#and unfortunately I have to imagine if this is how they treat strangers they probably do this at home too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cowboyfromh3ll · 1 year ago

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Ameliorate

(John Marston x Fem! Reader smut)

Warnings: none besides smut

I decided my first actual post would be John Marston related because I love him and he's my babygirl 🩷 (he is my favorite)

There was nothing pleasant about Saint Denis. At least not to John. As soon as he walked in, the city seemed to burst around him. It was the rousing hub of Lemoyne, teetering on the edge of pleasurable and wild. Stone paved streets, Victorian homes, large gated manors and estates occupied by industry magnates and crime lords putting on ornate facades. Flashy shops, extravagant theaters, lush parks, and bars in abundance. The crowds overwhelming, smells shocking; The miasma and smog of industrial factories, petrol, gas, horse dung, and somewhere in the mix was the smoky scent of restaurants.

It seemed as though Saint Denis was the only place where the wealthy and thieves alike could coincide. He could at least fit in somewhere in the equation. He would’ve never imagined himself ending up in a place like this. In fact, he preferred staying away from all this ‘civilization’, as Arthur once said. If it weren’t for the fact that the gang had been practically forced to move further east, he would’ve never come here to begin with. But alas, with more and more threats coming to the gang, John found himself here. He figured he might as well familiarize himself with the city, opting to go out on his own.

But one thing about Lemoyne, was that the heat and humidity was like being punched in the face by a sauna. John knew of the heat here, but the crowds and atmosphere only seemed to make it worse. He hadn’t even been out long and he was sweating his ass off.

John walked towards one of the many bars with the intention of cooling off, unfortunately finding himself surrounded by people of obvious higher social standing than him. He had never been one to put too much thought into his appearance, but the stark difference between his simple beige vest and dirt stained jeans to the three piece suits and sumptuous fabrics of silk lined dresses of the patrons was jarring. For a moment, he actually looked down at himself, making a subtle attempt at dusting himself off before walking further in.

He approached the expansive wooden bar and sat himself on a polished leather stool, clearing his throat awkwardly to get the bar tender’s attention. He had never felt more out of place in his life. But on the bright side, maybe he’d be able to get some sort of lead here, as risky as that was. He ordered himself a whisky, but he was surprised to discover this place also served as a restaurant.

John hadn’t even picked his whisky up, too preoccupied with the several dishes whose names he had never even heard of before on his menu; eventually deciding on lobster bisque, something he had never tried.

As he was about to hand the menu back, a sly little vixen slid onto the stool next to him.

“Make it another whisky, and a plate of beignets.”

John could barely register the add-ons to his order as he became aware of your presence next to where he sat. You had an endearing yet mischievous look in your eyes that’d made John second guess every interaction he’d have with you. You wore fashion typical of rich folk around here. Wide frilled skirt with a tightly fitted corset hugging and accentuating your figure. Your decorative accessories alone were probably worth more than anything he had in his satchel.

“Excuse me?” He finally said.

“You’re excused.” You chimed playfully, picking a beignet off the plate that was served before you. John could only wonder how entitled and stuck up this complete stranger must’ve been to order things for themselves under his tab.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not doing anything. You’re the one who’s treating me!” You batted your lashes.

John swore to himself, attempting to restrain himself in fear of causing a scene. Especially when he was already calling so much attention to himself by simply existing there.

Normally, John wouldn’t have the patience to entertain someone so upfront and entitled in such a calm manner, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t attracted to you. Your features were downright angelic, your wealth obvious not only in how you dressed but how you took care of yourself. Your strongly scented shampoo and perfume wafting to him and intoxicating him like some sort of spell.

“So what’s an angel face like you doing chatting up a complete stranger like me?” He asked, sipping his whisky. You couldn’t help but giggle.

“‘Dunno, you looked interesting. Way different from all the guys ‘round here.” You responded. John wasn’t sure whether or not to take it in a good way considering the state of his appearance. But you found the roughness of his features so attractive. You couldn’t help but find yourself chatting him up. What you intended to do, he wasn’t sure, but he wanted to see where this could go.

“Shouldn’t you be talking up some rich boy?” He asked through a mouthful of lobster. You shook your head.

“They’re so boring. I’m looking for someone more… fun.” You punctuated your sentence by rubbing your leg next to his. John swore he heard himself gulp as he watched you bite into another beignet, the powdered sugar cascading down your plump lips and onto your shirt. He didn’t falter for a moment though, wanting to return the same energy. He would do anything to not let this moment slip from his fingers; it was like whistling on a hunt for a rabbit that would run away if one didn’t go in for the kill.

“Well I don’t know what you initially saw in me but I could give you something worth your while.” He smirked. He dipped his thumb in the powdered sugar, moving to cup your cheek with the same hand. He smoothed over your cheek, feeling the supple and soft skin. As he expected, you turned your head in his hand, taking the sugar coated thumb into your mouth and sucking ever so slightly. The inside of your mouth was as soft as satin and as warm as a freshly fried beignet. John could hardly breathe as he watched you lap at the thumb lasciviously, far longer than necessary. He finally retracted his hand, watching the way you momentarily chased the touch before settling back into your seat. He felt the blood drain out of his brain and into his dick as his mind blanked on what to do.

You noticed the effect you had on him, flashing a toothy smile. He became encapsulated by your plump lips, eyes lingering on them for too long. He jerked suddenly when he felt your hand slide up his thigh, just shy of a few inches from his cock.

John could hardly remember how he got into a room upstairs with you, his mind veiled with a fog of lust so thick, it was comparable to the fog of the bayous. The two of you were all over each other the instant you made it into the room. His hand found its way to the back of your neck, yanking your forward so your lips could meet. Your lips molded together like clay as you both parted your mouths almost in unison, a beautiful display of like-minded desperation. Teeth clashed and tongues slid up against each other, and you made sure to suck on his tongue as he moved back slightly.

You both tasted the whiskey on each other’s tongues, and you made a note of the taste of cigarette smoke on his. He moved back to look at you, cupping your face again like he did before, instead this time he moved to slide two fingers past your lips. You accepted them ceremoniously, wrapping your lips around them and looking at him through your eye lashes. His dick twitched against his jeans as he watched your head bob down slightly on his fingers, the digits disappearing into your velvety mouth. He gasped softly, almost moaning, and he willed himself to slide his fingers in as far as he could into your mouth. John nearly jumped for joy when he realized you didn’t gag, no matter how far down he pushed.

He began thrusting his fingers In and out of your mouth, enjoying the slick sound coming from your throat. John swore he could get off on that alone. But how could he pass up the opportunity to take up a treat such as yourself who was practically presenting themselves on a golden platter to him.

John pulled his fingers out slowly to observe the strand of saliva that connected him to your sweet pink gullet. John’s cock was so hard he thought it might burst, and in another moment of animalistic desire, he pushed you onto the bed, crawling on top. You giggled at his assertiveness, and you thought to yourself how you found exactly what you were looking for.

The two of you sat up, clumsily undoing his belt together. Once you heard the satisfying click of his belt coming undone, your lithe hands worked his zipper open and pulled down his pants. You hooked your fingers on his drawers and pulled, the underwear hitching on his erection before slipping completely over it. You buried your face next to his cock, and at once you were enveloped in the scent of sweat, unruly black curls brushing against your cheek and nose, and the soft skin of his throbbing cock against your face. You looked up at him as you grasped his cock with one hand, slapping it against your cheek playfully before opening your mouth and repeating the same ministration on your tongue. John let out a guttural moan, intertwining his fingers through your hair.

His eyes nearly popped out of his skull as he watched you envelope his cock whole in one go. The sounds he let out were downright embarrassing. The feeling of wet muscles sliding over his cock was almost too much to bear, and you felt his fingers tighten in your hair.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart…” He gasped, a pathetic attempt at composing himself.

You pulled your head back up, slowly, making sure to see the way his face contorted as you hollowed your cheeks. After watching you repeat this same ministration a few more times, the fondness of orgasm began to lurk up behind John. His body trembled almost uncontrollably, and he found himself pushing your head down, holding you there. The tip of his cock slid deeper into your throat, which seems to contract and close around him. There was a sick enjoyment he got out of watching your nose buried in his curls as you sputtered for breath. He pulled you off before it became too much for you, allowing you a moment to breathe. Several strings of saliva connected you to him, some breaking and drooling down your chin. He pushed his cock up against your lips, using his free hand to slap you on the cheek a little.

“I never got your name sweetheart.” He said.

You had to move your face slightly to the side to answer.

“(name).” You responded.

“Well I’m John sweetheart, now let’s get you out of those clothes.”

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption #john marston x reader #john marston #john marston smut #van der linde gang x reader #red dead fanfiction #red dead redemption x reader

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ritens · 9 months ago

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dd2 has me doing mental gymnastics bc I don't really like interacting with canon all that much in ANY setting (nervously looks at wf, the chosen operator thing sucks, dont come at me).

puts this under readmore bc the ramble got too long oops just quickly going over Rau's story to see what canon events even tie in there at all.

It's just unfortunate timing in an unfamiliar place. Rau happened to be in Melve with his family, passing through really. Dragon makes a feast of his heart, he gets treated and dragged to Vernworth with strangers wanting to put him on the throne but he runs off because it's all too fast paced for him.

Disa does what Disa does best which results in Rau being enslaved on the Volcanic island with his memories missing.

He escapes the place, thank you Rook and goodbye Rook. Nobody picks him up from the griffon landing area and he simply wanders off on his own. (rather he wanders off BEFORE the soldiers arrive)

The guy spends a week trekking through the forests until he ends up in Vernworth again where Brant finally gets his hands on the stray Arisen to fill him in on his supposed duty.

Raures summons a mangled pawn at the big riftstone in the city and ends up leaving the thing alone at an inn for days to let him recuperate. During this time Rau runs the infiltration tasks in the palace for Brant.

Once Lane is good enough to walk, they set out for the Nameless Village and never return to Vernworth again. The pawn has his claws in the Arisen and does his best to distract the hero from his charge.

And the rest just doesn't happen for Raures. He sticks to his wandering lifestyle like he did with his parents before the Dragon scorched them and ate his heart.

They visit the Sacred Arbor at some point and travel to Battahl through illegal means. They assist those in need along the way because Rau is a stouthearted, kind man (if a little blind).

Brant is hot on their heels at times, exasperated beyond measure. Lane distracts him too by sending him the wrong way, but keeps Rau in the dark about the matter.

The pawn also murders Ambrosius on the beach as he detects the kind of energy is hidden in the small blue crystals. Better safe than sorry is the excuse he gives himself.

The (severely incomplete) bestowal of spirit was a mistake when it comes to Lane's OG master, Amaury LMAO he literally got all of the worst traits from the prick before the good ones could come in. Lane's learning those on his own now, through life experience. (((Exercises his sliver of free will to be a little bitch)))

After an unmentionable amount of time Raures loses his spark and is forced to retire as a New Arisen is made to pick up his slack and continue the cycle in his stead. He is devastated by the fact as the fog is lifted from his mind and realization finally washes over him.

He then notices that the pawn he adopted is still sticking with him despite his lost status. They have a falling out when Lane comes clean about his past and his motives and the role Rau unknowingly played in them.

Upset, Rau then FINALLY makes way to Vernworth to see if he can aid in any way. And Lane is left at Rau's cabin in the woods to think things through.

---

Raures is very dutybound so his initial reaction to Lane's manipulation, betrayal even, was very negative. But he eventually takes pity on Lane and goes to fetch the pawn before he can answer another Arisen's call and travel beyond the rift for good. Rau imagined himself in Lane's shoes and figured he would've done the same if he were in the such position.

Lane can no longer sense Raures either so their means of communication has got to become more direct too. It's difficult but they'll make it work.

---

Pathfinder is a tricky obstacle though I'm still trying to figure out what to do about that bastard. Rau does probably heed him. And he can very easily tell him that his pawn is corrupt and is getting in the way of his charge but there are many former Arisen who failed... How did they manage??? (or rather not manage)

#dd2 ramble #arisen-rau #pawn-lane #THANKS ALTO FOR THE FUEL.. i keep coming back to edit this rip

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inkwell-and-dagger · 17 days ago

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ITS RUARIDH TIME!!!

the source of these questions are from this ask game by @cepheusgalaxy!!! I'll most likely do the other half of the questions tomorrow because its rather late over here :3

UARAD Taglist: @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @whumpy-wyrms @vidawhump

1 — What is their weapon of choice? (Or do they prefer fighting barehanded?)

Ruaridh tends to fight barehanded!! Mostly with their claws, teeth and horns, or just brute strength in general. they could probably crush someone.

2 — What pronouns do people use for them? How do they feel about it? Would they change it if they could?

Derwyn uses it/its for them. always did unfortunately :(

Ruaridh doesn't really understand gender and felt more comfortable with something more gender neutral (after a lot of explaining from Carlisle), and so Carlisle and the other subjects they meet use those pronouns :3

3 — How much autonomy are they given?

now, this entirely depends!

pre-transformation ruaridh had some autonomy! of course, this was before they realised derwyn’s true motives (and before she actually started mutating them) and instead viewed her as a parental figure.

post-transformation ruaridh is, rightfully so, a little bit uncontrollable (see: crossover au and the escape drabble I did) especially right after their full transformation. now, they pretty much do what derwyn says whether they like it or not. after all, weapons aren't allowed to make decisions :(

4 — Do they groom themselves? What details about their appearence are chosen by other people?

ruaridh actually really likes their hair!! its the only thing about themselves they've ever really had full control over. it was their decision to keep it long growing up, and also their decision to eventually cut it short during their recovery. other than that, not much else :(

although ruaridh doesn't care much for their appearance, as there's only really a mirror in derwyn’s office, they like to keep their hands physically clean, if they can't do it metaphorically. they don't like the feel of something under their fingernails, and tries their best to keep dirt and grime off of as much skin as possible.

5 — How obedient are they? Are they defiant or more compliant?

ruaridh had always been pretty compliant! I think I remember saying this in a drabble at some point, but if derwyn would tell them to jump, they'd ask how high — that sort of thing.

now fast forward to their escape, I imagine they did kind of realise that being compliant and doing what derwyn said was just making life for themself and their victims worse.

6 — Do they have a comfort object?

their books! reading is really one of the only things ruaridh can do aside from brutal murder, and its a good way to pass time in their cell. its one of their only belongings, and heaven forbid even carlisle touches them. I think if they had access to a pen (and knew how to write), scribbles and notes would be all over each page :3

7 — How do they dress to go on missions? Do they have a uniform?

ruaridh doesn't necessarily have a uniform!! as I imagine they were only in the training process before their escape, they came straight from their cell to… I don't know where yet. where-they-go-to-kill-strangers land /j.

8 — Do they have a workout routine?

obviously derwyn wants their future weapon to stay in good shape, so they do have a rather strenuous workout routine around the lab. they're disguised more as games when they're young for treats, but derwyn quickly stops caring about that part.

9 — Are they enhanced in some way? Like drugs/metal transplants/magic to improve their capacity?

NOW. I am no scientist, and I'm certainly not very smart in general. sci-fi things go through one ear and out through the other for me, but ruaridh has been medically mutated. obviously this explains their mangled legs and horns and tail, but I'm not exactly sure how this would come to be other than pure, coincidental tinkering and experimentation that derwyn just went along with. perhaps some transplants to enhance things such as vision? I don't know!!

10 — Are they a favorite? Are they precious or replaceable?

ruaridh is derwyn’s favourite (hence why she kept them around so long and actually treated them well as a child), but they're certainly not irreplaceable. if they were, derwyn wouldn't have abandoned them — or, in another universe, it wouldn't have led to her death and ruaridh’s escape in anger.

11 — Are they stealthy? Or perhaps bulky, odd or otherwise eye-cathing?

answered here!!!

12 — What is their name? Is it a number? Do they have a nickname? Who uses it?

009!! I chose that because nine is a very purple colour for me, and I associate ruaridh with purple / pink! derwyn uses it most often, usually to strip their humanity (of course, they do eventually find out their name in a file).

13 — Do they have multiple handlers? Which one is their favorite? Which one sets them less at ease?

derwyn is their literal handler, carlisle is just the guy that keeps them on a baby leash so they don't maul anyone XD. they preferred (notice the past tense) derwyn more, but eventually carlisle won them over. of course they're both subjects, he treats them like a human, have gone through the same things, and carlisle also is not partially human like them, so they trust him more.

14 — Do they have a favorite food? How often do they have it?

I'm actually not sure what ruaridh would eat in the lab, but I think they'd like soups and pastries!! garlic bread especially. yes I'm projecting

15 — Did they have a life before this?

NO AND IT MAKES ME SO SAD :((( ALL THEY KNOW IS THE LAB. THEY DONT KNOW THEIR PARENTS. THEY DONT KNOW ALL THE JOYS AND WHIMSY OF THE WORLD…….

#Uilebheist A Rinn An Duine #ruaridh mullen #carlisle forrest #derwyn ellis #nonhuman whumpee #lab whump #whump ask game #non human whumpee #conditioned whumpee #living weapon whumpee #living weapon whump #whumpee #lab rat whumpee #whump #whump oc

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evie-sturns · 17 days ago

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GIRL SO IDK WHO TO TELL SO IM TELLING YOU AND A BUNCH OF STRANGERS ON THE INTERNET (cs yk, in da clurb we all fam) ANYWAYS

me and my ex broke up 3 months ago right

(i left him cause i found out he had sent my...nakey pics to a guy in order to get SOME OTHER GIRLS nakey pics in 2023 and never told me, we went a year and a half of dating and i found out through a friend who overheard the guy who received my pics tell someone else he had the pics- ANYWAYS)

2 days after we broke up he got with someone else but literally begged me to take him back while they dated, like hello?!? anyways i obviously rejected that idea which led him to talk so much SHIT about me gang, like he lowkey straight up bullied me 😭😭 he actually made me hate everything about me, but anyways im unfortunately not over him (shockingly) and still miss him because i saw sides of him no one else has seen yk, so i sent him a long ahh paragraph on new years eve:

im sending you this right now because, 1. idk if i'll have the balls to do this later, and 2. if i do, i'll end up forgetting to do it a bit before midnight. anyways, i know deep down you probably hate me, and that your apology wasn't actually sincere, and i really hope you dont mention this to anyone but i know you'll probably screenshot this and send it to someone (or a lot of someones) to talk about me, and thats whatever cause at the end of the day, i can't control what you say about me. all i wanna say before the year ends is thank you. thank you for being a part of my 2024, even if towards the end you made my life a living hell, made me actually wanna kill myself by jumping off a cliff type. i like to think we have a lot of great memories (or at least i do), definitely way more happy ones than sad ones. you were a big part of my year, positively and negatively. im telling you this because it just feels right to me. i genuinely dont regret any good things that happened in 2024 with you, despite what ive said in the past. i'm sorry for any pain i might've caused you this year, anything i did that offended you, i wish you the best in 2025 with your friends and loved ones, have a happy new year.

and long story fucking short, im 80% sure he's still not over me bc after 2 hours of texting back and forth (he was onto with his new girlfriend while this happened btw) he was like, what if every saturday we text eachother things we want to get off our chest because you're still someone i trust and you're the only one who knows how much i hate going to therapy, and so now we're gonna talk every saturday about our feelings.

im so sorry this is long asf, but i js thought i should share with SOMEONE

how did i jot see this earlier i’m CSREAMING

but ew that guy is a massive flop but you shouldn’t even bother to talk to this man if he’s not treating you right tf, no matter how attractive he is you deserve betttter, if he can just share your photos around like nothing then he’s not the one ☹️ like imagine walking down the isle and him crying, i bet you can’t

#evies inbox

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faustianbroker · 4 months ago

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TIMING: Recent LOCATION: Nightfall Grove PARTIES: Leviathan (@faustianbroker) & Rosemary (@necrosemancy) SUMMARY: Rosemary is attacked by a bird demon. For some reason, "Chuck" steps in to help. CONTENT WARNINGS: n/a

—

There was a seagull following her.

It had been far later than hoped when the night shift cover for the front desk arrived, and after a long day of forcing her face into a pleasant smile, Rosemary felt she deserved a little treat.

Unfortunately, her luck for the day hadn’t seemed to improve. After circling the block three times hoping to get parking close to The Raven, she had relented and parked her car five blocks away. Her umbrella was fighting for its godsdamned life against the persistently horrendous weather they’d been having, and her favorite pair of shoes were completely waterlogged. She was motivating herself to keep going with the promise of a fancy little cocktail when she heard a screech. Looking up from beneath her umbrella she saw a seagull circling far overhead. “Poor little guy,” she observed quietly to herself. She had to imagine flying in a storm wasn’t ideal.

A block and a half later, she heard more screeching and looked back up. The seagull was still there. Only it looked bigger now. And less gull-like. What the hell was coming out of its beak? She began to walk a bit faster. Another much louder screech came moments later and Rosemary froze. She risked a glance up. That was definitely not a seagull.

Something that looked like Big Bird’s second cousin from hell swooped down, talons wide open to try and snatch her up. Rosemary was having too awful of a day to have it end in death by demonic seagull. She swatted at it with her umbrella, managing to hit its head. The attack only served to piss the creature off as it landed just behind her. How she had confused this for a seagull was beyond her. “Nice fucked up bird thing,” Rosemary slowly stepped backward, coating her words with sugar and spice and a desperate hope that the monster would go away. “Nice freaky beastie, please go the fuck away,” it sqwuaked and snapped its beak at her, prowling closer. “I think you’d really not find me tasty, I used so much hairspray this morning I’d probably taste so gross.” The heel of her shoe caught on a crack in the sidewalk and she stumbled. The sudden movement caused the pterodactyl’s uglier cousin to swipe out at her. She swatted at it again with her umbrella, looking around for anything to deter the creature further. “A little help here?!” She shrieked, hoping someone would hear her.

—

It had been a better business decision to move the shop out of Nightfall Grove. They were getting a lot more foot traffic on Amity Road, unsurprisingly, and it was keeping Levi’s trio of ‘employed’ lesser demons busy. That said, it still enjoyed the occasional jaunt through the strangely dark neighborhood, often finding that it would encounter curious people and even curiouser creatures. Especially on a night like tonight, with the weather keeping anyone sensible off the streets, it was a goldmine for finding those who were either down on their luck or lacked the sort of self-preservation that might stop someone from accepting very peculiar offers of help from a stranger.

Of course the Leviathan did not shy away from water, neither from the earth nor the sky. It basked in it, craving storms like a man lost in a desert, adrift in a sea of sand. There would be many more to come, it knew. They would get worse, and Levi would adore every second of it.

A shriek met its ears, and it smiled. What new devastation was this? It followed the sounds of shouts and squawks at a leisurely pace, in no hurry to stop whatever was happening, but keen on seeing the aftermath. If there was anything to see, of course; sometimes these things left no traces. From the sounds alone, it had an idea of what this stranger might be facing off against, and the odds were not in their favor.

Hands in its pockets, Leviathan rounded the corner of a building to see a blonde-haired woman fighting for her life against — ah, yes. Just as it had expected. One of the little ones — well, it was large compared to her, and to this human vessel it used. Even still. It watched for a moment as the bird-like creature snapped at her and tried to grab onto her with its feet, no doubt to lift her up and away into the sky. That would be interesting, wouldn’t it? It hadn’t seen many humans fly. But, as it stood there in the downpour watching this scene unfold, something felt… wrong. Different. It shifted its weight uncomfortably, unaccustomed to the sense of anxiety building in its chest. Did it care for this person it did not know? Surely not. It liked humans, that much was true, but it didn’t care about them on an individual level. Why should it? They were blips on the cosmic calendar, and their time was coming to a rapid end, anyway. What did it matter if this one survived to see another day?

The feeling persisted. It grew stronger. And when the woman’s eyes finally spotted Levi in the deluge, she looked desperate for help. The demon’s expression darkened. Damn it. It strode forward, hissing at the avian beast in the only language they shared. The creature hesitated, then snapped again. Levi grabbed it by its large beak and slammed it headfirst into the ground, now shouting in that strange language that seemed to vibrate the air itself as its voice came in different layers of pitch and volume. The beast grew still, feathered chest heaving and claws digging into the soil between the cobblestones, but it stayed where it was held.

Levi looked to the woman, noting that she was now as soaked to the bone as it was. “Are you all right?”

—

This was arguably one of the worst situations Rosemary had managed to find herself in. The howl of the wind swallowed up her cries for help. Not that anyone in their right mind would be out for a walk in a storm… She aimed her umbrella at the creature’s head as it closed its beak around the makeshift weapon. The bird yanked the umbrella from Rosemary’s hands and sent it skittering into the street.

Frantic eyes darted around as the witch attempted to come up with a plan. What a time to be corpse-less, she thought to herself. Not that any of her attempts at reanimating actual people had been successful. She darted out of the path of what appeared to be razor sharp talons, and made a mad dash away from the creature as she looked for anything to help herself. She heard the flapping of wings from behind her. She assumed she had a few seconds before she experienced death by a demonic bird-shaped entity. Of all the ways she thought she would die, this particular method hadn’t even ranked on the list. Just when she had all but decided to lay down and accept her fate, her eyes caught on her salvation.

A dead squirrel.

The bird beast landed in front of her the second her spell took hold, and the twitchy little critter snapped to attention. The beast drew back a taloned claw to swipe at her. Just before it could lash out, Rosemary curled her fingers in, and flicked her hand in the bird’s direction. With the movement, a small, patchy looking dead squirrel launched itself onto the beast. Taking the momentary distraction, she turned to run, but froze when she saw another figure approaching. She was about to yell at them to run while the bird was distracted, but the words died in her mouth.

The stranger seemed to speak to the beast in a language that Rosemary couldn’t make out over the storm. She and her reanimated squirrel paused and watched in confusion as the beast paused. Did this thing understand him? After taking a moment to contemplate the man’s words, the bird snapped at her once more. She didn’t even manage to scream before the beast’s head met the pavement.

The witch had no idea what to make of the situation she had found herself in. She stared up at the stranger who had come to her aid, not sure what to make of them. The dead squirrel that had been sent flying when the beast was given the pro wrestling treatment lurched its way back toward Rosemary, and she scooped it up absentmindedly as she tried to process the events of the past few seconds. “I’m… yes?” She looked back at the bird beast that twitched on the sidewalk. “How… thank you- are you okay?” A tidal wave of questions washed over the woman’s mind, making it impossible for her to focus on just one thought.

“How did you get it to listen to you?” She asked, her eyes flickering over him to check that the now vanquished oversized turkey hadn’t gotten a swipe in on the way down.

—

“Fine,” Leviathan bit out, the rashness of its decision to intervene sinking in as it felt the bird demon shift beneath its hand. Its gaze was fixed on the woman, however, and the… dead… not-dead squirrel in her hand. Huh.

“Ah. Well. I've… studied demonology,” it lied, as if that would account for the impossible way its voice had layered itself as if spoken from multiple mouths. Maybe she hadn't heard that over the storm. Looking back down at the creature as it squirmed again, obviously uncomfortable but alive, Levi narrowed his eyes into slits. He spoke to the creature again, this time in low, even tone, taking care to mimic the sound of a human voice even in its native language. Leave, it told the demon. Go find another human to reap. This one is unfit. It lifted its hand away, rising up to its full height again and taking a step back. The bird hissed and clacked its beak, wings flapping as it scrambled back onto its feet and clumsily took to the air. As it climbed higher into the deluge, it let out an angry screech, making its opinion on the matter known despite its unwillingness to fight back.

Levi motioned to a nearby awning, silently suggesting that they step out of the rain. When they had, he looked again at the squirrel. “Necromancer then, yes?

—

She blinked, utterly dumbfounded by the entire situation she found herself in. One second she had been grappling with the idea that she was moments away from being up close and personal with the inside of a demon bird’s stomach, and the next she had discovered that one, she had massively screwed up by not finding a college where she could have studied demonology for her undergraduate (because that sounded impossibly cool), and two, the stranger that had rescued her from certain death could talk to the demon. And more importantly, tell it what to do.

Rosemary watched as Big Bird’s now concussed cousin begrudgingly picked itself up and flew off, screeching something that likely translated to ‘fuck you, blondie!’ into the stormy night sky. Never a dull moment in Wicked’s Rest.

The woman was still doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out the events that had transpired when the stranger’s question registered with her. She looked down at the squirrel that she was still, instinctively puppeting. It’s little dead head looked up at her as though to say ‘Congratulations! You fucked up!’, before Rosemary hurried to drop the spell. Like a puppet cut from it’s strings, the squirrel went limp and the witch hurried to deposit him gently on the ground. “Oh no,” she tried to sound distressed. “Poor little guy probably got hit by the… big… demon thing…. Oh no…”

She sighed, defeated by her own inability to lie. “Okay, fine, you got me. Yes, necromancy.” She studied them, willing them to make their fuss about how incredibly taboo the practice was just to get it over with.

—

All through the charade, Levi looked amused. “You should work on your improv skills,” it offered unhelpfully, though the tone of its voice didn’t imply that it was offended at all. “But I guess an undead squirrel is pretty hard to play off, anyway. Interesting choice, by the way…” It was likely the only dead thing within her casting range, but still. He wasn’t exactly sure what she’d hoped to achieve with a rotten rodent like that. Maybe… “Are you an apprentice?” Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself.

“Sorry. Manners.” He held out a hand to her, debating what name to give her. His instinct had been to lie, to insinuate he was nothing more than a demonologist, and that’s where they currently stood. He could be more truthful, but he didn’t know enough about this person yet to determine whether or not she’d be the sort who was comfortable keeping company with a demon. So for now… “I’m Chuck. Demonologist, collector of curios… et cetera.” Now was the time for questions. “Who do you study with?”

—

“Well you know what they say,” she sighed, pushing her now stringy wet hair back from her face. “If at first you don’t succeed, lie, lie again.” Rosemary’s eyes drifted to the now unanimated squirrel. She debated scooping the poor little guy back up. It felt wrong to just leave the creature she’d used to try and save her own skin in a puddle. “Admittedly, a squirrel probably wasn’t the best choice. But I didn’t have a wealth of options to pick from.” Not that she could have done much with any other options.

She tried not to grimace at the word apprentice. The word conjured images of dancing broomsticks and mice in wizards hats to her mind. Or worse, medieval lackeys who ran around running errands for their far more accomplished employers. “I suppose you could call me that? I prefer necromancer in training.”

She smiled and shook the man’s hand. She wasn’t sure why the name ‘Chuck’ surprised her. Maybe it was just that she didn’t envision a man who could practically curb stomp a winged demon and then tell the beast in it’s own language to go find an alternative dinner being named Chuck. Something like ‘Xander’, or ‘Damien’, sure. But not Chuck. But she supposed mothers didn’t usually name their children with the baby’s future career in mind. “Rosemary Kane, reluctant receptionist and necromancer in training.”

A gale of wind howled down the street, and Rosemary shivered. “Their name’s Alistair- I don’t think this storm is planning on letting up anytime soon. I was headed to The Raven for a drink. Do you want to join me? As a thank you. I really, really appreciate not being that thing’s dinner, so it’s really the least I can do. “

—

“Kind of a mouthful, but fair enough.” Alistair — it wasn’t a name Leviathan had heard before around town yet, but it figured that a bit of digging would likely turn up the presumably well-seasoned necromancer. Those were always a good sort of spellcaster to have on your side, after all, and they usually welcomed the camaraderie, not often finding it among their peers who always seemed to have those silly things called morals.

“Oh — right. Sorry, I’ve never minded the cold and wet, I guess,” Chuck laughed, giving Rosemary an apologetic shrug. “I’d offer my jacket, but I’m just as soaked as you are. The Raven sounds like a great idea, though. I’d love to join you.”

As they walked to the speakeasy, Chuck carried on with the small talk. “You mentioned being a reluctant receptionist — where is it that you work?”

—

At least this stranger didn’t seem inclined to lecture her about the moral and ethical dubiousness of necromancy, or what kind of person it made her. Rosemary supposed someone who had dedicated themselves to the study of demons was used to enough raised eyebrows and disapproving looks shot in their direction that they were not inclined to do the same. Stones and glass houses and whatnot.

“I’m a necromancer, not the wicked witch of the west. I won’t melt like a sugar cube in the rain. But I do think I’ve more than earned a drink. She grinned, wringing the water out of her hair as they started along down the street.

“Mother Morta’s. It’s a nursing home.” She shrugged. “It’s a good job- more convenient with my prior instructor. He was a little more…” Morally reprehensible seemed an apt description given all she’d learned about Aleksander Nowak after his disappearance. “Well. He would have found it convenient. He’s gone now anyway so it doesn’t matter.” Rosemary sighed, deciding not describing Aleks was probably for the best anyhow. The raven mural outside the speakeasy looked down at her knowingly as they approached. “They pay well enough, I suppose.” She looked back up at him with a curious expression. “Is demonology and curio hunting your profession? Because if it is, I’m going to regret not getting a degree in that instead until the end of time.”

—

A necromancer working in a nursing home. It was not quite as funny as one working at a funeral home, though delightfully ironic. Caring for the sick and dying, when their eventual death would serve the spellcaster far better.

But, Rosemary was a self-reported receptionist, not a caregiver, so Chuck kept the smirk tucked away and only nodded along while she explained. Her previous instructor sounded like an interesting man, but she seemed hesitant to get into the details. He was gone, and maybe it’d been traumatic for her. Maybe a resurrection gone wrong — he’d seen that a few times himself.

“Well. I’m glad it pays alright,” he commiserated, coming to a stop in front of the mural painted onto the brick wall. Her question sat in his mind for a few seconds before he answered, nodding his head at the painted bird. “Good evening, Corone.” The door materialized right before them, and as he pushed it open for Rosemary, Chuck finally answered her question. “It is, yes. I’m something of a… history buff, I guess you could say.” They moved into the speakeasy, slipping out of their coats and hanging them to dry on the provided hooks near the entrance. “I’ve spent my life traveling to remote places and finding all sorts of interesting treasures.” He smiled. “It’s a rewarding profession, I’ll admit.”

—

“Funny, isn’t it?” She smirked. “It was a decision made with convenience in mind. And as a sort of selling point for potential teachers.” Rosemary murmured her thanks as he held the door open for her.

She knew there was a degree of irony working where she did from an outsider's perspective. But to look at it as mere coincidence would vastly underestimate the level of intentionality behind the decision. Rosemary had never had a great desire to pursue medicine through the conventional and socially acceptable channels. Sure it was a respected field, but at the end of the day, what would it have gotten her? Paying her dues for years as a resident with crazy hours all for what, exactly? A couple of fancy letters at the end of her name? No thank you. But more importantly, it had been suggested on more than one occasion in her youth that she ought to pursue it, in order to gain her father better access to those who’s remaining time on the earth would be relatively short. It was the one way that her family would deign to let her participate in the family trade. Naturally, she had been entirely against it.

She barely resisted the urge to shake herself dry like a dog, instead opting to hang up her coat and clipping her waterlogged hair back in a twist. The air in the speakeasy was blessedly warm and cozy compared to the veritable hurricane outside. Rosemary rubbed her hands together, willing some warmth to return to her body as she made her way to the first two open seats she could find.

She could tell continuing this conversation was going to make her regret her career path, but switching trajectory from necromancy to demonology this late in the game seemed a poor decision. Rosemary wasn’t even sure if there was magic to be practiced with demons. There probably was, but she wasn’t sure what it would entail. Perhaps contracts? Would she have to go to law school? The thought of law school killed the urge to shift focus for the moment, but it didn’t quite satisfy her curiosity.

“A history buff and a world traveler. Lucky you- I definitely chose the wrong career.” She looked at the cocktail menu, hoping the old fashioned she spied wouldn’t disappear before she could place her order. She couldn’t help but wonder if the relatively normal sounding drink would have any abnormal consequences. She privately hoped it would suddenly give her a wealth of knowledge on old-timey slang. “When you say interesting treasures, I’m assuming you mean of the occult variety?” Rosemary’s brow arched as she assessed the man. He seemed the sort capable of handling a cursed object or two. “What’s the most interesting thing you’ve come across in your travels?”

—

Occult was a softer way of putting it, but — “Yes, I think occult covers it pretty well. The most interesting? What a tough choice.” The demon had been collecting artifacts for as long as such things had existed on this planet, many of which it kept in its home. The less exciting (or dangerous) ones went to the store to be sold to tourists. Some of the finer but mundane artifacts were sold to universities or museums, because they all eventually caved after insisting that he let go of the items for free. The welfare of the public’s wealth of knowledge was not his concern, after all. Humans were a blip on the cosmic scale, and he wanted to enjoy his time with them while he had them. Philanthropy and a bleeding heart didn’t really do it for him.

But this human, pretty and curious and waiting sat across from him with an expectant look on her face, so he decided to pick one at random. The first one to come to mind was the one he woke up to every morning. “Have you ever heard of the painting called The Anguished Man? It’s very striking. The artist mixed his own blood into the paint, and died shortly after finishing it. I’m not sure if it’s exactly the most interesting piece I’ve come across, but it is a favorite of mine. I love a good, cursed painting.” He smirked, glancing up as a waiter came up to their table and asked about any food or drink orders. Chuck let Rosemary go first, then asked for a negroni and an order of truffle fries for them to share. Once they’d gone, he returned his attention to Rosemary. “But a lot of what I collect are things that can be used in rituals, too. Mermaid scales, unicorn horns… it sounds absurd, but.” He shrugged. “So does reanimating roadkill, right?”

—

Rosemary waited, studying the stranger now that they weren’t caught in a deluge or being hunted down by entities from the great eldritch beyond. He definitely had the ‘tall dark and handsome’ thing going for him. But there was something decidedly… off? She couldn’t quite place it. Perhaps it was the ease with which he’d handled the demon from before. Or maybe this town was beginning to make her suspect that behind every normal face was a multitude of wildly fascinating secrets that were just waiting to be uncovered. The word cursed caught her attention. Cursed items ought to have repelled someone who understood well enough the havoc they could wreak. But as the saying went, curiosity killed the cat, but she was a necromancer so death was an easily rectified issue. “I’ve heard of that painting before- it is cursed? I’d heard rumors about it being haunted or something, but never a first hand account. Unless you count the internet as ‘first hand’ but people claim they’ve seen everything on the internet.”

She was delighted that she managed to order her old fashioned before the cocktail had vanished from the menu. The witch laughed in spite of herself and shrugged as if to say ‘what can you do’. “I’ll have to keep you in mind the next time I need something rare for a ritual. As for the roadkill,” she sighed, leaning back in her seat. “Admittedly not my finest hour. What possessed me to think a dead squirrel would be a good way for me to not get eaten is beyond me.” Rosemary pressed her fingertips against her temple, shaking her head at her own foolishness. “If you think roadkill is absurd, I can do some very funny things with dead rats. Unfortunately I’ve not expanded much past animals yet. I ran into a bit of an issue and was teacherless for a bit.”

—

“Very. It passed a lot of hands before finding its way into mine, of course… and like you said, people claim it’s haunted. Eventually, that was enough to get whoever owned it to give it up — strange happenings, and the like. But they’ve all died since selling it, so I think keeping it for myself until something else kills me is probably just sparing a lot more lives.” It was a nice story to go with, anyway.

“Hey, you’ve got to work with what you’re given,” Chuck offered her with an understanding, nonchalant shrug. “A shame there weren’t any dead lions nearby, but that’s just the nature of the beast, eh?” His smile grew at her mention of dead rats, wondering what she could be possibly referring to and finding himself very intrigued. “First of all, I really want to see what these funny things are… but, ah, what happened?” He paused, then shook his head. “You don’t have to answer that. My curiosity often gets the better of me, hence the profession.”

—

“That seems like a safe course of action. Better to hang on to it than risk the ghost of the man crawling out of the painting to strangle you or something for selling him off.” There were more than a few things in her family’s collection that Rosemary had always assumed were cursed. If she ever had cause to go home (which she sincerely doubted there would be, as any cause would be detrimental to her sanity) she’d have to poke around for items to be appraised by this resident expert on the subject.

A grin sprawled across her face. Anyone who was even remotely interested in her necromantic shenanigans was alright in her book. The witch waved off his attempt to withdraw the question as their drinks were set down before them. “Oh no, I don’t mind. Clearly there’s a certain… moral dubiousness, we’ll say, to necromancy. It sort of goes with the territory of playing god, I guess. I had assumed that Aleksander -that’s my former teacher-“ Rosemary skewered the fancy cherry in the bottom of her glass with a cocktail stirrer as she spoke “was of the normal variety of questionable morals. You know, balance in all things, don’t be a huge asshole, try and do good from this darker form of magic. But maybe that’s just my own foolishness in trying to be a good-ish person.” She shrugged with a sigh. “Anyway the long and short of it was that Aleks was actually a fucking monster of a person, and was helping some woman with a Karen haircut and a PTA mom name kidnap various members of the supernatural community for nefarious means in the name of keeping the community quote-unquote ‘safe’.” She plucked the cherry off the end of the cocktail stirrer and popped it in her mouth, punctuating the statement.

“Anyway, he got his ass killed when shit went sideways with the friendly folks or whatever the hell the name of his cult was, and then to make matters more interesting, my current teacher had also gotten killed during that mess, but is apparently a much better necromancer than Aleks was, so Alistair hijacked his body and it’s his now.” Rosemary raised her glass in a salute. “And obviously I told you none of this, because I am the very portrait of discretion and secrecy, but you saved my life so you earned a chaotic life drop for entertainment purposes.”

—

The amusement on Chuck’s face began to mix with surprise and mild shock the longer the demon listened to this woman’s story, but the grin remained fixed in place. Kidnappings, Karens, and karmic body hijackings. “That’s quite a tale,” he remarked once she’d finished, watching her raise her glass. “Oh, no, of course. My lips are sealed.” He mimed a zipper being closed in front of that wily grin, then raised his own glass to clink against hers. “Well, here’s to new beginnings, I suppose. For you and your new mentor. And also,” he added, pausing only to take a sip of the drink, “to you not running into any more of those pesky feathered bastards. You might not have a demonologist in the immediate vicinity next time!”

The pair sat comfortably in the warmth of the speakeasy while the storm raged on outside, talking well into the night about all the sorts of things Rosemary had seen in her time studying as a necromancer, and of course the plethora of tales of intrigue that Chuck had from his travels abroad, some that took him deep into caves, others to the highest mountain peaks. There was no shortage of things to talk about, and so it wasn’t until the bartender made the last call that either of them realized the time. Somewhat surprised by his own readiness to gab for such a long time, he wondered if Gabagool hadn’t rubbed off on him a bit in the last few years. It was an amusing thought, and one he didn’t terribly mind. Rosemary Kane had been good company, and would likely prove to be again in the future.

#. thread ;#. with ; rosemary kane #. bird food ;

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fnaflucasverse · 1 month ago

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Okay 13 and 23 for Marigold!! Also yk what 11 too. I am curious to know abt what Marigold pick as a weapon in a fight. If only bc shes such a bubbly person

thank you bestie perfect excuse to introduce marigold to the world. have some color tests while i take a few sentences to talk about my girl:

marigold dayasiri-brown was born on august 8th, 1988, a lone ray of sunshine in her grieving mother mahogany's life. cheerful and exuberant, marigold has a knack for chemistry and less of a knack for making friends, but her boundless optimism is sure to take her far!

unfortunately, her biological father's shadow (i'm sure you can guess who that is) looms large in her family's memory, and sometimes that's all they can see...

shoutout to the anon in the parlourblog who made the outcast child au! anyway, onto the questions:

11) What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

i imagine lucas makes her carry around a swiss army knife "just in case", although she's a bit too squeamish around knives to actually use the "knife" part. her real heavy-duty weapon is the can of bug spray in her trusty backpack. good for spraying bugs as well as the eyes of creepy strangers!

13) If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

oh i really, really hope so. marigold would definitely do most of the talking but she would also ask a bunch of (possibly annoying) questions and force out of my shell <3 she's also just a really sweet kid in general and i trust her taste in music and media.

23) What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

ooh, probably betrayal. she's not socially aware enough to realize when she's being made fun of, especially by other girls in class. she can be quite trusting and naive that when they say they're her friends, they actually mean it. i think she's been burned quite a few times since starting middle school, but she's never fully processed any of it... it doesn't really help that she's normalized the distance and mild disdain her grandfather and cousin treat her with.

which connects to the emotion she finds hardest to express: sadness. i think, deep down, marigold feels increasingly lonelier as she grows up and her world gets wider and she feels smaller. but she clings to the idea that, if she just keeps smiling, with her spirits raised and her head held high, she'll find her place. until then, she's listening to the fazband play on...

#parlourverse au #fnafparlour #fazmail #lucasverse lore #char: marigold #ask game #she is sugar spice and everything nice #puppies and sunshine and rainbows etc #and the world hates her for this smfh 😤

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yiga-hellhole · 1 year ago

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FINE ill be the one to ask you for ghirazant. midzelink. kohga/sooga. AND HMM king daphnes and gan

tumblr is HOMOPHOBIC and CRASHED IN THE MIDDLE OF ME WRITING THIS. well LET'S TRY AGAIN! shoutout TC for daring to ask the obvious and enabling this tirade. HERE WE GOOO

GHIRAHIM/ZANT

predictably a BINGO!!! there is so much to be said about ghirahim and zant. they're interesting to me in that they're polar opposites in a kind of ice-and-fire situation, but also have enough in common. such as, devoting themselves to buff dilves like they're gods, and throwing 24 dead 156 injured catastrophe level tantrums when mildly inconvenienced.

i think they're both deeply lonely people at the end of the day, in that they're isolated in their cause in their respective games, preceded by years of loneliness before the events of said games. sure, they'd piss each other off tremendously at the start, but once they warm up a touch, that kind of penchant for devotion could easily evolve into an obsessive love. once they stop clawing each others' throats out, that is. there's so much more i can say about them but i've probably already said it before in my GHIRAZANT PROPAGANDA tag or, wel... my 50k+ word fanfic LOL

MIDNA/ZELDA/LINK

the "fucking the same guy" box is killing me because. yeah, lol, link

despite midzelink being one of my favorite ships, this is a surprisingly barren bingo. it's just because i see them as young adults goofing about being silly and having a healthy relationship. there's no obsession there's no hatred and there's no tension. just a good time!! moreso i imagine it as midna having two hands - she had a deep bond with zelda since childhood, and grew to cherish link during the events of twilight princess. zelda and link, despite being tied by soul, meanwhile... have no chemistry whatsoever. they're perfect strangers. zelda in this game is strict and a little cold, while link remains a goodball, he's not the brand that knows how to crack through that surface. midna is dating both of these nerds while they're basically just roommates. it's hilarious to me.

KOHGA/SOOGA

yiga husbands are so dear to me. i should have ticked the "theres no way this will end well" box but i'm in denial. unfortunately also kind of a barren bingo. kohga is just endlessly fond of his right-hand man and best lackey, and appreciates the ol' guy's huge muscles, but sooga... he's got some stuff going on. he's obsessed. he's devoted. he's not normal about that old man. the second he gets over his complex where he feels like he needs to treat kohga as his superior, rather than a boyfriend/husband, they'd be unstoppably married. make that old freak understand how you truly love him, and stop putting up walls!!!!

KING DAPHNES/GANONDORF

BEHOLD ONCE MORE THE GLORIOUS DIVORCE BINGO!!!!!!!!!!!

they have far more married energies than rauru and ganondorf. they might have even forgotten to get divorced way back in the day, the paperwork is still under the way but then the whole world got drowned. the difference is that rauru and ganondorf, it's too obvious they went straight to tussling. with daphnes and nando there's this air of having spent days in negotiation chambers trying to intimidate each other into giving up their terms. do you see it? do you see it?? delicious. i love old man yaoi

#madman's rambling #asked and answered #lordsooga #I HIT POST BY ACCIDENT oh well #GHIRAZANT PROPAGANDA

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beeseverywhen · 2 years ago

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Something i want to add as a cis woman to anyone who's maybe in the position the op describes, and wants to come out but is fearing the rejection of cis women. First of all, I think it's important to note that terfs aren't exclusively dicks to trans ppl, they are just arseholes. They don't feel accepted by other women (because they are dicks so nobody wants to be their friend) and so they try and project that on to trans women and make you guys feel like you aren't welcome when you are

Honestly I don't know a woman whose reaction to someone they know coming out as trans wouldn't be 'extra female friend?!' 'I get another?!' and would be very excited to share all the stuff that they didn't think you'd want to share when they thought you were a male friend

I'm not saying this to try and make the conversation about cis ppl, because it isn't, this is about you guys- but I do often get worried that trans women might be made to feel unwelcome when they are exposed to a particular flavour of 'women hating on women' and feel like they are being targeted cause they are trans. terfs are such a vocal minority- there really are so few of them irl they just have this horrible mob thing going on where it seems like there are so many of them, I promise you most women you meet in every day life are either gonna be completely neutral on what your agab was, or more likely, are gonna be excited that they have one more female friend than they realised.

So much anti trans sentiment is just repackaged sexism (which is one of the reasons it's so ridiculous terfs are trying to call themselves feminists) all of the bullshit they are spouting about how they can recognise trans women as trans, is the same bullshit they were bullying cis women about before they found their little echo chamber of bullshit. Unless the women you come out to are dicks (in which case they don't deserve you) the most negativity you'll get is good natured confusion by someone who doesnt get it, most of us are just gonna be happy you're happy and pleased to have another woman in their life

However, you are (unfortunately) likely to hear sexist sentiments even from ppl who really are chill with you being trans. It's not fair and I think a lot of trans women unfortunately probably get to hear an unfair share of this (because a lot of it is based on unrealistic expectations of a 'perfect female body' based on like body shape and a level of hairlessness which lets be real, none of us have, no matter what our agab. Being afraid of 'looking too masculine' is a thing i think every woman has gone through in her life, even if it was when she was just a girl and she's fully over it. ) but unfortunately its really ingrained in a lot of women and therefore you hear it in a lot of female spaces. Now there's literally no excuse and I can imagine that hearing these things when you're trans definitely comes with another layer of hurt, but i hate to think that there are women out there who are thinking that a large percentage of women take issue with them being trans when in reality, that's such a small percentage of ppl (So small in fact that they've got to do all their harassing online and in echo chamber-y spaces like prearranged meet ups and stuff) and you're a lot more likely to hear sexism from ppl who are more than anything hating on themselves

Tldr: your loved ones will just be glad to have another woman in their lives and if they aren't they're a bag of dicks and definitely part of a minority of ppl. Strangers really won't care and will treat you like any other woman which often means being nice and warning ppl about toilet roll, but can sometimes mean being a dick to you. (terfs making out that women's bathrooms and other female spaces are these loving maternal spaces all the time are talking out of their arses.) there's definitely something special about the shared experiences between two women (whether they be cis or trans) and we want to share that with you guys, but the shadow of internalised sexism is real (its not about you, its about them) and that's unfortunately something you're gonna feel in these places sometimes just like every woman does

The worst thing you can do, as someone who has recently realised they are transfem, is to let terves and transphobes convince you cis women will never accept you.

I was told that when I came out everyone would reject me. That I would find myself isolated from the world, and from other women especially, who would react to me with horror and revulsion.

In reality, within the first months of coming out, in no particular order:

My sister's reaction on my coming out was, "Right, so I have a sister instead of a brother. Cool. I'm taking you clothes shopping tomorrow."

A friend, when she learned I am a woman, immediately invited me to her women-only, girls-night-out birthday party the following week.

Another friend, when a friend of hers expressed doubts about my gender, immediately shut them down and reaffirmed I am a woman.

I went camping with a group of friends, and we had two tents, one for the boys and one for the girls; I was unsure as to which I should enter, to which a girl friend responded by grabbing me and physically dragging me inside the women's tent.

In the women's bathroom at a movie theatre a random woman, whom I'd never seen before and haven't seen since, stopped me as I was going into a stall, to warn me there was no toilet paper in there, because she'd just used the last of it.

All of these, and more, some from friends, some from complete strangers. All within a few months, as a trans woman who hadn't started medical transition yet, and was very visible as being a trans woman.

I've had some people reject me, true, but the vast majority, including almost all cis women, accepted me as a sister with open arms.

Cis women are cool. It's terves who are bigots.

#honestly I've learnt a lot about self love and loving being a woman from trans women #the truth is a lot of cis women are not comfortable about their gender and that's not necessarily their fault but #it is on them if they are taking it out on other women #there's a lot of women that get this and go to a great effort to try and deprogram themselves and not echo sexist sentiment #but there are so many that just don't realise that's what they're doing and unfortunately anyone who spends time in female spaces is gonna #come across that sometimes #i really am sorry about it its like a really bad welcome like yay! we're really happy youre here but btw.being here isn't always that great #but yeah. to any new trans women- Welcome!!! honestly we are really happy to have you. more women coming in to the party is great!!!#(I'm sorry we're not always that good at showing it)#but we are very happy to have you with us!

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gohan1 · 14 days ago

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[Chapter 12]

Shortly after, your parents arrived to take you home. They hurried over to your side of the car, their faces filled with relief as they saw that you were not hurt at all. They pulled you in a warm hug, your father gently stroking your hair and your mother nuzzling her head against your neck. It was a comforting moment that made you feel loved and safe.

“I am so relieved that you are safe. If something terrible had happened to you, we would be absolutely devastated," your mother murmured with a completely broken undertone in her voice. You felt her hug around your body tighten, never wanting to let go. Your father was the first to eventually break away from the hug, only just now noticing that Chifuyu was still by your side, fidgeting awkwardly with his fingers.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce him to you. He is a friend of mine," you explained to your parents. You wondered if you had been too quick to refer to him as a friend. But Chifuyu looked pleased, his eyes lighting up for a moment before flashing a big smile and introducing himself to your parents.

“Are you the person who saved [Name]? Thank you so much for protecting our daughter. We do not even know how to repay you. You risked your own well-being, so a simple 'thank you' is definitely not enough," your father said gratefully, stepping forward to shake Chifuyu's hand. This surprised the blond-haired boy, as he was not the one who had helped you. However, your parents did not even give him a moment to clarify the misunderstanding.

Chifuyu was taken aback by the sudden physical contact, especially since he was not the one who actually helped you. But before he could clear up the misunderstanding, your parents were already showering him with praises. You caught his eye and shook your head slightly, letting him know it was fine.

It is better if your parents believe Chifuyu was the one who saved you. If they knew it was actually Haruchiyo, they would probably want to thank him in person. And you definitely do not want your parents interacting with Haruchiyo. You know what a terrible person he is, so the last thing you want is for your parents to meet him.

Honestly, you wished that Chifuyu was the one fighting against the other hoodlums. He seems to be very friendly and definitely more polite than Haruchiyo, who basically treated you like trash. However, you were glad that this was the first and last time someone would insult you, as you had no intention of confronting him again in your life. Unfortunately, you cannot fully control how you want to live your life, so it is likely that things will only get worse.

When you returned home, you truly felt a sense of relief and comfort, like finally being able to breathe after a long day. Your home is your sanctuary, where you feel the most secure and at ease. You mentioned to your parents that it was getting late and you were exhausted from the adrenaline rush of nearly encountering trouble with some strangers on the streets. Thankfully, you were able to escape unharmed, even though it was not willingly done by Haruchiyo. In the end, you were still humiliated, but it was better compared to the alternative of being sexually assaulted.

You slip into your cozy fleecy pajamas and dive headfirst into bed, tucking yourself under the blanket and slowly closing your eyes. But before you know it, you are wide awake again in a flash.

Chifuyu would not tell Mikey that Haruchiyo said nasty things to you, right? It is no secret that Haruchiyo has some inexplicable grudge against you, so the last thing you need is for him to hate you even more if Mikey finds out. You have already promised yourself that you will not confront Haruchiyo again, but what if he unexpectedly crosses paths with you and decides to approach you? It is not hard to imagine that he would beat you into a pulp, regardless of the fact that Toman members have a strict rule against laying hands on women.

You closed your eyes once more, attempting to relax and get some well-deserved sleep. But the thought that Chifuyu might actually reveal the truth to Mikey made you incredibly anxious. In theory, you could send a message to Chifuyu as you have exchanged numbers, asking him to keep today's events a secret.

Maybe Chifuyu would understand that you do not want Haruchiyo to hate you even more because when Mikey is mad at him, he could really cause some serious trouble for you. It is unclear to what extent Haruchiyo values Mikey's opinion, but it is possible that he would feel upset if Mikey were to be angry with him.

However, what you fail to realize is that Haruchiyo feels as though his entire life is meaningless without Mikey, and he is desperate to be with him forever. He would do anything for Mikey - if Mikey wanted him to fight, he'd fight, and if Mikey wanted him to kill, Haruchiyo would do it without hesitation.

As you were beginning to drift off to sleep, your body feeling more relaxed and your breathing slowing down, you suddenly woke up to the sound of your phone ringing on the night table next to your bed. The unexpected call startled you, especially at this late hour when you were just about to finally rest and clear your mind.

No way it is Haruchiyo, right? He could not have gotten your number that fast. Is he trying to scare you because he totally hates your guts? You could feel the sweat forming, your whole body tensing up and your stomach churning. You still have not checked your phone, even though it's been ringing for a while now. The caller just won't give up, even after 15 seconds of you ignoring him. You rolled onto your side, hesitantly reaching out to grab your phone.

All the fear seemed to dissipate in an instant when you saw that it was Mikey calling.

Wait a second.

Does this mean that Chifuyu informed him right away that you were being targeted by hoodlums? You were just hoping that Chifuyu did not mention to Mikey that Haruchiyo insulted you. Now, you regret not asking Chifuyu to keep silent about it.

First and foremost, you do not want Mikey to worry about you. He must believe that you are completely weak because you are a girl with no combat skills, despite the fact that there was a time when you trained with Mikey at the dojo, and even then you were not proficient in fighting.

Furthermore, you were afraid that Mikey had contacted Haruchiyo and were angry at him for verbally attacking you. You believed that saving you was solely intended to provide him with the opportunity to insult you. If Haruchiyo really started to despise you more, he might even see you as an enemy and try to make your life miserable.

But seriously, you cannot think of what you could have possibly done to make him mad at you.

“[Name], are you okay?! Chifuyu informed me that you were saved by someone, but I still wanted to make sure that you are unharmed," Mikey's sudden voice came through the phone after you finally picked up. He sounded out of breath.

Did he just say "by someone"? Does he not know that it was Haruchiyo specifically?

“H-Hello, I am fine. Thank you for calling me. But, uhm...why are you so exhausted?" you asked him, wondering if he had been in a gang fight moments before.

“Haha, so this may come as a shock, but I am actually right at your house," he answered. Even though you could only hear his voice, you could imagine that he was grinning like an idiot.

“Wait, w-what? You are really here? In the middle of the night?!“

You jumped out of bed, not noticing that your hair was all disheveled from wiggling around to get comfortable. As you pulled back the curtain in your bedroom, your mouth fell open. There he was, leaning against the wall in his gray hoodie and black pants, still talking on his phone. Without hesitating, you quickly opened your window and waved at him instead of responding through your phone.

When he noticed you, he raised his head, made a big wave with his hand, and walked a little bit closer to your house with a soft smile on his face.

“Why are you here?,“ you whispered, as the pleasantly cool night air brushed against your body. You had to keep quiet so you would not wake up your parents or make them think Mikey was crazy for visiting a girl so late at night.

He spoke back to you, moving his lips slowly with lidded eyes and a gentle expression. It took you a while to process his words due to the distance between you and him.

'I wanted to see you‘

Did you read his lips correctly? You felt warmth on the inside, sensing your heart beating against your ribcage, as if trying to escape from your body.

When he waved for you to come down, you felt as if you were dreaming. Ironically, this type of situation reminds you of romance anime where the boy waits outside for the girl for a long-awaited reunion. The difference is that you had just seen Mikey recently when you were forced to make him dorayaki (again).

The second difference was that you were in a platonic relationship with him, so there was nothing more than being good friends. It did not bother you at all because you could not even picture yourself being in a romantic relationship with him. It would be extremely awkward to date Emma's brother, especially since you also had a sibling-like bond with her. You cannot fathom how she would react to seeing you and Mikey holding hands.

Furthermore, Mikey is still a child as he is two years younger than you. While it is true that you are also still a child, it would still be uncomfortable to consider dating him. Neither of you are mature enough, and Mikey does not seem to be the type who would be interested in relationships or the concept of love in general.

You were friends, and it would stay that way.

But why can't you stop fantasizing about what it would feel like to have a romantic relationship with him?

Maybe when you two get older, there is a chance you might end up falling for him...

Could it be that your emotions were manipulating you? Perhaps you were simply grateful that Mikey protected you from Kiyomasa and trained with you in the dojo, despite your weakness, with no benefit for himself in learning something new.

Even though you are calm, shy, and sometimes lacking in confidence, he still sticks by your side as if you were an intriguing person. He is hanging out with you and has your back, boosting your confidence with his reassuring words. However, this time it was Hauchiyo who saved you. Mikey felt frustrated that he was not in the right place at the right time to protect you. This is primarily the reason why he made the effort to come to your house: to apologize.

You hesitated about going outside in your pajamas without a bra, but ultimately decided to change into something decent before meeting Mikey. Your hair was a bit messy, but you quickly smoothed it down and gave yourself a nod of approval in the mirror. Finally, you tiptoed outside, checking to see if you had woken up your parents. When you saw Mikey coming towards you, a smile automatically spread across your face.

“Hey [Name], how are you doing?“ he asked, looking a bit concerned. He nervously bit his lip and avoided making direct eye contact with you.

”Umm...I feel really bad that I wasn't there to protect you. I know I can't be everywhere at once, but I wish I could've been the one to take care of those jerks. I'm kinda jealous of whoever ended up saving you," Mikey said, puffing out his cheeks and making a big pout.

He spoke with a playful undertone in his voice, so you did not realize that he was actually quite serious and frustrated. He was upset that you had relied on a stranger to save you, when he, who has known you personally for a long time, could have helped instead.

“You do not need to feel bad! In the end, I was still saved thanks to God. But I am somehow beating myself up over not being able to help myself. If I were stronger, I could have handled the situation on my own. It seems like I will always be the person who needs someone to rely on," you explained slowly while looking at the ground with an ashamed expression. You did not want to discuss such a sensitive topic with him, but you were truly sad and tired of being such a burden.

Is it too much to ask for you to be just a little bit stronger?

His eyes widened briefly before he smiled softly once more. Then, he gently rested his hands on your shoulders, catching you off guard as you experienced his physical touch.

“Is it really that bad?" he asked abruptly.

“You mean that I am always relying on other people?" you asked, not understanding to what he was referring. He nodded, not averting his gaze from you. His black eyes were focused, still gripping your shoulders.

“I-I mean, I feel like I am always waiting to be saved. I always rely on others, and I am s-scared that people will be annoyed with me when these kinds of situations recur, which hopefully is unlikely to happen again. The worst thing would be if people got so sick of me that they would leave me hanging and vulnerable. I do not want this to happen.

"I won't get sick of you. You can always count on me.“

You were surprised. You had not imagined that he would get so serious. In fact, you wanted to laugh the situation off, but the moment was so intense. He was gently touching your shoulders and looking into your eyes as if he could see through your soul. Moments like these made you forget that he is a gang leader and rough in fights, but when he was near you, he was so careful and considerate.

When did he become so mature?

“Thank you for those kind words. It means a lot to me that you want to spend time with me. It's nice to know that I can count on you," you replied, a grateful smile on your face and a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

"You can always count on me, [Name]. Just give me a call and I'll be there for you whenever you need me," he said warmly, gently running his fingers through your hair.

“I am the only person you need, [Name].“

You gazed at him with pure adoration.

He made you feel so special.

And you must admit that he is really hot. It almost seems criminal to be that good-looking.

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marianosbrixton · 3 years ago

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people started talking, putting us through our paces; dream team

pairings: dream, sapnap, georgenotfound x reader (separate)

summary: dream team when you get hate for dating them

warnings: discussions of receiving hate, some swear words sprinkled here and there

a/n: i accidentally deleted dream’s entire section immediately after writing it and i almost threw a tantrum

masterlist | navigation

dream

✧ regardless of whether or not you’re also in the public eye, i feel like dream would really want to keep your relationship a secret, because he knows you’ll undoubtedly be swarmed with a tsunami of negativity

✧ unfortunately, he’s no stranger to receiving hate, and i think he would try his absolute hardest to protect you from having to deal with it, because he knows how overwhelming it can be

✧ however, let’s say that whether by accident or on purpose, people found out about you

✧ a ton of dream’s fans are super nice and they really appreciate how happy you make him and they think you’re super cool!

✧ although, a good chunk of them also aren’t so nice, and there’s a ton of little b-words on twitter just trying to be mean to you >:(

✧ it’s sort of inevitable that when you’re around somebody with that much media attention, there are bound to be people with something bad to say

✧ i imagine you would have known this, and you’d brace yourself for it as much as you could, but it would probably be pretty hard to prepare for something like that, and naturally, it might get to you a little

✧ dream would be super apologetic to you, i think, because it’d be a bit hard not to blame yourself when somebody you love is getting that kind of attention just for being in your life

✧ you know it’s not his fault though, and you tell him that whenever he starts to feel guilty about it

✧ he’d definitely comfort you if the things people were saying started getting to you. i know i’m a pretty sensitive person so i’d definitely need a few hugs to feel okay after that

✧ he’d remind you of how beautiful you are and how much you add to his life until it was drilled into your head

✧ he’d tattoo it across his forehead if that’s what you needed to stop feeling sad

✧ i know he’s had a tendency in the past to speak out of emotion when people say things that upset him, so i think there could realistically be a possibility of that happening (because it upsets him that people who don’t even know you are being so blatantly cruel for no reason), but i also think he’d want to have a level head when talking about it, because it’s not just him he has to think about, it’s you

✧ the way i can imagine him addressing it is by doing a short stream, maybe 10-15 minutes and being pretty direct about it

✧ i think, to him, making a tweet would feel too impersonal, and, for your sake, he wouldn’t want to make it into a massive thing (i don’t know about you but my anxiety would go 📈📈 if i had the entirety of twitter talking about me), but it’s a big enough thing that he wants to speak one on one with his audience and let them know that he won’t tolerate any level of unkindness towards you

✧ he’d try to be as composed as possible, but it’s a naturally upsetting thing, and he’d come off as very stern (as he should though). i feel like he’s gotten pretty used to sitting there and accepting the hate he receives, because at this point, it’s part of the job and there’s nothing he can really do about it, but he refuses not to defend you, because there’s no way you deserve the way people are treating you

✧ if you asked him not to say anything about it, i honestly don’t really think he’d want to listen. he wouldn’t directly go against your wishes, and if you really didn’t want him to, he wouldn’t, but he’d definitely try to plead his case and let you know that it’s important to him that he doesn’t let people think it’s okay to talk to you like that

✧ at the end of the day, he just wants you to be okay, and he’ll respect you on the way you want the situation to be handled

✧ if you want him to ask his audience to stop, he’s already taking mental notes on what he’s planning to say

✧ if you just want to shut out the world for a bit and spend time together, he’s wrapping you up in a tight hug before you can even finish your sentence

✧ he loves you, and he’d do absolutely anything for people to realise how incredible you are

sapnap

✧ sapnap is the one i can imagine getting the most angry over it

✧ he’s proven time and time again how fiercely loyal of a person he is, and when people start to be shitty towards the people he cares about, he doesn’t hesitate to put them in their place

✧ i can definitely see him not even waiting to ask you what you want him to do before he’s sending out multiple angry tweets about how he absolutely will not put up with anybody mistreating you, especially people who claim to be his fans

✧ i can’t see him talking about it on stream, just because that doesn’t really seem like his style, but he wouldn’t hesitate to ban people from his chat (or directly call them out) if they have nothing nice to say

✧ in all honesty he’d probably get so caught up in being mad about it and fighting people online that he’d sort of forget to check in with you and see how you’re doing with it all

✧ once he does remember, though, he’s very attentive to what you need to help you through it

✧ if you’re pretty upset about it, he’d probably have to fight the urge to pull out his phone and berate everybody who played a part in making you that sad

✧ but he knows in the moment that that’s not what you need, and he’ll remind himself to focus on you instead of them

✧ i feel like him asking you what you want him to do is less “what do i do?” but more “here’s what i’m going to do”

✧ he’s a bit like dream in the sense that if you really, really didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it, he would respect that, because at the end of the day, you’re his main priority in this situation

✧ but he’d be absolutely itching to let the people who are hating on you know exactly what he thinks and how little he tolerates their actions, to the point where it’s probably better to just let him do it and deal with the consequences

✧ once he knows for sure that you’re okay with him addressing it, oh boy, he goes off

✧ if you think for even a second that this man wouldn’t fight tooth and nail to defend you, you’re incredibly wrong

✧ he’d fight everyone in the entire universe for you if that’s what it took for them to shut the hell up and stop being bullies

✧ he’d probably shut his phone (and yours) off for a little bit afterwards just so there’s some distance between the both of you and everything else

✧ the time away would definitely do you some good, and it gives him the opportunity to give you his absolute, undivided attention, which, let’s be honest, he always does regardless

george

✧ george is the one i think would be the most passive about it

✧ not passive in the sense that he’s at all okay with it, because he’s definitely not, but more in the sense that his focus would be entirely on you and how he can help you, rather than on how he can address it

✧ he’d be like dream in the sense that he feels extremely guilty that you’re getting this hate essentially because of him (even though it’s not his fault in the slightest), the only difference is that i don’t feel like he’d bring it up

✧ he doesn’t want to make it about him, because you’re the one being targeted, not him, and you’re the one that needs support

✧ he already doesn’t express his emotions much, let alone when someone he cares about is going through something this overwhelming

✧ he’d probably dread having to bring it up to his audience, he very much doesn’t seem like the type of person who enjoys confrontation or any kind of conflict

✧ nobody likes being surrounded by negativity, but i think george would get extra uncomfortable when there’s some sort of contention within his community, especially when it’s regarding someone he’s close to

✧ when it comes to actually addressing it, i think he’s the most likely to properly ask you how you want the situation to be handled and build off of that

✧ if you say you’d rather not draw attention to it, he’s completely happy to just hang out with you for a few days and focus on helping you feel better

✧ but if you wanted him to ask everyone to stop, i think he’d sit down for about half an hour or so and plan out a few tweets that are kind enough that people know he’s not hostile but also stern enough that he knows they’ll listen

✧ george usually tries to be really accommodating to people even when they aren’t doing the same, so i don’t see him as the type to get noticeably angry, but you’d have to be blind not to see that he’s unhappy about it

✧ ultimately, he understands that there’s unfortunately not a whole lot he can do about it

✧ like, he can send out a few tweets (and he will) and block all the people in the world, but he knows that there’ll always be somebody with something to say, and nine times out of ten, it won’t be positive

✧ you know this too, and it really, really sucks, but you also know that nothing that anybody can say will change the way george sees you, and vice versa

✧ the two of you will get through it together, because you know he loves you no matter what, and that’s enough to make it all feel okay again

285 notes · View notes

couldntbedamned · 2 years ago

Text

Nevertheless, Recover

Summary: Peter finds himself once again in Dr. Strange's office, hoping to find a reason and a cure for his latest ailment. He's come to the right place, since Dr. Strange will do everything it takes to diagnose and treat Peter. Hopefully, Peter will survive the embarrassment.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ Minors DNI, Medical Kink, Medical Procedures, Medical Inaccuracies, (no seriously don’t use this as medical advice ffs), Medical Examination, Sexual Roleplay, Humiliation, Dacryphilia, Sounding, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Forced Orgasm, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Dubious Ethics, Gaslighting, Aftercare, Safe Sane and Consensual, Peter Parker is an Adult, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing

<<<>>>

Nevertheless, Recover

<<<>>>

Peter sits on the exam table and his legs swing back and forth in an expression of his agitation. He’s once again in the office he’s coming to hate.

He’s tried to get another physician, but Dr. Strange is in his health insurance network, and none of the other approved doctors are accepting new patients. Technically he can go to an urgent care place, but it doesn’t feel right. He’s not dying and the thought of explaining his problem to a stranger kind of horrifies him.

At least Dr. Strange is familiar. Kind of. Unfortunately.

He can only imagine the verbal lashing he’s going to get from the man once he realizes why Peter is here. Strange already thinks he’s some kind of sexual pervert, if their last visit was any indicator.

Peter bids the doctor to come in at the strong knock and Strange walks in, shutting the door behind him.

He’s wearing dark blue scrubs that compliment his skin, bring out his eyes, and show off the leanly muscled lines of his arms. Why did Peter’s doctor have to be so good-looking? It wasn’t fair! And the stethoscope around his neck just draws attention of the v-cut of the top… Peter closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He can’t afford to get hard right now.

“Mr. Parker,” Strange drawls. “Welcome back.”

“Peter’s fine,” Peter says quickly.

“Alright, then, welcome back, Peter.” He sits down on his wheeled stool and gives Peter his full attention. “What seems to be the problem?”

He can’t do this. Fuck, this is too damn embarrassing. He focuses on the floor and mumbles it out under this breath.

“Earning my paycheck today, I see,” Strange says before blowing out an impatient breath. “You’ve requested a consultation with me. Now, since I’m an adult doctor and not a pediatrician, I expect for my patients to be able to discuss adult things and that we’ll do so like adults. At a minimum, I expect that I will be able to hear you and that your eyes will meet mine. Now, eyes on me and speak up clearly.”

Peter looks up. He can feel the heat of the flush rising up his neck and into his cheeks. “S-sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just look at me when you’re speaking to me. Now. What brings you into my office today?”

Peter swallows and forces himself to look at Dr. Strange. “I uh, I can’t get off.”

“When you say that ‘you can’t get off,’ do you mean that you are unable to reach orgasm?” Strange clarifies.

“Yeah. I haven’t been able to for a few weeks now. I get kind of close and then nothing. I guess I want to make sure nothing’s, you know, broken.”

Strange’s eyebrows raise. “Okay. Well, I’m sure we can get to the bottom of this.” He rolls his stool back and grabs a notepad off of the small counter along with a pen. “Let’s start with some basic questions.”

“Basic?”

Strange gives him what’s probably meant to be a reassuring smile. Considering Peter’s history with Dr. Strange, it’s anything but. But he needs to be able to get off. So badly.

“O-okay. You’re the doctor,” Peter tells him.

“Good boy,” Strange says. “Now, when was your last orgasm?”

Oh fuck.

“It was a week after my physical,” Peter says. “So, the 31st.”

“How was that orgasm achieved? Masturbation? Intercourse? Prostate stimulation?”

“U-um, I was, uh, I was m-masturbating.”

“And how were you masturbating? Were you stimulating your cock, being penetrated?”

Peter closes his eyes. “I h-had a dildo I was riding. And I was stroking myself.”

“Okay. This toy you used, was it stimulating your prostate at any point in time?”

He can’t stop the light flush turning red hot. Why is this so important? “I can’t actually remember.”

“If it had been, you would remember,” Strange says, unimpressed. “Trust me.” He’s writing something and Peter can’t see it from the angle he’s sitting. “Were there any external stimuli?”

“E-external?” Peter asks. “I was using my hand.”

Strange stops himself from chuckling but his expression is just a little… condescending. “I mean were you watching pornography?”

Peter closes his eyes. He just knows that if he admits that yes, he was watching porn, Dr. Strange is going to be judgy. Even though everyone watches porn. Oh fuck. What if Strange asks what kind of porn he was watching?"

“Peter?”

Peter’s eyes open and he see Strange watching him intently, annoyed.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” Strange tells him.

“Yeah, I was watching porn!” Peter finally bites out. “So the fuck what?”

Strange’s eyes narrow. “If you feel guilty for watching consenting adults have sex with each other, that’s your problem. I’m asking questions to get a sense of what the circumstances were when you last had an orgasm in the hopes we can get to the root cause of why you’ve been unable to do so since then. If you’re going to be an uncooperative little brat, then perhaps you’re not mature enough to even be attempting to have an orgasm, let alone watch other people do so.” He makes sure Peter’s meeting his gaze. “I would suggest you watch your tone, Peter. Either you want my help, or you don’t. Stop wasting my time.”

Peter lowers his gaze, curses himself. Surely a doctor like Dr. Strange has seen and heard it all before, right? The chances of Peter being the outlier are very slim.

“I was watching porn,” he says, voice calmer this time. “Gay porn, actually. I uh, I don’t get turned on with straight porn, or lesbian porn.”

“Okay.” Strange makes more notes. “What about it appealed to you?”

He shifts. “One of the men was younger and looked like me, kind of. With brown hair and eyes. And the other guy was older and tall and not super built, but he looked nice.”

“You found the subjects physically attractive.”

Peter nods. “Yeah, but more than that they were… well, the older one was in charge, you know? Told the younger one what to do and how to do it. He was kind of mean about it but the younger guy seemed okay with it, happy even. He was really hard, at least.”

“You enjoyed the idea of dominance and submission?” Strange asks.

Peter shrugs. “I don’t know if it was exactly that. I guess it came off like the older one would give the younger one what he needed, eventually, and the younger one knew the older guy would take care of him so long as he did what he was told. And at the end they were kind of sweet with each other.”

“I see,” Strange says. He writes some more notes. “Have you watched the same video since then?”

“I can’t,” Peter admits. “It got taken down.”

“The times you’ve masturbated to orgasm, were you watching the video?”

“N-no. Not always. The theme was kind of similar, with the older guy in charge of the younger smaller guy. And I don’t always watch something when I’m trying to get off.”

“Have you tried watching other videos while masturbating?”

“I’ve tried everything,” Peter says. “I mean, short of choking myself.”

“At least you have some common sense. Thank goodness for small favors,” Strange says. “Your most recent attempt at climax, what were you doing?”

Peter doesn’t want to answer. Hell, Dr. Strange will probably have him shipped off the psych ward and he’ll end up spending the rest of his days in a straight-jacket and eating green jell-o through a straw.

Strange sighs. “Peter, there are other patients I could be seeing right now, patients who have bigger concerns than if their penis can ejaculate. Please stop wasting my time.”

Once again, Peter feels the heat creep up his neck and into his ears, his cheeks.

“I was pretending like I was being held down,” he admits. “Like, like I didn’t have a choice. And I was pretending that the guy was being really mean when he talked to me.”

Strange’s eyes are on him, and finally he blinks. “So you have rape fantasies? Like a little over half of all men?”

Peter forces himself to keep looking at the doctor while he speaks. “I g-guess so, yeah. It’s not all the time!” he hastens to add. “But sometimes, it happens. I don’t want it to actually happen!” he insists.

“Of course you don’t,” Dr. Strange says simply. “A person’s fantasies have little-to-no bearing on what that person wants in reality. The mind has many mysteries.”

Again, the doctor makes notes that Peter is unable to read. “Frankly, I’m just surprised you actually admitted it. I thought you would have lied, for sure. You’re not exactly my most upfront and cooperative patient.”

Peter swallows. “You would have known if I was lying.”

“True. Now, are there other fantasies you have that no longer help you to climax?”

Peter takes a deep breath, and spills. He has a few, for sure. There’s the kept-house boy fantasy, where part of his duties included making his body available to the master of the house. A basic, if uninspired fantasy involving a very strict college professor, a spanking with a ruler, and going the extra mile to get an A. He stammers through the one where he’s short on rent and the suave, rich landlord suggests they could come to an arrangement. On it goes, and Dr. Strange never speaks a word, just writes. “And that’s pretty much it,” Peter finishes.

It’s a lie, of course. Kind of. Is it really lying if he can’t even admit it to himself? Dr. Strange would probably say yes. But Peter thinks he’s been thorough enough.

“That’s quite the list, Peter. When you’re having these fantasies, are you using your toys?”

“S-sometimes. But mostly I just jack off.”

“I see.” He wheels himself over to the counter and picks up Peter’s file. “During your last visit, you mentioned that you were sexually involved with another man. Have the two of you had intercourse since that visit?”

“Just once. That was the first time I wasn’t able to get off.” Peter frowns. “Not that he cared.”

“Okay. Well, there could be a few different factors at play here, Peter. Stress is a big cause of impotence. Tobacco, alcohol, and other addictions can also lead to difficulties. Peyronie’s disease could be another cause, but I feel sure a physical exam will rule that out. Given that you were here a month ago and in good physical health, I doubt your inability to orgasm stems from high blood pressure or cardiovascular problems.” Strange clasps his hands together. “We’ll do a brief physical exam and sounding, check for nerve damage, and I’ll also have a panel run to rule out any sexually transmitted diseases.”

“A-an ultrasound?” Peter asks. “I thought those were for pregnant women.”

Dr. Strange studies him as if he’s some sort of dumb puppy. “It’s for getting images of inside of the body. We can make sure there’s no swelling or infection.”

Peter nods. “Okay.”

Strange stands and moves to the cabinet. He pulls out a medical gown very similar to the one Peter wore the last time he was in the office and hands it to him.

“Go ahead and get changed. I’m going to go and grab some equipment we’ll need, and I’ll be right back.”

Great. Equipment. Were ultrasound machines transportable? Peter has no idea. And why did Dr. Strange call it sounding and not ultrasound? It’s not much of a shortcut.

Dutifully, Peter undresses and folds his clothes neatly. Why he feels the need to hide his boxers like they’re something shameful when Dr. Strange has literally seen him full of an enema, Peter doesn’t know. He pulls on the gown - and funding must be terrible if they can’t afford to replace the gowns with ones that aren’t nearly see-through from constant laundering - and sits back down on the exam table.

His feet are cold, and he wonders if there are those non-slip socks in any of the drawers. He can - no, no, he’s not going to go there. The last thing he needs is Dr. Strange walking in on Peter rifling through his cabinets and drawers. He’ll just ask.

A knock on the door is followed by Dr. Strange wheeling in a cart that has a small laptop-looking device on it. A bottle of gel is next to it and a strange looking probe-type thing connected to a cable. Underneath on a shelf is a variety of instruments he can’t see clearly - hopefully no scalpels - and a slim black case that’s zipped closed.

“You’re a lucky guy, Peter,” Strange tells him, adjusting the cart’s placement before moving to shut the door to the room. “This mobile ultrasound machine is top of the line.”

Peter doesn’t feel lucky.

He just wants to know if he’s ever going to come again.

“Go ahead and hop on the scale over by the door so I can get your height and weight. Then I’ll get your blood pressure and we can move on.”

Peter’s annoyed, but masks it as he gets off the table and walks over to the scale. He lets out a sigh as Strange moves the balance weights and then lowers the height marker to the top of his head.

“You’ve lost weight,” Strange remarks. “I’m guessing the stress from your problem.”

“It’s hard to think about food when you’re worried if you’ll ever get a boner again,” Peter says.

Strange looks at him sharply. “You didn’t say you were having trouble getting erect, just reaching climax.”

Well, fuck.

“It takes a while to get hard, when I can manage it. And when I am hard, I can’t get off,” Peter explains. “Does that change anything?”

Dr. Strange looks heavenward as if astounded. “It certainly doesn’t make this less complicated.” He narrows his eyes at Peter.

Peter steps off the scale and onto the cold floor. Which reminds him. “Um, Dr. Strange?”

“Yes?” Strange asks with an exasperated sigh.

“Um, it’s really cold in here, and I came in wearing sandals. Are there any of those socks they use in hospitals that I could wear?” He can’t help it; he looks at the floor, feeling stupid.

“Are you asking the floor or are you asking me?”

Peter looks up. “I’m asking you.”

Shaking his head, Dr. Strange pulls a pair out of one of the cabinets and tosses it on the exam table. Peter eagerly pulls the pair on before hopping back up on the bed. He wiggles his toes, glad that they’re finally warm for the first time since coming into the office. He notices Strange staring at him and stops, flushing.

“Cute,” Strange says dryly. He sits back on his stool. “Since you weren’t honest before, I’m going to need you to tell me when you last had an erection.”

“A couple of days ago,” Peter answers. It’s humiliating, but he doesn’t feel like pressing his luck.

“And how long did it last?”

“Well, I tried to get off for about thirty minutes before I gave up. Then I took a cold shower, and it went away.”

“Before your problem started, how long did it usually take for you to climax?” Strange is making more notes.

“How am I supposed to know that?” Peter asks. “Sometimes I’d go off immediately, other times I’d try to take longer so I could get to the part where…” he trails off, embarrassed.

“Peter,” Strange warns.

“I tried to time it so that I didn’t get off until the older guys in the videos would let the younger guys come.”

Just kill him now. No orgasm is worth this.

“As fascinating as your habits are, I’m going to need some kind of timeframe as an answer.”

“Between ten and fifteen minutes if I was watching porn. Around five if I was just fantasizing and jerking off,” he admits.

Dr. Strange makes a few more notes and then stands up, the stool rolling backwards with the movement. “Okay. I’ll start with a basic physical and then we’ll move on to more targeted diagnostic tests.”

“Basic?” Peter asks.

“Not as in-depth as was required for your last physical,” Strange says. “If you would actually bother to start showing up regularly, they wouldn’t be so invasive.”

“I’m going to do better,” Peter promises before he can stop himself.

“We’ll see,” is all Strange says.

That hurts, sends shame coiling in his belly. He doesn’t know why he wants Dr. Strange’s approval so badly. But fuck, he does.

He studies Strange as the man pulls on his latex gloves with a distinct snap. And with that snap, something sparks in his groin.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” Strange murmurs.

Peter looks down and groans in embarrassment.

He’s hard.

All because of those fucking exam gloves.

“I-I don’t know why -”

“Do you get off on these visits, Peter?” Strange asks.

“No!”

Yes.

“Hmm.” Strange looks like he doesn’t believe him but doesn’t say anything further.

A gloved hand gently takes hold of one of Peter’s testicles, rubs it and Peter can’t help but moan softly. Then it’s being squeezed roughly.

“I’m sorry!” Peter gasps out. “Look, I am, but it feels good, okay?”

“Just try to control yourself,” Strange says.

The other testicle is examined. “Nothing unusual, heavier than your last visit, but that’s to be expected with the lack of release.”

His cock is next, and fuck why does Dr. Strange have to be so impersonal about it as he feels up and down?

“Any burning or discomfort when you urinate?”

“No,” Peter answers honestly.

“Alright. I’m going to check for blockage in your urethra, but I’ll need you soft for it.”

Peter groans, knowing what’s coming. Sure enough, Strange puts an ice pack on his groin and he can’t stop the yelp he lets out. It’s so fucking cold his cock feels like it’s on fire.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Strange tells him. “You’ve been through it before.”

That memory along with the cold of the ice pack duals with the unfortunately arousing condescension from Dr. Strange. Eventually, the cold wins out and Peter feels himself starting to soften.

“H-how do you check for blockage in something so narrow?” Peter asks.

“Sounding,” Strange answers.

“An ultrasound can tell you that?” he asks skeptically.

“Probably. And I’ll do one of those, as well.”

“I’m so confused,” Peter says. And he’s worried and all he wanted was a consult to figure out why he can’t come and now Strange is going to be doing things to him again.

Dr. Strange grabs the slim black case Peter noticed earlier and unzips it. He pulls out a slim, delicately curved rod. “This is a sounding rod.”

“How is that supposed to look and see if there’s a block?”

“It goes inside your urethra, Peter.”

Peter’s jaw drops. “No! No fucking way! There’s no way it can fit down there!”

“I assure you, it can, and it will. These are sterile rods. I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t safe and effective.”

“No,” Peter says again.

“I see,” Dr. Strange says. “I’m afraid you don’t give me much choice, here, Peter.”

There’s a tiny pinch in his neck and he starts to feel a little… off.

“W-wha?”

“Just a quick-acting, mild sedative. It’ll wear off in a few minutes. Knowing your previous behavior, I thought it was best to be prepared,” Strange tells him.

Then he’s pulling up the stirrups and strapping Peter’s legs in before pushing the things out so that he’s splayed. Then he lifts and locks two arm rests into place; Peter’s never noticed those before. Again, his arms are strapped down. Then a strap comes over his chest and is tightened and Peter’s basically bound, helpless, to the exam table.

“I’ve never had such an uncooperative, ungrateful patient before,” Strange chides. “You schedule my time, claiming to need my help, and then you do everything you can to let me know that my expertise and my professional judgement are beneath you, as if you know better.”

Peter can only stare up at him, guilt roiling in his gut.

Strange checks his watch. “You should be getting sensation back.”

He is. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now, what’s going to happen is I’m going to check and make sure there’s not any blockage that’s preventing your ejaculation. I know the rods can look scary, but I wouldn’t just shove something into you. I’ll use medical-grade lubrication and start with the thinnest rod.”

Swallowing heavily, Peter nods. “Will it hurt?”

“It will feel unusual,” Strange tells him.

He removes the ice bag from Peter’s crotch and studies the flaccid organ. He sets the bag aside and grabs a bottle of lube and a plastic syringe.

He closes his eyes when Strange fills the syringe with lube. He can’t watch. Things aren’t meant to go into his dick! Sure enough, the feeling of the lube being pushed into him is so weird, but he manages to keep from crying out.

A little hard to, considering that when he can bring himself to open his eyes, his attention is glued on the case that holds the sounds. And on Strange, whose long, blue-gloved fingers are selecting a sound.

Dr. Strange calls it the thinnest, yet to Peter it’s anything but, far too thick to even consider sliding in there.

“Relax, Peter. I wouldn’t do anything to injure a patient, even one as difficult as you.”

Peter lays his head back; he can’t watch this. This feels like a violation beyond anything he’s ever experienced in this office, and Dr. Strange had once measured his testicles!

A gloved hand gently grasps his cock and holds it steady while another begins to feed something cold and slick into his dick and fuck it’s so weird.

It’s not bad, exactly but it is the weirdest sensation he’s ever felt in his life. And it doesn’t stop. The rod keeps sliding down and down and-

“Oh!”

Strange holds him down - damn, the doctor is strong! - and continues to move the sound around a bit and it touches something.

“What are you feeling?”

“I-I can’t describe it,” Peter says with panting breaths.

“Try.”

Peter looks up at Strange and then down to where he’s thrusting and twisting the sound in and out of Peter’s urethra. Then the gloved hand squeezes his cock and fuck nonononono…

“I feel like, like I need to go, but not,” he manages to say. “It’s this weird fullness, but nothing like I’ve ever felt.”

“Imagine that,” Dr. Strange muses.

He pulls the sound free, and Peter wants to weep because it was feeling good.

“I’m going to use the next size up,” Strange informs him.

It looks too thick and not thick enough, and he’ll never admit it, but Peter wants it in him so badly.

As the sound is slid in, and oh it’s so much and he can feel tears running down his face, he hears the distinctive sound of Dr. Strange’s derision.

“Of course, you’d be getting aroused by such a basic medical procedure,” he drawls. “At this point chemical castration might be the only chance at subduing your perversions.”

Sure enough, Peter can feel himself stirring. Only, it doesn’t feel good, it hurts! The curve of the rod is an immovable force in his aroused cock.

“Stop!” he begs.

“Just relax. I’ll get another ice pack.”

“No!”

But Strange doesn’t listen, just leaves the sound in place, steps away and grabs another two packs of hell from the freezer. One is placed on Peter’s eager cock and the other is settled on top of the remaining sounds.

He’s trying to fight the arousal, trying to keep his head, but the rod is still in him, and he can feel it as if it’s becoming a part of him. Just as his breathing is easing, as he’s growing used to the sound, Strange twists it again, thrusts it in and out, barely touching that magic place Peter had felt before. The barrage of sensation coupled with the lack of that spot and the ice pack is just… Peter whimpers as he feels tears roll down his cheeks.

“Seems clear, but I think I’m going to try one more, the next size up,” Dr. Strange says as if to himself.

He pulls the sound out, sets it next to the other used sound with a clink.

Peter’s eyes close. He’s floating underwater somehow, like waves above him are rushing him forward only to draw him back further, deeper. His nerves are on fire, and he knows he’s still got another to go.

“Oh, relax,” Strange chides. “It’s hardly torture.”

Then there’s the sensation of cold so extreme it burns, and Peter opens his eyes to see the next rod - that’s sat under an ice pack - slide into his cock.

“Fuck!”

“Hmm. That’s quite the response.” Strange takes his time, pulling the sound back and then twisting it on the slide down.

“It’s too much,” Peter whines. “Dr. Strange, you gotta stop.”

The movement of the sound doesn’t stop. “You’re fine,” Dr. Strange says dismissively. “And what I ‘gotta’ do, is treat my patient. Don’t presume to tell me my job.”

“S-sorry!”

“I’m sure you are.”

After what seems like hours, with his cock burning and struggling to get hard despite the curved rod Strange seems so happy to torture him with, the sound is removed.

“No blockage,” Dr. Strange comments. “That’s good.”

He’s almost scared to ask. “If it’s not blocked, then what could the problem be?”

Strange spares him a look as he returns the ice pack over Peter’s cock. “We’re narrowing the possibilities down.”

Peter’s scared to ask what’s next. Oh hell, there isn’t some kind of enema thing for dicks, is there? He’ll die if there is. His heart will give out, and he’ll die.

“W-what else is there to do?” He hopes it comes out as curious as he can manage. He’s scared, but he needs to know.

Dr. Strange arches a condescending brow and Peter feels about two feet tall. “I’m going check on your prostate,” Strange tells him. “Chances are slim that it’s the issue but needs must.”

Peter knows how this is going to go. At this point it might as well just happen. He can’t thwart Dr. Strange. So, he just nods.

“That’s the compliant kind of patient I love to work with.”

Hah! He’s strapped to an exam table with an ice pack on his dick. He can’t exactly not comply at this point.

In his sight, he sees Dr. Strange pull on a fresh pair of gloves and his cock, even suffering under the ice, twitches at the snapping sound the gloves make. Strange lubing his fingers doesn’t help, either. He’s had those long, skilled fingers inside of him before… he shakes his head. Now is not the time to contemplate if he’s actually turned on by visits with Dr. Strange!

Gloved fingers circle his rim, and he shudders. Or, shudders as much as his restrained body can manage.

“Hmm. I need better access.” He removes the gloves and does something that has the table sliding inward under itself, leaving Peter’s ass exposed to the open air. “Much better,” Strange concludes after crouching down and getting a closer look.

The gloves and lubricant ritual repeats.

When he feels the gentle prodding along his exposed hole, he bites down on his lip to keep from making noise. It’s all for naught when a finger works its way in and Peter feels it feeling around. A whimper escapes just as another finger joins the first and twists.

“Sensitive, hmm?” Strange asks lightly. “That’s a good sign, at least.”

Then the two fingers are rubbing gently - so gently! - against his prostate and the noise that slips from Peter is a mix between a moan and a shout. He needs more, needs it so bad it hurts and if only he were anywhere but here and with anyone with Dr. Strange!

“P-please…”

He’s not sure what he’s begging for at this point. More. Less. To go home, to have Dr. Strange never stop what he’s doing, something.

Just as he’s feeling it building, something warm and delicious that he hasn’t felt in so. long... Strange pulls his fingers free.

“No!” he whines.

“Peter, how many times do I have to remind you that my exam room isn’t your personal porn studio?” Strange asks coldly. “I’m trying to diagnose your ailment, yet you continue to fight against me one minute and then use me to try and get off the next.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter apologizes desperately. “I am, really! But I can’t help that it feels good! And isn’t that part of why I came to see you? Because I haven’t been able to feel good?”

Dr. Strange continues looking at him like he’s not worth the effort it takes to lift a stethoscope.

“Try to contain yourself,” Strange says finally.

Tearfully, Peter nods. It’s not fair! How is he supposed to control what his body feels?

“Have you forgotten how to speak?”

“No!” He squeaks. “I-I’ll try to… try to control myself.”

“We’ll see,” Strange says dismissively. He turned to the ultrasound cart. “I suppose it’s time to take a look inside. Do you think you can get a grip on yourself?”

Peter clenches and unclenches his fists. “Y-yes.”

“Forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.”

He grabs the probe-looking thing from the cart and turns on the laptop. “This,” he says, motioning with the probe thing. “Is an ultrasound transducer. I’ll be using this to take a look inside your rectum.”

“You’re going to stick that inside me?” Peter chokes out, horrified. “It’s too long! You’ll poke a hole up there!”

Dr. Strange lets out a long sigh and sets the transducer down.

“Unbelievable,” he says, looking down at Peter. “I have half a mind to just send you on your way and let you figure out your alleged problem on your own. If you’re not behaving like a hysteric little pervert in my office, you’re fighting me on every step of your medical care.”

Peter can’t exactly hang his head, restrained to the table as he is, but he feels lower than dirt. Why can’t he just comply?

“Tell me, are you this much of a brat to everyone else who tries to help you, or is it just deep disrespect you harbor for me in particular?”

“N-no!” Peter insists with a sob. “Dr. Strange, I’m not trying to be difficult, I swear! I-I just…”

“You just what, Peter? Hmm?”

“I-I get scared and embarrassed! I don’t know why my body reacts the way it does in here and I’m scared that something is seriously wrong with me!”

Why oh why didn’t he just learn to live with not getting off?

“And you didn’t think that communicating this with the doctor who is trying to help you was necessary?”

“I’m sorry,” Peter pleads brokenly.

“Your actions do speak louder than your words,” Strange says finally.

He pushes up Peter’s gown before picking the transducer back up, slicking it with the ultrasound gel. “Now, please remember that I, unlike you, am a trained doctor and in fact, do know more than you about this procedure.”

Tears running down his face, Peter nods.

An irritated sigh.

“Y-yes, Dr. Strange.”

The device slides inside of him and Peter gasps. Strange pays him no mind, focuses on the screen instead. He moves the transducer in and out, angles it this and that way.

Peter does his best to remain still, but on the prods against his prostate, he can’t keep his hips from canting. Strange notices - because of course, he does - and a strong, gloved presses down on Peter’s abdomen, halting his movements. Peter can’t stop the moan; he can feel the transducer inside of him and the pressure from Dr. Strange’s hand… it’s hell on earth and amazing all at once.

“I’m not seeing any masses,” Dr. Strange says, pulling out the transducer and setting it aside. “I’m going to do another check.” He connects another transducer to another port and after squeezing some ultrasound gel on Peter’s abdomen, presses it against Peter’s skin. Peter turns his head and sees the two-up display on the screen. He can see his insides!

There’s prodding at his rim and Peter lets out a gasp as Strange works two fingers inside. He can… he can see Dr. Strange’s fingers inside of him!

Strange angles his fingers and Peter’s hips jerk up.

“And there’s your prostate,” Strange tells him, directing his attention to a small gray spot on the screen. “Considering it’s still in working order, and everything is all clear on the ultrasound, I’m not seeing any physical reason for your ailment.” His fingers stroke over it again and again as he speaks and Peter moans.

“If there’s noth-” Peter breaks off because the sensation is so much. “Not physical then, oh, fuck! what is it?”

He’s close, the closest he’s been in forever and he wants to come more than he wants his next breath.

Strange pulls his fingers free and as terrible as it is to feel the orgasm cheerfully slipping away from him, it’s even worse seeing those fingers leave on the screen.

“At this point, I’m leaning towards psychological rather than physical.”

“I’m not crazy!” Peter insists tearfully.

“Of course, you’re not,” Strange says blandly.

“It doesn’t make any sense!” Peter finally says while Dr. Strange is wiping him clean of the ultrasound gel and setting everything on the cart back in order. “In here is the closest I’ve been to having an orgasm in since the problem started!”

“Hmm.” Strange pulls on another pair of gloves with a snap and watches as Peter’s cock twitches. “I wonder.”

He grabs the medical lube and slicks a gloved hand. Then he grasps Peter’s cock and begins to stroke.

Peter mind goes white for a few seconds as sensation floods him. Dr. Strange is methodically jerking him off, not too much pressure, not too fast. Just a slow steady up and down that has Peter wishing he could arch his hips into that amazing, gloved hand, get more friction… But even if he could, he figures Strange would just take his hand away leaving him desperate and wanting.

“Tell me,” Strange orders dispassionately. “Are you close to orgasm?”

Peter whines.

Strange’s hand leaves him and Peter cries out.

“I asked you a question, Peter.”

“Y-yes! I am! I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to tell me when you get close again, understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

It’s hell, heaven, as Dr. Strange jerks him off. Peter’s so desperate for it, so needy that when that cliff races towards him, he can’t keep his mouth shut.

“Fuck, yes! Right there, I’m close, I’m so close Dr. Strange, please-”

Strange takes his hand away and Peter lets out a sound like a wounded animal.

“Interesting,” Strange says clinically. “I wonder…”

He begins stroking again, only it doesn’t feel as… clinical? Methodical? It feels so good and Peter’s been denied an orgasm for so long, he’s desperate.

“How does this feel, Peter?” he’s asked.

“Good! Fuck, Doctor, it feels, feels so g-go-ow-oh!”

The hand is gone and everything good that’s been rushing toward him is pulled away like sand under a wave.

“Absolutely fascinating,” Strange comments, slowly looking from Peter’s erection up to his tear-streaked face and back again. In fact, he’s studying all of Peter quite closely as if he’s some kind of unusual experiment.

The “please” that Peter whispers, pained, settles around his gut with shame.

After what feels like an eternity, Dr. Strange wraps his hand around Peter’s cock and begins to stroke.

“Please, please, please!” He’s full-on begging for it. He doesn’t care, he’s desperate, and he’ll find a way to live with the fact Dr. Strange will forever think he’s a broken sex fiend that needs to be added to some kind of national registry after he comes. “I’ll do any-”hic“-anything!”

“I’m sure you would,” Strange says dismissively. But he keeps stroking.

Peter is lost to the sensation as Dr. Strange works his cock. Nothing has ever felt so good in his life, and it doesn’t matter if it’s all because of stupid Dr. Strange and his stupid latex-gloved hands and stupid condescending ways. He’ll deal with it because he wants to come so badly. It’s been so long…

The pleasure is building and building and fuck Dr. Strange is stroking him so perfectly, with enough of a grip to make it almost hurt in the best way.

He’s close, so close…

“You’ll be pleased to know that I’m confident I have a diagnosis, Peter,” Dr. Strange says. He’s still stroking.

“Wha-what? Real-fuck really?”

It’s there, right there, and his entire body tenses.

For the first time in nearly a month the glorious wave of release rushes over and through him and he’s coming, semen painting Strange’s gloved hand in thick spurts that never seem to end. Long shudders wrack his body with no outlet as he’s strapped down, helpless.

“Anorgasmia,” Dr. Strange says lightly. “Induced by erotophobia.”

Panting heavily, Peter tries - and fails - to process what Strange is telling him. It’s hard, when the doctor is continuing to stroke his cock as if to ensure Peter empties every drop of ejaculate he can.

“I don’t understand,” he says. The pleasure is shifting into something else. Like when he’s got a paper cut and everything around the area is too tender to touch.

“Of course, you don’t,” Strange scoffs. “It’s a much more sophisticated concept than what you’d be used to. But knowing what it is will allow me to treat you.”

The hand around his cock, gloved and slick with lubricant and Peter’s release, finally leaves his cock, which flops pathetically against his thighs.

“Isn’t that what you did just now?”

The look Strange gives him is so condescending that Peter’s face burns.

“No, everything I’ve done so far has been to diagnose, not treat.”

“But it took so long!” Peter complains.

“And whose fault was that?” Dr. Strange asks derisively, pulling the gloves off and disposing of them. “Who continuously withheld information and fought me every step of the way?”

Shame burns in him. Fuck, Strange is right.

“Well?” The question is caustic like salt in a wound.

“I did,” Peter whispers. “It’s my fault.”

“I’d say that I hope you’ll cooperate with your treatment, but even when the bar for my expectations of you is on the ground, somehow you always manage to find a shovel and dig even deeper.”

“I’ll do better, really!” He promises.

“I doubt it,” Strange replies. He walks over to his cabinets, opens a drawer, and when he turns back, Peter can see that he has a slim black box. “Anorgasmia is a type of sexual dysfunction. The individual cannot achieve orgasm even with adequate stimulation. It has a number of causes, such as injury or chronic disease, but yours is definitely psychiatric in nature.”

“I’m not crazy!” Peter insists.

“No, what you are, is afraid. Erotophobia is exactly what it sounds like: a fear of sex.”

“I’m not scared of sex, either,” Peter says stubbornly.

“No, not sex itself,” Strange agrees, pulling what Peter recognizes as a prostate massager from the box and shows it him before setting it back down in the box’s grooving. “Your fear is for what you’ve discovered about yourself sexually.”

Peter isn’t sure what Dr. Strange is talking about. He can’t get off because he’s scared about getting off? That doesn’t make any sense at all!

“Now, if you confront that fear, Peter, I have every reason to believe your little problem will go away.” Strange carefully pulls on a fresh pair of gloves with that maddeningly arousing snap.

Peter stubbornly looks at the soft light of the ceiling instead of Dr. Strange when he feels his cock twitch.

“So, as far as your treatment is concerned, it’s actually very simple.” Strange slicks up the prostate massager. “My advice to you, not that you’ve ever bothered to heed it before, is to relax.”

“Wha-” Peter can’t even get the word out before the massager slides inside of him. He feels it shift a bit and then there’s the most wonderful vibrations, right there. His cock begins to fill, blood racing.

“As far as kinks go, medical fetishism is fairly common,” Strange says as he starts to stroke Peter’s cock. “There’s actually a wide spectrum of elements that can be involved such as anesthesia, being placed in an iron lung, or just hoping for a glimpse of a naughty nurse. However, your attraction is to the loss of control you experience during medical exams and procedures.”

The vibrations are spine-tingling and with the doctor jerking him off, Peter can barely protest that ridiculous statement before another climax washes over him. It’s a hot kind of pleasure that has his toes actually curling and his chest rising and falling rapidly. He can’t believe he’s come twice so quickly after not being able to for so long.

“There we go,” Strange murmurs. He’s still stroking Peter’s cock as if determined to milk his orgasm as long as possible. It feels amazing until it doesn’t. And the massager inside of him hasn’t stopped. In fact, the vibrations only increase in power. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, though I can’t say I’m particularly pleased at your insistence on using my office for your sexual satisfaction.”

Strange’s hand continues its firm up and down grip on Peter’s limp cock and after a few minutes, somehow, Peter grows hard again. It’s too much, far too much and the vibrations against his prostate seem to affect everything deep inside of him. How on earth could he possibly come again? How could all of this even begin to arouse him?

“Once you allow yourself to admit that this is a kink of yours, your little problem should go away.” His thumb starts rubbing against the head of Peter’s cock, a maddeningly slow contrast to the heavy pulsing inside him.

“I c-can’t,” Peter manages. He can feel an orgasm building up and he’s terrified it will wreck him.

“I’m not telling you to act out your kinks, just accept them,” Strange says, not entirely misinterpreting Peter’s meaning.

The climax rips through him and he distantly hears the cry he lets out, feels the little bit of ejaculate that Dr. Strange seems intent on milking from him.

It has to be over, right?

“You’re making progress,” Dr. Strange says. He bends slightly to inspect the massager and Peter is nearly giddy with relief that it’s over. Until Dr. Strange presses a button on the base of the massager and the vibrations don’t stop. No, they change into something low and gradually buildup to a sensation that has stars flashing behind Peter’s eyes before dropping down to that low buzz. It happens again. Again.

Still, Dr. Strange resumes his stroking, only pausing to add more lubricant.

“Please,” Peter begs weakly. “Doctor, please…”

He can’t do it again. He can’t…

“Just accept them, Peter,” Dr. Strange insists.

He feels like his senses have been dialed up to eleven. The tears welling up at the overstimulation fall down his cheeks and down his temples. He can’t, there’s no way. It’s too much, too soon, and no, Peter doesn’t-

“You are aroused by medical procedures and the loss of your control that goes with them, Peter,” Strange says calmly. “You have a medical fetish. It’s really very simple.”

“I-I don’t,” Peter sniffles out. “I-I’m n-not a…” he can’t get the word out; shame is low and hot in his belly.

“Don’t lie to your doctor, Peter.” Strange’s voice is cold, stern. “Your erection is proving otherwise.”

The realization that Strange isn’t wrong, that his cock, so useless and unfulfilled for so long, is again growing erect has Peter closing his eyes at the humiliation.

“There’s nothing left,” Peter mumbles. “I can’t.”

“And yet, I must insist on finishing your treatment,” Strange says, stroking and thumbing over the slit of his cockhead. “You’ve wasted enough of my time and energy just so you can get off. The fact that you best enjoy doing so when you’re supposed to be getting medically tended to is hardly a case worthy of my particular skills, yet here we are.”

God, Dr. Strange is right. Peter’s been nothing but an inconvenience and now Peter’s fighting him again and he deserves it, deserves just how much the next orgasm - if he can call it that - is going to hurt. The vibrations are still going from low to high over and over and with another press of a button, the intensity of the pattern increases just like his cock.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “S-sorry-”

“Don’t be sorry,” Strange retorts, voice dripping with condescension. “Accept your diagnosis and treatment before I’m forced to take drastic measures and castrate you. Maybe then you’ll be a compliant patient, for once.”

Visions spark in his head at Strange’s cruel words. Surely the doctor would never… couldn’t…

“It would be a poetic sort of justice, my ensuring that you’ll never be able to pleasure yourself again after having been so disrespected in my attempts to help you, wouldn’t it?” Strange asks lightly.

Peter whimpers as the sensation builds and builds…

“Admit it, Peter,” Strange orders. “Just admit that you enjoy this.”

“I-I l-love t-thi-is,” he stammers out. The orgasm floods over him like a tidal wave, then pulls him back out to a sea of raw sensation that doesn’t exactly feel good but somehow, feels just this side of too much.

“Finally, there’s a good patient,” Dr. Strange drawls, hand stroking his cock slowing, stopping. He turns the massager down, and then off. Peter dimly registers his ass clenching around the massager as if to keep it inside of him, but Strange pulls it free with a squelch.

“Now, I’m going to undo the restraints and you’re going to take your time getting up,” Strange says briskly, removing and disposing of the gloves. The straps are loosened, and Peter just stays where he is, useless. “I’ll need to refer you to a therapist and put in an order for electrolyte-infused water.” He glowers down at Peter. “Try to contain your libido while I step out.”

It’s an unnecessary request, since the last thing Peter is concerned about is getting off, not when he’s boneless and sated, tingles still racing through him in the best way. The sound of Strange leaving the room and shutting the door is so far away…

“Peter, sweetheart, are you with me?” Stephen asks. He’s back and gently, carefully helping Peter sit up, ensuring he has a hand on Peter the entire time.

“Hmm? Yeah,” Peter says, still buzzed and bleary with endorphins. “Yeah, ’m here.”

“Good, drink some water for me,” Stephen insists. “Slowly now, there we go…”

Peter nearly laughs when he realized that Stephen hadn’t been joking about the added electrolytes. “You brought me the good water,” he says.

“Nothing but the best for you,” Stephen says warmly, rubbing his back where the hospital gown gaped open. “You did so good, Peter. You were so perfect.”

“I did good?” Peter does laugh. “Jesus, Stephen, you’re the one who had me coming until I was dry!”

“I didn’t go too far, did I?” He carefully helps Peter into a pair of loose but cozy sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt of Stephen’s from Columbia that’s seen better days.

“Mmm, no,” Peter assured him. “No, you were perfect, like always.” He shoots Stephen a sly grin as a sparking gold ring envelops them and they’re in their living room. “You just had to work it in though, didn’t you?”

Stephen chuckles, inclines his head. “You have your kinks, I have mine. You’re okay though?” he asks, more seriously. “Do you need anything?”

When they’re cozied up together on the sofa, Peter leaning heavy against Stephen and obediently opening his mouth to take, chew, swallow the cut-up fruit and granola bites that he’s being fed, he finally answers.

“Just hold me, like this,” he says. “And maybe promise me you’re not going to put that impotence spell on me again. Three weeks without getting off is a lot.”

“You asked for that spell,” Stephen reminds him. “Insisted on it, actually.”

“Only for the scene,” Peter clarifies. “I was probably a bit too enthusiastic about having it last as long as it did.”

“Worth it, though?”

Peter thinks back on the scene, on how Stephen had finally made him come, and then come again and again, pleasure growing and crashing through him. “So worth it!” He sighs, yawns. “We need to do one of yours, next,” he insists. “I’m kind of curious how you’d do it without actually doing it, y’know?”

Stephen laughs, drops a kiss on his head. “Let’s let you recover before we start worrying about my particular perversions,” he says. “Besides, I’ve had it planned out in my mind for weeks.”

Peter shivers but smiles and nestles in further to his side.

“Best doctor ever,” he says, and dozes off.

<<<>>>

Like in Private Practice and in It's All Routine, this is a negotiated and discussed scene and both Stephen and Peter are enthusiastically consenting.

#couldntbedamned fic #spiderstrange #spideystrange #peter parker x stephen strange #stephen strange x peter parker #medical roleplay #medkink #medfet #doctor strange x peter parker #peter parker x doctor strange #read the fucking warnings #no seriously read them

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ideas-on-paper · 1 year ago

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This is probably the best explanation for Carlo's death I've seen so far. Not only does it explain the Stalker's grief about being too late, it also puts her appearance in these memories in proper context. Btw, I do remember one episode of Sherlock (the BBC series) where two children were kidnapped from a boarding school, and the kidnapper used the end of term - when parents came to pick up their children and there were many strangers about anyway - as an opportunity to get in.

I think the Petrification Disease has been around for longer than the incident at Monad Charity House, though. I unfortunately don't have screenshots of it, but I do remember a loading screen tip where it's stated that when the Petrification Disease first occurred, it was believed to only affect the Alchemists (like a very specific population group). This makes me believe it has been around for a longer time, and the Alchemists probably already did a fair amount of experiments on it.

There's actually another loading screen tip which is really interesting, about the Stargazer at Hotel Krat. It's said that the Stargazer was built experimentally to test how big a Stargazer can be, but when Antonia bought the Hotel, it was treated mostly as a nuisance. This implies that the Stargazer already was there before Antonia took over the Hotel, which begs the question: why?

After reading all of the lore tidbits again in NG+, I actually came up with the theory that it might have once been a facility where the Alchemists conducted experiments with Ergo, since the Hotel is confirmed to have had former connections with them. The "mental institution" was only a façade, and they deliberately exposed the patients to Ergo spores. Meanwhile, the Stargazer in the lobby ensured that the air in the hallways was kept clean and the people outside the cells wouldn't be subjected to it. Also, if the Alchemists did experiments with Ergo there, this might also explain the "hallucinations" the patients were seeing, because as we know from Test Subject 826, the memories stored in Ergo can be "read" if it's ingested, which can cause pretty vivid recollections. (Btw, it's noteworthy that all records from back when the Hotel was used as a mental facility were - very conveniently - destroyed in a large fire.)

So, the Petrification Disease probably already did exist beforehand. As you said, the disease advances rather slowly and painfully, so I'm not sure if it could cause such a large-scale catastrophe in such a short time. Instead, I have the suspicion that the Monad Charity House incident might be the first time that the Alchemists used the Petrification Disease cure - or "the carcass turn-potion", as I like to call it.

My theory is that they deliberately infected a good portion of the students and administered the cure to them shortly after, all in a relatively short period of time just before graduation. The sick students had mostly recovered and were believed to be able to leave soon, while Carlo had to stay behind because Geppetto didn't come to pick him up. Regarding the orphans, I did a little research, and in the 19th century children from orphanages usually were placed in an apprenticeship at 14 years of age (although in some cases 16 or 17), at which point they'd leave the orphanage. However, I'd like to imagine the kids from Monad Charity House could choose to stay a day longer to make preparations, and since Romeo probably wanted to remain at Carlo's side as long as possible, he stayed.

And that's when tragedy struck: The day before, everything seemed perfectly fine, when suddenly the next night, these terrifying monsters came out of nowhere, and the students had to fight for their dear lives.

Perhaps the "cure" was new and the Alchemists wanted to test how it works, with their experiment getting a little out of hand. However, if it wasn't an accident, I could imagine it as a ploy by Simon to get rid of Valentinus. Either way, if Carlo truly died in a fight, this would provide a plausible explanation for it.

Meanwhile, if Romeo was present, he must've gotten out of this mess somehow - however, he would have to flee by foot, and considering the theory that the Monad Charity House might be located somewhere in the countryside (some people believe the painting in the Lobster Inn to be a depiction of it), it might have taken him multiple days to get to Krat, potentially with the first symptoms of the Petrification Disease setting in (if didn't have it before, I'd suspect he would at least have contracted it after the incident).

This would also solve a slight continuity problem: Since Geppetto designed Romeo to be the King of Puppets to execute his plan with the frenzy, he couldn't possibly have done that without the knowledge of Carlo's death and his intention to create P. Thus, I think Geppetto actually tasked the mysterious Stalker to go to the Charity House and look for his son, since he was probably worried about him after he heard what happened there. The Stalker then returned (probably by carriage) with Carlo's body, while Romeo arrived a few days later, tired, battered, and ravaged by the disease, asking Geppetto to build him a puppet body. (This would also explain why Romeo was determined to continue fighting to protect people; after all, he was one of the few who actually knew about the carcasses, and it's not like you can battle a disease with weapons.)

The tragic part about this is that all of this could've been prevented - if Geppetto actually picked up Carlo from the school at graduation day and Romeo wouldn't have stayed behind, they wouldn't have been caught in this disaster. Still, I wonder if the children who left Monad Charity House might have been catalysts for the Petrification Disease outbreak in the city, as they might not have been aware they were infected before returning home (if any of them received the cure before their departure, they might have even turned into carcasses later).

I think carlo died shortly after his graduation, at the rose estate incident, when the disease was purposefully unleashed on a group of people.

The strange circumstances surrounding Carlo's death.

We're told through the loading screens that "Geppetto's son" died from the petrification disease, but there's also a couple of baffling details about his death.

The Stalker

The stalker makes a series of cryptic comments that don't seem to add up with what we are being told through-game.

My god... No... I'm sorry... I was too late... I wish I'd got here sooner... If I had known this would happen...

If Carlo was already infected by the time we see him talking to the stalker and before his collapse, then he would already have been for dead. "If I had known this would happen.." If she had known what would happen, then what could she have done if she got there sooner? If he died from a disease she could not have prevented, then why is she too late? Yes, it's not impossible for her to feel that way, or that she shouldn't prevent the earlier death of a dying boy, but it still strikes me as odd if Carlo ultimately died from disease related complications.

And if Carlo died from the disease, then why is the stalker involved at all?

The uniform

We see his death "first-hand", and he's lying on the floor, seemingly still dressed in his school uniform. [He's lying face up, almost as though to show us the easily identifiable tassel]

From what we see of the disease's victims (Antonia, Sophia, NPCS, and Romeo), and because of the nature of disease itself, it seems as though it's a slow and suffering end. If he died from disease, we would have expected some time to have passed between his meeting the stalker and his death. And yet, he seems to have died not long after his graduation. Why do we know this? Because he is still wearing his school uniform.

Who knows, maybe he just liked wearing it. But it's this little detail coupled with other factors that makes it seem strange.

The petrification disease

Carlo came from aristocracy, and we can see that the very wealthy and affluent people of Krat could afford medical care (namely, Antonia). Death by the petrification disease seems to be long, slow, and suffering, as Sophia seems to allude [as is the nature of disease in general]. But above all - the disease is by name and by nature, debilitating.

And yet, Carlo seems to be neither hospitalized nor quarantined, and seemingly died wearing the uniform. If some time had passed between his graduation and his death, would Carlo have snuck out somewhere, sick to the brink of death, dressed in his school uniform of all things, only to collapse and be found by the stalker? He would barely have been able to move.

[Is his graduation and the school outfit meant to tell us that it has been mere hours between him meeting the stalker and his death?]

Why are we being shown this memory?

All of the memories we see are what we can infer to be important or pivotal moments in Carlo's life. But what about this one? Why are WE the audience being shown this?

We see him as a distressed child over being left at a boarding school, and we see what is perhaps the very moment he lost all faith in his father, and we see his death. These are all pivotal moments. But it's the importance of the stalker that confused me. All of these moments seem emotionally charged, and sure, this was probably a bad memory for the deceased Carlo; But surely he had a plethora of them. What's so important about Carlo being rejected by the stalker?

It crumbles into dust, and several yards later we see the same person standing over his body, saying she was too late. The stalker memory is immediately followed by Carlo's death. I think the reason we're seeing this moment is because we're supposed to assume that this is what lead to his death. The graduation memory "ends" with her arrival ["Oh, She's here! Grab her!"], and she's later seen mourning over his body, so there's an almost immediate connection with his death, and between the last memory and the previous one.

Carlo's ergo

Maybe he was attacked, instead? But Carlo must've had the petrification disease, because we have his Ergo, and Ergo is the "natural" result of the disease. Non-withstanding the game's entire plot, Pino undeniably has his Ergo: his memories appear to us in the end section of the game, and we remember things we could not possibly have remembered ("Carlo").

And yet!!! [again].. Let's make some assumptions, that Carlo was perfectly healthy otherwise on the day of his graduation. He is rejected by the stalker, who then leaves, and not long after, she has returned to find him dead of the petrification disease. If it hasn't been much time, and he appeared otherwise completely healthy when meeting the stalker, he appears to have succumbed to the disease within hours.

The Rose estate incident

If Carlo died in the Rose estate incident - in which a great number of people were killed, why does the stalker stand over Carlo specifically, as if she’s personally “responsible”?

And If the attack at the Rose Estate was indeed a biological one (in which the disease was purposely unleashed on a group of people), and both Romeo and Carlo had not yet contracted it by the time they were graduating; there would have been some time in between his graduation, the stalker, and his actual death. Why would Carlo have succumbed so quickly to the disease - shortly after we see him meeting the stalker - when others, namely Romeo, seemed to have survived for longer [long enough at least to strike a "deal with the devil" to fight the epidemic]? I'm not sure. But if we can ignore the details of exactly how he died, I can make a couple of assumptions of what happened.

Putting it all together

What I think happened is that the Rose Estate attack happened on the last day of school, and that the attack was a biological one. If Carlo and Romeo grew up in a world without the petrification disease, then this would be the moment it was unleashed on their world. If he died in the Rose Estate attack, and he was at school, then it reasonably had to have been the final day he was there [because the school was closed after the attack].

Carlo asked her to teach him. What's she going to do, drop everything and train him right then and there? When we see Carlo asking to be trained by her, ostensibly he is asking her to take him with her ("I'm off"). The reason why she feels partially responsible for his death is because if she had taken him with her at that moment, then he would not have been there when the incident took place.

Also, we know that Gemini stayed behind with Carlo, who is said to have been a friend of Sophia's, and later became our little lamp guy. So if he were a stalker, this is where he would've also contracted the disease.

To reiterate, assuming that the stalker could have prevented his death entirely - shortly after meeting her is when Carlo got sick at the Monad house. If he had left, he would not have been there to contract any disease. I think Carlo being left behind was what "killed" him.

Why Graduation day?

As we can see, Carlo is lamenting that his father didn't show up for what is presumably his ceremony. This an event in which parents, caregivers, and community members would be expected to attend, meaning the school would have been open to outsiders.

Why the charity house?

Because of the Monad family, Sophia, and to overthrow Valentinus.

Some more loose assumptions and thoughts

The graduation ceremony is when (I’m assuming) the parents come to pick up their children.

“He didn’t even come to your graduation?”

So this ceremony has passed already. Would the parents show up to the ceremony, leave, and come back to pick up the kids on the next day at a boarding school? Probably not. They were probably there to pick up their children. Maybe the orphaned kids were staying at the charity house? [To be honest, I'm not sure how boarding schools work]

When Lampwick says, “It’s lucky you have any family at all”, perhaps it suggests that he had no background. Meaning both Carlo and Lampwick were left behind at the charity house on graduation, hence they both got sick. If Geppetto had shown up and taken Carlo home, he probably would’ve lived. So the graduating class of the charity house are leaving, and Carlo is asking to go with the legendary stalker?

It doesn’t sound like two boys grappling with the end of their lives. If they are infected at this point they don’t know it.

I'm guessing this is akin to high school, given that they were training to be stalkers, and specializing in your field would be like post-secondary.

#lies of p #lies of p spoilers #lore theories #monad charity house

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