#Mysterious Cloaked Figures [Anonymous]

[rxnowned-vxmpire-hxnter]

Simon, you are too blond.

Point out a flaw of my muse and see their reaction!

"Oh, I'm sorry... Should I dye my hair red just to change that fact!?"

[ahqkas]

♯ DEALER ; theodore nott

PAIRING! theodore nott x fem!ravenclaw!reader

SYNOPSIS! smoking had never interested you before but when the local dealer catches your eye, you might get the experience of a professional

WORD COUNT! 2.9k

WARNINGS AND TAGS! smoking, theo is hogwarts’ dealer, reader is inexperienced in the area of smoking, theo teaches reader how to smoke, kissing

NOTES! i do NOT promote smoking / dealing in this, it’s simply a work of fiction!

HARRY POTTER MASTERLIST!

CIGARETTES, SLENDER CYLINDERS OF FINELY CUT TOBACCO WRAPPED IN PAPER, HAVE LONG HELD A FASCINATION FOR MANY. Each drag brings a mix of sensations: the initial spark and crackle as the flame meets the tip, the first inhalation that fills the lungs with a warm, almost soothing burn, and the exhalation that releases a plume of smoke, curling and dissipating into the air like whispers. The nicotine within offers a swift release, a rush that calms the nerves and sharpens the focus, although temporarily.

In the heart of Hogwarts, where the whispers of ancient stories mingled with the soft rustle of parchment, existed a sacred place of knowledge known to all as the library. To the ordinary eye, it was just a place of shelves filled with dusty books and boring atmosphere. But to those who knew where to look, was a hidden secret only some had the privilege of knowing. It was here, that Theodore Nott found his sweet spot.

Theodore Nott moved with a smooth, practiced ease. He blended in perfectly, among the towering shelves and the scent of old books. To most, he was just another student, perhaps a bit more mysterious than others. But to those who sought him out, he was a source of comfort, someone who could give them relief from the intense pressures of their magical education. A dealer.

Theo's operations were known to be like a well-choreographed dance. A subtle nod here, a quiet exchange there, all under the watchful yet unsuspecting eyes of Madam Pince. The library was the perfect place for his discreet business. It offered the privacy and anonymity that his clients needed - students from various houses looking for a way to escape their stresses.

Cigarettes, slender and neatly wrapped, were his main product to sell. Easily accessible and easily sold. Each one was more than just a tobacco roll; it was an object of escape. Theo understood the draw of that first spark, the way the flame flickered before lighting a moment of calm. He saw it in their eyes - the relief as the smoke filled their lungs and the world's worries seemed to disappear, even if just for a moment. He wasn't just selling cigarettes; he was providing a brief moment of peace.

But the Slytherin's trade wasn't limited to tobacco. For those in deeper need, he offered small vials of potions, each carefully brewed and discreetly hidden. These elixirs could calm stressed nerves or boost a tired mind, depending on what was needed. Theo got everything you could dream of.

His reputation spread quietly through whispers in common rooms and soft murmurs in the Great Hall. To some, he was a lifeline; to others, a tempting distraction. And through it all, Theodore Nott remained a mystery, a figure covered in secrecy, walking the fine line between the pursuit of knowledge and the lure of the forbidden.

He was intelligent, cunning, and unbelievably handsome. No one would suspect him for a dealer.

That boy got your interest.

You stood hidden behind a tall shelf in the back corner of the library, your heart pounding loudly in your chest as you peered through the gap between two dusty volumes of Hogwarts: History. The library was quiet, the usual hum of activity reduced to a soft whisper. You were careful to keep yourself concealed, not wanting anyone to notice your presence, least of all the Slytherin boy.

Your eyes were fixed on Theo, who was standing in a quiet corner of the library, partially hidden by the towering bookshelves. His movements were smooth and calculated as he reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial filled with a bright blue potion. The vial shimmered under the soft light, casting an ethereal glow that caught the eye of the Hufflepuff girl standing nervously before him.

Theo handed the potion over with a calm, practiced ease, his expression unreadable. The Hufflepuff quickly slipped a handful of coins into Theo's hand, their fingers brushing briefly before the girl tucked the potion into her robes and hurried away nervously. You watched as Theo carefully counted the money,

Good to know you won't be first to approach him with those feelings.

You stepped out from the safety of your hidden place, your heart racing as you made your way towards Theo. The decision had been made in your mind - you needed those cigarettes, even though you had never smoked a single one in your entire life. The Slytherin interested you, and what was better than the idea of approaching him with a business offer?

Theo's eyes flickered up as you approached and a flicker of surprise appeared on his face before he quickly masked it by his usual calm demeanor. He had noticed you before, the pretty Ravenclaw with the fierce personality, always absorbed in your studies. You were the exact opposite of his usual clientele, and that piqued his interest. What was the Ravenclaw's good girl doing here, with him?

He watched you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, noting the determined set of your jaw and the way your fingers clenched around the strap of your bag that clung to your shoulder. You were nervous, that much was clear, but there was also a resolve in your eyes that he couldn't ignore.

As you came to a stop before him, the faint scent of old books and parchment lingering in the air between the two of you, Theo tilted his head slightly. "[Last name]," he greeted, his voice low and smooth, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. This would be interesting. "What brings you here?"

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. "I need some cigarettes," you said, the tome of your voice firm despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Theo's eyes narrowed slightly, appraising you. He had seen many students come to him for relief, but your request was something he wasn't expecting in the slightest. Still, he had watched you from afar, intrigued by your quiet determination and the air of mystery that surrounded you. Could you blame him though? You were pretty, smart, and had a flicker of fire in you.

Just Theo's type.

Your request hung in the air, tension crackling between you like static electricity. Theo's gaze softened, his expression a mixture of concern and understanding as he considered your plea. Sure, he was a dealer, but he wasn't heartless.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," he began cautiously, his silver eyes flickering over your determined expression. "You've never smoked before, have you?"

Well, that was surprising. How did he know that? You shook your head. "No, but I need something, anything."

Theo paused, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. He knew the risks of smoking, the addictive grip it could have on a person's life. Merlin, he smoked almost every single day, of course he knew. Yet, as he studied you, he couldn't not notice the desperation in your eyes - the same desperation that had driven countless others to seek him out.

But you  wanted him for something entirely different.

Finally, with a sigh, he relented, his hand reaching out to offer you the pack of cigarettes in his hold. "I'll give them to you, but only if I can share one with you," he proposed, his voice soft yet firm, insisting on it. He wouldn't take a no for an answer in this. "And I'll teach you properly how to smoke. It's not something to take lightly."

Your eyes widened in surprise, gratitude flooding your features. Your plan worked. “Thank you, Theo," you breathed out a sigh of relief. "That means a lot."

The Slytherin nodded and a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Consider it a lesson in the art of stress relief," he said with a hint of amusement in his tone. "And the pack of cigarettes? It's on the house."

Decisions are the threads that weave the fabric of our lives, guiding us along paths both familiar and unknown. Good decisions illuminate our journey of life, leading us towards fulfillment and growth. They are born from careful consideration, informed by wisdom and experience, and guided by values and aspirations. In contrast, bad decisions cast shadows upon our path, obscuring our vision and stirring doubt and regret within us. They arise from impulsivity, fear, or ignorance, leading us astray and causing pain and disappointment. Yet even in the bad decisions, there lies the potential for growth and resilience, as we learn from our mistakes and strive to make wiser choices in the future.

You wondered if asking Theo for the cigarettes was a good idea.

You stepped into the cool night air of the Astronomy Tower, the darkness enveloped you like a familiar shadow. Above, the sky stretched out, filled with millions of flicker kisses stars. The moon, a delicate crescent hanging low on the horizon, cast a gentle glow over the landscape.

You tilted your head back, your gaze drawn upward to the constellations that adorned the heavens. To your left, the recognizable figure of Orion stood out, its three bright stars forming the distinct shape of the Hunter's Belt. Nearby, the sprawling form of the Great Bear dominated the northern sky, its outline marked by the gleaming North Star. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you identified the graceful curves of Cassiopeia, the Queen of Ethiopia, her celestial throne outlined by a delicate arrangement of stars. Nearby, the Pleiades cluster sparkled like a cluster of diamonds, its seven luminous stars casting a soft glow against the night sky.

The sinuous shape of Draco, the Dragon, snaked its way across the firmament, its serpentine form twisting and turning amidst the sea of stars. You through of the person whose name matched, and hung out around Theodore Nott every day since the beginning of your years at Hogwarts.

Theodore Nott. Of course your mind would run to him.

You found yourself leaning against the worn wooden railing of the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, the cool metal digging into your forearms as you stared down at the pack of cigarettes you had received from Theodore nestled in your hand. With a heavy sigh, you traced the embossed design on the pack with your fingertips, your thoughts drifting like wisps of smoke on the night breeze again.

You had never imagined yourself in this position, a cigarette pack in hand, contemplating the choices that had brought you to this moment. Funny how decisions were full of consequences.

Theo - the quiet boy from Slytherin who had caught your eye despite the whispers that surrounded him. He was the one who seemed to exist on the fringes of Hogwarts' social circles, yet commanded a silent respect from those who sought him out for his promised offerings.

You couldn't deny the curiosity he stirred within you, the way his piercing silver eyes seemed to hold secrets untold, and his cold presence beckoned you like a moth to a flame. Despite the stark differences between the two of you - you, the respected Ravenclaw, he, the mysterious dealer from Slytherin - there was an undeniable pull between you, a magnetic force that defied logic and reason of the question: why?

Opposites attract, they say, and you couldn't help but wonder if there was truth to the saying.

Before you could react any further, Theodore Nott appeared beside you, his presence as silent and mysterious as ever. The faint scent of tobacco and earthy cologne trailed behind him. He smelled nice.

Without a word, he materialized a slender cigarette from his pocket, the tip ready to glow with a soft ember by the time he placed it in the corner of his mouth. He held the cigarette between his fingers and without breaking eye contact, he spoke in a low, calm voice, guiding you through the new experience with a patience you hadn't expected.

"First, hold it like this," Theo instructed, gently placing the cigarette between your fingers, positioning it just right. His touch was light, almost fleeting, but enough to send a spark of fire through you. You mimicked his hold, feeling the slightly rough texture of the cigarette paper against your skin. Theo's fingers lingered briefly over yours, adjusting your grip until he was satisfied.

"Now, bring it to your lips."

You felt a nervous tremor in your chest as you positioned the cigarette between your lips, its unfamiliar weight resting delicately. The cool night air brushed against your skin, but all you could focus on was Theo, standing close enough that you could see the slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, never left yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. How could a man be this beautiful?

Theo raised his wand, the tip glowing softly. "Hold still," he murmured, his voice low and steady. You complied, your breath hitching in the back of your throat as the wand's flame drew nearer.

He leaned in, his fingers brushing your cheek as he steadied the cigarette. The moment stretched out, and with a flick of his wand, the tip of the cigarette ignited, the flame casting a warm, flickering light over your face. It felt oddly comforting.

"Now, take a slow, deep inhale," Theo instructed, his eyes never wavering from yours. The flame's glow highlighted the depths of his gaze, making the moment feel both surreal and intimate.

You did as he said, drawing the smoke into your mouth. The initial harshness made your eyes water, but Theo's unwavering gaze kept you grounded.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice a soothing sound to your nerves. "You're doing fine."

As you exhaled, your shoulders relaxed as well, the initial discomfort easing into something more manageable. Theo's proximity made the experience less daunting.

"Again," he said, his voice gentle yet firm. "Slow and steady."

You gave him a nod, your eyes still locked onto his as you took another drag, this time more controlled, more assured. The smoke filled your lungs, and as you exhaled, you felt a strange sense of accomplishment. Theo's lips curved into a small, approving smile, a silent acknowledgment of your progress and your heart skipped a beat.

Just as you started to feel more confident in your actions, Theo reached out, his fingers brushing against yours as he took the cigarette from your hand.

With a deft movement, he placed it between his own lips, a smirk playing on his face. Your breath hitched as you watched him, your eyes drawn to the way his lips curved around the cigarette. The pink lipgloss you had carefully applied earlier left a delicate mark on the paper, and now Theo's lips were tasting the gloss.

His eyes glinted with amusement as he took a slow, deliberate drag, inhaling deeply. The ember flared briefly, casting a warm glow over his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, making him look like an angel. As he exhaled, the smoke curled and twisted in the air between the two of you, dissipating into the night.

He removed the cigarette and examined it, his thumb tracing the faint outline of your lipgloss. The smirk on his lips grew more pronounced, a blend of amusement and something deeper, something almost appreciative. He turned his gaze back to you, the intensity of his stare making your pulse quicken.

"Interesting choice," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the words punctuated by a cloud of smoke. His eyes flickered to your lips, then back to the cigarette, the smirk never leaving his face. "Pink suits you."

Without fully understanding what compelled you in the moment, you felt yourself drawn towards Theo, the world around you fading into a blur. You leaned in, the distance between you closing in a heartbeat. The night air seemed to hold its breath as you moved, your focus entirely on Theo's face, his smirk fading into a look of surprise.

Your lips met his with a gentle urgency, capturing the soft, teasing smile that had been playing on his mouth like it was nothing. The cigarette fell from his fingers, forgotten as his hands moved to cup your face, the coolness of his skin contrasting with the warmth of your own.

The kiss deepened, and you felt the soft flutter of his eyelashes at the apples of your cheeks.

When the two of you finally broke apart, breathless and wide-eyed, the night air seemed to rush back in, filling the space between you. Your heart raced, your mind reeling from what you had just done. You searched Theo's eyes for a reaction, finding a mix of surprise and something that looked remarkably like admiration.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, the silence stretching out, filled with unasked questions and unspoken answers. Theo's smirk returned, softer this time, as he ran a thumb over your cheek, brushing away a stray lock of hair.

"Well, that was unexpected."

You nodded, your own lips curving into a shy smile. "I don't know what came over me," admitting, your voice barely held the tone of a whisper.

Theo's gaze softened, his fingers lingering on your soft lips. "I'm glad you did it," he said quietly, the words hanging in the air between you.

Tonight had changed everything, and you couldn't wait to see where this path would lead. After all, the consequences of your actions didn't disappoint and you would be a fool to let the aftermath of it go.

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 1

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 2, check out the story tag for more chapters) Word count: 1.9k Warnings: This chapter is SFW, but the story will eventually be NSFW. Eventual smut. Some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader. A/N: Time for Buggy wearing reading glasses! 🥰I'm not sure how long this story will end up being, but it will be more than a few chapters.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The book sat there, alone. Waiting. It was tucked under a bench, nestled into a gap that held it just barely out of sight. Just barely, but not entirely.

It was late and most of the ship had gone to sleep. Only those on patrol and a few night owls who were just getting ready to turn in for the night drifted among the moon and dim lighting. Soon, it was just the night guards and the ship’s captain, who had been stuck solving a problem. Untangling equations, adjusting mechanics, weighing chemicals and compounds - experiments that he was devoted to until the right reaction occurred. And even then, the reaction had to be just perfect. It was the nuanced tinkering that pulled him late into the night.

Finally satisfied with the outcome, Buggy headed back to the captain’s quarters. Heavy boot steps filled the air like the ship’s heartbeat. Out of habit, his eyes swept the area to look for anything suspicious or out of place. The timing and lighting aligned just right to let his eyes land on the paper edge that failed at blending into the shadows.

Buggy paused, freezing mid-step. His last breath stayed in his chest. Only his thoughts kept moving as they weighed the pros and cons of ignoring the mystery item.

One of his forgetful crewmembers probably forgot about it and will find it eventually. But what if it wasn’t a book, but a trick or a trap? Or what if it was a book with secrets hidden inside? A way to be rich and powerful or maybe maps? It could also be a diary. As captain of the ship, it wouldn’t be out of bounds for him to know what’s going on with his crew, right? What if they wrote about him? Feedback is good. It’s healthy. And if there was feedback someone wasn’t giving their beloved captain, well, Buggy would want to remedy that over some personal knife throwing sessions. For bonding, of course.

Unfreezing with a sigh, Buggy sent over a hand to grab the book. He squinted in the dim light while flipping through the pages. It wasn’t a diary or journal, but there were scribbles and notations throughout the margins in the beginning of the book. A dog-eared page marked where the handwriting ended.

Flopping the novel shut, Buggy stared at the flimsy cover. A cloaked figure stood at the edge of a shadowed forest, facing a distant castle guarded by a dragon. Was this really so interesting that someone had to fill the pages with even more words? The pirate scrunched his face and shook his head before glancing around and leaving behind the empty area.

A heavy click secured the door to the captain’s quarters, locking him inside and locking out any unwelcome interruptions. Buggy tossed the book onto his unmade bed and headed over to the desk. He poured two fingers of amber liquid into a glass and emptied the contents into his mouth just as quickly. The liquid pricked his tongue with little explosions that grew into a gentle burn, heating his throat and chest. Excess heat was released in a hiss. Buggy’s body reacted to the soothing balm, relaxing as the alcohol coursed through his limbs. 

The tension holding his joints together loosened slightly - not enough for him to break apart, but reverting to an easier and more comfortable hold. Years of relying on his Devil Fruit powers left Buggy overcompensating unconsciously, knitting his muscles tighter to hold himself together.  Kicking his shoulders back, the pirate rolled his head to the gentle pops and cracks of the interior bubbles popping between various joints.

Another heavy pour of alcohol was sloshed into the cup and carried over to the bed. Buggy grabbed the book from the cresting waves of blankets as he climbed onto the mattress. He propped himself up with pillows and studied the novel. The pages were old and slightly yellow and the soft cover was rounded at the edges from being handled many times. Although it was previously loved, the writing looked fresh. Something about this fantasy story was enticing enough to multiple readers.

With narrowing eyes, he flipped open the book to the first page. It had been a while since he read solely for his own curiosity and he found himself rereading the same line more than once. There were hardly any extra snippets on the first few pages and he was already stuck. Buggy pinched the bridge of the nose, his hand carrying the smell of sweet, dusty earth. He groaned and pitched himself forwards, the movement increasing the volume as more air was pushed out. 

Flopped forwards like a rag doll, Buggy blindly grabbed at the table next to his bed and yanked open the drawer with a scratchy wooden creak. He retrieved a felt pouch and sat back up. The reading glasses easily slide out of the fabric holder. Snapping open the silver frames, Buggy settled the glasses in place - round lenses behind his round nose - and went back to the book.

Hours later, the sun crept into the room. It eased itself through the window and along the floor, board by board. Little fingers grabbed at the foot of the bed and hoisted the light higher. The golden glow crawled along the hills and valleys in the bed before reaching a still hand with a pen entwined in the fingers. Then another hand, holding an open book against a chest that rose and fell at a steady pace. The light bounced off an empty glass on the side table. And a trickle of drool from the open, snoring mouth. And the glasses, still sitting on the sleeping face.

The sun danced on the glasses, the little jumps and leaps increasing in tempo until Buggy woke up with a snort. A hand flew up to wave away the sun. Failing to chase away the untouchable foe, he went to block his eyes and collided with the glasses instead. A sharp pain hit the bridge of his nose as the glasses dug into his face.

“For fuck’s sake,” Buggy whined, finally just tilting his face away from the window and out of direct line of the sun’s overexuberant greeting.

The book slid with a soft rustling. Worried that the paper might catch and tear, Buggy snatched it up. The story was better than he expected. Well, enough to keep him engrossed. The pirate wouldn’t say it’s the best story he’s read (which he did more growing up), but it’s not bad. And the extra additions made it better. Comments about what the other reader liked, what they disagreed with, lines that made their emotions sink and soar, characters they envied, questions about backstories and motives. 

There was a lot of commentary, and yet Buggy found himself adding his own. Hurried scratches about his own opinions (which were better), answers to questions left by the other reader because they obviously didn’t pay attention, his own musings and challenges to the author, and, surprisingly, pieces that Buggy felt connected to.

It wasn’t long before he found himself cramming a trail of consciousness and even anecdotes into the empty spaces in the novel. And when he did run out of room, he shoved scraps of paper to contain the overflow of ink. Plus one extra piece of paper to serve as a bookmark. He read past the dog-eared page and, honestly, only an absolute barbarian would crease a book like that.

But now what? The end of the story called to Buggy, curling a finger to invite him to see the journey to the end. The few chapters left him in the first act, ending just as the upswing prepared to launch into the main plot. The pirate wasn’t sure how long it’d take him to finish the story, plus there wasn’t a guarantee that he would be able to. At least, not fast enough to return the book before the owner forgot about it. Honesty that he anonymously left in the book was still housed in his chest, reminding him that most of the enjoyment came from reading someone else’s thoughts. Traveling the journey with a partner.

Wanting to let the answer settle before he acted, Buggy tucked away his glasses and the book into the bedside drawer. He stretched out under the covers and let the exhaustion that had been waiting patiently crawl into bed with him. As captain, he could afford to sleep in, or at least until someone felt enough pressure to risk being scolded for waking him early.

---

You were beginning to lose hope. Two days had passed and you still hadn’t been able to find the novel you misplaced. Lost. At this point, it was probably lost. Stolen by someone who chose to keep it, or even stolen by the sea herself. Ignoring the weight of acceptance settling in your chest, you decided to look one final time. You waited until nightfall, so you wouldn’t have to explain what you were looking for. 

There wasn’t any shame in reading, you just weren’t in the mood to kick off a scavenger hunt that the crew would turn into a whole event. Thinking about how you’d have to explain what the book looked like, where it could be, when you last saw it, multiple times, as well as checking anything that remotely looked like a book planted a small headache in your skull. Not to mention, a ship-wide quest would cause a ruckus that the captain might not approve of. It was just a book, after all. If you couldn’t locate it, then maybe this was meant to be.

Having extracted, inspected, shaken, tossed, and flipped all of your personal belongings, you moved onto retracing your steps. Anywhere you may have carried the book would be revisited and examined until the last flame of hope went out. Nothing in the kitchen. Definitely not near the laundry bins. You didn’t bring it to the bathroom, but you checked just in case. Nope. Not in the crow’s nest. Nor in the storage room you reorganized. Not near the crates you unpacked. Or the ropes you mended. Your book wasn’t with any of the circus accessories. Or costumes. It wasn’t on any shelves or tucked in corners. You couldn’t find it in places where it may have fallen.

Just as your chest filled with smoke from a dying ember, you remembered a small cranny you found recently. It was the perfect size to hold the novel, which you tucked away while you tended to other duties. Crouching alongside different benches, you dragged your hand along the legs. Your fingers danced along the carved wood and skated past empty nooks, until there was a blocker. A ruffled corner caught your fingertips, nearly holding onto the touch and begging for more. 

Sliding it out, you were relieved to see the enigmatic cloaked figure on the cover. You gripped the paperback book tightly in both hands and shook it with excitement. You didn’t notice the tufts of paper sticking out of the even edges until you were curled up under your loose blanket.

Skipping to paper that ventured furthest into the forest of paper, you flipped the book open to the end of a chapter you hadn’t reached. You frowned at the unfamiliar scrawls filling the margins. Looking ahead to sections deeper in the story, you were faced with blank spaces. This was a secondhand book, but no one else had written in it before you. Returning to the bookmarked section, a note written with a heavy hand sat in a messy circle. 

“Can I read this after you finish? Just put it back in the same spot. I’ll find it.”

[nctdreams4me]

In Service of Mr Wayne

Synopsis: I need to do my part in protecting Gotham City - my home - from further decay and corruption. What I discover at the long abandoned Wayne Manor is beyond anything I am prepared for...6 nameless men, coming into the light as I uncover the truth about a legend, and my own past...

Pairing: Y/N (Femme/She/Her) X NCT U "The BAT" subunit (Johnny/Yuta/Jungwoo/Hendery/Jeno/Jisung)

Genre: Mystery Thriller Smut, Mostly PWP, Crappy Depictions of Batman lore so please DC/Batman fans don't read this. I did no research and superheroes are not my strong suit.

Word Count: 7k+

Rating: Explicit Sex, Mature, PWP, 18+ ONLY

Warnings: Gangbang, Blow Jobs, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Spit Roasting (I think ToT), Double Penetration, Cream Pie, Cum Swallowing, filth I wrote in a sleep deprived state

Author's Note: Someone has to have written a better "The BAT" smut piece, please, someone tell me there are fics based off this video already? ToT Cuz look....I am in NO state to be writing this sort fic.

I wrote this in like 4 hours IDK what else to say. I just needed to purge this out of my system. Take it for what it is, me being horny for NCT ToT PS. Sorry for everything, I barely edited it. I wrote this just a few hours ago. I should be in bed. Enjoy.

* * *

The night air was still, not even a breeze. With the clouds covering the moon, darkness cloaked the manor that sat at the top of the hill overlooking the sea. I tried my best to blend into the quiet atmosphere as I pressed the pass code to the gate, one careful digit at a time, ears straining for any sort of noises.

The loud creaking from the metal gate doors sent my heart jumping around like the Trix rabbit after getting a bite of that sweet processed fruit shaped cereal. Looking around, the night remained black, even my feet before me difficult to make out, grey shapes I hoped wasn’t a trap just about to stun me into unconsciousness.

A new pass code at the front door before I heard the giant oak doors unlock. Gloved hand pushing the door, I entered into the empty mansion of retired billionaire, Bruce Wayne.

Or that was what he wanted the public to believe.

I received an anonymous tip about Mr. Wayne hiding his hobbyist life. Did his broken body really come from a random car collision?

Or had the elusive billionaire gotten his body mangled behind the private walls of Wayne Corp?

It was up to the truth seekers of Gotham City to figure out the honestly of these stories.

My filthy, corrupted city - the only place I ever called home - was undeserving of deceit and exploitation. It was the local folks like my family and neighbors who helped me work my way up in life.

Despite our broken down apartment and dangerous streets that we called home, my community supported me through school and I’d gotten a step up in life by landing a job at the Gotham Gazette.

Sure, I’m just the mail delivery girl on the 7th floor - but I’d received a white, unmarked envelope in my locker. Inside was a dark, blurry grey picture of what looked like 6 bodies (shapes, to be honest) standing at the edge of a cliff, miles high above the ocean. The only writing was on the back of the picture. “Outside Wayne Manor” with a date just 3 days before.

Below were 3 sets of 7 digit numbers.

I’ve always thought there was something funny about Gotham’s philanthropic CEO, but I was still in high school when Mr. Wayne announced his retirement after recovering from a life altering car accident. He moved away to enjoy his retirement with his broken back in Madagascar.

Almost a decade later, suddenly there’s a suspicious picture with 3 sets of numbers sent to me? I knew I’d been a bit chatty about wanting to get a chance to get a journalist role at Gotham Gazette, but so did half of the interns at the place.

I had to figure out the truth, and I hated my job, so I’d spent all my free time studying the history of Wayne manor. Allegedly, Mr. Wayne had sold the land off to a company based in South Korea, but the sale happened around his retirement. I couldn’t find the name of the company (or any human names) from my research.

The place seemed untouched. No news or announcement on any new developments. It was like Mr. Wayne left the property to rot.

I should have told someone about my investigation. But then again, I didn’t even know if I’d find anything. I was surprised the pass codes worked. It was instinctual to enter the numbers at the gate and door. Now that I was inside, I could text my best friend. Let them know where I was and why I was there.

But before I could take my phone out of my bag, I heard voices in the distance. Turning away from the closed front door, I saw light in the distance. Like there was an area down the hallway toward the right side that had a lamp light on.

Quietly, I walked carefully toward the light source, listening for more noises. The voices were too far away to make out but there was more than two people inside the manor.

Walking down the hallway, I took a quick glance around. The manor looked pristine, like it’d been cleaned from top to bottom regularly. Fully furnished, room to room, but eerily quiet and still.

Making it to the end of the hallway, I saw a set of stairs leading downwards, the light source coming from below.

Taking my phone out, I took a picture of the stairway that led downwards. It looked like it had appeared behind a sliding wall of some kind. A hidden entrance.

Slowly, left hand holding my phone out, I entered. I heard voices echoing along the giant cave.

“...days til we can unleash Batman Project 9.0 -”

“No one agreed on that as the title.”

“Johnny!”

“Hey, c’mon guys. We have to get all the cars into the cave before sunrise. This is Robin’s most important project.”

Step by step on the metal stairs, I got more and more insight into Mr Bruce Wayne’s secret hobby. He was…he was the Caped Crusader, the…

“It’s the Batman,” I blurted out, eyes falling to the symbol of the Batman - long wings with pointed tips inside a thick oval - adorned on a giant wall, red light adorned over the white sheet of the Batman symbol.

“Who the fuck are you?” There were a pair of hands on my shoulders from behind, pushing me forward. I gasped, losing my footing. “Johnny, did you order a seventh member?”

Making it to the bottom landing, I threw my hands out to catch onto the table, hip hitting the metal top. My eyes scanned the laptops and maps scattered on the table before going up to see four men standing before me.

All wearing black, all of them with hair slicked back. All tall and hovering over me. The tallest and broadest of the lot took a step forward, hands in his front pocket.

“You got her phone?” he asked, eyes on me before darting behind my left shoulder.

“She took a picture.” The guy who’d push me had dark red hair, big black eyes scanning me in my skin tight leggings. His front was up against my back as he handed my phone to the guy across the table. “I had no idea anyone even knew of our arrival.”

“I-I’m from the Gotham Gazette,” I said, trying to step away from the hot body behind me. I cleared my throat, standing up straight. “I-I got a tip that there was something going on here. Th-this is Mr Wayne’s mansion. W-what are you doing here? The people of Gotham deserve to know. When Mr. Wayne left, Batman did too. We always suspected-but-I”

My neck craned around as I took in the cave. Cars, guns, protective gear, too many screens and gadgets for me to take much else in.

“Well, we can’t have you revealing the truth of the Batman,” the tall guy holding my phone said. He handed my phone to another handsome man, before running a hand over his mouth, eyes scanning me. Less menacingly than the red haired guy. “If you want the protection like Mr Wayne and the Batman provided all those years ago, we can’t have you leave here. Not until we know what to do with you. Not until we launch the new Batman program. You’ll get a team of Batmans to help take care of your city. That’s what you want, right?”

I took a step back, seeing him step forward, but I ran right back into the red haired guy, his front hotter than just a moment ago.

“C’mon Johnny, she’s cute.” He planted his hands on the table, caging me into his arms. “We can get good PR if she works for the Gazette.”

“We can’t just let her loose based on her word,” the guy named Johnny said, hands back into his pants pockets.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t say anything to anyone,” one of the men behind him stepped forward. Milky skin, intense glare in his eyes as his hands fisted at his sides. “I can take care of a small thing like that.”

“Hey, I have a name.” I balled my own hands into fists. I'm not afraid to let these strangers know who I am. I have nothing to hide. I told them as much, giving them my name, telling them exactly how long I've lived on earth in Gotham, knowing my love and care for the rotten city went deeper than any of these strangers.

“We aren’t here to hurt you,” someone spoke up behind me. A beautiful man with pouty pink lips walked down the stairs, big eyes staring at me. “We want to clean up Gotham, too. We were all orphans. What do you think Mr Wayne did when he retired?”

“He…” I looked around. One tall handsome man after another. First one, Johnny. He was the only one with a name. Behind stood the man with the intense stare, his eyes making your heart beat faster. A taller guy stood behind him fiddling with a switchblade in his hands. Behind you stood the hot bodied red head and the beautiful pouty lipped stranger. “He raised an army of new Batmans?”

“So far only six of us,” Johnny said. He held a hand out, as if offering for me to take it. “I need you to trust us. We want to help. I’m Johnny.”

“I’m Jeno,” said the guy with the intense stare. His demeanor softened as Johnny shook my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Don’t mind Jeno,” the one with switchblade said, throwing an arm around Jeno’s neck. “He’s more bark than bite. I’m Hendery.”

“Yuta, if you want to know my name,” the red haired guy said as he refused to let up space between us. His hand touched my hip. I stepped away, almost colliding into the pouty pink lipped guy. “Shy.”

“Come on Yuta, be nice.” The pouty lipped beauty gestured for me to take Johnny’s hand. “I’m Jungwoo.”

“Meet our young savant, Jisung,” Johnny said when I took his hand once more, stepping away from Yuta. He led me deeper into the cave, down a small set of stairs and toward an opening behind a dark corner. “Jisung! We made a new friend.”

I stopped, back colliding against Yuta as he remained behind me. He looked much older than I last remembered.

Jisung.

Handsome with muscular arms as a man. Sparkling eyes still soft with his pointed chin and high cheekbones. He belonged with his five handsome friends. All making me blush as they stared at me.

“Y-you’re supposed to meet us tomorrow,” he said. “Didn’t you get my letter? Who let you in?”

“You sent me that letter?” I wanted to punch his arm like when we were little, neighbors who played together. He could have simply come over to my place and explained. “There was nothing in there!”

His eyes scrunched up with his nose as he threw a hand to his forehead.

“I forgot to put the letter in with the picture.” He sighed, staring at me. My whole body flared up, seeing his eyes scan down and up my body. “At least Haechan dropped it into the right locker. You’re smart, figuring it all out with just the picture-not that I expected anything less from you.”

“Well, I did solve all the riddles in class,” I said, standing up straight. “What the hell is going on? Are you really bringing back the Batman?"

“I heard you needed help getting a foot into the Gotham Gazette, so why not team up with us?” he said. “I told Johnny I could get good PR with you.”

“This is-” I looked around the room, dozens of vehicles lined up neatly in the garage, domed walls making me feel like I could fall over at any second, “-impressive. What am I supposed to do?” “Tell the truth about what’s really happening with the criminals working with the corrupt cops and politicians,” Johnny replied. “We’ll have a security team work with you. Ensure no one’s following you or trying to breach into your phone and private affairs. We plan to keep your contacts anonymous and safe too.”

“And how am I supposed to trust you?”

“Come on,” Jisung said, walking closer to you. “I stayed up all night watching over you that night your parents were gone. No one to look after us but each other.”

“And then you left me without a goodbye!”

Like the pain of losing a pet when I was little, I didn’t know how long I’d missed it until I saw Jisung staring at me with such a deep voice, eyes refusing to look away from me. My tears were wiped away with Jisung’s thumbs as he held my face in his palms.

“I’m sorry,” he said, lips against mine. Breathing mint into my mouth, taking over my senses. “We were kids. I didn’t know how to find you. Not until I returned.”

“Until now?!” His arms were around me, lips pressing against mine. I wanted him to keep kissing me, my arms wrapping around his neck.

“So don’t leave me.” His lips on my neck, he whispered my name against me. “Stay. Stay with me.”

“With us,” Yuta said. I held onto Jisung tighter as I felt a hand on my lower back. “You have to tell her, Jisung.”

“Tell me what?” I asked, pulling away from Jisung, standing up straight to look into his eyes. “Jisung? Tell me what?”

“You have to earn our trust too,” Johnny said. “Jisung vouched for you, we did a background check, but I have a strict third rule in terms of trust.”

Jisung took a step back as Johnny stood before me, hands going to my hips. His hands roamed down my ass before gliding up my sides and his long fingers fondled my breasts. Hands grazing down my back and between my thighs. Down my calves before he stood up and pressed his body against me.

“You seem clean,” he said, fingers pulling my chin up to stare into his eyes. “If you’re not in the Batman program I can only trust you if you can handle all six of us.”

“W-what?” I snorted. “Straight out of Pornhub. What a convenient rule to throw onto me when I’m alone with 6 strong men.”

“Yeah, more or less,” Johnny said, hands on my hips as he pressed his front against me, hot cock hardening against my stomach. “You were a stupid fucking girl to sneak in here in the dead of night. Trespassing on private property. Honestly, I’d cage you up for that. But since you’re Jisung’s friend, this is considered a gift.”

“Jisung.” My eyes darted over to him, right behind Johnny. My heart beat thrumming against my throat as I felt Yuta’s breath at the crook of my neck, his cock poking against my ass. “You’re not…you’re not going to-” “Rules are rules.” Jisung's eyes were cold as he unbuckled the fastening at the wrist of his leather gloves. “I know you can handle this. You’re a fighter. We need fighters on our side.”

The confidence he had in me helped me take in a deep inhale, shaky breath outwards as my hands went under Johnny’s pants, helping him untuck his shirt.

“Fast learner, I like that,” he said, hands helping me unbutton his shirt. “Get down on your sexy knees and suck some dick.”

My whole head was spinning. Hands gliding down Johnny’s thick thighs as I dropped down to my knees. The words and affection of these men was convincing me to help Gotham out by using my body.

If I had to use my mouth on six cocks, I could do it. Prove to Jisung that I was as resilient as he believed me to be.

Johnny exhaled loud and slow as I planted kisses on his hard abs. Fingers undoing his belt buckle and zipper, palms stroking his long, thick cock. It was hot as it grew in my fist. A soft giggle escaped as I looked up at Johnny, seeing him bite his lip.

Hands massaging my scalp. He was impatient as one palm pressed against the back of my head, shoving my mouth against his wet, musky cock. Tongue licking along his length, I inhaled his taste. Licked and sucked his balls as I stroked his thick hairy cock.

“Fuck, keep it up.” He was lost in loud inhales and exhales, eyes shut as I put the tip into my mouth, sucking softly like I needed to drink up the contents inside his thick meat. “Shiit.”

I ate up more of him as I sucked in. Slowly sinking his cock in, inch by inch. Hoping my throat didn’t constrict until I had him in more than halfway. Hand massaging his balls, I gagged as his tip shoved down my throat, no air as it constricted.

“Don’t you fucking forget me,” I spat out as I stroked him fast, my slimy bubbly saliva all over his hairy cock. I sucked on his tip again, tongue swirling around the sensitive pink mushroom. “Who’s next?”

I looked over my shoulder to see Yuta undoing his pants. He’d been horny for me the second he laid eyes on me. I couldn’t wait to see if he could handle me.

I stood, pushing Johnny away as his fingers tugged at my jacket. I slipped it off, letting it fall to the floor as I walked over to Yuta, pushing him to sit onto the roof of a shiny black Porsche.

“Fucking pervert,” I breathed against his lips as his hands palmed my ass. “Haven’t been able to keep your hands off me, can you? Can’t wait to let me suck you dry?”

“Prove it.” His hands fell to his side as my hands went under his shirt to feel his abs. He was soft, smooth. A scent like ocean breeze and cloves right up into my sinuses as we kissed, my left hand slipping down his front to find a smooth, warming cock. “Anyone can choke on a giant cock.”

“Fuck you,” Johnny said. He groaned as I heard the wet noises of him stroking himself. “You’re going to cum the second she licks your balls.”

“Let’s see,” I said, smiling up at Yuta as he grabbed my hair, tugging my neck back. I whined, hands grasping onto his thighs for leverage. “Asshole.”

“Suck it,” he cooed out gently. Hissing with a loud exhale as I swirled my tongue around his tip. It poked against the left side of my cheek. I glided my tongue up against his sweet cock. Gathering saliva in my hand to stroke his base. “Fuck, you’re no fucking joke.”

I lifted his cock as I sucked his left nut before licking the right, using both hands to massage his shaft and tip.

“You’re a greedy fuck,” I said as I stood up, continuing to massage his tip with the tips of my fingers. “All about you and everything all over your cock.”

He pulled me in for a kiss, arms wrapping around my waist. Pervert sucking up my spit, making it a point to get a good taste of Johnny as his tongue explored my mouth.

“Go on, pick the next one,” Yuta said, releasing me, hands pulling my sweater off. “Whose dick will taste better than mine? Hm?”

I felt a hand palm my left breast, feeling blood rush up to my brain, making it hard for me to focus. A soft kiss on my shoulder as a pair of hands led me out of Yuta’s hot hold.

“Come on, pretty girl,” Jungwoo said, hands unhooking my bra from behind. “Press those pretty tits between my dick. Johnny, can I cum on her face?”

He looked away from me, standing up straight as he looked over at Johnny.

“You just want a titty job?” Johnny asked.

“We’re only cumming once?”

My whole body flared up like I'd been struck by lightning as I looked down at Jungwoo tugging his pants off. His pink cock wasn’t as hairy or thick as Johnny’s, but he was much longer than Yuta.

I was beginning to look forward to comparing the taste of their cocks. See whose cock fit my mouth the best. Jungwoo began pulling his clothes off, eyes on my body as he reached out to palm my tit.

“Jungwoo,” I said, hand reaching up to caress his muscular arms, “your body is amazing.”

“Thank you,” he said, face flushing pink. “I don’t have tits like you. Your body is amazing.”

I laughed against his lips as he pulled my body against his. His kisses were soft, he moaned when his tongue parted my lips.

“I’d love your tits around my dick,” he requested softly, hand stroking my neck.

I wanted to suck his dick dry, because he was so soft and gentle, but if he wanted a titty fuck…

I got down onto my knees, hands cupping my breasts as I wrapped them around his wet, squiggly cock. Holding my tits firmly around Jungwoo, I spat out to get some lube onto his tip.

The whole room was filled with low groans. My head snapped up as I saw all six men staring at me.

In that moment, spit gliding down between my tits and Jungwoo’s cock, I finally realized that I was fucking 6 guys.

All of them enjoying the sight of me.

Jungwoo moaned, hands scooping my hair up into a ponytail as his left hand held my hair secure. His hips thrust against me.

“So pretty,” he panted, praising me continually as his cock lit up my chest. “So fucking pretty. Your tits. Lovely.”

“My turn,” Jeno said loudly, hand wrapping around my arm as I felt Jungwoo’s breathing grow shallow. “Jesus, Jungwoo, learn to hold it in longer.”

Jungwoo’s whimpered, shriveling as I left his body. On my feet, I couldn’t stop staring at Jungwoo. Sweat was gliding down his bare chest, perfect nipples hardened as he nodded at me. Fighting to keep his eyes open as he breathed heavily through his mouth.

“I’ll cum later.”

“Pretty, pretty lips,” Jeno said softly as he pushed me to sit on top of a black Ferrari. Fingers groping my cheeks as his palm pressed up against my chin. “Been a while since I’ve had such pretty lips on my cock.”

My eyes shut, feeling his sweet sugary lips over mine. His mouth was clean, free from the cock musk of his 3 friends. I sucked on his lips, loving the sweetness over my sinuses and taste buds. He moaned onto my tongue as my hands palmed his stiff cock through his pants.

“More bark than bite,” I breathed against his neck before sucking on his porcelain skin. Tongue gliding up against his Adam’s apple, feeling his heartbeat against the tip of my tongue. “Make sure you never forget these pretty lips.”

He was quick to be rid of all of his clothes. He pulled me up to my feet before he pulled my leggings and panties off, stating I needed to be naked for him.

Kissing up and down his shaft, I shut my eyes, savoring the special earthy taste of Jeno. He was like a woodsy forest, dewy and mossy, filling my senses with his calming scent. Smooth cock, thick and hot against my lips.

Licking up and down his big dick, I opened my eyes to see him with furrowed eyebrows, mouth hanging open with intense focus on me. Lips finding the thick blue vein on the left side of his cock, I sucked on it gently before licking my tongue against it, savoring the way the vein pulsed angrily against my taste buds.

Fingers from both of his hands fisted into my hair as I swallowed his tip, loosening my jaws, wanting to take all of him in. He breathed evenly as he shoved my head back and forth on his cock.

“So fucking pretty,” he panted, grip on my hair tightening, sending blood right up to my scalp as he thrust his tip back and forth against my throat, paying no mind to me gagging and spitting onto him, “Jungwoo’s right, you’re so fucking pretty.”

He released my hair as my hands pushed against his hips. I coughed inhaling air, mouth free from his thick cock. Hands stroking him as I blinked away tears from my eyes. My entire vision blurred when I was choking on his cock. My nipples and clit were throbbing, wanting a cock to be rough on my pussy too.

“Saving the best for last,” Hendery said, hands smooth as he pulled off his black leather vest, revealing a tan body, six pack abs glistening with sweat. Pecks smooth and firm. “Consider me warm up for your childhood friend.”

Jeno had me in his arms as he planted kisses onto my tits. An electric jolt hit my clit as Jeno wrapped his mouth around my left tit and sucked hard on it. My mind blanked as my whole focus fell onto the unbearable pain of Jeno grinding his teeth onto my swollen nub.

I moaned, feeling another mouth clamp around my right breast. Hendery sucked hard, his teeth giving my right tit the same pleasure Jeno gave my left.

“She’s good,” Hendery said through gritted teeth, hand shoving against Jeno’s chest.

I giggled, hands holding onto Hendery’s shoulders as  he stepped me away from Jeno’s possessive hold. His lips went to suck on my neck before landing over my lips. Hand on my chin, he broke our kiss. Lips almost as sweet as Jeno.

His hands roamed down my back, groping my ass before caressing my sides and tits. His mouth returned to my tits, eyes barely open as he continually kissed and licked my fleshy mounds. I shut my eyes, blood rushing up my back when he made eye contact with me, tongue licking my left tit.

“I want to play with you so much,” he said softly, fingers pressing up against my slit. My hips shook as I pushed myself closer to him. “Show me how good you can suck my dick, first. Kinky little thing.”

Obedient to his gentle order, I got down onto my knees, hands helping him tug his pants down as he sat down onto the table. Shutting my eyes as I wrapped my mouth around his citrusy musk, like inhaling oranges as his tip twitched down my throat, tickling my tonsils.

“Yes, so good.” His soft hisses encouraged me to keep bobbing back and forth. The taste of his cock was addictive, I wanted to keep sucking, as if his cock was an orange creamsicle. I wanted the foamy white stuff. “Fuck.”

His voice pitched up high, palm resting at the crown of my head as I sucked faster, left hand massaging his balls.

“How do you like it?” I asked, inhaling loudly when I let go of his tasty cock. My tongue lapped up sloppily against his balls as I fisted his shaft, stroking fast, chest swelling as Hendery’s hips shook and he whined. “Kinky enough for you, Hendery?” “Better not cum,” Johnny spoke up. “Hend, get it together man.”

“She’s a good cock sucker.” Hendery groaned, hands on my shoulders to pull me away from his cock. My jaw was hurting, knees feeling numb and raw, but the shy half smile he gave me sent a sharp surge of energy into me. I wanted to keep sucking him off. Find out if Hendery’s cum tasted as good as his cock. “Fuck, you’re a good cock sucker.”

“Thank you,” was all I could say, cheeks flushing.

“Come on.” Soft baritone reverberating down my spine as a pair of hot hands pulled at my hips, away from Hendery. “I’ve dreamed of this moment for months.”

“Jisung.” I turned around to see him with sweaty hair, damp tendrils falling over his eyes. I moaned as his fingers glided up and down my sides. His hand landed on my shoulder. “I-i…are you sure you want to do this with me?” His hand over my right led me to his stiff cock, smooth and hot. His eyes closed, his head tilted up into the air, hissing as I stroked down on him. I kept stroking him, feeling tears welling at the corners of my eyes.

Chest shaking, I wanted to please Jisung. I wanted to taste him. I knew he’d taste better than anyone else, but…

Blinking away the tears, I fell to my knees. Mouth kissing his tip, I laughed against his cock as it twitched. Tongue swirling around his tip, I stroked the bottom of his shaft before kissing his cock well. I wanted to know every centimeter of his cock against my lips, never forget Jisung’s cock.

His groan rang deep into me when I pushed his cock into my mouth. Thick tip engulfing the entirety of my mouth as I tried to suck in more. Tongue lapping up against him as best as I could. Savoring his earthy musk, licking up his bitter sweat. Making my mouth pool, pussy just as wet.

Tears leaking out the corners of my eyes as I looked up at him, hands massaging his balls. I tried to steadily suck his cock, but I felt a shiver ride up my back.

Releasing him, I let out a sob. I landed down on my ass, legs tucked under me as I wiped my tears away. Jisung called out my name, stooping down to pick me up.

I felt at least 3 pairs of hands on my body as I got onto my feet. Shaking my head, I thought of the glint of pride in his eyes when he said he needed a fighter.

“Fuck me, Jisung,” I said, sitting on the edge of the table. “Anywhere and any way. Who wants the other hole?” “Fuck, look at how kinky you are,” Hendery said, body pressed up against my left side, fingers fondling my folds. He hissed when I moaned, body hot with pleasure. “I knew you were kinky.”

“Yuta’s got dibs on the asshole,” Yuta said, pulling me back onto my feet.

“Of course.” I laughed as I felt his arms wrap around my waist, lips on my neck.

Yuta laid down onto the edge of the Porsche, hand fisting his cock, keeping himself hard. Jisung helped me get onto the car, hands unable to stop groping my body, fingers teasing my folds. Lips on my body as I laid on top of Yuta, back to Yuta.

My mind blanked as Jisung stood over me, bending over so he can position his cock against my pussy. Looking up at him, seeing sweat drip down his chin, gliding down the sides of his face, my whole body throbbed along to Yuta’s heartbeat underneath me. Head falling against Yuta’s chest as I felt Jisung's thick cock slide into my wet hole.

“Sucking that much dick makes you wet.” Jisung grunted, hands firmly holding onto my hips. I mewled, feeling him go in deeper, cock squirming as my walls enveloped him. Palming my tit, he nodded as he stilled inside of me. “Fucking precious cunt, you're mine.”

“Ji-jisung,” I moaned. Eyes shut, my hands squeezed his arms as I felt Yuta guiding the tip of his cock into my ass. “Yuta, y-you didn’t-lube-or-prep-”

“I’ll be slow,” he breathed against my ear. The knots in my stomach twirled tight as I felt two throbbing cocks fill both my holes. “So tight.”

“Get to sucking,” Johnny ordered, hand fisting my hair as he directed my mouth to his cock. He stood beside the low sitting car, cock right against my face. I moaned, refusing to break eye contact with him as I took more of him in, trying my best to loosen my throat and jaws. He groaned, controlling me with his fist in my hair. “Good girl. I’ll trust you when you swallow my cum.”

My entire body was ablaze. All I could focus on was trying to breathe through my nose as Johnny’s massive cock assaulted my throat, my neck straining. Senses overloaded as I struggled to breathe or taste anything but Johnny's salty cock.

My pussy was aching. Jisung didn’t give any shits how Yuta’s cock was affecting me. His thrusts were relentlessly fast as he chased for his release. Hands kneading my tits as he groaned out praises over how good my pussy was. Moaning around Johnny’s cock, he benefitted from the ways Jisung fucked me.

Yuta’s ragged breaths shaking under me sent chills deep into me, slow careful thrusts against my asshole creating deep ripples of pressure into my guts. Relentlessly slow and pleasurable, I moaned onto Johnny’s cock again.

My grip on Jisung’s thighs tightened as I felt Johnny’s hot cum spurt into my mouth. Holding my head still with both hands Johnny grunted as he shoved his cock down my throat.

“Swallow it,” he commanded, voice sharp. “Swallow.”

Obeying I gulped as best as I could with his cock keeping my mouth open. Gulping again when his cock left. He laughed as he got down and kissed me, tongue lapping all over lips and chin. He hummed against my lips before letting me go.

“Fuck, Jisung, she’s one hell of a fuck.” Johnny’s heavy panting intensified the shivers down my back with every thrust of Yuta’s throbbing cock inside my asshole. “Fuck, get to it Jungwoo.”

Yuta cummed, hips thrusting up hard, interrupting Jisung’s fast strokes. I gasped, whining as Yuta’s tip pressed up hard into me. Such a hard thrust, it felt like he hit the back of my cervix. I barely had mind to notice Jisung getting off, cursing as he glared at Yuta.

I whined, feeling Yuta’s cum heat up my ass. Eyes shut, I bit my bottom lip as the tingles rode up my back into my guts.

It wasn’t until his lips were against me did I realize that Jisung had me in his arms. Yuta had given me to Jisung once he got his release.

What a fucking gentleman.

Jisung’s soft lips on me brought my mind back to him. I wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking him gently, hoping he hadn’t gotten hurt with Yuta’s greedy fucking.

“Jeno, let her sit on your lap.” Jisung let me go as he looked over to Jeno. He smiled, hand fisting his cock. “Put on a good show.”

“About fucking time,” Jeno said, taking my hands as he sat down on the Ferrari. Hands fondling my breasts as he pulled me onto his lap. “Gorgeous body. Soft tight pussy. Let’s get it, Jungwoo.”

I shivered, heat riding down my back as Jeno’s teeth nipped my earlobe. Tongue gliding down the side of my neck. Left hand squeezing my tit as his right hand parted my legs wider with every soft caress down the inside of my thighs.

“Fuck.” I moaned, whimpering as the pads of his fingers stroked up and down against my aching clit. Tip of his middle finger sinking into my pussy. “Jeno, I like how you handle me.”

“I know,” he whispered against my ear, tongue teasing the shell, “so hot deep in here. For me, yeah? For me.”

I moaned as his finger went in deep, thumb rubbing against my clit. Lips on the pulse at the side of my neck, Jeno’s fingers left my pussy. Instantly, his cock was parting my lips, tip prodding against my clit.

“Time to multitask,” Jungwoo said, stepping forward, eyes fixed on my face. His lovely, big brown eyes scanned down my body, long slender fingers massaging my tit. “So pretty, I want to see those pretty lips on me.”

“Yes Jungwoo.” One hand caressing his abs, fingers collecting his hot sweat as I curled them into a fist before laying my palm flat to marvel his abs again. My other hand wrapped around his long cock. Hot thing pulsating, wet with clear precum leaking out the tip.

Tip of my tongue flicking against his tip, I tried to rub my taste buds against him, taste every bit of Jungwoo. I want to see if I could get those giant puppy eyes to bulge out, surprised with how good my mouth is. He whimpered, hands gently bobbing my head up and down as he thrust against my mouth.

“Fuck, suck him good,” Jeno breathed out, hands on my hips as he bounced me on his cock. I whined onto Jungwoo’s cock as I felt Jeno’s middle finger flicking my clit. “Cum on my cock. Cum on me.”

Trying to stroke Jungwoo’s shaft as I sucked on his balls, I tried not to get lost in the way Jeno’s cock was sending mind melting thrusts into me. Giant cock rearranging my insides as his fingers mashed my clit around like an elevator button.

I sucked hard when Jungwoo came, his hands holding onto my head as he stilled. Cute thing was silent when his cock softened in my mouth. His beautiful long fingers caressed my cheeks as he let me go. Silently walking away to pick up his clothes as Jeno stood us up.

He turned us around, my knees and palms hitting the top if the Ferrari. Hands on my hip Jeno pushed himself balls deep into me. One hand reaching for my right tit, he thrust back and forth hard. First time, I cried as the motions of his cock turned my vision red. Second time, we moaned together as he pulled me up against him, hand kneading my tit.

“Fuck, you’re pretty,” he panted, hand on my shoulder to push me forward, forcing me to plant my hands against the Ferrari again. Left hand on my hip as his hips slapped my ass. “Make me cum.”

“Jeno!” He spanked me. First on the right side and then the left.

“Tight cunt,” he panted with a guffaw. He kept spanking me with his cast iron skillet palms, red heat reverberating so deep into me my insides shook like Quasimodo ringing the bells of Notre Dame. My walls constricted around his cock again. He groaned as he quickened his pace. “Fuck, make me cum.”

By his own accord, he came as he spanked my asscheeks into bright red hot plates. Cock heating up hotter - like thick molten lava - in my belly before he pulled out and spilled his cum over my ass, smearing his cock against my thighs when he finished cumming. All I could feel and smell was Jeno's musk. Body reverberating with undiluted pleasure.

“Territorial shit,” Hendery said, pulling me away from Jeno. “You don’t always have to mark things when you cum.”

“Get it over with,” Jeno panted out, sitting back down onto the hood of the now fucked up Ferrari, eyes barely open. Sweaty back making squeaky noises as he laid down on it, completely naked.

Hendery rested his back against another black car - another Ferrari - as he kissed me. His soft kisses sent calming shivers down my body. His gentle touches on my body relaxing my muscles.

“Don’t think I’m done with you,” Jisung breathed against my ear before I felt him kiss the back of my shoulder.

I yelped, honeyed swoon as he tugged my ass against him, hand on my lower back guiding me to lean down closer to Hendery’s cock. Hendery’s citrusy musk consumed my senses as I took hold of his cock, licking up against the underside of his wet stick. My tongue glided over the parting of his ballsack, sucking up his sweet fresh musk as I felt Jisung glide his cock against the puffy lips of my pussy.

Hips shaking, I was ready to cum. Moaning into Hendery’s cock, I thrust my hips back, wanting Jisung’s cock to ruin me.

They both praised me as Hendery moaned at my mouth sucking on his smooth cock and Jisung sunk his cock into my wet pussy. Stroking Hendery hard, I licked around his tip, hoping he would come fast. My mouth was aching and my back was shaking, legs feeling weak.

Most of all I wanted to savor Jisung fucking me. His cock was heating my insides like the best cup of coffee on a chilly winter morning. Keeping me comfortably warm with every stroke into me.

Without warning, Hendery cummed into my mouth. Hands keeping my head still as he ordered me to swallow him.

“Swallow it good,” he said, similarly to Johnny. “Swallow, good girl. Good - fucking - girl.”

He fondled my breasts - soft fingers rolling my sensitive nubs around like marbles - as Jisung continued to fuck me. My hands grasped onto Hendery’s hips as I shut my eyes, moaning as Jisung’s cock radiated up into my stomach and up to my chest.

Hips thrusting against Jisung, I moaned as my entire body was hot and sweaty, lost in complete sex and lust. The stench of all 6 men all over me with my own sloppy sex all over the Bat Cave.

My back was pressed to Jisung’s front as he bent over, fingers intertwined with mine as he wrapped our arms around my waist. His thrusts were relentless, hips slapping roughly against my ass. He grunted, arms pulling me tighter against him as he came. Cum lighting up inside me, dripping down my legs.

"Jisung." I inhaled shakily as his cock left me. I fell to my knees, palms against the concrete to catch my fall. "Holy fuck, Jisung."

“You did great,” Jisung panted out, throwing a large trench coat over my shoulders, picking me up in his arms. “I told you, you’re a fighter.”

“Jisung,” I panted out, eyes roaming over the Batman symbol on the wall behind us adorned on the wall, “do you trust me now?"

Forehead against mine he nodded. A soft kiss on the lips. A calming warmth rode over my aching body, completely stuffed with cum. Sex filth all over me as all six Johnny, Yuta, Jungwoo, Hendery, Jeno and Jisung left me in ruins. Comfortably in Jisung’s arms.

"For today."

* * * THE END * * * Thank U 4 Reading! Like, reblog and send in Ask if you liked it!

[whorediaries-09]

born to die

pairing- cultleader!sirius black x reader warning(s)- mentions of murder, gore, dark themes. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- inspiration from a novel i'm writing!

ps- i'll only do a part two if people want to. this fic is not everyone's cup of tea, so i'll leave it be at this. i just wanted to tease the idea. :) let me know your thoughts though!

the slut club

choose your last words, this is the last time 'cause you and I, we were born to die

secrets were whispered ear to ear, scrolls of parchments with inked prophecies and lores were trapped under the facade of an unassuming bookstore. the cloaks of secrets unveiled a monthly ritual under pale moonlight, blood stained clothes and gashed wounds. it was an enigmatic society, with brilliant minds who were thirsty for esoteric knowledge and truths, known as the crimson harbringers. only those who unraveled the mysteries, could have initiated the cult's existence, which contained a collection of ancient texts, manuscripts and artifacts, some of which were considered to possess unimaginable powers.

this clandestine organization's helm, simply called 'the voice' was a figure of mythic proportions, who was believed to possess the ability to lull one with their voice, enchanting them under their spell, alluding to the capacity of manipulation and control over those in their circle. rumor had it, they could foresee the future, decode prophecies hidden within the time-worn parchments of manuscripts. the visions into fate and destiny were considered to be the cult's most cruelly and closely guarded secrets, the key to unlocking the universe's ultimate secret.

the chairs would scratch against the wood, creating an echo that would dull out the emptiness of the chair at the end of the high end oak table. the dim candlelight flickers over the masks of anonymity they wore. it was an eerie trepidation that crept under your skin, as you searched sat, squirming within the unfamiliar environment. but it was a mission, to end the rumors of the witches, to demolish the fear felt because of your kind.

there was a sense of shifting, a new tension in the air as the creaking floorboards announced the arrival of the helm named as the 'the voice'. he lifted his hand, rubbing his index finger against his thumb. the candlelight, the candle flame burning out with a wisp of smoke. hotness creeps on your face, as the mask of anonymity melted away. the silence within the darkness was eerie, heavy shrouded breathes echo across the room, oozing respect for the speaker.

'we meet again,' he says. the rumors about his voice weren't whispered tales. it tingled under your skin, with a feeling that made you loose your rational thoughts, clogged your head. it was as if his voice was gifted by secrets of bellowing winds, the rain and the whooshing of the trees.

'we have gathered here to discuss a recent prophecy our members have discovered. it contains a lore about aftermaths of the saints, who discovered the existence of witches.'

a collective gasp stunned the gathering.

'it speaks how witches tortured them into insanity, brutally murdering them. it explores the spectrum of tortures, where we discover how hard it is for human beings like us to exist, within the clutches of the wizards, and how painfully cruel they are,'

you sunk your nails into the skin of your toes. while what his lips spit out hurt your heart, your brain was too fogged to understand him, to fight the control he had over you, just by his words. you bit your lip, a feeling of anger overcame you as you fought your internal battle.

if you had to end these stereotypes, you had to sit there and listen. you had to understand the perspective of the other side who thought of your kind as dangerous. you had to curate a new vision for them, to fight against them.

'we have to destroy them, remove their very existence. suck their souls and rip them apart! ruin them like how they've been ruining us all these years! we have to show them how it feels to live with fear, and breath bloodshed every breathing moment into their lives.'

'if we really torture them, then what's the difference between them and us?' you speak. the room is dark, silent, but you know pairs of eyes are searching for you, some even staring at you. you realize no one dares to cut him off while he speaks, or maybe his influence is too empowering. either ways, the silence is scary when it envelopes you. he doesn't speak further, and you're not sure whether he simply doesn't care or he simply doesn't want to.

'i'm in authority. your minds have been shaped solely by me, and just me. you're not supposed to blaster out your opinions, upon mine, do you understand fellow member? or do i have to end your fate with destiny?' he breathed. you could hear his gritted teeth. 'meeting dismissed.' he ended, as the candleflame burned back to life again. you never saw his face, the mask framing his face again. it was different than what the others, including you were wearing. you sensed it was his way of standing out, of being different.

****

the distant echo of your footsteps reverberated through the empty streets. each turn towards your house crowded you into the labyrinth of shadows, of a fear that burned within your heart. you felt someone, but it was too quiet. all you could hear was your own footsteps against gravel.

while you could've disapparated, you wanted to walk to your house. you wanted to feel the cold air slashing through your skin while you let your thoughts consume you, rot your brain. it wasn't a fruitful try, but it was something. to begin with. to work with.

you murmured against your breathe, unlocking your door. the door clicked open.

'so you are a witch,'

the similar voice crawled behind you. before you could scream, you were pushed into your own house, the doors closing on it's own accord. you were trapped inside your own home, with your wand pointed at you.

dark eyes stormed into you, as he moved closer, with you taking your steps backwards. you were trapped against the wall and his chest. you gulped,

'you can't do anything with that wand.'

he provided you a lop-sided smile in response. brushing long strands of raven hair away from his face, he whispered,

'you're not sure about that sweetheart are you? i can do wonders with this wand. what makes you think i'm not a wizard?'

you splutter on you words,

'b-but you-'

his hands wrap around your throat, mocking you,

'b-but you-. it's a ploy you stupid bitch. it's a prophecy i've predicted. it's a ploy to get the wizards and witches rule over the muggles. you don't know the things i've gone through to get here! kill my friends. and oh it was just the beginning,'

you tried to breathe against the constriction, but he hardened the hold on your neck.

'i'll tell you a tale. it's so enthralling, you'd love it. you'd love to hear how i ripped out hearts, enjoyed as the blood stained my fingers. you'd love to hear how tearfully i could make them beg before they lost the hope of life in their eyes, and i'd love to chop them up, fed them to the wolves. i'll tell you all of them, make you slice through them.'

his dark eyes were all you remembered before the world blacked out.

[the-24-7-lawlu-library]

Can I ask for a fic rec for a fantasy au where Law is a supernature creature (like a fae, vampire, or a demon) is is protective/possessives over human Luffy

Hi there anon,

we have some fae fic already posted, however, I noticed that I can't use too many tags so I will have to adjust some old posts tags again ;; anyway here are some non-human with possessive/protective law

In the Woods by betsib (M)

Luffy is fatally wounded after an ambush, and realises his attempts to flee his pursuers has led him into the Witching Woods. A mysterious figure appears in the darkness and asks him if he wants to live. Luffy says yes, not caring what that might mean for him. Thankfully, being magically bound to a strange forest and its even stranger caretaker isn't a bad deal. Written for 10 days of LawLu 2023, Day 4 prompt: Possessive

It Begins at Forever by KhepiAri (M)

The biggest price of Immortality is loneliness. After waiting for centuries, Doctor Trafalgar Law is destined to stumble upon his one true mate. Love happens when one least expects it, the forever has been set in motion for Law. Three-Part story. AU. Fluff, happy ending. LawLu, ZoRo, NaSa.

Vampire AU by xxkitty13 (E)

What will happen when a carefree man stumbles upon a grumpy vampire's castle?

A plethora of feelings by anonymous (E)

Sort of a continuation of Lustsick. You don't really need to read the other one to enjoy this fic. Law is sick and overthinking as always.

The Moonwitch And His Dumb Werewolf by KhepiAri (T)

A.U., Fantasy. Happy Ending. Three Part. LawLu (Switch Couple) When his village gets burned down and family captured by the bounty hunters, a young werewolf pup, Luffy, finds himself in the protection of a witch boy named Law and his father Corazon. As the war ravages, the magical creatures must unite to fight their biggest enemies; humans. "He was totally going to ignore the red blotch down the cliff; he was going to pretend that below his hill, on the snowy bed, was a creature in red. Yet he found himself walking down, picking up a bundle of expensive red. The child was shivering, his lips had turned blue, and he was muttering nonsense. At thirteen, he didn't want to be responsible, but his father would beat the shit out of him if he learned that he had abandoned a helpless child. He took his rescue inside the hut built of scrapes. He freed the child of his costly chilled cloak, removed the boots which didn't keep the frost bite away, his hands froze when he saw the thin silver chain around his neck with the moonstone pendant. Likewise, he had picked a werewolf pup."

As well as the rest of the Witch Trafalgar Law series by KhepiAri

-Mod Raiya

[jenneyquinn]

𝐢𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐞𝐮: 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝟐 — 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐨

in which i give you the summerween part from ilyieu 3 (well the rough outline for it anyways)

yep, it’s that time of year again: the holiday so nice, gravity falls celebrates it twice

what holiday, you ask? actually, of course you’re not asking—you read the title

anyways, it’s mabel and dipper’s second summerween and since they’re technically teenagers now, it’s understandable that they want it to be BIG

lucky for them, soos is thinking the same thing too—after all, he’s the owner of the mystery shack now and he can do just about anything he wants

yes, they throw a summerween party—which brings me to my favourite part: the COSTUMES

soos is a mummy, melody is medusa, gideon dresses up as elvis, wendy dresses up as marceline (from adventure time), candy is a gummy bear, and grenda is a vintage doll

nate and lee don’t really put much of an effort and came in wearing masks (the purge led one and anonymous), thompson dresses up as baby brent (from cloudy with a chance of meatballs—yes, the group made him dress like that)

robbie and tambry dress up like grim and malaria (from grim adventures of billy and mandy; robbie pretends he was forced by mabel to participate, but didn’t really put up much up of a fight about it and just wanted to act like it was all mabel’s idea)

also grim makes sense for robbie—he’d just be wearing a black hoodie instead of a cloak and have the makeup on (jack and sally was considered, but robbie wouldn’t wear a suit—let alone own one)

mabel gives makeovers to the stans, turning them into a vampire and a werewolf (i’ll let y’all figure out who’s who)

last but not least, we have pacifica as rapunzel, and dipper and mabel—as tradition—matching again! this time as donald and della duck

mabel has an aviator cap and goggles on, as well as a scarf, leather jacket, and shorts while dipper has a black sailor beret and jacket on along with a pair of white jeans (if it weren’t for the duck bills, people would easily mistake the twins for amelia earhart and a regular sailor, respectively)

dipper hates the beak and thinks the photos definitely come out dumb, but for the sake of mabel’s scrapbook—he puts up with it

it absolutely does not help that pacifica finds it funny, but she finds it cute that he and mabel still matching costumes

though dipper plans to dance with pacifica, the latter had other plans as she spent more of the night with mabel, candy, and grenda

it’s not that she’s consistently shutting him down, but in mid-conversation, pacifica just freezes, then whips up some excuse to leave and go back to mabel and her girls

unbeknownst to dipper, he doesn’t see that wendy enters his radius, prompting the blonde to freeze up and freeze him out

wendy, noticing dipper down in the dumps, obviously goes up go him—suggesting that he cheer himself up by joining the group in some cup pong (with pitt cola, of course)

he ends up having fun for the most part, but he can’t help but to steal glances in pacifica’s direction every now and then, but nobody notices except robbie

and for majority of the night as dipper stares at pacifica, robbie’s trying to figure out why his former enemy is staring so miserably at his sister and her friends—did he and mabel have a fight? or did he do anything to upset her… or her friends?? he doesn’t confront dipper about it though, after all, his old rival being sad doesn’t bother him

on the other hand, dipper doesn’t know that pacifica is looking at back at him whenever he isn’t staring at her—and, of course, mabel notices

so… when are you gonna ask him to dance?

*sputters* WHAT?

c’mom paz, you know he likes you, right? and the whole world knows you feel the same—why not?

pacifica doesn’t say anything to deny or confirm mabel’s words, just staring back at her crush and his ex-crush laughing together…

she knows she doesn’t really have much reason to be jealous… after all, wendy’s much older… naturally popular and well-liked by everyone close to her… not to mention not being noticeably ugly…

no—dipper said he was over her, and pacifica trusts him—friends trust each other, after all

yeah… friends… just friends

as pacifica is left losing the fight in her head, mabel is deep in thought as well—brows knit together, lips pursed and all

when she gets it, she turns back to grenda and candy, and the three exchange mischevious smiles and giggling before turning back to the blonde

hey, i know what’ll cheer you up!

with that said, mabel runs up to soos—also deejaying despite being the party’s host—to request a particular song

*insert pacifica taking over the karaoke and singing blondie’s “call me” with mabel, candy, and grenda as backup*

dipper is left speechless, which doesn’t go unnoticed by robbie; the latter looks between his former rival and the also-formerly rich blonde—and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together

the girls karaoke the night away, which puts a damper on dip’s plans to ask pacifica to dance…

suddenly, a familiar song fills the room, and a particular pair locks eyes with each other

pacifica smiles at dipper first, and when he smiles back at her, mabel calls him over to join them

so maybe he didn’t get his chance to put the moves on paz they way he hoped, but at least the night ended with everyone smiling and laughing

a/n: sorry i’ve been super swamped this month guys, i barely got a chance to work on ilyieu but i hope this’ll be enough for now… i was originally considering this to be included for part 3, but i figured taking this out and posting it separately was best since it is halloween after all and as a mini thank-you to everyone who enjoyed ilyieu—from the start or even if you just started reading like a week ago :)

[thedemonofcat]

At the lavish Masquerade ball, Geralt finds himself in the role of a hired protector, tasked with ensuring the safety of the Duke and Duchess amidst rumors of a lurking vampire threat. To maintain a low profile and avoid raising suspicion, Geralt adopts the guise of a mysterious guest, his features concealed behind an intricately crafted mask.

Much to his surprise, amidst the swirl of masked revelers, Geralt's keen eyes catch sight of a familiar figure: Jaskier. It dawns on him that the Duchess, a friend of the Pankratz family, has invited Jaskier, who currently fulfills his duties as the Viscount of Lettenhove, to the grand affair.

It's been some time since Geralt and Jaskier last crossed paths, their last encounter etched into memory against the backdrop of a treacherous mountain. As Jaskier approaches, engaging Geralt in conversation, it becomes evident that the mask has cloaked Geralt's identity from his friend's discerning gaze.

In a spontaneous decision fueled by a desire to relish this fleeting anonymity, Geralt decides to embrace the charade, assuming a new persona for the night's festivities. As the music swells and the dancers twirl around them, Geralt and Jaskier share a momentary reprieve from their usual roles, lost in the enchantment of the masquerade.

However, their idyllic interlude is abruptly shattered when the ominous presence of the vampire materializes

[aalissy]

Masquerade

Whoopsy! I may have missed yesterday's chapter hehe. I do have two chapters today to make up for it tho! Lemme know what you think of both :)

AO3

The Grand Hall of the Agreste mansion was bathed in golden light, the luxury of its chandeliers casting a warm glow over the elegant guests who had gathered for Gabriel Agreste's exclusive masquerade ball. Intricately decorated masks hid the identities of Paris’ elite, creating an air of mystery and intrigue. The gentle hum of conversation mixed with the soft strains of classical music, setting the stage for an unforgettable evening.

Adrien Agreste stood near the entrance, adjusting his mask. It was a delicate creation, black with intricate silver lining that perfectly complemented his suit. He scanned the crowd, his heart racing in anticipation. Tonight was no ordinary night, and he knew it the moment he saw her walk in.

Ladybug entered the hall with her head held high, looking the picture of beauty. Her usual mask, adorned with its red and black spots, matched her red and black polka-dotted ballgown. Adrien could recognize her anywhere. There was something about the way she moved, the way her sapphire eyes sparkled with both curiosity and determination.

Adrien’s pulse quickened. He had always loved and admired Ladybug. But tonight, in the anonymity of the masquerade, he had a chance to be close to her, to maybe even dance with her. The thought sent a thrill through him.

As Ladybug made her way through the crowd, Adrien couldn’t take his eyes off her. He watched as she politely nodded at guests, her eyes always scanning, always alert. He knew she was probably looking for any chance of an akuma, but he hoped she could spare a moment for herself. For them.

Gathering his courage, Adrien wove through the throng of elegantly dressed guests, his eyes never leaving her. He was careful to remain unnoticed, a feat he had mastered over the years of living in the public eye. Finally, he found himself standing a few feet away from her.

“Good evening, mademoiselle,” he said, bowing slightly and extending his hand. His voice was steady, but inside, he was a bundle of nerves.

Ladybug turned to face him, her eyes widening slightly in recognition. Adrien couldn’t help but smile behind his mask, knowing she had figured out who he was. A sliver of satisfaction raced through him at that reaction. She noticed him. Ladybug hesitated for but a moment before placing her hand in his. Her touch made him shiver, even as her hands were cloaked in long, black gloves. 

“Good evening,” she replied, her voice soft but steady. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Adrien said, leading her towards the dance floor. The orchestra began to play a waltz, the melody swirling around them as they took their positions.

Adrien felt a sense of euphoria as he placed his hand on her waist and she placed hers on his shoulder. Their other hands clasped together, and they began to move in time with the music. He could feel the warmth of her hand through her gloves, a stark contrast to the cool elegance of the ballroom.

For a moment, it was just the two of them, the world fading away as they danced. Adrien marveled at how effortlessly they moved together as if they had been doing this for years. He couldn’t help but wonder if she felt the same connection he did.

“You’re quite the dancer,” Ladybug said, breaking the silence between them.

“I could say the same about you,” Adrien replied, his heart swelling with joy at her compliment. “But I must confess, I’ve been wanting to dance with you for a long time.”

Her eyes widened slightly, and he felt a flicker of worry. Had he said too much? But then she smiled a genuine, radiant smile that made his heart skip a beat.

“I’ve been wanting to dance with you too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I didn’t think I’d get the chance.”

Adrien’s heart soared. He tightened his hold on her waist slightly, pulling her a little closer. “I’m glad we both took this chance tonight, then,” he said softly.

They continued to dance, lost in each other’s presence. He felt a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. Here, with Ladybug in his arms, he felt complete. He wanted this moment to last forever.

As the music swelled to a crescendo, Adrien knew he had to ask. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, he looked into Ladybug’s eyes, his voice filled with sincerity.

“Ladybug, would you do me the honor of another dance after this one?” he asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

She looked up at him, her twinkling blue eyes soft and warm. She nodded, her smile widening. “I’d love to,” she replied.

Adrien felt a rush of happiness, a smile spreading across his face. As the music came to an end, he didn’t let go of her hand. Instead, he led her into another dance, their hearts beating in unison.

The night was still young, and Adrien knew that this was just the beginning. Tonight, at the masquerade ball hosted by his father, he had found something more precious than any mask could hide. He had found a moment of connection with Ladybug, a dance that he would cherish forever.

[caltropspress]

Spittin' Wicked Randomness with Small Professor

or, Bizarre Rides II the Pharthest Cyde; 

or, A beginning doesn’t need an ending, only a portal

Make your body a temple. Make your home a shrine. You are a God, live like one!

—Timothy Leary, “You Are A God, Act Like One!” (1967)

Psycholinguistic structural confusion leads to insidious beat wrecking missions and continuous speech recognition, prescription, vocal anecdotal object impressions…. Synergistic sample arrangements.

—Jungle Brothers, “Trials of an Era” (1993)

EXORDIUM

I long for the anonymity the internet once provided. Everyone was faceless. Vacant visages—not even an avatar. I’ll often try to remanufacture this premillennial experience for myself. I deliberately avoid seeking images to accompany the names I see on the screen. Many people nowadays—most people, the writer bemoaned—make this nearly impossible. Vanity of vanities—all is vanity! But I do try, I do. I look away; I increase the scroll speed; I squint to blur and becloud. Like Iris DeMent desired, I try to let the mystery be. On Rakim’s plodding “The Mystery (Who Is God?),” the God MC suggests you can solve the mystery if you realize the answer revolves around your history. But I need the mystery to stay intact. So many years on, and I’m still figuring out da mystery of chessboxin’, looking all the way back to when Wu-Tang was in black hoodies on the man-sized chessboard—cloaked rooks shouting peace to all the crooks with bad looks. “You cannot hook up a 100 million years of sensory-somatic revelation to your puny, trivial personality chess board,” so says Timothy Leary. I’m inclined to agree.

Aside from his music, I’ve known Small Professor—Jamil Marshall, if we split the veil—only through his words, through his text on my chosen screens: pixelated patterns of character images. But late last year, I stumbled across an image of him appearing not unlike a cloaked rook. Draped in a black robe, Small Professor appeared beside his Wrecking Crew brethren as a Sith Lord. The occasion was a Halloween performance at Cratediggaz Records in South Philly. Small Professor’s face was hidden, and so I could fuck with this type of qualified exposure. His shrouded appearance elevated my intrigue rather than diminished it. This was no flashbulb, soul-capturing, photographic evidence of existence; this was no selfie self-absorption; this was simply some spooky shit. 

Of the many messages that Small Professor measures out into the ether[net], the ones that have frequently caught my attention make some mention of hallucinogenic drugs. Here again, we have [e]strange bedfellows—that being technology and drugs. Twinned conceptualizations: drugs as teknology; teknology as drugs [scanned as tricknology, too, two]. Programming in the Silicon [Uncanny] Valley with the capital-I Internet reformatted as a Third [Eye]nternet. You scream as it enters your bloodstream. “Build, elevate to a higher comprehension, / Let your third eye rise above evil interventions,” if we’re properly tuned in to the Jungle Brothers’ “Troopin’ on the Down Low.” Teknology and drukqs might be more familiar than we (Eye) thought.

As we know from Jesse Jarnow, psychedelic saints were known as “heads,” which, underground hip-hop stalwarts of a certain age will wreckonize as an honorific for their own dedication to a way of life and listening. Stewart Brand, author and publisher of the Whole Earth Guide, would later speak of computers and online communities as the most auspicious collective force “since psychedelics.” Hua Hsu brings this to my total attention, but with my full cooperation (word to Def Squad), so there’s a few more things I’d like to mention. Computer science research centers saw networking and information sharing as devout acts “borrowed directly from Deadhead communalism.” Again, not dissimilar from the tape trading so crucial to the spread of this thing of ours called hip-hop. John Morrison writes of how “hip-hop owes much of its early development and propagation to an underground economy,” to the “recording and circulation of cassette tapes of park jams, live battles, DJ sets, and radio broadcasts” that brought a burgeoning and insurgent art form to the masses. The backchannels and clandestine conduits that made this dissemination possible suggest a secret organization with figures like Geechie Dan and Elvis “The Tapemaster” Moreno as its stewards. These cross-cultural, cross-generational connections exist despite Jerry Garcia’s abhorrence of rap as a legitimate musical form [see below: “Deadhead” diss-poem]. Small Professor centers himself within the radial lines of this complex mandala. His production isn’t strictly for the psych heads, or the hip-hop heads—his musick is For the Headz at Company Z. 

Small Professor understands the possibility and catalytic practices of rappers, much like William S. Burroughs did: “With computerized tape recorders & sensitive throat microphones we could attain insight into the nature of human speech & turn the word into a useful tool instead of an instrument of control in hands of a misinformed and misinforming press.” Somewhere you can hear the echoing call of Newwwspaaaaperrrr from the  Jungle Brothers’ “Book of Rhyme Pages,” a song with a prophetic register, a song that reads. 

In Burroughs’ essay “Academy 23: A Deconditioning,” which appeared in the San Francisco Oracle (c. 1966-1968), the beatific junky proposes that “academies be established where young people will learn to get really high…high as the Zen master is high when his arrow hits a target in the dark…high as the Karate master when he smashes a brick with his fist…high…weightless…in space.” As high as Wu-Tang get, I might add, Allah allow us pop this shit. Burroughs believes it’s “[t]ime to look beyond this cop rotten planet.” The students in Academy 23 “would receive a basic course consisting of training in the non-chemical disciplines of Yoga, Karate, prolonged sense withdrawal, stroboscopic lights, the constant use of tape recorders to break down verbal association lines. Techniques now being used for control of thought could instead be used for liberation.”

Small Professor is already present in such an academy, his “lab”—be it Albert Hofmann’s Sandoz Laboratory or RZA’s antediluvian lab. Like Bobby Digital, Small Professor experiences the “Lab Drunk,” the studio stupor: Stumbled into the lab half-drunk—honey-dipped, stinking blunts. The neural activity of Madlib’s psilocybin; the mind expansion of MKUltramagnetic; outlaw practices: tripping on LSD or sampling on an MPC—same diff, really. “The experience,” Leary wrote in the East Village Other, “must be communicated, harmonized with the greater flow.”

PART I

[December 23, 2023 | 9:10 PM] 

Small Professor:  Ah, fuck. I was supposed to plan this out. Just took 2 tabs to the dome officially at 9:00 PM. At some point tonight I will be looking around at my room like I just got here from outer space.

[10:14 PM]

Caltrops Press:  Where’s your head at right now?

SP:  Difficult to see. Always in motion is the right now (to paraphrase Yoda). Right now I am listening to “Right Now” (HAIM, live).

CP:  Are you alone?

SP:  I believe that to be true, but we can never be 100% sure, can we? I don’t presume to speak for you of course, but I’d wager that you may have, at least once, considered that The Truman Show could be real life, after all. According to this, though, yes:

CP:  Somebody once said, “Every day is Truman Show. True men show their face and expose flesh…” Do you think acid allows you to see beyond this reality?

SP:  No. It allows me to see this one more clearly. Time, or whatever it is that we collectively agree is this forward feeling momentum, seems to slow. So you (me) see the same things that you see everyday, but that your brain kinda knocks aside after a while. Things look new.

CP:  Are you typically playing music when you trip? Does the music slow down? Not literally. But do you process it differently? And, of course, I’m curious if you ever try to make music in this state?

SP:  I like making music that barely makes sense in whatever state I’m in at that time, so when I come back to it I’m even more confused. Like leaving yourself a drunk voicemail, but on purpose. I’m generally high—it’s just a matter of how. And to the last question: Do or do not, there is no try. 

PremRock:  I think [Small Professor's] work has benefited from discovering [hallucinogens]. He’s pretty passionate about ’em! I think it’s made him more expansive and he’s more eager to try far out ideas. He was always psychedelic in nature, but this just provided more of a conduit.

Zilla Rocca:  Even without shroomz he always had a bugged-out sense of melody, rhythm, and layered samples. Smalls has always been a seeker. We connect like that. We love unearthing old rap to learn from it while appreciating all the new styles.

When brothers start buggin’, I bug the most.

—Jungle Brothers, “Simple As That”

CP:  I’ve never fucked with psychedelics, so I generally have either a romantic or sensational notion of what it must be like. Have you ever had any experiences where things went really weird, or have you ritualized it enough so that you know what to expect? Like it’s become yoga or meditation for you by this point. 

SP:  Yeah, it’s pretty meditative. The first time I had acid was so surreal that nothing else could dream to compare.

CP:  When was that? Do you still remember the details?

SP:  Well, first of all, I couldn’t have started such a journey without such caring guides, for they did not have to take time from their lives to explain how much to take, how much not to, to be mindful of the kind of media you’re ingesting while in that space—like nothing too scary and shit like that. They specifically said, “Maybe watch a comedy tonight. Something on the lighter side of things.”

CP:  I’ve heard that’s important, having a guide.

SP:  So I believe I initially started off with the smallest amount I could take, cuz I didn’t know any better. But the effect was immediate. I remember going outside and just standing in an empty parking spot in front of my crib and watching it rain. It was night already. I was like, Wow, this is the best rain I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen a lot of rain. And then I went out to get more tree. On my way home though, so…okay. How do I explain this? So, my Lyft driver on my way back to my house, he and I strike up a conversation. At the end of our talk, which included a phone call to someone of high stature in the 5% community who spoke to me directly, I embarked on the path to knowledge of self.

CP:  Like, sincerely? Or only until you stopped being high?

SP:  Well, I know now it started there. But I’ve always known that I am god, in some way. It’s just that, after you find out, what do you do with that knowledge of your own god-dom? That’s one thing I can appreciate about psychedelics. It’s like, Alright, well, if I know my brain is capable of such a thought or a piece of music in this one state, then I should be able to get back to it.

CP:  I get that. Like, “I’ve done this before, so I can surely do it again.” But, for so many artists, they struggle to capture whatever it is. I know a lot of times I’ll look back on something I’ve written and then ask myself, How did that even happen? Because the process—the making of something—is often so unconscious. 

Curly Castro:  Smalls calls me after the fact (bka “a trip”) and regales me with a cornucopia of odd and odder occurrences. I will say that one time [redacted] and that’s when [redacted] and what could say after [redacted]. I just told him, Say Less.

CP:  How long will this trip last? You took two tabs at 9 PM, and it’s been 4.5 hours.

SP:  Oh, I’ll be up for a while. Night hasn’t even begun.

CP:  I need to crash because I’ve got to be up early. But keep dropping whatever random thoughts you have here. We’ll call this Part 1.

SP:  Fantastic, Pt. 1

SP:  “God is never small.” Those are the words that man said, and my reply was, “...I am? I am. Ohhhh. I am.”

[Small Professor links me to a video showing Donald Lawrence & The Tri-City Singers performing “I Am God.”]

SP:  Also, I’m quite proud of the fact that my government name [Jamil], oddly Arabic considering how Christian my dear mother is, quite literally translates to “Beautiful Ruler,” with my first name actually meaning “god” in certain places (“Jamil” is one of Allah’s 99 aliases—I found that out earlier this year). My mom HATES THIS BOYEEEEE. She thought it just meant “handsome.”

SP:  Words mean things but don’t have to.

SP:  [Denmark Vessey & Scud One’s Cult Classic] (This is my official trip soundtrack.) “Throw bricks at him if you can’t build wit ’em, / Whoever marquee, top bill, I’ll Kill Bill ’em.”

SP:  It’s 8:23 AM. Still trippin’.

PART II

[December 24, 2023 | 9:15 AM] 

CP:  You awake? If so, talk to me about “Dettol.”

SP:  I feel like that beat was made along with a few others in that same span of time with Roc Marci in mind. Not only in terms of the drum un-emphasis but also being intentional about giving an MC room to operate, to breathe. On Midnight Marauders, both “Electric Relaxation” and “Lyrics To Go” are special beats because they operate within the parameters of 4/4 time but the bar lengths aren’t the typical 8. On “Dettol,” you have mostly 8-bar loops until it shifts to 12 for one measure, and then it starts over. (Not sure about my beat math there.) So the Armand Hammer guys had to each approach that in their own way. Couldn’t have drawn it up any better. “Numbers look crooked like King Kong shook it.”

CP:  (That’s your second Slum Village reference in this convo.) Paraffin was the first album I heard by them, so that beat would’ve been the third Armand Hammer song I heard overall. And that “giving them space” idea definitely benefited me—a guy who hadn’t been paying attention for years, specifically because lyrics weren’t grabbing me like they used to. 

The psychedelic experience is not just an internal, private affair. The “turned on” person realizes that he is not an isolated entity, a separate social ego, but rather one transient energy process hooked up with the energy dance around him.

—Timothy Leary, “You Are A God, Act Like One!”

CP:  How did you originally connect with woods and ELUCID? 

SP:  I may have been aware of ELUCID as early as 2005 by way of his Tanya Morgan/Lessondary/Okayplayer fam associations, but 2007 when he dropped Smash & Grab is when I instantly knew, Ah, this guy’s one of the best rappers ever. By 2009, that became, The best ever. That was the Myspace era, so we connected on there musically but also on some homie shit. We were working on a song of his in like 2011 or ’12 for the BIRD EAT SNAKE mixtape, “Dumb Out.” 

ELUCID:  BIRD EAT SNAKE is a whole lifetime ago. I had just met woods. I was also just beginning to develop the Cult Favorite record with AM Breakups. I was super charged creatively and was fortunate enough to have a lot of space to develop that. “Dumb Out” was such a strange beat that made my pen move immediately. Nothing overthought or drawn out. Just really chunky, vibed out, and punchy energy. I just began to acquire these attributes during the making of that tape. 

CP:  “Don’t eat the brown acid…”

SP:  Originally woods was supposed to be on there. I distinctly remember this being one of the first times I heard him because…okay. He recorded a verse on this beat and ELUCID sent his acapella but no reference to guide from. And I’m very good at matching up acapellas, so the fact that I could make no sense of his flow—where to place it in the mix—always stuck out to me. 

CP:  Is that why he didn’t end up on the song?

SP:  I don’t believe so. That would be funny if true, though. Because it feels like I have more music with those two than what tangibly exists. 

CP:  Also funny because, as their audience has grown—exponentially of late—the “discourse” returns to whether woods raps “on beat” or not.

SP:  Once I understood that the question of if he’s rapping on- or off-beat is the wrong one—when it should be, Why do I hear this as off-beat? How do I hear what he heard to deliver it that way?—that’s when it clicked for me.

CP:  Was “My Blank Verse” your first beat for them officially?

SP:  That was the very first song me and ELUCID made together. Don’t think it was for anything in particular, initially.

CP:  Got it. So it wasn’t approached as an Armand Hammer track, per se. Just ended up on an AH project. When did you connect with ELUCID in person?

SP:  I wanna say I met him in person at a show in Philly, at the Khyber. But the time I remember the most is when I was in Brooklyn with him (this actually might have been when we met up to record “My Blank Verse”), and he showed me the block where B.I.G. grew up. I like to imagine my power levels increasing on that day due to the residual holy hip-hop energy on the premises.

CP:  That’s dope. I’m surprised to hear you recorded the track in person. Both because so much is done remotely now—the producer and the MC separate—and also because ELUCID, I’ve read, is pretty private when it comes to recording. Maybe that came later, though.

SP:  Yes, that did come later to my knowledge. But also, I’m special. 

ELUCID:  This was the era when Willie Green’s studio was still in his apartment. I had just started recording with Backwoodz, and “My Blank Verse” was indeed recorded that afternoon. I usually don’t have people hanging in the studio while I record, but I think my comfort level with Jamil speaks to the ease I feel in our dealings.

SP:  I also remember going to meet ELUCID in New York specifically to get a flash drive that had he and woods’s verses for the Sean Price “Midnight Rounds” song they all should have been on together. His internet was down.

CP:  Why didn’t that track come to fruition?

SP:  woods’s hook was an interpolation of Apache’s “A Fight” (because, midnight rounds). The label was like, “Oh nah!” Word for word! Bar for bar! Sean P would have appreciated it.

CP:  Jersey’s own.

billy woods:  At that point in my “career,” I was kinda disappointed to get cut but not surprised. I guess I had a long history being snubbed regularly by peers and institutions in the indie music scene, so it just seemed like, Yeah, more of the same. I was pleasantly surprised to be invited, and unpleasantly unsurprised to be disinvited.

SP:  So, kept ELUCID’s verse and subbed in my man Castle, making this song the spiritual successor to a track I did on me and Guilty Simpson’s Highway Robbery, also featuring those two. Things fall apart, but they also come together. How they’re supposed to.

CP:  What’s the story behind “No Grand Agenda”? Also, where are we at in terms of the trip?

SP:  It’s slowing but at a light jog now. The beat for “No Grand Agenda” was originally part of an album I did made up entirely of exactly 1-minute long songs called You’re Killin’ Me Smalls. There were 60 songs. ELUCID was one of the only rappers I sent it to, specifically because it wasn’t “supposed” to be for raps. I had an ex who stomped out my computer and hard drives one day, including the original files for this project. All except for that one.

SP:  “Are we sure there’s no grand agenda?” And ELUCID took my stems and arranged it how he heard it. It was meant to loop in on itself, like the other songs on that project. It was originally named “Kelvin Spacey,” and I’m sure I’m misremembering but I wanna say “Dettol” was originally named “Kelvin Duckworth,” if only to verify Zilla Rocca’s guess that I was the producer in question that had sent woods a beat named after his favorite Portland Trailblazer.

CP:  So you’re saying, like any good friend, ELUCID jacked that beat?

SP:  Oh, I remember him asking to rap on it, perhaps for nothing in particular at the time. But who am I to deny the goat? And it’s obvious to me that this is how it was supposed to go; ain’t nothing coincidental or accidental, dunn.

ELUCID:  The making of “No Grand Agenda” was a cornerstone for a foundational era of style for me. I felt like I made a song that seamlessly weaved both verse and chorus in a way that felt absolutely hypnotic. It was a new belt for me, this sense of control. Small Pro was one of the first producers to trust me enough to send his beat stems. During this period is where I began producing more of my own music, so I also wanted to arrange the song how I heard it. Thankfully, Jamil dug it. 

CP:  What do you like about ELUCID’s rapping?

SP:  Some of it is the voice. Some of it is the things that he’s saying. But mostly, my favorite rappers all share this in common: they can get busy on any style of beat, any tempo, any sound, any Small Pro time puzzle. I was listening back to his older stuff a little while ago and heard him doing whole specific styles on one song, and never doing it again. The versace, versace flow, in particular. It felt like he was bored at the time and peered ahead three years to see how everyone was rapping, came back, did it, and that was that.

ELUCID:  [Working with Small Pro] is a special thing. Something that I’m still exploring. I think a Small Pro x ELUCID tape would be ill. Knowing his attention and care in the translation of my bars and flows is the type of partnership real MCs aspire to. It just hasn’t happened yet!

SP:  He and woods both have had a way of inspiring me through specific lines. “Go where the drummer commanded me,” for example. It’s me. I’m the drummer. And woods, a few songs before “Dettol” says, “Beg producers to take out the drums,” which he said was meant to be a joke, but I took it literally and started making beats that could exist with or without drums equally. 

All of my Backwoodz-related songs are credited as “Small Pro,” not “Small Professor.” I was on shrooms the week after my birthday earlier this year when I realized those are now different entities. Especially because woods was once like, “Wait, you did ‘No Grand Agenda’?” And I was like, “I did….I think? No, that was Small Pro.”

The last full project I—or I—did before moving back to Philly was a reimagining of A Jawn Supreme 1-3 from the Small Pro remix perspective. It was my—or my—first time remixing my own music, hearing things without the drums I put on them originally. It was an enlightening time. I hear voices at the fortress.

CP:  I think it’s rare for a producer to be so attentive to what the MCs are saying, let alone to look at what they’re saying as guideposts. The idea of a differentiation between “Small Pro” and “Small Professor” is interesting. Where does the Small Pro path ultimately lead? Into this larger Armand Hammer universe?

SP:  I feel like when I started out making beats my natural inclination has been to make things as busy as possible. Small Pro is like, What if I take away instead of adding? Or, How can I still have a million things going on in the track but it sounds bare or like, not done? “My girl say this beat sound unfinished, / I said, ‘Yeah, that’s where my voice go.’”

SP:  (Not sure when I passed out. I knew the crash was inevitable.)

[December 24, 2023 | 6:47 PM]

SP:  To your point about it leading to the AH-verse, that may be part of it too. They’ve both inspired me as rappers but also their production decisions and choices—ELUCID quite literally, as his production has always confounded me, but woods too. Two producers who have had just as much an influence on me as anybody I worshiped when first starting out are August Fanon and Messiah Musik—modern legends. Fanon can make beats for literally anyone. But Messiah’s natural style is one that both Hammers can sound great on from the get-go, whereas I have to consciously get myself into that mode. They also both sometimes do odd and potentially challenging things regarding time in their beats, as I do, but in their own way.

CP:  Do I remember seeing you mention somewhere that you still use Fruity Loops and Cool Edit?

SP:  Yup. I wanna say since 2008. Well, technically since 2003. But I’ve been using the same versions of those two programs for a minute now. Still using Windows XP, too. It’s comforting to me. And ridiculous. Like Rasheed Wallace faithfully wearing Air Force 1s his whole playing career.

CP:  I love that. Some real “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” ethos. Any rules for yourself when it comes to sampling? Strictly vinyl or are you irreligious when it comes to source format?

SP:  98% of my beats are made from mp3s. The remaining fraction is YouTube or some other source. Haven’t used vinyl for sampling purposes in many years but ironically try to make my beats sound like vinyl. As far as rules, everything I thought was law were things I later learned the musicians I look(ed) up to sneered at. 

CP:  Ain’t that the truth. Very little is sacred when it comes to process, I find. That’s a lot of ego. What efforts do you make to have the beats “sound” like vinyl?

SP:  On “Dettol” is my go-to record crackle sample. That’s also in 98% of my beats, and something I specifically remember was like, corny or something, but—ah, here it is: Slum Village reference #3 to fulfill the rule—on “Hold Tight” Dilla uses a needle pop as a snare bolster as well as the accompanying static. It’s there for added depth and texture but also can act as a counter-rhythm to your percussion. Reality features an inherent level of static in the form of cosmic microwave background radiation around us at all times. Art imitates life.

[December 25th, 2023 | 11:41 AM]

CP:  “No Christmas this Christmas…”

CP:  I always like to think of the story—apocryphal or not—of Evil Dee using bacon grease hissing on the stove for extra crackle.

SP:  The turntable hum is freakable too. Makes for a great bass sound but also something you can feel.

CP:  Do you ever have acid trips accidentally interfere with other obligations? I imagine you’re always planning for a blocked out number of hours. But best laid plans…

SP:  There’s a recovery period the next day, so that can be interesting to navigate. But yeah, I usually am in my room avoiding external interactions on whatever kind of trip it is. In my experience with acid, you gain more control over your “self,” and shrooms is the opposite, where your sense of self and awareness is reduced. Go home, brain—you’re drunk.

CP:  The loss of control is something I just can’t handle. Have you ever found yourself in a situation on shrooms where you emerge later, like, “Damn, that was a bad look”?

SP:  Yeah. My first time taking an 8th to the face (I ate it on a burger) after getting to and past the point of looking in a mirror and not recognizing my face for a sec. I later came upstairs and my BM had made some, like, lasagna? And it was so good that I’m just there demolishing it over the stove—like I was Garfield. Her friend walked in the kitchen at that moment and I should have been mortified, but in that moment there was only delicious lasagna.

CP:  Real Gs move in silence like lasagna…

CP:  Listening to Terror Management on Xmas morning. Is “Marlow” your beat/song with the most synchronicity between you and the rapper?

SP:  It’s up there. That album is interesting to me because of the repeating motif of having two beats from different producers for one song—always thought that was cool. The intro on that beat had the spoken part added after the fact, so it did really feel like some good ole fashioned teamwork. 

CP:  And specifically the serendipity of you naming the beat for your late father, correct? I imagine an artist won’t typically name their song after the name of the beat. Was there a reason you named that beat, out of so many, after your father?

SP:  Originally it was a play off of the artist’s name I sampled (a lot of my song titles are born this way), but I can also say it makes me think of my father’s dark side. He was one of the happiest, generally cheerful people I’ve ever known, but I’ve seen him go into green belt mode when pushed too far—only a few times, but it was like, Oh snap. 

woods closed his set with “Marlow” at a Philly show last year shortly after my pops passed, and it’s one of the nicest gestures anyone has done for me. I was at the bar crying like a newborn fucking baby, god.

billy woods:  That was a special moment for me, too. I really love that song. Pro and I have not worked that much together, but a lot of what we have done is really dope. He has produced a handful of Armand Hammer songs but they all hit, in my opinion. But [“Marlow”] is a song I really love and has come in and out of my setlist, but always makes it back in. The fact that it happened at that moment, and that it had that extra meaning for him was an honor for me.

SP:  That album [Terror Management] as a whole has always intrigued me because of the repeating motif of two producers each having a beat on one track (this happens on some Armand Hammer albums too, now that I think about it, but it’s a different effect when it’s two MCs on each beat instead of one). 

CP:  Lots of doubles—the name, the sides of your father, “Small Pro” versus “Small Professor,” two beats, etc. Double-consciousness, perhaps. Not necessarily in a Du Bois sense; more so in the sense of realities. 

SP:  I’m all about man’s rugged duality.

CP:  Did you and your father connect over music?

SP:  Oh, absolutely. Our music rooms were down the hall from one another when I got started in college, and over the years he would start wandering in to hear what I was working on. Eventually, as he started transitioning into working in DAWs, he would ask for advice with things he knew I would be able to help with. He loved showing me whatever he was working on, and I knew he valued my opinion as one of the people responsible for a lot of my music edumacation in the first place. 

[December 26, 2023 | 12:26 AM]

CP:  Would you reciprocate and show him what you were working on? Did he look upon hip-hop favorably?

SP:  He was from probably the last generation that didn’t grow up with hip-hop, and by and large it was probably offensive to him on two fronts: as a pretty religious dude the language and subject matter was too much, and musically all he heard were the loops, repetition, and sounds he loved and recognized being used all over again in an inferior, simple way. (I found a lot of the samples from Mobb Deep’s second album amongst his tape collection.) But over the years, as he saw how seriously I took it—as well as being impressed as a person who played 7-8 instruments by what I was able to do with two computer programs and mp3s—he was able to appreciate it as an artform (at least, the production side) even if it wasn’t quite his thing. 

He’s also half the reason I’ve always been enamored with non-common time signatures, a key feature in a lot of the music he dug—that Weather Report, Yellowjackets, Return to Forever, Herbie Hancock, Steely Dan, late ’70s, early ’80s chamber. My mother was more into “traditional” jazz and classical. They shared gospel personally—and professionally—as working church musicians. On my first album, there’s a 5/4 beat that I remember excitedly showing him because it took me forever to get the chops lined up in an un-choppy fashion, and there’s a switch on there between drum pattern grooves much like what you would find on a jazz fusion-type song. I felt like if I could impress him, I must be doing something right. The last time we hung out before the cancer did him in, he was showing me how far he had gotten learning how to play drums, and I got on the sticks and tried to replay the patterns on some of my beats (emphasis on tried). The “trouble don’t last” jawn, in particular, to which he responded by telling me I was already a drummer. Memories live. 

The times I saw his email pop up in my Bandcamp purchase notifications, I figured it was just a proud dad supporting his firstborn…nah, he was actually listening. His favorite project was the album I did along with my group Them That Do, which was my version of Madlib’s Shades of Blue on the beat tip. Besides digging the actual sound (updated jazz rap), I think he was most taken by the fact that he couldn’t quite tell what was sampled from where and that I had made all these sound from sometimes vastly different records seem like they were supposed to be together, and the beats made sense from the perspective of a person who understood music theory.

CP:  “I said, Well Daddy, don’t you know that things go in cycles.” Beautiful that you guys got to share those moments.

SP:  (I even said the part about two beats on Terror Management twice.)

SP:  My brother (the actual drummer of the family) just sent me “Spain” by Chick Corea, one of our dad’s favorites. Speaking of my brother—who I credit with teaching me how to program drums and how to count bars and all that—one time we were on our way to church with my dad, and Steely Dan’s “Black Cow” was on. Pops started to try to explain the lyrics, what a “black cow” was, why they were very high…all that. 

So a few years back I was proud to send [my father] “Gas Drawls” from Operation Doomsday because this story has always cracked me up, but also that’s a great-ass sample chop (and one that he appreciated, as opposed to the time my broski and I were buggin’ out over the beat for Jay-Z’s “Kingdom Come” and he was like, Is nobody doing anything original anymore?). 

[December 28, 2023 | 12:56 AM]

CP:  You should’ve sent him Lord Tariq and Peter Gunz after “Gas Drawls” and been like, “See.” As a drummer, does your brother fall more in line with your musical tastes or your father’s? 

SP:  I’d definitely say my brother has a much more diverse and varied musical vocabulary/understanding/tastes than I. We both grew up hearing, and then eventually listening, to rap. Twenty-three to twenty-four years ago when the neo-soul era was beginning, we were smack-dab in the middle of it, in the literal eye of the storm. Things Fall Apart, Like Water For Chocolate, Black on Both Sides, Reflection Eternal were just coming out. Musiq Soulchild was on the radio. Voodoo (which I didn’t get into until much later when I listened to it riding through Zanesville, Ohio countryside in 2007 [it’s still “Brown Sugar” over everything, though]) was everywhere. But there was also his actual school music education from primary to college, as well as listening to people from all instinctive travels and paths of rhythm, so he knows it all—or because he’d be like, “Shiiii, no I don’t!—a bit about a bit.”

I keep saying “my brother” when I have two. My younger bro is the drummer but my older brother’s tape collection was everything in high school (actually, even before that I was stealing his It Was Written tape when I was in seventh grade to play on the way to school). Being eleven years older, he was in high school when the great 90s east coast revolution was happening, and his Nike shoebox archives reflected the sounds of the time. As far as his tastes go, if DMX was still with us and dropped an album today, he’d get it without a second thought.

[December 28, 2023 | 11:10 PM]

CP:  Sorry to trail off. Got a bit busy on my side. Would you be down to hit me with a handful of your most interesting beat names at the moment?

CP:  This is art.

SP:  The “Will Smith as…” series is new. They all slap.

[Small Professor posts a since-deleted message on X quoting Werner Herzog talking about stealing a 35mm camera from a Munich film school. The quote: “I don’t consider it theft. It was just a necessity. I had some sort of natural right to this tool. If you need air to breathe, and you are locked in a room, you have to take a chisel and hammer and break down a wall. It is your absolute right.”]

CP:  I love this. “A natural right” to make something. Like a compulsion within. (I also love Herzog, so I appreciate the anecdote.) Do you remember where you first acquired that cracked Fruity Loops (and maybe Cool Edit, too)? If I think back, I probably had a friend hand me a disk, a CD-RW, back in like 1999 or something. God knows what sketchy site he downloaded them from.

SP:  In college when I first started doing beats, I torrented everything—movies, programs, especially music—with nary a second thought. It’s a good way to give your computer a bad cold, which I did on several occasions. And I too appreciate Herzog because I love no myth more than my own as well.

CP:  Have you got any myths on par with rescuing celebrities from wrecked cars or nonchalantly brushing off bullets to your abdomen?

SP:  No, but I can say I did albums with both Sean Price and MC Paul Barman.

CP:  Indisputable. I think this is an appropriate spot to (un)officially close this. Anything else you want to talk about?

SP:  Gotta give a shout-out to the Jungle Brothers for making Crazy Wisdom Masters in 1991. PremRock told me legend was that they made it on shrooms and when I listened to it on acid I was like, Oh, yeah, y’all were high as fuck when this was made. I could tell not only because the music itself is bugged out but even the pace of the record is accelerated. They had some songs on there that were a minute-and-thirty-seconds but so much was going on , sometimes different things in either stereo channel that it gives off the effect of being on a trip and you’re noticing—for what feels like the first time again—that everything is happening everywhere at once.

Listen to Crazy Wisdom Masters when you get a chance. It’s a personal classic that I’ve listened to at least fourteen times this month. Warner Brothers did them dirty (this was their M.O. apparently—this was the same time period they were beefing with Prince) by delaying the entire record two years and having them clean up the tracks, and disrupting the carefully curated listening experience by taking tracks away and rearranging the entire thing. J Beez wit the Remedy, the resulting hodgepodge, would drop on my birthday in 1993, and when I first heard it, I was like, Hmm, something’s awry here, and that’s how I found out about Crazy Wisdom Masters. 

CP:  I think I downloaded it or thought about downloading it recently when people started talking about it again. Is there a “definitive” version to look for? I know Bill Laswell had uploaded a version to his Bandcamp page a while back. 

SP:  That’s a good question. The version I found that concludes with “For the Headz At Company Z” is the album as the god(s) intended.

Just as Small Pro is distinguished from “Small Professor”, “Crazy Wisdom Masters” is a distinct personality from “Jungle Brothers.” Small Pro is a definitive, lost Laswell version—a ra ra kid who catches wreck with randomness. He doesn’t channel, but grooves, as the most psychoactive Afrika Baby Bam and Mike G doppelgänger. We end up doubled-over; “dope-sick,” if you will. You sleep on it, then you wake up in the morning and dwells on it, as Small Pro casts his spells on it. (It’s as Simple As That.) SP’s Comin’ Through, and when he does, multiple realities accelerate as he explores radical possibilities. He’s chewing on the chemicals and raising up the levels on the decibels. We—his audience of lab assistants, his dilated pupils [and peoples]—“experience the ultimate, the infinite.”

Images:

Most images are from the Vol. 1, No. 10 October issue of the San Francisco Oracle or unknown issues of the Chicago Seed | Small Professor “Sith Lord” photo courtesy of Matthew Shaver for WXPN | The Grateful Dead tapers section photo, Unknown | Screenshots by Small Professor | Apache tape photo by Caltrops Press | Gilbert Shelton, “The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers,” East Village Other (detail) | “Deadhead” poem by Joseph Rathgeber

[rxnowned-vxmpire-hxnter]

A kobold thief sneaks past Simon with a bag of gold - three hundred pounds of it. But the sounds in the bag is giving him away.

"Just what do you think you're doing with all that gold!? Give that back to who you stole it from!" Simon shouted, shooting a glare at the thief.

[litrpgburrito]

Neon Dreams and Pixel Quests

In the heart of a bustling cyberpunk city, where neon lights clashed with the darkness of the night, there existed an arcade that was a sanctuary for those who sought refuge in the digital realms. The **Arcadia 2099** was more than just an arcade; it was a portal to countless worlds, each game a gateway to new adventures. It was here that a group of friends, bound by their love for pixelated challenges and 8-bit melodies, gathered every evening after school.

The arcade's entrance was marked by a flickering sign, half of its letters lost to time, but its reputation needed no illumination. Inside, rows of cabinets stood like soldiers at attention, each screen a vibrant canvas of colors and motion. The air was thick with the scent of warm electronics and the sound of synthesized tunes layered with the rapid clicks of buttons and joysticks.

At the center of this electric labyrinth was the **Crimson Phoenix**, a machine that was the stuff of legends. It was said that whoever topped its high score would be granted a wish, a digital genie hidden within its circuits. The game was a relentless shoot 'em up, with waves of enemies and a difficulty that scaled to near-impossible heights.

Our protagonists, **Mia**, **Jin**, and **Takashi**, were an inseparable trio, each with their own reasons to conquer the Crimson Phoenix. Mia, with her sharp eyes and quicker reflexes, was the strategist. Jin, the jokester with a heart of gold, had hands that danced across the controls with grace. Takashi, the quiet one, possessed an uncanny ability to predict patterns and an unbreakable focus.

Their quest was not just about the high scores; it was about proving themselves, about finding their place in a world that was rapidly changing. Each victory was a step closer to their dreams, each defeat a lesson learned.

As they took their places before the Crimson Phoenix, the screen came to life, and they were transported into a world of spaceships and starfields. The litRPG elements of their real-life quest blended seamlessly with the game, their progress tracked by an unseen system that awarded experience points for every enemy vanquished and level conquered.

But there was a twist to their tale. Unbeknownst to them, a mysterious figure observed from the shadows. Cloaked in anonymity, a hacker known only as **Cipher** had discovered that Arcadia 2099 was more than it seemed. There were whispers of a dark secret, a code hidden within the games that could unlock power beyond the screen.

As Mia, Jin, and Takashi battled through the digital cosmos, Cipher plotted their next move. Would they be allies or adversaries in the grand scheme of things? Only time would tell.

The friends laughed and cheered, their camaraderie echoing through the arcade. They were not just players in a game; they were warriors in a digital odyssey, their lives intertwined with the fate of the Arcadia 2099.

And so, their story began, a slice of life wrapped in the fantastical, a tale of friendship, challenge, and the pursuit of dreams in a world where reality and fantasy blurred into one.

**To be continued...**

Grab a comfy, Cyberpunk Panda shirt, hat, or mug and support more LitRPG burrito stories!

[emissaryoftheguilty]

A letter arrives for the Duke, but aside from the envelope addressed to him directly, it is unsigned and untitled. However, if he knew the author well enough, he should be able to recognize their penmanship.

'I will come for you at midnight tonight. Please wait for me at the Fountain.'

There is no familiar figure awaiting him that could be recognizable from a distance. Instead arrives a hooded figure -- but as they turn to face him, there are notable features about them: a full head of scarlet hair, which kinked and curled into ringlets at the ends of its full length, and wild eyes that matched its colour, peering up at him from beneath the shade of their mask.

Diluc Ragnvindr.

Truthfully, he had left Mondstadt entirely on impulse -- but not before leaving a message for the staff, insisting they not find any cause for concern in regards to his disappearance. That he would be visiting a friend.

When he finds the Duke at last, he isn't sure what to say, save for to apologize for the sudden intrusion. He spares him a look that is equal parts lost and apprehensive.

"...I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to go."

To receive an unsigned and untitled letter from an anonymous source was nothing short of suspicious towards the guards of the Fortress. They were concerned, reasonably so, yet as far as they could tell there were no illicit or dangerous substances attached to the envelope. They can’t risk their Duke getting injured, or worse, poisoned, due to their negligence. However, Wriothesley merely assured them that whatever it was would be fine. They were simply worrying too much.

After retrieving the letter, he went back to his office to read it privately, blinking at the familiar handwriting.

He refused to be late to the meeting, merely dressed as he normally would be. There was no reason for him to hide, nor any reason for him to arm himself. Not when he knew who that mysterious, hooded figure was. It was a strange outfit to see the young master in, not due to the appearance, but strange in the sense that he was even disguised so thoroughly to begin with. It had him a little concerned and on edge, his eyes scanning the area to be sure that they were the only ones there before he calmly approached Diluc.

At the apology, he lifted a hand to put any more grievances aside, shaking his head afterwards.

“There is no need for you to apologize, Monsieur Diluc. You’re safe here,” he assured, his voice gentle. Once more, he scanned the area with his gaze before removing his cloak and draping it over the younger man’s shoulders. He is a guest of the Duke, and he will be treated as such with no qualms or arguments.

“Come, let’s head to the Fortress. We’ll talk once we’re in the safety of my office, but for now, just stick by me.”

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 2

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1, check out the story tag for more chapters) Word count: 1.9k Warnings: This chapter is SFW, but the story will eventually be NSFW - hopefully in the next chapter. Some profanity. Buggy x afab!reader. A/N: Little more plot-building before we get to the spice. Hope yall enjoy!! Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You read and re-read the bonus words written into your book until they flowed through your head like a real conversation. An unknown voice whispered in your ear, adding commentary, a few snide remarks and snarky responses, poignant questions, and narrative asides that you couldn’t get enough of. 

The mystery of your anonymous reading buddy sat with you. It was calm and inviting. You weren’t consumed with a desire to dig inside and pull out the truth, but to let the mystery be. To let it exist like this. Yes, you did want to know whose thoughts and memories you were reading, but it wasn’t a dire need. And more than that, you wanted to keep this secret. A shared secret.

Staring at the next chapter you needed to read, the novelty plummeted as you raised a pen. It felt heavy in your hand, weighed by an awkward feeling. The back of your neck prickled, as if someone was already reading your thoughts. You felt stifled by the odd sense of visibility. Unable to connect your desire to give the story your full attention with wanting to share the book with another reader, you tried to flip those feelings and see if they would fit another way.

It was like a game of leapfrog. You read the annotations added after yours, then jumped into the next chapter you hadn’t read yet and filled in the gaps left in the margins, and, finally, you landed in a new chapter. The puzzle pieces connected as you fell entirely into the story.

Traveling with the cloaked figure, Grey, on his journey, your musings were scribed each step of the way. Phrases and words circled, emotive faces drawn near touching moments, and your own personal tidbits littered the pages. The chapter ended with Grey winning over the sullen rock golem who had been living alone as an outcast. The golem accepted Grey’s invitation to join him on a journey to save the royal family.

A few days later, Buggy was surprised to see the book peeking out of its protective hidey-hole like a mollusk. He noted its disappearance and didn’t expect such a rapid reappearance. Although it wasn’t a long novel, completing the entire journey would have taken a sleepless night or two. A small voice questioned whether the owner was upset at the additional vandalism (even if they started it) and decided to abandon the book entirely. 

Filled with unease, Buggy ignored the book and went about his duties. The poisonous voice stayed quiet as the captain threw himself into work, wondering if he might avoid confronting the question and the book. A lifetime of rejection created a wide boundary of protection that the little voice hid behind, hissing unfounded fears.

The sour feelings were chased away with a mouthful of liquor later that night. While heading back to his quarters, Buggy retrieved the book and walked fast to outpace his own negativity. Although it was only the second time he had the novel, reading was easily incorporated into his evening routine. It felt familiar to him. 

Growing up, Buggy was a voracious reader. Sometimes, he wondered if that’s why he needed glasses now. Maybe his eyes were rebelling against all the words he forced them to absorb - short stories, long epics, newspapers, essays, letters, tiny print, large fonts, hand-written, transcribed. Anything he could get his hands on was devoured in his spare time. Sentences were crammed into the few seconds between duties, chapters read by dim moonlight, and pages became speckled with food as he pored over the books while eating.

Over time, Buggy read less and less. People poked fun at the bookworm. They said he should be careful always having his nose in a book, it might get caught in the pages. Even lighthearted remarks about how much he read began to sting. And as he grew up, Buggy had other things to occupy his time with.

Eventually, guilt took hold in his chest. Roots grew whenever he had time that could be filled by a book, his empty hands missed the feel of pages threading through the fingers, or when he looked at the forlorn stories waiting on his bookshelf. He tried to push through the ache by buying new books that remain untouched. He even bought glasses to try and turn a chore back into a hobby, but nothing relit the spark. It all turned into dirt and manure for his remorse to grow. 

The pirate never expected the pain of turning his back on something that brought comfort would be eased by a silly fantasy novel. Despite being a grown man with hair on his chest and alcohol on his breath, Buggy felt like a kid again as he sank under the covers with a good book. Instead of waiting for a tension headache, Buggy pulled out his glasses, swiped the lenses with a small cloth, and put them on. The first thing he read was a note tucked alongside his bookmark.

“Good notes! Although I disagree that the writer is a ‘self-indulgent asshat who sees the world through rose-colored glasses.’ I read ahead through the next chapter and left space for you. Please do the same and put this back in the ‘secret’ spot. I want to see if you change your mind.”

Buggy chuckled to himself. Of course you wouldn’t agree with him, you picked the book in the first place. Maybe if he pointed out more of the author’s blatant self-insert characters used to tout their poorly thought out ideals, you’d reconsider. He took a sip of alcohol and twirled a pen in his fingers. 

Towards the end of the newest chapter, two things caught Buggy’s attention. First, the fucking corner of the page was folded again. Second, was a comment about the golem and “found family.” You wrote about how nice it is to find a place you belong and people you feel at home with. You felt like the golem character when you joined this pirate crew. The rock golem, named Daisy Lee, had sprouted a flower when Grey extended his hand and companionship. The little heart next to that sentence was a punch to the gut.

Buggy the Clown knew first-hand how it felt to find someplace you belonged. In fact, he’s heard that from his crew countless times. After fights, successful raids, parties brimming with alcohol, any situation full of emotions were bound to be followed with freaks professing appreciation for their captain. But this was different. You didn’t know who was reading these words. You didn’t intend to share them with the captain himself. These weren’t words of performative devotion, honeyed sentiments, or feelings brought forth by adrenaline, but inner-thoughts shared during your own personal time.

It was late and his body was tired, which meant his emotions were delicate. That’s why tears collected in the corners of his eyes before slipping down his heated cheeks. Exhaustion and alcohol. Fingers attempted to fit under his glasses to wipe away the saltwater, but the legs tugged on his ears and the frames dug into his forehead. Buggy dabbed away what he could in the confined space and rubbed the back of his hands on his wet cheeks to dry them. With a face redder than it was moments ago, he swallowed the rest of the sober emotion with the alcohol in his glass.

---

The next time you found the book, there was another note for you. A short sentiment and a gift.

“Stop folding the goddamn pages. I don’t care if this is your book, I won’t give it back. Use the bookmark.”

The bookmark guarding the edge of your reading area wasn’t anything special. It was just a bit of paper that could have come from anywhere, but the edges were carefully torn into a long rectangle. The scrap used to mark the other reader’s progress was ripped haphazardly and shaped like a squashed kidney. Rolling your eyes, you folded the corner of your new gift. You’d use it, but on your terms.

You followed the same pattern as last time, reading the new notes, the next chapter, then a new chapter. And your reading partner followed suit. Bookmarks jumped over each other, like checkers. Stories were swapped, emotions unlocked, betrayals occurred (the first of which was you creasing the bookmark, which was acknowledged with a little angry face), foes defeated, heroes injured, feelings exposed, and so much more. You wrote about leaving your family and village behind, like some of the adventurers. The other person wrote about not really knowing their family. Not in a story, but as a passing comment to what you scribbled. Unsure how to respond, you simply wrote that you were glad their journey brought them here.

Weeks passed as the book exchanged hands. One night found you hunched over in bed, following your reading buddy as you raced through the final chapter. The sea was as restless as your beating heart, each wave and thump growing erratic through the climax.

Worn down and weary, Grey and his companions approached the castle. Moss and vines decorated the worn stone structure. An abnormal breeze carried the sweet stench of decay. The rustle of leathery wings and tell-tale stomping emitted from the courtyard ahead. Grey turned to Daisy Lee and Jack, readying himself to go ahead on his own. To his surprise, Jack clapped a hand on the man’s cloaked shoulder and nodded to their stone friend, who marched forwards, toward the dragon.

You silently cheered with each blow the heroes dealt and gasped with every set-back they sustained. The fight raged on in your white-knuckled grip, with Daisy Lee crumbling into a smaller version of themself, and Jack throwing himself in front of Grey, only to be knocked out.

Grey shouted in anguish and charged forwards. Landing a mighty blow on the dragon, the fierce beast collapsed with a pitiful roar. Smoke poured from it’s mouth and nostrils, filling the courtyard. Through the fog, Grey could just barely see the large shadow shrink. As the smoke cleared, a naked figure lay on the ground - the victim of a curse. It was Prince Shaia. Grey’s brother.

The rest of the story was wrapped up in two pages. There was a whirlwind of activity when Grey rescued the rest of the royal family, revealed his lineage to his companions who readily accepted the information, Grey’s rapid ascension to the throne, and the multitude of changes he immediately put into place across the kingdom to end every single plight, hardship, and minor inconvenience he encountered. The story ended with the sun setting on a utopia, with no mention of issues implementing new rules and systems or discourse about the kingdom changing hands to a previously unknown individual.

You sat silently for a moment, mulling over the ending. It was an enjoyable story full of adventure and whimsy, but the conclusion was rushed. Very rushed. The last paragraph had a bracket drawn on the side and an arrow pointing to a little face sticking it's tongue out and a note:

“I haven't changed my mind. This wouldn’t happen so easily, it’s so unbelievable-”

Frowning, you scribbled a retort before finishing the rest of the note. “It’s a fantasy book. Of course it’s not believable.”

“-I have a book we can read next. I guarantee it’ll be better than this.”

A buzzing filled your head and reverberated down to your chest. You kept reading the message, studying each individual letter constructing the words that warmed your body. The beating of your heart stopped using adrenaline as fuel and channeled the rushing endorphins instead. You hoped that this secret relationship would continue, and to see that feeling reciprocated filled you with so many fluttery feelings that you couldn’t tease them apart.

“Okay, I’m trusting you.”

[rosemary130]

Echoe's of Despair

In the depths of her loneliness, Sarah succumbed to temptation. Numbness enveloped her, a suffocating blanket that smothered her senses and clouded her judgment. It drove her to reckless choices, ones some might deem cruel and unhealthy. But she couldn't bear the pain anymore. 

Grief had become an unbearable weight, gnawing at her sanity like a relentless predator, leaving her hollow and desolate. Sarah didn't want to die, but she longed to escape the anguish that gripped her heart like icy talons.

A friend's casual mention of a sunset rendezvous at the bus stop promised relief for a price: seventy-three dollars. Such a steep cost hinted at the substance's potency and benefits. 

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of fiery orange and dusky purple, Sarah's anticipation mingled with anxiety. 

Each passing second felt like an eternity, the weight of her decision pressing down on her like a leaden shroud.

She had never dabbled in illicit substances before. Sarah prided herself on her clean record, devoid of drugs or alcohol. Yet, here she sat, perched on the edge of the weather-worn bus stop bench, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the peeling paint as she clutched an envelope of cash tightly in her trembling hands. 

Her pulse quickened with each approaching footstep, her heart hammering against her ribcage like a caged bird desperate for freedom.

The arrival of the dealer was signaled by heavy footfalls, the rhythmic thud echoing in the stillness of the evening air. Cloaked in a thick hoodie that obscured his features, the dealer exuded an aura of mystery and danger. Sarah couldn't see his face, a deliberate anonymity designed to cloak his identity in secrecy. 

Trembling, she offered the money, her subconscious urging her to reconsider, but her desperation drowned out the voice of reason.

"I should warn you," the dealer's voice rumbled, his words a low growl that sent shivers down Sarah's spine. But she paid little heed, her attention fixated on the promise of relief that beckoned to her like a siren's song. 

The grief had rendered her heedless to consequences, her mind consumed by the singular desire to escape the suffocating embrace of despair that threatened to engulf her.

With the transaction complete, Sarah was left holding a nondescript box containing a vial of the mysterious substance and a syringe, its needle glinting in the fading light like a sinister talon poised to pierce her flesh. As the dealer faded into the distance, swallowed by the encroaching shadows, Sarah faced a pivotal moment, teetering on the precipice of oblivion.

The substance promised oblivion, an escape from her shattered dreams of marital bliss and the agonizing memories that haunted her every waking moment. With trembling hands, she loaded the syringe, her mind flooded with memories of happier times, her fingers tracing the contours of her fiancé's face as if seeking solace in his phantom embrace.

In a moment of recklessness, Sarah pierced her skin, unleashing the substance's embrace, its tendrils spreading through her veins like a creeping vine, ensnaring her in its intoxicating grip. Panic gripped her as paralysis spread, rendering her a silent witness to her own demise, her senses dulled by the seductive allure of oblivion.

Amidst the encroaching darkness, a spectral figure materialized, its form shrouded in shadow, its eyes blazing with an otherworldly intensity. "I have always loved you," it whispered, its voice a haunting echo that reverberated through the depths of her soul, its words a bittersweet lament for what could have been.

A passing truck shattered the moment, its headlights slicing through the darkness like a beacon of hope, freeing Sarah from her frozen prison. Trembling, she discarded the remnants of her folly, vowing never again to succumb to such despair, her resolve strengthened by the crucible of her ordeal.

As she trudged home, doubts lingered, the specter of uncertainty casting a long shadow over her fragile peace of mind. Had she glimpsed a ghostly visitor, a harbinger of redemption, or were the hallucinations merely a side effect of the substance's toxic embrace?

One thing remained clear: the dangers of seeking solace in substances. Sarah's harrowing experience served as a stark reminder: there are no shortcuts to healing, no easy escapes from grief's clutches. But amidst the darkness, there flickered a glimmer of hope, a beacon of light that whispered of redemption and renewal, beckoning her to embrace the promise of a brighter tomorrow.

As Sarah reached her doorstep, a sense of unease washed over her. Something felt off, a lingering sense of foreboding that clung to her like a shadow. She turned the key in the lock, the familiar click echoing in the silence of the night. 

But as she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, she froze, her heart pounding in her chest like a drumbeat of dread.

There, standing before her, bathed in the soft glow of the hallway light, was her fiancé. But it couldn't be. He was supposed to be dead, a tragic victim of fate. Yet, there he stood, his eyes filled with a haunting mix of sorrow and longing.

"Sarah," he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath, "I've been waiting for you."

A chill ran down Sarah's spine as realization dawned. This wasn't her fiancé. It couldn't be. But as she looked into his eyes, she saw something familiar, something she couldn't quite place. And then it hit her.

The dealer's warning echoed in her mind, a chilling reminder of the true nature of the substance she had injected into her veins. It wasn't a means of escape. It was a gateway to something far darker, far more sinister.

As the figure before her extended a hand, a smile playing at the corners of his lips, Sarah knew she had made a grave mistake. The substance hadn't brought her relief. It had brought her something far worse: a twisted reflection of her deepest fears and desires.

With a trembling hand, she reached for the door, her fingers fumbling with the lock in a frantic bid for escape. But it was too late. The figure advanced, his presence looming over her like a specter of death.

And as Sarah's screams echoed through the empty hallway, the truth became clear. The substance hadn't granted her oblivion. It had granted her damnation.

[trashworldblog]

Me and the employees

Figured out images... Beth

-S

WAIT IT'S GONE

Anonymous me can't send.the image

OOOooooOOOOOooohhhHHHHHhhhh nOOOOOoooooOOOOOoooo

guess youll have to reveal your mysterious identity and take off this cloak if you want me to see ur pretty pictures....