grown to find endearing.  

“It’s not the bare status of my feet which is the problem, but rather the fact that our children leave their toys wherever they walk. It would’ve hurt just the same if I had been wearing socks, and if I had worn shoes, I might’ve slipped. They truly need to learn to clean up after themselves.”  

“They do”, he agreed, approaching her now to encircle her with his arms. Her hold tightened around him, pressing the feminine curves against his taller frame.  

“I baked your favorite cake today, so we might enjoy it over the weekend. I hope it turned out well – Alethea and Thedore helped with it today.”  

Her irritation had vanished and made room for a joyful disposition, something the wizard was fond of – the forgiving nature of his wife. He squeezed her, burrowing his nose in her soft hair; inhaling her scent. Lavender, Vanilla, Jasmin and Bergamot with a tinge of cashmere wood – all of that mingled with the sweet scent of cake surrounding them. Home, he was home.  

His voice vibrated through her, once he spoke – his grasp around her still strong.  

“I’m sure it will be palatable. There simply is no chance you let them do whatever they please with the ingredients.”  

She grinned up at him.  

“You know me well, Mr. Sharp. I had to keep them in check and prevent a disaster.”  

He was about to kiss her, when running feet and loud voices announced their offspring’s presence.  

“Pa’! I painted something for you!” Alethea’s declaration was followed by her brothers' frantic arm movements demanding to be picked up. “Dada!”  

Aesop loosened his arms around his wife, picking up his son who was – once more – clothed in nothing but nappies. “At least you’ve decided to keep your nappies on for once, son.” He heard Katherine laugh softly behind him, knowing she was sharing his thoughts. Theodore was in the habit of walking around naked, refusing to keep his cloth nappy on while the weather was balmy.  

“See!” Alethea’s warm eyes – which reminded him so much of Katherine’s - looked up hopefully at him, waving the colorful parchment in front of him. “This is us! Mama, Theodore, me and you! And you know what? I also painted another baby – look!” Her little index finger pointed at her mother’s figure on her masterpiece, which included a swollen stomach. The Potions Master looked at his wife, a question in his eyes which was answered with a humored shaking of her head.  

“I have not forgotten to tell you something, it’s simply wishful thinking on our daughter’s part.”  

His dark eyebrows rose, eyes now back on his daughter. “You want a whole Quidditch team of siblings, it seems.” He paused, taking in Alethea’s challenging look. “How about picking up your toys? Your mother hurt herself by stepping on one of those. If you treat them carelessly, I must conclude that you don’t like them much.”  

The little witch’s eyes grew big.  

“No! I do like them very much, Papa! I’ll pick them up, alright.”  

“Toys!” Theodore wiggled in his arms, trying to get down to the toys, now that they had been mentioned. Aesop allowed him his freedom, putting him down carefully.  

“There you go – pick up your toys and wash your hands. We’ll be waiting for you at the dinner table.”  

Katherine’s instructions were given while her hands were busy taking the plates out of the cupboard. Despite her knowing domestic spells quite well by now, and despite her gratefulness for their existence and the frequent application of those, there were some things she simply preferred to do by hand. Aesop assumed it had a meditative effect on her.  

“How was work today?” The question pulled him out of his reverie.  

“Considering that we only had a staff meeting today and time to ready our classrooms, to prepare for the students approaching arrival, I would regard it as pleasant. I cannot claim having missed Black’s antics, but Dinah seems to have spent her time away adventurously in Brazil.”  

The ash blonde witch chuckled.  

“I told you about her plans. She was quite taken with the idea of exploring Castelobruxo during the break, and she mentioned looking forward to meeting Caiporas on the school grounds. Troublesome creatures.” 

Aesop took the cutlery out of the cupboard, helping his witch set the table.  

“Is there anything you do not memorize?”  

Placing the last plate on the table, she looked over her shoulder at him; smiling.  

“No.”  

Their eyes met for longer than would be considered decent if in public, the expression more intense. Katherine could feel the electricity in the air.  

“We should do something tonight.”   

Her voice was lowered and swung with meaning, inviting him to step closer.  

“ Do something? Whatever do you mean?”  

Aesop’s teasing made her pout playfully.  

“Engage in the act of showing physical affection. Affection husband and wife should share. If you do not know what I am referring to, I fear that I won’t be able to help you.”  

He approached her from behind, his arms finding to her waist, his lips kissing her neck leisurely.  

Enjoying his touch and smell, she closed her eyes; leaning back against her favorite wizard.  

“Sex, darling, you want Sex. I’m more than willing to give you pleasure and seek my own. I’ve yearned to have you naked in my arms again, to see and hear your surrender. It has been far too long since I last tasted you.”  

His rumbling voice still captivated her like it had done years ago, and his words did not miss their target. He was right – it had been a while since they had last shared intimacy. Nearly a month had gone by without them doing anything, because the children had been going to bed too late and the days had been rather busy. Whenever they had craved the other, something had come in between.  

Her spoken words came out husky.  

“I’ll ensure the children will rest earlier tonight. I cannot wait for much longer.”  

As if they had called upon the devil, they were once more interrupted by hungry little humans. Their hungry little humans.  

“What are we having for dinner, Mama?!” - “Dinner! Dinner!”  

Two hours later they had eaten, read and played together; the children’s teeth had been brushed. Goodnight kisses were given and promises of ice cream for the next day were made, but various attempts at fleeing the bed by the children followed, nevertheless. Exasperation was growing in both adults. They loved their children – very much so – but they had been trying to take care of everything on their own, and it was simply overwhelming at times. Looking at each other with a sigh of resignation, they sat down at the bedside of their children once more. Katherine was holding Theodore’s hand, while Aesop had decided to sit on their daughter’s bed; a hand placed on top of her head.  

“It’s enough. Your mother and I need to rest, and so do you. It cannot be that you think whatever you want to do is what is going to happen. Sometimes we get our will, other times we do not. Often, we want things that are not in our best interest, and this is one of those instances in your case. We care for you, which means that we must ensure you get proper sleep, and take care of ourselves, so that we have enough energy to spend joyful time with you. If you do not sleep, your body cannot grow and stay healthy, and you probably already noticed that your mother’s patience wears thin, if she does not get some time to herself, haven’t you?” Alethea twisted her mouth, attentively taking in her father’s words.  

“I will make the phonograph play some music for you, but you’ll stay in bed, close your eyes and let it accompany you to sleep. You both are tired, we see it in your faces, so be assured that you’re not missing out on anything adventurous. We’re in the house and will do boring things before we ourselves lay down to bed. Sleep, little star, and dream of something nice. Tomorrow morning you can tell me about it.”  

Katherine Sharp had never doubted her love for the Ex-Auror, but in such moments – moments in which she was short of losing her temper, and her husband stepped in to take control instead – her feelings for him were overwhelming. Seeing that strict man, which so often was grumpy, being patient and loving with their children, was something incomparable. Waving her wand, she pointed it at the phonograph – calm melodic sounds filling the air.  

“I want to dream of mermaids! Or no! I want to dream of fairies! Wait, how about unicorns?!”   

Alethea’s excitement made her mother chuckle.  

“How about you try dreaming about a fairy on a unicorn, visiting her mermaid friend?”  

The little eyes shone with elation.  

“What a great idea, Ma!”  

Looking down at Theodore, his small hand still in hers, she noticed he had already fallen asleep. His little nose, which she knew would end up looking like his father's, was touching his arm. With a smile on her lips, she leaned down to kiss his soft cheek, before pressing her own cheek against the backside of the little hand. Rising, she looked at Aesop, who had – not without a wince -risen himself.   

His eyes held a softness in them that told her he had been watching her moment with Theodore; it made her feel vulnerable in a gratefulness inducing way. She was pleased that he had managed to bring out her soft side with the years, that she did not have to be in a defensive state at any time anymore, and that she was attractive to him in her feminine nature. Her life had been so completely different before Aesop – full of violence which demanded defense, rich in abuse which had made her pull up a wall, packed with a mindset that had demanded to at least partially forego her inclinations. Loss of control and exposure of vulnerability had been her greatest fears, but those had vanished with time and Aesop at her side. Now she was fulfilled in her role as a wife and mother, feeling no need to prove the world how worthy and accomplished she was, having no desire to combat everything and everyone. Nobody who knew her would dare to think her incapable of destruction, so she had learned to simply be . No mask of harsh discipline, no role of invulnerable superiority, no veil of uncaring bluntness.  

She had not lost her temperament, which had always been rather fiery; she had not stopped being outspoken, or willing to engage in confrontation where needed, and she most definitely had not left behind her analytical nature which often did not suit those whose desire was to live an illusion entirely focused on emotion. Nevertheless, she had changed, and Aesop Sharp was glad to have given her a secure base to do so. He had not fallen in love with another version of herself, he had simply fallen in love with her true self and seen it hidden beneath all the covering layers.  

Caressing his face lovingly, she led the way out of the room.   

Hoping their daughter would finally fall asleep with the powerful help of music, they found themselves sitting near the fireplace, nipping on the wine they had decided to enjoy in place of the usual tea. Aesop’s body was relaxed for once, his arm around Katherine’s shoulders. While his thumb was drawing lazy circles on her arm, her hand enjoyed feeling the strength of his leg.  

“I miss you”, she whispered. Her dark eyes found his; the fire illuminating her lovely features. His ministrations came to a hold, the hand now drawing her closer to his side. He didn’t know how long he was lost in his thoughts, while he took in her beauty, instead of answering. Her lovely lips were slightly parted, her delicate nose calling to be traced with his much more prominent one, her hair – which was inviting his touch – shone angelically, and the elegant collar bones longed to be kissed.  

He did not know what he had done to deserve her and everything they had built together, but he thanked God for this best of blessings.  

Finally answering he leaned in.  

“I miss you just as much, Kate.”  

Her appealing lips turned into a smile, her elegant yet capable hands taking his glass from him to place it on the table before them with her own. Facing him now, she took his rough hands into her softer ones, starting to investigate them first with her fingers and then with her lips.  

Looking up at him from under her lashes, she let her velvet tongue glide over his palm, eliciting a sharp intake of air on his part. Pressing an open-mouthed kiss on it gave rise to a growl.  

“Let me feel you tonight. I want you on me... and in me, husband.”  

Rarely addressing him directly as her husband made the use of the title meaningful. It struck a chord in him – one which awoke possessiveness and protectiveness. He would take care of her like he always did and give this stunning creature the pleasure she deserved to experience. The thought of leaving her untouched, making her feel unloved, was inconceivable.  

His strong hands captured her face delicately, as if she were easily breakable. Despite knowing that her porcelain skin had taken damage well over the challenging cycle of her life, he did not dare to handle her roughly – not when he was putting all of his devotion into action. Brushing his eloquent lips against her soft cheek, approaching her eager ear, he spoke – voice low and alluring.  

“I will fill you. First I will adore your body, a body that Aphrodite would envy; then I will enter you slowly but forcefully, reflecting our inner disposition; and afterwards – when I moved in you, reaching places that bring you transcendental bliss – I will empty myself into you, filling you, lining you with my seed. It is that what you want from me, wife, is it not? For me to lose myself in you, gifting you another child? Oh, I saw that flicker in your eyes, when you informed me about our daughter’s wishes, Katherine, do not think me ignorant.”  

Something akin to a whimper left her involuntarily, her hands gripping his sleek hair. She could feel how her body was preparing for his claiming her, how moisture between her legs was inviting his invasion. “Aesop...”, her voice was quivering; chest seeking contact with his imposing form. Wrapping herself around him by positioning herself on his lap, she locked the door and cast a silencing charm. Despite their frankness with their daughter – which included her knowing about the act of lovemaking – they did not want to expose themselves so openly.  

His hands roamed over her curves; his face nestled in her bosom. She felt him inhaling deeply, before a groan left his throat, making his chest vibrate.  

“You have no imagination of how alluring you are.”  

Rocking against him, her hands still in his hair, she closed her eyes – her head laid back, her throat exposed.  

His hands found her nipples through the fabric of her dress, provoking the strong reaction in his wife he had been expecting to receive. A forceful movement of her hips, an impassioned moan, and a strengthening grip on Aesop’s hair kept his attention secured on Katherine’s shapely breasts.  

His manhood was straining against his trousers, yearning to be gripped by Katherine’s hidden garden. His self-control, which had seldomly failed him, was hanging on a thread, since he hadn’t indulged his passions for quite a while.  

The womanly centre feverishly seeking contact with his masculine counterpart was clouding his thoughts, laying a veil of desire over everything.  

It didn’t take long for them to dispose of their clothing. Warm pliable flesh melted against heated solid muscle; audible breathing, moaning, and sighing could be heard, just as much as groaning and soft whispering. As if the weather wanted to emulate their interplay, it started to rain outside – the raindrops falling against the windows, joining their exclamations and the moisture that was building on their bodies.  

His lips did not want to part from hers; every time they attempted to, they peeled slowly from them only to close back in. His mind was lost in everything Katherine was, not thinking about how astonishing it was that he reacted to her so intensely even after all those years. He did not find anything lacking in her, nothing he would want to change. She couldn’t be close enough, so his hands pushed her against his erection – his head thrown back onto the backrest of the sofa, - eliciting a high-pitched yelp from his woman; she couldn’t feel better to him, so his hands drew her curves without having coal to immortalize them on parchment, making her the paper and muse simultaneously; she could not look nor smell better, so he made an effort to take in every detail of her beauty; drowning in her sweet aroma which called him home. He loved her – profusely and unconditionally. Joining their bodies was seldomly an act of lust alone, but a desire to lose oneself in the other; this time being no different.  

Her movements became desperate, making him aware of her haunting her release by seeking friction on his erect cock. Still caught in the delirium of desire, trying to support her in her ambition, he moved her hips. It would be futile to deny that her chasing kindled his passion even further, leading to him losing the fight against attempts at being silent. He moaned in surrender.  

“Use me to your satisfaction, Kate. Show me how greatly you hunger for me.”  

His words ran through her like lightning. To outsiders it may have painted a picture of submission on Aesop’s part, but it was on Katherine to surrender to her souls yearning for her husband. The bidding which had left his mouth awakened the need in her to show him the dedication for him that was a constant companion. Raising her hips, she guided him to her entrance, slowly sinking down; taking him in. A moan of extraordinary pleasurable nature was shared, her walls closing around him. She felt complete in the combination of being stretched by his impalement, and his arms surrounding her. Foreheads touching each other, she began to move on top of him – his hand, which had found to the apex of her thighs, kindling the fire inside. Smelling him – masculine and enchanting – and feeling his hair-covered skin upon hers, supported her inner turmoil of enticing fantasies which fought for dominance. She gave in to the most appealing of all: Him taking pleasure from her, using her and spending himself inside of her to breed. She was the one he chose; she was the one he wanted to not only fuck but make the mother of his children; she was the one he wanted to fill up to the brim with his precious seed, she was the one he made his queen and protected with everything he could. A whimper escaped her, the rocking of her hips quickening. Her hands rove through his bearded distinctive face, up into his hair, their eyes meeting with intensity. It was difficult to comprehend how this capable intelligent man had claimed her, how he was choosing her every single day. The thought and feeling of this powerful wizard driving into her made the friction against her bud effective, shutting her eyes and letting her pale feminine body spasm in ecstasy. Feeling her inner walls gripping him firmly, her beautiful face contorted in the transcendental bliss Aesop had promised her, he had to fight to keep control. Wanting to enjoy the feeling of her for a bit longer, he indulged in her beauty and softness, bringing his hand to his nose, to breath in her arousing musky honey, which he had managed to coax out of her.  

With a dexterous move, earning him a surprised intake of air followed by a chuckle from Katherine, he laid her down on the sofa, now towering above her. His eyes shone in that special way again, reminding her of the time he had approached her at Hogwarts, when he was suspecting her pregnant. Admiration – something akin to it – came closest to describing it accurately. She smiled.  

“What is it?”  

He shook his head slowly, his eyes not leaving her.  

“You are ethereal.”  

Taking his face into her hands again, she smiled – loving amusement dancing in her eyes, which so much reminded him of warming black tea.  

“It would be truth and lie contemporaneously, if I would claim to never be capable of understanding how you can see me that way. Truth, because I do not see myself the way you do; lie, because I can estimate how you must see me due to my similar view of you.”  

She paused.  

“Well, I wouldn’t describe you as ethereal, but there is simply no way of a woman being more attracted to a man than I am to you.”  

A smirk was pulling at the corners of his mouth; his eyes even now fixated on her.  

“Intellectualizing everything... How very Katherine .” His gruff voice mirrored his amusement, before his facial expression turned serious once more.  

Having her laying below him, her hair fanned out around her, was intoxicating. He could see the little scar above her left brow which she had gotten as a teenager, one that barely anyone else could see, unless they were searching for it in her face. He could see the little birthmark on the point of her little elegant nose. He could see the laugh lines that were starting to form, and he loved every single detail about the woman who had willingly chosen to be his companion. Stroking her forehead and gliding over her shining wavy hair, he lowered his lips to her jaw, kissing just below it.  

“What would I be doing without you?”  

She felt his arousal against her thigh, his warm lips at her jaw, and enjoyed his hands now on her throat. He wasn’t choking her, not today, no, he was soothing it with his thumb and making her hope he would proceed in his ministrations. She barely registered his question, wasn’t even sure if she should take it as rhetorical or answer.  

“I do not want to think about that for a second, Aesop. You have me, so come into me.”  

The eyes which had closed as soon as his lips had met her skin opened, begging him for union.  

After one last heated look, his strong hand glid along her leg before raising it, his sex demanding entrance when it met hers. The feeling of him coming into her once again made her back leave the furniture, the sensation of him opening her overwhelming. A silent groan left him, his head seeking comfort at her neck; hair falling into his handsome aged face.  

When he started moving, pushing and pulling his arousal through his wife, making sure he met the spot inside of her which never failed to make her moan exquisitely, he knew that he wouldn’t last much longer. He had needed her for too long as to be capable of resisting her pull on him for any longer; felt himself getting lost in the paradise she was to him – Eden, which welcomed him instead of being a home he had been exiled from due to his transgressions. Lowering his head to the fruit, which was not forbidden to him, he engulfed her nipple with his avid mouth – his hips moving with enthusiasm. The sounds she produced where like a heavenly choir to him, her hands on his solid buttocks grabbing and animating him. Biting his teeth together – hands tightly holding onto her – he drove himself deeper into her, meeting the entrance to her womb. The sweetest sound yet escaped her accompanied by her sex’s rhythmical dance around him. Giving in to the siren her orgasm had become, he drowned, filling her with the last he had to give – semen spilling into her as a witness to his surrender.  

His body, which seconds ago had been strained in effort and anticipation, was now at ease – head lying in Katherine’s lap. His leg hurt more than he wanted to admit, having ignored it while exercising in devotion. Raising himself up with a wince, he sat beside the warm exhausted but satisfied body of his lover. Taking her hand into his, he guided it to his lips – his head resting on the backrest of the furniture. A tired smile came in response to his affection, her breathing evening out.  

“I love you.”  

Her voice was barely a whisper, but neither the fire crackling in the fireplace nor the rain hitting the window managed to silence it.  

“I love you”, he repeated with meaning; his eyes meeting hers.  

As usual they had ended up talking for hours after their shared intimacy – from politics, the state of society, and the future to come, to their children’s seemingly quick growth and what they would like to snack.  

A bath later they were preparing for bed. Having checked on their offspring – which had been long asleep – the phonogram was now playing in the master bedroom. Aesop, who was lying in bed while attempting to read, looked over his glasses at his wife. She was standing at the sink of their bathroom, door open, her body clad in a lilac-coloured silken negligee. Her hair in an up-do, he saw her delicate neck and clavicle. Her hips were softly swaying with the music that was playing, while she made sure to apply cream to her pretty face.  

“I know that you are watching me, Aesop. Does the book fail to entertain?”  

Closing the book and taking off his glasses, he huffed.  

“The book is not to blame for failing to compete with you.”  

He saw her grin while she closed the door behind her.  

“You had your full share of me tonight, Professor. I dare claim that a good book would be able to keep your attention for a while.”  

A wave of her hand turned off the music while she climbed into the bed.  

“You are mistaken. Having had you tonight only put you in your rightful place – right at the centre of my attention.”  

Her eyes spoke of her adoration for him, ensuring him that his efforts at being a good husband were appreciated.  

“Well, we should ensure our time spent in a state of undress doesn’t come too short”, she said with humour shortly before becoming more earnest. “I missed you terribly.”  

He welcomed her into his arms, making sure her head was resting comfortably on his chest.  

“Do you think I put a babe in you tonight?”  

He seemed thoughtful, though not hesitant in seeking an answer.  

She pressed a kiss to his chest.  

“You might have. According to my calendar the possibility is quite high.”  

His hand was massaging her scalp distractedly.  

“The Sharp line continuing.” His voice seemed infused with wonder, acceptance and hope.  

He felt her smile against his chest.  

“The Sharp line continuing. I told you we would build a legacy and I intend to keep that promise.”