#and yet you're nobody. isn't that wonderful?

[eorzeashan]

Sort of turning over thoughts in my head (and you've all seen enough of me yelling about swords lately) but even without the Inquisitor story, Eight and Talos already go way back -- before Talos ever meets the Inquisitor, Eight was often pirated from Intelligence to be Talos' bodyguard whenever he stumbled across dangerous knowledge or artifacts that would put a target on a humble archaeologist like him. they're good partners and good friends, and at first, Eight was not happy about being pulled into nonsense work for other branches, but as Talos tends to get wrapped up in situationsTM while gleefully chasing that spark of knowledge, things got rather...exciting and he found himself conscripted more and more on his expeditions (which he himself ended up liking and fostering his own fascination with the world which Talos studied). It's but one of the reasons why he expresses less derision towards Force-users compared to his other agent siblings.

This dynamic doesn't stop even when Eight is assigned to spy on Lord Zash (as my way of justifying him in the Inquisitor story) and even further beyond, where reuniting in the Alliance if the PC recruits both of them at the same time triggers a little cutscene where they happily point each other out, sort of like SCORPIO and Kaliyo.

I've also decided that whether in his own timeline of KOTFE/ET or a different Commander's, Eight's sword is one that he and Talos discovered on yet another scouting expedition to ancient ruins looking for Jedi remnants. They were too late to save the Jedi who sent the distress call from a remote planet of Je'daii ruins, and so unexpectedly ran into a trap of Zakuul Knights everywhere who had also intercepted the signal and lay in wait to try and capture the Outlander, but as Eight does, he protected both of them well enough-- but the situation was dicey enough that they had to hide in the Je'daii village.

Further discovery and Talos' nosey self revealed the site of many a Je'daii forge and one lone sword hidden under centuries of ash and dust, but Eight would note that it appeared to be unfinished, left on a whetstone all by itself. No sword guard, a misshapen piece strung together by wire above where the collar is supposed to be...it appeared the Jedi they'd come to rescue had spent all their lonely months trying to restore it. By this time, all the heavy fighting has long since snapped Eight's own vibroblade in two, so he takes it with him. It turns out to be the key to making it off-planet, as the original smith of the Je'daii sword made it as a lament to his people's descent into war and their own inability to find another way, and so left it as a gift to the future in the hopes that one day it would be used by someone unfettered by their mistakes, who walked the in-betweens and retained the strength that the smith lacked in their life. Eight's heart resonates with the force imbued into the blade, unbeknownst to him as this is, as he simply marvels at the craftsmanship and remarks that whoever made it put love and care into forging it, and decides that he'll be its custodian out of respect for the life that this one Je'daii lived. Talos urges him on to keep it and recreate the way it was used (mostly for his own anthropological studies), but also as a secret gift to his long-standing bodyguard of an agent who still walks with the soul of a warrior.

There's a lot of ruminating on the Force and the past during this little arc, and Eight is a bit starry-eyed by the thought that the Sith and the Jedi used to be one, like a confirmation to his dream of living side-by-side to both these respective cultures. He and Talos emerge from the gauntlet with a newfound appreciation for being tourists in this strange history, as well as the knowledge that someone from thousands of years prior could feel the same way you do now.

Anyways, long ramble aside, I really liked the idea that Eight's sword is still a Je'daii sword which opens his eyes to a bit of their storied past since he has little to no experience with Jedi but needs to understand them in his own way as well in order to truly live as part of their secret world. Like the red sageo cord on his belt dyed in the blood of Sith, I thought it'd be nice if he carried another's object of grief and unfulfilled wishes on his back like that.

There's something about ancient history and touching it as someone who has no relation to it that really speaks to me, and the idea of non-force users taking up their legacy is sweet, imo. Like we'll take care of you even when you're long gone. It's the kind of love that you don't really see between the Force-sensitive and Force-blind in-game.

And a sword must be used. It has no use without a wielder, even if its very existence is a question that cannot be answered on whether the world is better off without a weapon that can only be used for violence, good intentions aside. That sword was created to answer that very question, of which its blacksmith could not answer themselves and hoped for another to take up the blade in their place.

In that blade, Eight sees himself.

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

Shall we discuss Arthur

I said they are our slaves. It isn't a matter of pride it's just the truth.

Uh yes Sir, here are the documents from 1925. Who filed them, ah well the answer to that feels complicated. I have them though, so take it for what it's worth.

Maybe it was that rascal Aaron Burr

I won't know if he says anything about them. I do have a tendency to leave him speechless.

At the same time of course he would choose me as an apprentice. Like, name someone not womb bonded to me that would have been better. And the womb bonded got to experience it anyway.

[tofixtheshadows]

This is one of my favorite minor details in Dungeon Meshi, firstly because what in the femme fatale, but also because it's one of those little things that raises so many questions about worldbuilding.

The Occam's Razor defense attorney in me says that Ryoko Kui gave Kabru a boot knife because she wanted him to escape from his bonds here. And Kabru is a very competent swordsman, why wouldn't he have a boot knife, sure. He's already got a dagger, he can have this too.

And yet: the implications. Kabru, why do you have that? That is not remotely something that could be easily accessed or used in combat. Nobody is pulling out a pen knife from the heel of their boot during a fight with a monster. It's useless in the dungeon ... unless you're the type of person who isn't just worried about monsters.

I've mentioned this before, but I consider one of Kabru's functions in the narrative as being the character who fully brings the idea of human ecosystems into the story. There's a reason why he's always connected to large groups of people (Toshiro's party, the Canaries). He (along with Mr. Tansu, briefly) introduces the reader to the social and political forces working on the dungeon, showing us that none of this is happening in a monster-filled vacuum. His confrontation with the corpse retrievers, who very nearly kill Kabru's party permanently with their reckless murder-for-money scheme, reminds us that monsters are not the only things that prey on humans. Kabru understands the ways the dungeon causes people to put profit over human lives.

We only get hints of it in the story, but like any gold-rush-style economic boom, it's implied that there is a lot of crime and corruption surrounding the dungeon.

So yeah, it really makes me wonder why Kabru keeps a tiny knife in his boot, meant to be carried on him even in situations where he would otherwise be unarmed. Stored exactly in the place where it's easy to reach, even if, for some reason, your hands are tied behind your back.

[undiscovered-horizon]

[It’s considered good etiquette to ask a man about his wife’s wellbeing. Except if the man in question is Dracule Mihawk.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Garp hates having to call Mihawk, mainly because of the warlord's attitude. Used to the usual "yes, sir!" of the Marines, a man with his own will and agenda is not something he entirely knows how to navigate. Especially since both of them know that the World Government needs the warlords more than they need the bureaucracy. And that doesn't exactly help in exercising power.

His attempts at diplomacy have burst into flames each time and today isn't going to be much different:

"How’s the missus?" Garp asks in the nicest tone he can force although he's aware that Mihawk knows how much the vice admiral hates asking for Dracule's assistance.

Mihawk only scoffs. "Are you calling just to spoil my mood or is there another reason for your impertinence?"

"I was just trying to-"

"Don't," he cuts him off in a stern voice. "If you have business with me, speak fast. If you're interested in my wife, I know where you live, Garp. I'd suggest losing your unwelcome nosiness before you lose something else."

Little did Garp know at the time but his little question was possibly the worst strategy he could think of. Dracule Mihawk is not like most men and the mere mention of his wife by acquaintances only enrages him. Work and private life do not ever mix. And he'll be damned if someone tries to breach that, even in the form of a courtesy. Therefore, the rest of the call was filled with openly insulting answers that were bold even for Mihawk. A veiled threat or two also found their way into their rather tense conversation.

You know he's done with Garp when he lets out a frustrated grunt. Sometimes you wonder if this grumpy, forever dissatisfied version of him is the only side of Mihawk his acquaintances know. Maybe he really is two men in the form of one.

He's sitting at his desk, thinking about something and not bothering to get up for now. Considering the fact that his hat is lying on the table and not on his head, Mihawk is probably not planning on going out anytime soon. Then again, judging by his spoiled mood, his homestay is a blessing for the first poor sods that would cross his path.

In slow steps, you stroll to his side, letting your hand brush through his hair. He doesn't say anything, only leans his head further towards you. The thing about Mihawk is that he loved to reject and decline but he never does so to you. No, in your case it's the opposite - he revels in allowing you whatever you want.

So intimidating and combative, yet soft and looking for intimacy. Truly, two men with the face of one.

"My mother used to say that each grey hair is one thing we worry about," you say quietly. "At this rate, love, your whole head will be white by noon."

"Your mother also says that milk goes sour because gnomes piss in it," he retorts. Yes, your mother and her strange folk beliefs... She's probably the only person Mihawk can force himself to be nice to despite his dislike.

His response earns a hearty laugh from you. Clear as day, you can see his posture relax as he listens to the music of your happiness. If he even thinks about the possibility of Garp or any other of his acquaintances hearing it, he might just get furious again.

"Well, nobody's perfect," you say between chuckles.

Then, Mihawk gently grabs your hand and lowers it to his face. With softness and passion that hardly befits a man of his infamy, he kisses the inside of your hand. "You seem to be doing so effortlessly."

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

you wonder how todoroki shoto is doing.

you remember him being the boy that sat a row away from you in class. he always kept to himself, never raising his hand to answer questions but always able to answer when he was called on. also, he was endeavor's son.

even if most of the parents at your private school where big shot's, apparently endeavor was in a league of his own. and so was his son, apparently.

nobody even dared talking to the todoroki son, and neither did you, but you liked looking at him. he's always so meticulous and calm as opposed to your rowdier louder classmate's. despite his quieter presence he always seemed to stand out to you. his bag is big enough to carry everything he needs without having to shove anything inside or leaving it half opened. he wipes his mouth with a tissue after he's done eating his lunch alone and his handwriting is pretty. his lashes are long and he's pretty.

you remember being partnered up with him for a class project once. he'd immediately cut to the chase and split the work for the both of you, clearly not humoring your attempts of starting conversation.

slowly though, you start getting him to stay behind to talk to you a little longer after the bell rings until he invites you to get your work done in the library, just to get your work done. until you ask him about his favorite colour and he doesn't know, so he asks you yours. and then you ask him about his favorite ice cream flavour, he says he doesn't have sweets a lot and he asks you yours. and you keep talking and he keeps listening and asking. you ask him if it doesn't bother him that you're talking so much but he says he doesn't mind.

you liked spending time at the library talking with shoto and you think he enjoyed listening to you. you liked riding your bike home with him while he walked next you, before he agreed to ride on it with you sometimes, but one time you both fell off and you hurt your knee, and he promised to never get on again if it meant you getting hurt while carrying you on his back. you remember him smelling really nice and you tightening your arms around his neck and nuzzling into him, and his grip on you tightening as well.

you liked holding his left hand when it got cold out even though he didn't like it much, but he'd do it for you. you liked it when you got to switch seats and sit next to him and you think he liked sitting next to you. you didn't see shouto smile often, but he did when he was with you and you liked that. and you think he liked that too.

you think so at least. you hope so, because when break was over he was gone.

you'd heard he got pulled out of school, some other people just said he'd switched, to go to a better cooler private school. you hated it when people said that because the shoto you knew wasn't like that. he knew people talked about him and he hated being associated with his father. he likes the caramel you sneak in for him at school and you like the way his eyes light up when he guesses the flavour of fruit candies you make him taste. the shoto you know that ties your shoes for you and shares his umbrella with you, the one who half heartedly stomps into wet puddles with you, the one with the pretty lashes and pretty smile and pretty handwriting isn't like that.

and you wished you could've asked him where he went, and why he went and took his warmth for snowy winter days with him, but you couldn't because he didn't have a phone and neither did you. you weren't old enough for one yet and you'd told him that as soon as you'd turn thirteen he'd be the first contact in your phone and he'd smiled.

you couldn't do that anymore. and you wonder how he's doing four years later.

you don't very much, but you think about him sometimes when his soft hair and pretty eyes cross your mind. he never cared for his looks much even after being voted the most handsome boy by the girls in class.

"i didn't know people thought i was..handsome." he ponders, scratching at the corner of his paper with his pencil. you kick your legs in the air where you're sitting next to him, you pout.

"why not ?"

"because..my scar.." he trails off, he keeps erasing at a spot he'd already wiped the pencil lead off of. you lean in so you get into his field of vision and he leans back a bit with widened eyes before leaning in towards you again, you're forwardness always took him by surprise.

"nuh-uhn, the others say it makes you look even more handsome !" you reassure and he blinks.

"do you think i'm handsome ?" he asks, tilting his head cutely. you splutter and feel your face heat up.

"e-everyone does.."

"do you ?" he leans closer.

you gulp, gripping your chair you turn your head away from his to the side and nod. you get the courage to peek up at him and you're surprised to see a smile pulling at his lips and a light tint of pink on his face.

"that's good." is all he says, but you feel so much warmth swarming through you, and you think he does, too.

so you wonder where he is and you wonder how he's doing. you wonder if he has any new friends or if his most handsome boy award got him a girlfriend. you wonder if he truly felt the same way you did way back then and if he liked holding your hand just as much is you did his because it was warm but also because it was his. and you wonder if he thinks about you.

except you don't have to wonder anymore. because on your first day at your new school, he walks into class. his eyes widen when he locks eyes with you and you recognize him, and you think he does too.

[inkskinned]

but they don't care about the burnout. everyone is burnt out, they tell me. who isn't burnt out!

the good news is they don't say depression is a choice as much anymore, but the symptoms for burn out and depression are so hand-in-hand that they are mirror images of each other. but depression is serious. you're not depressed, you're just whiny. they barely change the script - don't be lazy! burn out is for people with real problems. burn out can be resolved with some fun candles and a day off work. burn out only happens in adults - no kid can be burnt out, after all; they've barely even had a life to live!

do you have a roof over your head and a steady job? you're not burnt out. so what if every night you wake up with a panic attack frothing inside your chest. you're lucky your problems are small. get back into plants or into yoga. shut up about it.

rich people get burnt out and go to fancy places. they get burnt out in their fancy offices with their real-people problems. they get burnt out and hire an assistant to help them never burn out again. you don't have the money to burn out. you don't have the two weeks to recover in a local spa. the job you come back to will still be stressful and hard.

you find yourself often wondering - does nobody remember about the pandemic? it seems almost like a joke or a punchline. being burnt-out was okay "during" the pandemic. now that people are back to ignoring covid, burnout is just-an-excuse again.

you google how to know if it's seasonal affective disorder or burnout. you google how to know if it's anxiety or it's burnout from working. you google how to know if my depression is back or i'm burning out badly.

coming back from burnout just leaves you covered in ashes, not new growth. you struggle to get back basics, and then - you're just supposed to get back up and keep going. every day the amount of tasks you are able to do seems to dwindle even further - where does the time go? why is everything moving so-fast-and-yet-so-slow?

my therapist and i were talking about how many people had latent mental illnesses that were triggered by the pandemic. how depression can be environmental and situational. i am annoyingly logic-driven about my own recovery - i like to be sure i'm working on the "right" thing. i tell her i feel like i'm lying. that it just might be burnout, and i need to stop complaining. she asks me what words come to mind when i think of burning.

oh, i guess i see.

we casually ignore the violence of being left empty.

[osaemu]

NAKAHARA CHUUYA: ❛❛ WRONG PLACE, RIGHT TIME ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ a quick fuck with chuuya in his office is riskier than you'd expect, but it's so worth it. NSFW

contents: fem!reader. public sex (you almost get caught), desk sex, blowjob, fingering, manhandling, brief handjob, praise kink, degradation, use of slut, implied edging, pussy slapping, chuuya briefly forces you to ride his foot under his desk.

author's note: very self-indulgent bcs i can't stop thinkin' about chuuya

"shit, baby, keep looking pretty just f'me," chuuya groans from above you, one hand tangled in your hair. you're kneeling underneath his desk and giving him the riskiest blowjob known to man. anyone could just walk in and see you two, but thankfully, nobody's entered chuuya's office—yet.

you swirl your tongue on his reddening tip, smiling when chuuya lets out another breathy groan. his eyes are fixated on you, only you, even as his grip on the pen in his hand threatens to snap it in half. "f-fuck, you and your slutty tongue," chuuya curses, foot bouncing on the floor as you hum in response. the vibration nearly drags another long, loud moan out of chuuya, but he swallows it back.

"are you try'n to get us caught?" he hisses, tightening his grip on your hair. chuuya forces your mouth farther on his dick, grinning when your gag reflex kicks in. "c'mon, doll, you can take it."

due to chuuya's dick being shoved down your throat, it gets a little harder to breathe. you whine and nudge chuuya's leg, fluttering your eyelashes at him in an attempt to get him to loosen his grip on your hair. he laughs and shakes his head, touching the outside of your thigh with his shoe.

"look at you, kneelin' under my desk and looking so pretty f'me," chuuya cooes, ignoring the whimpers that escape your lips. "deep breaths, sweetheart. breathe through your nose, it'll get easier, i promise. you're doing so fuckin' good."

you obey and try to inhale through your nose, but it's hard—the air is thick and warm around his dick, but it gets a little more bearable. so you continue sucking him off, tongue lapping at his tip as chuuya struggles to suppress the groans that keep slipping from his lips.

right as chuuya's breaths get to a whole new level, you hear the door to his office creak open and chuuya shoves you entirely under his desk. his foot pushes you to the very back of it as he forces a scowl onto his flushed features. "the fuck you want?" he hisses at whoever opened the door.

"is this a bad time?" a familiar voice replies hesitantly. you recognize it instantly—akutagawa ryunosuke, another member of the port mafia. he pauses before continuing, "i can come back another ti—"

"no, it's fine," chuuya mutters, taking his hat from where it's perched on the corner of his desk and setting it on his head. from your spot under his desk, you can see just how red his face is—no wonder akutagawa sounded so reluctant to ask for something from chuuya.

"are you sure?" akutagawa asks, and you reach up and brush your fingers over chuuya's dick. chuuya flinches and an almost imperceptible sound escapes his lips before he quickly covers it up by shaking his head.

"just tell me," chuuya says briskly, features pinched and bright red. he slips his foot in between your thighs and teases your soaking pussy, and his movements are a little rougher than you'd expect. you suppress a soft moan at the way his shoe rubs against your pussy, and reach up to give chuuya a handjob.

when your thumb brushes against his leaking tip, chuuya swallows and rests his chin in one of his hands while resting the same elbow on his desk. akutagawa starts talking about some mission, but you can tell that chuuya's attention is entirely fixated on you. he slips his foot farther in between your thighs and bounces it, forcing you to essentially ride it.

"chuuya, are you alrig—" akutagawa starts, but chuuya cuts him off quickly.

"now really isn't a—fuck—good time," chuuya manages to force out, forehead pressed into his hand. he grits his teeth and hisses something about a headache, and akutagawa leaves a moment later. the second he's gone, chuuya reaches down and drags you out from under his desk. "you fuckin' brat, couldn't keep your hands to yourself for two goddamn seconds?" he snarls, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face. 

you smile cheekily as chuuya manhandles you onto his desk, scattering papers and pens on the floor as he rolls you onto your back. you flinch at the sudden cold from his desk on your skin, but chuuya wastes no time in spreading your legs and studying your pussy. "god, have you been this wet the whole time?" he drawls, slipping two of his fingers into his mouth. a moment later, those same fingers are in your pussy. "first you suck me off during work hours, then you try to give me a damn handjob while one of my underlings is in the fuckin' room? you needa learn your place, slut."

chuuya curls his fingers inside of you, and your back automatically arches in response. "feels so good," you moan as he continues fingering you, and the way your heart pounds at the thought of someone walking in on you two is unlike any sort of fear you've had before. "w-what if someone walks in?" you mewl, thighs pressing together around chuuya's hand.

he forces your legs apart again as he sneers down at you. "shoulda thought of that before you tested me like this, doll. stupid fuckin' brat, you gotta learn to use that pretty head of yours," he tsks. chuuya uses his other hand to tap the side of your head as he speaks, and white spots decorate the edges of your vision. 

"c-chuuya!" you whine, and as your sounds get louder and louder, chuuya eventually slaps his hand over your mouth and muffles your moans. even though it's hard to breathe again, everything just feels so good, and you finally understand the appeal of getting fucked on a desk. it's exhilarating, and the thought of getting walked in on only turns you on even more. 

"m' gonna cum," you whimper, thighs trembling as chuuya's fingers make your vision swim. you swear stars are dotting the corners of your eyesight as he goes a little deeper in you, and fuck, you can hardly think about anything besides chuuya. "ngh, i'm gonna—"

"heard ya the first time, doll," chuuya mutters, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "y' wanna cum all over my desk, yeah?" you nod in response, disconnected pleas and whimpers slipping out of your mouth the closer you get. "who knew my girlfriend was such—a—fucking—whore?" chuuya laughs, pulling his fingers out and punctuating each word with a slap to your pussy. you cry out every time his hand connects to your throbbing pussy, and it's all you can do to stop yourself from begging him to shove his dick inside you right then and there.

it's too bad you don't have any self-restraint, because just a second later, you're pleading and begging for his dick. "please, chuuya, i n-need you inside me," you mewl, shaking and pawing at the air. "please? i'll do anythin', i just need you in me right now," you gasp.

chuuya shakes his head and sits back down in his leather chair, watching you and your fucked-out state. he leans back and exhales, eyes tracing over your trembling figure. "nah, i'll wait for when i get home," he says casually, putting his feet up on the desk besides you. "do me a favor and clean up here, yeah? why don't ya bend over and pick up my papers from the floor? good girl," he cooes as you slide off his desk and force yourself to scoop up the various items that fell to the floor while chuuya briefly fingered you. 

chuuya's eyes follow you as you set his stationary back on his desk, and when you finish, he beckons you to sit on his lap with the same two fingers he used to fuck you with. you sit, and chuuya runs his fingers through your hair and presses his lips to your forehead.

"thank you," he murmurs, a smile dancing on his lips. chuuya pulls his head back and studies your expression before sighing and nudging you off him. "i'll see you at home, 'kay? be back by ten."

you nod in response and gather your things before backing out of his office. as you leave, you watch chuuya light a cigarette and ruffle his papers, eyes now focused on his paperwork. but as you wave goodbye, he momentarily looks up. "bye, darling," chuuya calls, and you can hear the smile in his voice as he continues, "can't wait for tonight."

[petermorwood]

Recent article on NPR about the history of artificial light somewhat frustrated me -- they portrayed all of pre-kerosene history as dark and heinously expensive at all times. Thing is, the writers based their findings solely on tallow candles, & ignored oil lamps, beeswax candles, clever use of refraction & outdoor light including moon/starlight... Also seemed to ignore the ubiquity of hearths / cook fires. Was wondering if you'd be willing to talk about non-tallow light? This isn't to ignore that truly, artificial lighting WAS much more difficult & expensive for much of human history, but acting like tallow candles were the ONLY light source seems very silly! (Plus your other lovely post about bottles of water used to make those candles more efficient via refraction & focus)

I'm betting the article you mean is this one - which refers back to this one.

For matching reference, my own posts about period lighting are here, One and Two, including observations about painting walls white, how to light candles and lamps without matches, and several other matters.

*****

It didn't take too much listening before I got tetchy, because the first half of this podcast seems more about mocking how WEIRD and PRIMITIVE old-time people were, than passing on any useful information.

Despite the presence of Jane Brox (author of "Brilliant: The Evolution of Artificial Light") whale oil only gets touched on in passing, and olive oil isn't mentioned at all.

Instead she starts talking about using oily seabirds (stormy petrels) as "candles", despite this scholarly study concluding that it was something talked about far more than done, besides being so very, very localised that its relevance to the history of lighting is very, very small.

But hey, WEIRD and PRIMITIVE, right?

*****

By contrast, making candles was so commonplace that it was another of those jobs which created surnames. Fletcher once put feathers on arrows, Cooper made barrels, Fisher, Miller, Baker and Farmer are obvious, and Chandler used to make candles.

Lampier, of course, made lamps, which helped keep those naked candle-flames away from anywhere they shouldn't touch. The man on the left is making the lantern bodies, the one on the right is shaving sheets of horn as windows.

It's cheaper than glass, less easily broken yet is translucent enough, when shaved properly thin, to give quite adequate light.

*****

The podcast has a digression about measuring the light output of a reproduction Ancient Babylonian lamp. Here's an original and a repro.

Yet that too says nothing about what fuel the lamp is or should be burning - olive oil, traded all over the Mediterranean by ancient olive-growing cultures.

These are Roman oil-lamps, from simple and cheap to elaborate and costly.

As for beeswax, so far as the podcast is concerned might as well not exist, despite being a by-product of honey, which was THE principal pre-sugar sweetener for centuries when not being made into all that mead whose existence, production and quaffing nobody questions.

Oh yeah, and then there was the amazed discovery (2:40 / 1:25, depending on which you're listening to) that melted beef fat "...smells really nasty, like, ANIMAL nasty,"

Why is this guy surprised? It's part of an animal!

*****

It's the same sort of infotainment ignorance as displayed by this TikTok twit, right up to complaining about the effort involved in preparation of anything because not having powered appliances was so labour-intensive, oh woe. Yes, it was, welcome to any historical period before about 1920. That's where "the daily grind" originates.

However the implication (listen, it's there) that cattle were raised just to provide fat for candles is ludicrous. The fat was a by-product, not a main one, and was often a butcher's side-line, while members of the Chandlers' Guild only worked with superior beeswax.

I don't think you could make candles like these with tallow:

...and you definitely couldn't make one meant to be hand-held.

Picture evidence shows, by their clothing, the class of society who bought these, and tallow-greasy fingers would have been a no-no.

A Chandler didn't make individual candles. By the time that fresh batch is hung up, the first batch away down at the end is cool enough to be dipped again.

A chandler's shop in a medieval city would look very similar, and often had a horizontal wheel on which to hang each batch of candles, rotating them up and around to cool, then back to the dipping pot. Non-modern people may not have had modern tech or time-and-motion studies, but they weren't stupid.

*****

By contrast, the podcast's disparaging attitude of WEIRD and PRIMITIVE is emphasised by what seems a deliberate avoidance of anything which counters it (examples of that in my own posts) and finally at 11.24 / 9:50 came this:

"Even when you get all the way to the 1700s (...) most people are still subsistence farmers, living in some kind of hut, trying to grow enough food not to starve to death (...) and light? Light still comes from finding stuff that's lying around and just lighting it on fire."

Some kind of hut...

Stuff that's lying around...

After making such a declaration, I'm surprised - since they'd been implying it for half the podcast - someone didn't just go ahead and announce that "there's some lovely filth down here..."

That's when I stopped listening.

Enough is enough, and I'd had it.

*****

ETA:

cc: @asmuchasidliketo :->

Here's a photo of what purports to be a Petrel (not petrol, that's something else) Candle, held in the Pitt-Rivers Museum, Oxford. It's mentioned in that scholarly article I linked above.

Just as "one swallow doesn't make a summer", so one - and only one - known example of this, which may have been a fake-up to spoof the Southerners, doesn't prove it was a common or even rare practice.

There's another reason to take this with a big pinch of salt, so maybe Jane Brox was on a low-sodium diet when she wrote her book.

Creatures with a layer of fat or blubber for insulation all have it like any other form of insulation, on the outside, where it does some good. A wick passed through the inside couldn't draw on it for fuel since there's a layer of muscle and another of internal organs for the oil to get through first.

The cropped-off bottle just visible to the left is a far more likely way seabirds became lamp fuel: by rendering out their oil. This oil is from the Northern Fulmar, Fulmaris glaciaris (or glacialis, I've seen both. Same bird regardless).

Incidentally, the Wikipedia article on European Storm Petrel mentions a supernatural connection, that the petrels were the souls of drowned sailors, and killing them is unlucky.

Not just killing them but making them into candles sounds like A Bad Idea, and is yet another reason why, IMO, the candle thing may be a folktale, or a deliberate leg-pull, or...

Let's just say "improbable" and leave it there. :-P

[barcaatthemoon]

Could you do one for Lia with this prompt please.

“I could have anyone I want yet… Yet you fucking exist.” 

reputation || lia walti x reader ||

it was easier to be a player than let yourself fall in love again. that was what you had been telling yourself for years, and for a while, it had worked. you went from club to club on loans and transfers. at each club, you had several flings, to the point of earning yourself a startling reputation.

everybody always knew who you were before you got to any new clubs. there was a good chance that no matter where you went, you had an ex or a friend of an ex on the team. it was pure luck that you managed to find a team willing to overlook the things that people said about you. especially one as big as arsenal.

it was your first long-term contract in over seven years. each season brought on a new club, occasionally two. arsenal was very clear about keeping you on their team. you were a talented player, and they wouldn't let rumors ruin the absurd amount of money they had paid for you. it was more than what you had made anywhere else, all for the promise that you'd behave yourself.

"is it true?" katie mccabe asked as she dropped down into the seat next to you at lunch. the two of you knew each other from briefly playing with each other in scotland. you liked her, especially the way that she played things aggressively. it was hell when you were opposite to each other, but you respected it anyway. "did you really, um, get around like that in perth?"

"come on mccabe, aren't you above the rumor mill?" katie shied away a bit, but not completely. you knew that she easily could have asked around. a lot of the girls you had slept with in australia knew caitlin and steph. there had been a brief thing with caitlin whenever the two of you had been on the same team before she came to arsenal.

"come on, nobody else is saying anything. this just isn't what i expected when you joined." katie tried not to let her disappointment show through, but it did.

"well, maybe she's changed," lia piped in. you hadn't even noticed her approach the two of you. she was always around whenever one of the girls tried to probe you about your past relations and interactions with other players. it was obvious with a few girls who you had slept with, especially in the wsl.

"lia, i'm not saying (y/n) isn't different now. i just want to know if she really got around as much as they say," katie said. at this, lia slapped the irishwoman on the back of her head. you stifled a laugh as katie finally left the two of you alone.

"they aren't this bad with other people, i swear," lia promised you. you knew that, most people weren't. you seemed to bring it out in most people, but lia had never asked you about your past. that was one of the reasons that you had fallen for her, even though you swore that you would never fall in love again.

"it's fine. you get used to it after a while. i think that you're different though, which is nice. thank you for that," you told her. lia blushed as she grabbed onto your hand. outside of work, the two of you had been spending a lot of time together. lia lived pretty close to your apartment, so you had a good excuse to always hang out. lately, things had been shifting a bit from friendly to romantic. it wasn't much, just small gestures, but it was enough for you.

"sometimes i do wonder why you haven't found a girl yet. i mean, you could have anybody you wanted if you tried," lia said. she had heard several of the girls talk about hooking up with you. not to mention the night she spent comforting leah whenever you rejected your captain's offer for dinner and drinks.

"i could have anyone i want, yet..." you trailed off as you pulled lia in close enough to whisper, "yet you fucking exist. i don't want to even think about anybody other than you. it's put a damper on my reputation, i think mccabe was disappointed."

"let her be, i like it when you're not just acting how everybody else wants you to. screw your reputation," lia said. she pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose. there was a smile when she pulled back, but that was nothing compared to the look in her eyes. it should have made you want to run away, but you couldn't run from lia.

[dwindlinghaze]

helloo can i request a fic for introvert!reader with extrovert!remus lupin whos head over heels for her <3

yes u can darlin <3 🫧🫧 i sort of wrote this into a whole new story but i hope you like this one ☁️🌸🩷🤍

everytime

(remus lupin x reader)

contents : fem reader, toxic friendships, kissing, fluff !! not proofread

　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

the door slammed open, revealing three young witches with their hands full of shopping bags. you knew they were going to hogsmeade together, but a part of you wished they had invited you.

they're your roomates and friends.

you couldn't go as far as calling them your true friends because they don't involve you much in their group activities.

they go on picnics together, shopping for pretty dresses in hogsmeade, having brunch dates, going to the movies.

a part of you wished you're there, being together with them and just fitting in. but the other part of you were thankful as for they're not inviting you because you would feel left out anyways.

it was better to be left out, and only you know it, rather than being left out with other people knowing.

maybe it wasn't their fault. elina is pretty, smart, bright and outgoing. adrienne is cheerful, energetic, and sociable. cassie is ambitious, intelligent, and talkative. you laughed bitterly to yourself, realising that they all have similar traits- all really easy to talk to and would always have an on going conversation.

you couldn't even hold a conversation for more than four minutes. it feels like your fault now.

you sit alone the morning after. you usually sit with your 'friends' for breakfast, but you were hurt from yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that. it was tiring, you needed break.

which caught the attention of a young gryffindor boy, sitting at the opposite end of the table.

remus lupin always thought you're the most beautiful person he ever saw. you two never talked, there's no reason to.

only his longing stares are the closest thing to interaction.

he thought you're beautiful. not the kind of beauty in magazines or billboards, but the kind of beauty that spreads through a field of mystical flowers. a kind that shines golden in daylight and a night fairy at late.

he saw the way you chew on your breakfast gloomily. he wondered why. you weren't spotted with your usual friends. you were just there. alone.

you would think of yourself as pathetic, but remus doesn't. he would never. he saw an angel-like soul that nobody's good enough to know. nobody's smart enough to notice.

he frowned when he saw you wiping away a tear before you got up, exiting the packed hall.

"frowning moony is not a safe moony," james said, quirking his eyebrows up.

"it's y/n, isn't it?" sirius questioned. the handsome man noticed how remus has been distracted from reality lately. he noticed how remus basically looks at you with heart eyes everytime.

"she looks sad today," remus noted, feeling an overwhelming sense of worry flooding him. it was funny to think about actually, you two never spoke a word to each other yet remus is worrying as if you're his.

"talk to her," james urged. "it's been- what was it? years of pining, you should make a move first because we all know she won't."

"i can't- y'know, my condition," remus huffed.

"she won't mind."

"how'd you know?"

"because- she is her...?" sirius said. "give it a try moony, if she doesn't love you with your condition then she doesn't deserve you, but if she does, it's worth it."

"right..."

that evening you sat down staring at an open window, catching your breath. you had been crying. you don't know why you're being so sensitive lately especially since your friends are always like this. why are you taking it so personal now?

you let the wind hit your face, drying your tears up with the cold breeze.

remus was on his nightly patrol around the castle. he's a prefect. that's how he heard a sniffle down the hall, his vision met with the most enchanting sight.

he walked slowly towards you, not wanting to scare. "hey... you alright?"

you turned around abruptly, wiping away the tears on your eyelashes. "i'm sorry for being out late."

"i'm not going to report you to professor mcgonagal, are you alright?" he asked once more.

"yeah, i'll be heading back to my dorm now," you collected yourself. the quiet footsteps didn't go unheard by you. remus was following you to the dorms.

"don't want filch to get you, i'll walk you there," he smiled a generous smile.

then silence fell between the two of you, only for remus to break it. "i know we're not friends but you can talk to me about it if you want, you can trust me," remus took hold of your upper arm, caressing it gently.

"thanks," was the only reply. you cringed at how short it sounded and he probably thinks you're rude and cold which is the opposite of who you are. your words aren't the best representation of yourself.

remus knew you were an introvert, hiding away from crowded rooms whenever you can. you never go to the parties his friends held. he knew you prefer reading to revelling.

he understands, he was once just like you. but with the help and support of his friends, he feels more comfortable in expressing himself now.

"will i see you tomorrow?" remus asked once you were inside the gryffindor common room.

"yeah, thank you- for not turning me in," you sent him an awkward smile.

the next day, you weren't in a better state either. you found out that cassie was talking horrible things about you with some slytherins. you weren't surprised. it was just your nature to constantly be disrespected by them.

remus saw you again that very day. your eyes were watery and your fingers were shaking.

he quickly ran up to you, his heart breaking into a million pieces. how dare someone did this to you?

"honey, you okay?" remus said, looking at you with the fondest eyes.

you almost cried again, hearing how someone actually asked you if you were okay. you shook your head in response.

"talk to me, we're friends," remus said softly. in reality, you two aren't technically friends. you only met face to face twice.

"we're friends?" you asked, feeling unsure.

"we are. from now on. now tell me who did this to you?"

"oh remus i can't," you shook your head.

"okay... but you can talk to me about anything okay? it doesn't have to be important. that's what friends are for," he smiled.

and oh when you smiled back, was like heaven to him. you looked like an ethereal angel with that divine smile and that archangelic face. he might as well fall in love right then and there.

the sparkles in your eyes that hold such loneliness and hope is what he calls beauty. the way you smiles even when you're sad just to assure him that you will be okay is heart warming. to him you weren't just beautiful for something as temporary as your face. you're beauty hides beneath that broken heart of yours, that delicate soul you have.

you opened up after a while, you feel you can trust remus. he is a calm and caring person. the way he asks 'how are you' every morning since. he wrapped his arm around your shoulder because he doesn't want to lose you in the sea of students. he cuts your breakfast so you can eat them easier. he reads to you softly when you cried again because of your friends.

he didn't know how much this has helped you to be okay again. how much you adored him for everything he does, even the questionable ones. you didn't care.

"rem, want to talk to you," you spoke, breaking his gaze from his book.

"i'm all ears, darling," he replied.

"you wanna know why i keep on crying?," you sniffed, ready to open up for the first time. "it's because- cause cassie, elina, and adrienne. they keep saying bad things about me- that you probably heard already. i used to always think we're friends, maybe not the kind like- you and me. but just friends... i guess. they keep leaving me out. it's like they don't even want me there." you were wiping tears away now, feeling unsure of yourself.

you never spoke of your feelings like this. never to anyone. how can remus made it so easy for you to be transparent to him?

"oh angel, they don't deserve you. they're too full of themselves to see how worthy you are. i think- i think you're the perfect just how you are. forget about them yeah? we will start a new beginning. you can come and sit with me from now on. no need to care about them. i will never make you sad, promise."

he pulled you to his chest, embracing you in a warm hug.

he made a promise to himself that every week, he will give you gifts and such to remind you how important you are. how much he loves and cares about you.

he couldn't let you waste your tears for your past friendship. remus treats you like a princess. he wants to make you smile. seeing you happy is what matters most because a dream girl should live in a dreamworld. and he made it a mission to make a perfect world for you.

he remembered you saying how those girls never invited you to picnics so here he is, inviting you to join the picnic he has set just for you and him.

"oh rem, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done!" you sighed, sitting yourself down on the carpet.

"it's nothing! you deserve it," he smiled proudly, pouring you and himself a cup of chamomile tea. your favourite.

there's something sparkling in your wrist. the shine of it glimmering under the perfect weather. you were wearing a bracelet remus gave to you a few days ago. a pretty silver chain with a moon and angel wings intertwined together.

when he first saw the jewelery on the display, it immediately reminded him of you so he just had to buy two of them. a matching bracelet.

god, nobody has ever even given you a friendship bracelet before.

he saw you, picking up the fresh strawberries with your delicate hands. 'what a dreamy girl' he thought 'and to have an angel like her to call my own'

he wanted to kiss you right there. everything was perfect at the moment. the soft honey rays of the sunshine warms the air surrounding the two of you, there's no reason for remus to scoot over closer to your figure. but he did anyways.

"i like a girl, no i actually love her," he started.

your heart sank, you thought maybe-just maybe remus is the one. he pulled you right out of misery in the best way.

remus saw your crestfallen expression, though he continued, "she makes my heart jump. she's the girl i've been in love with for a long time, i wanna go wherever she goes."

you forced a smile at him, munching on your strawberry that suddenly turned sour.

"she gets sad often, but that doesn't stop her from taking care of the people around her, and herself. she's smart and wise. she inspires me actually. everytime we say goodnight, i go to bed and sleep happily. dreaming of happy thoughts because when she's around, there's no negativity."

"i love her- y/n," he said, hinting at the way he emphasised your name.

"can i know who she is?" you asked shyly.

"can you guess?"

"i don't know..."

"well, i see her everytime," remus said, a smile playing on his lips.

"you see a lot of people everyday," you replied.

"i said everytime not everyday," he chuckled.

"that's not possible!"

"it is actually. i could never get tired of her. anyone is crazy if they do," he shook his head. "okay.. she smells like the most cosiest bakery in town."

"i don't think i know anyone that smells like a bakery."

"of course you don't, darling," remus said, cupping your cheeks. "'cause it's you. i'm in love with you,"

"wha- me?" you knitted your brows. he caressed them away.

"yes you, it's obvious actually. i thought you knew," remus chucked. "i don't have matching bracelets with anyone else, i never go on picnics, i never crochet someone a sweater before, i could go on but i want to hear what you have to say."

"i love you too, it's inevitable," you said, rubbing your cheeks further on his palms.

"can i kiss you?" he asked. he always considered himself a gentleman and he will be the most gentlemanly when it comes to you.

you responded with a soft nod, then he pressed his lips against yours. slowly but surely, he felt you melting in the kiss and god does that feel way more magical than the daydreams he had about this. his tongue manoeuvred its way inside your mouth, meeting yours in a soft touch that sent shivers down your spine. he loves the way you taste, licking the remnants of strawberry juice in your mouth.

he placed his hand on the back of your head while the other wrapped itself around waist, making you impossibly closer to him.

you didn't know how long that lasted but when you pulled away, the both of your cheeks were bright red and the smiles couldn't be wiped away.

[meownotgood]

WEEK ONE — masturbation + aki hayakawa, 18+, gn!reader, jerking off, pillow humping, sexual fantasies, edging, a hint of degradation, aki just can't help his feelings for you

kinktober masterlist

Everyone knows Aki has a crush on you. 

It's as obvious as it could possibly be. He's always staring, always coming up with any excuse he can to slip away from work for a while and come talk to you. He leaves frequent gifts on your work desk: notes in his handwriting, flowers or snacks or souvenirs he got for you from Hokkaido. 

He's unusually awkward when your name gets brought up in conversation, he's jittery whenever you're around — The last time you tagged along on the division's monthly drinking night, Aki was practically a mess, choosing to drown himself in as much alcohol as he had the pocket change to order, simply to keep from losing it because you'd sat next to him. Of course you had to sit right next to him. 

You've kept him infatuated for forever now. The thing is, Aki doesn't care if he's obvious. You're so pretty, he thinks. He's thought so from the very beginning. You're pretty and interesting and smart and it isn't his fault; he really can't control how his heart flutters and his head goes dizzy every time you talk to him, it just happens. You just have that effect on him. 

He can't help but feel shy every time you call his name in that sweet voice of yours; so polite, sticking to Hayakawa-sir even though he's told you before that you can use his first name. You grin every time, and you explain, But you get embarrassed when I call you Hayakawa. He can't help it when his face turns red all the way to the tips of his ears because you're teasing him, giving him a hard time for how stuttery he's getting. 

You were particularly teasing today. Aki knew you must've been in a good mood from the moment he arrived at headquarters. You held him by his arm, you cooed praises into his ear for how hard he's been working lately. Told him if he ever needed a break, he could come to your office any time he wants to and you'd give him a massage or make him some coffee. You insist. 

Maybe that's why he can't sleep right now. 

He's tried to get some sleep this time, he seriously has. He hates when he's like this. When he finds he's unable to stop thinking about you, he'll try everything he can to wind down and make himself forget. He'll go for a run to try and get his energy out, take an ice cold shower, smoke until his lungs are burning to attempt to quell the noise in his mind, and yet tonight, none of that has worked. 

Nothing can chase away those thoughts of you, those memories of your pretty face and your teasing hands. Nothing convinces his heart to stop pounding within his chest. Aki tosses, turns. His sheets rustle and his mattress shifts underneath his weight. 

It's a real conundrum. He's felt hot all over ever since he climbed into bed. His face is warm, he's practically sweating. Turning again, he takes a quick glance at his alarm clock, the screen reads 11:54 which is several hours since he first attempted to sleep and a few minutes since he last checked it. 

You were touching him so much today. So much, more than he's used to, even for you. No-one else ever touches him like that, nobody ever hugs him, holds his hand, makes him feel wanted. He wonders if you know how worked up you get him, if you can tell his heart is racing, or know the reason why he's shifting is because his slacks are getting tight. 

11:56, now. Aki's head is spinning. 

This is stupid, wrong of him, even. He's not super close to you. You're just one of the Public Safety office workers. If he wants to be technical, he could be considered your superior, actually. A superior fantasizing about one of the little devil hunter assistants. He's terrible. 

Aki can't help but yearn to feel your touch elsewhere, everywhere. He needs it, needs you, warmth buds in his core and there's a steady ache between his legs. He was short on breath before, when you'd grabbed his arm and pressed real close, and even now, just from thinking about it, he's — 

Fuck. Aki twists, rolling from his side onto his back, he rubs his knotted up temple with his finger and his thumb. It's too much. You're going to be the death of him. 

His breath comes out heavy and shaking and loud in his ears. His chest rises up and down, his trembling fingers slip under the blanket, then underneath the waistband of his sweats, and his heart begins to pound faster in anticipation, hammering against his ribs.

He hesitates for a second. In the end, he gives in like he always does. Shame pools thick in the pit of his stomach, but it isn't enough to stop him from working his hand down — His palm brushes the soft fabric of his briefs, he gropes the shape of his cock through his boxers and he's already stiff. He sighs, he lets his head toss back. 

You'll forgive him for this, right? You'd forgive him for getting hard when all you did was barely touch him, and for using thoughts of you to get himself off, wouldn't you? He's just so lonely, so stressed out, that's all this is. You have to forgive him, you have to understand. Aki swiftly decides you would, because he can't wait any longer; he's been needy like this for hours upon hours now and at this point, it's far too late for him to stop. 

Aki pushes the blanket away, he tugs his sweats and his briefs down to his thighs at the same time, he hisses when his cock comes free. Slowly, he wraps his palm around, and he brings his thumb to the head, rubs it slow, feels himself throb steadily in his hand. 

He's already dripping, precum beads in droplets at his slit and dribbles down to dirty his knuckles, each of his fingers. There's wetness sticking to his palm. A disgusting sound echoes as he pumps himself, up and down nice and careful, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth. 

It feels so fucking good. Aki groans in pleasure, immediately forgets how perverted this is, he closes his eyes, thinks of you. He isn't the type to do this, he's never felt this way about anyone, he doesn't even touch himself because he's never had a reason to — but you've changed everything. 

You're the reason for this, and when he's got his cock in his fist, you're all he can think about. He imagines your touch, your voice, your warm breath on his skin. Aki tries to picture how it'd feel to kiss you, to press his lips on yours and have your tongue in his mouth. How it'd feel to hold you, to have you be the one to jerk him off. 

Your hands are so perfect; Aki's memorized the way they look, the way they fold when you're writing or grabbing his arm or holding your drink. They're dainty compared to his, they'd probably feel softer, so much gentler. Ever since a few weeks ago, he's fallen into the habit of using his left hand to touch himself as opposed to his right. It's clumsier this way, but it's easier to imagine his hand is someone else's, yours. 

Your soft hand around his dick, stroking him just like this — Aki doesn't know if he'd be able to last. If he'd even be able to look at you, let alone talk, let alone do anything but plead your name.

Your fingers are so pretty, you'd complimented him once, Aki remembers how you sat next to him and intently watched him sign paperwork like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He'd shaken his head and written you off then, but he wants to know if you'd compliment him again, if you'd still think so when his fingers are cradling your face or pushing past your lips. 

Would you still think he's as pretty — his fingers wrapped around his cock, his hair down and how you like it, his earrings you say you like so much glinting in the low light — if you saw him like this? 

He wonders if you'd tease him the same as you do at the office. Oh, Mister Hayakawa, you've been wanting this for so long, haven't you? You're so fucking dirty. How long have you been jerking yourself off every night to the thought of me? So damn needy, you just want me to take care of you, huh? 

Yeah, he's dirty, he's rocking his hips into his grip, he's whining and sighing soft gasps of pleasure, louder than he probably should be. He's pumping his fist faster as he pictures your face down between his legs; you'd look precious with your hair tucked back, your lips would feel as plush as he'd imagined and you'd stare up at him with such an innocent expression, your eyes practically sparkling as you take his cock in your mouth. 

He can't take it. Aki pants with weight behind every breath, he twists his wrist and squeezes, pumps even faster and thinks he just might lose his mind right here — and then, he takes his hand away. 

He lets go, his dick falls against his stomach and he keeps one hand in his hair and the other beside him, despite how badly his nerves are screaming for him to keep touching. He allows his breath to even out, stares at the ceiling and waits for his mind to clear.

He doesn't want to cum yet. Not when it's only been a few minutes. If he cums now, he'll probably get too exhausted to cum a second time. So he can't, not right now, not when he has more he wants to think about. 

Twisting over on his side, Aki brushes his bangs away when they fall messily around his face. He presses his palm to his forehead, feeling the sweat trickling from his skin. His fingers twitch. He debates what he's about to do for a few seconds.

He shouldn't, it'll be a hassle. But when he knows how good it's going to feel, he can't resist. Hurrying, he lifts his head and grabs his pillow from underneath, he adjusts, burying his face in the sheets when it starts to feel warmer. He situates himself on his stomach, pillow firm between his legs. 

Deep, slow rolls of his hips cause him to forget any of the sense he was still holding onto. He exhales hard, shakes even harder. Aki fists the sheets in a tight hand, he leans his head into his forearm, he grinds his aching cock against his pillow until his thighs are beginning to hurt.

If he was more confident, confident enough to tell you how he feels, maybe he wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe if you knew, you'd let him fold you over his bed and fuck you just like how he's been dreaming of, slowly and dizzyingly tender, enough to make him forget about everything else. Maybe. If he's good. God, does he even deserve it? 

Either way, it doesn't matter what he wants. He'll do whatever the hell you ask him to, whatever you'd be willing to give him he'd be happy with — He'd be content just fucking the space between your thighs, or having you talk to him while he gets himself off and humps his pillow like a pathetic idiot; anything you want, whatever you want. As long as you're there, as long as he can hear your voice and feel your touch, and not be so alone. 

The smooth cotton of his pillowcase is slick and wet with his precum. His cock is throbbing incessantly, pleasure spreads through his entire body and he doesn't care that his mattress is squeaking, that he's losing rhythm. He breathes heavy with every rut of his hips and imagines you're here, you're beneath him. 

Arms strung around him tight, you'd lock eyes with him and he wouldn't dare to look away. Feels so good, you're perfect, Aki, you'd praise, and he loves your praises, You wanna cum? Oh, but you can hold out for a little longer for me, can't you? 

Aki shivers. Of course. If you're the one asking him, he just has to. Especially when you call him Aki.

Aki, that's it, keep going. You're so sweet, so good for me. I belong to you. I'm all yours, forever and ever. Does that make you happy?

You're his, all his. You'd sound so perfect moaning his name as he bullies his cock into you. His first name, his and no-one else's, no extra politeness or honorifics. You'd say it softly as he slides inside, say it when you're begging him to fill you deeper, repeat it when you're telling him he's got to beg for you if he wants to finish. 

C'mon, Aki. Cum for me. Give me all of it. 

Yeah, Aki mumbles out loud to himself, his voice is breaking, he thrusts his hips with reckless abandon, I'll give you everything, oh, f-fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum… 

He shoves his face into the bed as much as he can manage to muffle his noise, his fragile moans and loud whimpers. His shoulders tense, muscles aching. A few more shallow movements and he's done; he chants your name over and over again as he finishes, cumming all over his pillow and his sheets, thick ropes of white dirtying the fabric, making a mess. 

Falling limp, Aki lays like that for a while, catching his breath. Everything begins to fade, working through to tiredness. He should get up and shower, wash his sheets and his pillowcase, but he's so exhausted he can't even manage to move. 

He feels warm all over again, just less intense this time. Aki realizes he was saying your name as he came. Embarrassing. He can only hope he wasn't loud enough for anyone to hear. 

He'll fall asleep now, at least, with warm thoughts of you to fill his head. A date with you would be nice sometime. Nothing too crazy. He'd take you anywhere you wanted to. He also wouldn't mind taking you back to his apartment and making you something for dinner, whatever you'd like. 

If you were here now, he'd hold you as close as he can get you, breathing soft and slow while drifting off silently, his arms wrapped secure around your waist.

He's almost asleep. But —

Ah. He'd forgotten he has to work at the office tomorrow. So he's going to have to face you, first thing in the morning. 

The next time he sees you, he doubts he'll be able to do much talking. But he'll get busier soon, there's a lot of devil hunting missions coming up. Who knows when Aki is going to see you next, so if he doesn't tell you his feelings soon, when will he? 

He's decided. Tomorrow, he's going to ask you out. 

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"Twix."

Blue says your name in a single exhale of relief. You didn't expect her to be awake. She sits with her legs outstretched by a barely-there fire as you enter the cabin, the busted door groaning shut behind you. Fatigue sinks you to the floor beside her. You're about to curl your numb hands within the long sleeves of your new jacket, but the burn on your fingers makes you wince from the friction.

“You're filthy." She reaches for your hand, gently inspecting the burn. "And someone hurt you."

"Well, technically, I hurt them."

Blue shakes her head, the tone of her voice hardening the moment she drops your hand. "You shouldn't have gone."

"It was important—"

"It was stupid. You saw how those guys tried to kill us!" She huffs out a breath before snapping her gaze back to the flames. "You... you didn't tell me you were leaving. You didn't even say goodbye. I just woke up and you were gone.”

"I didn't want to wake you this morning because you needed rest,” you reason.

"That's a shitty excuse," she grumbles back, gesturing to the pink bracelet on her wrist. "I may not have a lot of friends, but I do know they're supposed to tell each other things like this."

Your eyes trail down from the burnt skin on your fingers, red and bubbly, to the cheap, plastic beads encompassing your wrist.

"You're right," you speak softly. "I should have told you."

A few minutes lapse in thick silence. In the midst of it, you swallow a few chalky pills to help with all the pain. You've been conservative in using them so far, but with your additional score of medicine, you figure you can afford some relief. There's no way you'll be able to sleep with your bitten wrist throbbing incessantly.

You're about to lean against the wall and let your eyes flutter shut when Blue speaks again, this time her voice so quiet you wonder if you're imagining it. 

"You know, I was excited to go on this trip," she whispers, still looking at the fire. "I even secretly hoped we'd run into other people, just because—" she pauses to swallow, "—because I never get to meet any. And the ones we have met, my dad always kills. Except for you."

She drags her sleeve over her face and it’s now you notice she is crying. A knot forms in your throat and, after the day you've had, you struggle to find the right words. 

"He kills them for a reason," you settle on, voice equally hushed. "A lot of people are—"

"A threat, I know." Blue repeats the words like a bitter mantra, then looks at her bandaged leg. "What does it feel like?" she asks after a moment, sliding her glossy eyes to yours. “Killing a person. Ghost told me it feels just like killing an animal or a Grey."

You inhale, then fix your stare to the dark ceiling. "No— I don't think it feels the same. It's much worse. I still get sick from it,” you admit.

"How many have you killed?"

"I don't remember anymore, but not that many." Certainly not as many as Ghost has. "It was always in self-defense. Always because I had to."

"I wish nobody ever had to," she says.

"I know. Me, too.”

With a sigh, she carefully scoots closer to you. "I'm sorry for getting mad. I just want to go home.”

"Don't be sorry. I’m the one who is sorry." You shake your head and offer her a shoulder until both of you have your backs against the wall. Her hair tickles your cheek. A small hand slips around your waist in a tender embrace, her fingers latching onto the fabric of the jacket. The sore muscles of your core flex instinctively from the touch before you finally force yourself to relax. It’s just Blue.

"Your dad says we're going back tomorrow,” you whisper, jaw grazing the crown of her head. “Sleep. It'll be a long day again."

"A long day for you maybe," she murmurs against your shoulder. "I get to ride on his back."

"Lucky you." You drape the heavy blanket over your bodies. Together you are warmer, if only by a little. 

Deft wind whooshes through the trees, kissing your wet skin. Splotches of wriggling orange and red follow the water's current, along with a trail of brown muck as you scrub your breasts, hair, and cheeks. The sight of fish makes your stomach grumble. It's been far too long since you've had anything but squirrel and deer and berries, but this is not the time or place to ponder a way to catch one. The blue wash of early morning lightens with each second that passes. You wring out your hair, rewrap your wrist, and put your clothes back on before carefully climbing up the slope, satisfied enough with your icy bath.

"Ready," you announce, blowing a white breath into your hands and rubbing them together. Ghost crouches down so Blue can teeter onto his back. The backpack full of ammo hugs his front. He appears exceptionally bulky with all the baggage, and yet, he makes it look effortless.

Together, you head towards the infamous bridge, if one could call it that. Silvery fog makes it hard to see more than ten meters ahead of you, but Ghost seems to have the area memorized. Your hands ball up in your pockets, feeling empty and useless. With no bow, you have to rely on Ghost to get you back. It's a weird thing. Though, you suppose if there's anyone you'd want to be stuck out here with, it would be him. His presence alone offers more safety than the measly knife around your ankle.

"Ghost, we should go behind her," Blue says when you reach the beam.

He steps aside to allow you on first. "Try not to go for a swim this time."

A flush of pink bites your cheeks, though you blame it on the cold. It's hard to believe just four days ago you slipped off this thing. With his hands preoccupied, Ghost can't hold onto your shoulders like before, but he lingers close behind and repeatedly orders you to keep your eyes on the bank. 

Once you're all across, a calm quiet settles, a vast contrast to how talkative Blue was the first time around. It makes you absentmindedly pick the skin around your nails. By the time you reach the road, you've looked behind your shoulder at least ten times, half-expecting to spot a burnt face hiding among the trees. Squirrels prattle by. A starling calls above your head. But no people. You force your eyes onward and take a deep breath.

"So, uh, would you rather get mauled by a bear," you break the silence, stepping over a stray tire, "—or be struck by lightning?"

It takes a second for Blue to respond. "Oh. That's a good one. Do I have a gun while the bear attacks me?"

"No. No weapons. Just you and the bear."

"Then lightning." She pats Ghost's shoulder. "Could you take a bear?"

"On a good day, maybe," he answers.

"What about you, Twix?"

"No," you instantly scoff, kicking at a rock. "A bear would rip me apart. I would choose lightning because it'd be quick."

"Okay, I have one," Blue quips. "Would you rather be ripped in half, or fall off a tall building?"

"Ripped in half by what?" Ghost asks, tilting his head back.

"It doesn't matter." You can hear the roll of her eyes.

"It does matter. Might change my answer."

"Fall off a building," you interject. "The way down would suck, but I bet you don't feel a thing once you hit the ground."

"But you'd look like a dead bug," says Blue.

"I don't care what I look like. I'll be dead."

Ghost clears his throat. "My turn, then."

"No! You have to pick one," she exclaims. 

"Building," he drawls. A shadow of movement passes to the right of you. You naturally flinch closer to them, but it's just a doe hunkering down tall weeds that reach out of the concrete. A chuff of breath leaves your lips as you look away, only to find Ghost staring at you. For a few seconds, his eyes flicker between you and the deer before he goes back to focusing straight ahead. 

"Would you rather," he begins, "—chop off all your fingers, or take out your own eyes?"

"What do I use to take out my eyes?" Blue asks.

"Knife."

"I guess my eyes," she winces. "I mean, I'd rather get rid of two things than ten."

They both glance at you expectantly. A frigid gust of northern air takes hold of your hair, so you tuck the unruly strands behind your ears. "Uh, fingers," you decide after a moment. "I could probably live without them."

In the village, the air stinks enough for Ghost to come to a halt. Before, he was able to pass right through. This time, a group of fourteen or fifteen Greys seems to be trapped on the main street between a crumbled wall and a fallen telephone pole. He has to decide between expending ammo or time. It's not long before he nods to a small building and the three of you scale the rusted fire escape. From the safe distance of the roof, he takes out the Greys one by one with an accuracy that barely leaves a dent in the ample stockpile of cartridges. With the route cleared, he's saved at least an hour or two of precious daylight. 

The fog lifts. The ambery sun tries to peek through the clouds, but the sky is bent on staying grey. By the time you are back, your blisters have blisters. Blue has fallen asleep, cheek smushed against the back of Ghost's neck. Relief, thick and palpable, tastes sweet on your tongue. The fence, the rabbit hutch, the much-cozier cabin; none of it is home to you, but still, it calls your name in a welcoming coo. 

You have to aim Ghost's flashlight so he can unlock the gate. Blue stirs, but her eyes remain closed even when he pushes inside the cabin. It's shrouded in darkness. You prop the flashlight on the table as his boots scuffle against the floor.

He puts her to bed. As he does, you feel around for the sofa and nearly choke when your worn fingertips graze shabby fabric. Not icy water or solid wood or muddy ground, but something soft. You're about to sink into it, your bones desperate for the springy cushions, when he returns to the threshold of the hallway with an ugly, flannel sheet in his hands. 

"Here."

It's hard to be certain if you thank him or not; your brain conjures up the words, but your voice doesn't seem to function quite right. One thing is certain: you accept the sheet, tuck it on with urgency, and then lay down, burying your face in the crook of the pillow and arm. You kick off your boots and let the darkness take you, swift and heavy. It could be a coma or death disguised as sleep, and you figure you'd still slip into it without fuss. 

Those first days back are quiet. Blissfully uneventful. You sleep and sleep. In fact, you don't move from the couch except to relieve yourself and eat a little. Ghost and Blue don't seem to do much, either. Or maybe you just don't notice.

At one point, you wake up to a small stack of shirts beside the couch. All black. One long sleeve, the rest short. You change into one and continue sleeping. 

At another point, Blue hovers above you with a whisper that draws out a groan from you. "Hey. Ghost is making me skin some rabbits. Apparently, it's the only chore I can't get out of. Do you want to help me?"

"I think I'm good." You stuff the pillow over your face to make your point. 

"You've been sleeping for three days, you know."

"I could go for another three."

She takes the hint and staggers away. Walking now. You hear her right leg drag a little.

The sleep is good until it's not.

On the fifth night, you're no longer fatigued enough to keep the dreams squandered. They start as whispers. Hoarse and gritty. Then they get louder and louder, shouting your name until they are so loud it feels like someone is screaming in your ear. Different voices blend into an indecipherable cacophony. One screams in pain; another in anger. You feel someone's cold fingers take hold of your neck and are finally pried awake, flying up against the couch with fiery pants burning through your lungs. But all that's there is a dark room.

Sweat clings to every inch of you. It feels like everything is on fire, and all you want to do is cool down. You haven't bathed since the river. Catching your breath, you swing your legs down and quietly pad to the bathroom where you hope a little water is left. Luckily, in the glint of moonlight, you find a bucket used for washing hands and scoop some to your face. Then, you comb it through your sweat-laced hair. 

You unwrap your wrist and brush your fingers over the bite. You dab some water on it. You can't see well, but you feel the constellation of congealed scabs beneath your fingertips. Scars. Wounds. Your nostrils flare as a you wonder if one day you'll be so covered in them you won't even look like yourself. It's a good thing there is not enough light to spot the reflection of your face in the mirror, because you're not thrilled to greet the one now on your brow.

On your way out of the bathroom, something solid and immobile blocks your path. You startle backward, sucking in air as you peer up at a masked face. Ghost. It's Ghost. You haven't spoken to him since getting back, and in this moment, you long for the ability to push past him, but his wide shoulders consume the narrow hall. 

It's silly to think you can avoid him when you sleep in the same space now. The thing is— you have no idea what to think of him. Before, it was easy to settle on fear of how easily he could snap your neck, and annoyance for how he treated you. And then, when forced to, you could engage in a pragmatic conversation about how to keep yourselves alive.

But now, you don't know what you are supposed to feel around him, and you have spent zero time reflecting on it so far.

"Sorry. I was just, uh, washing my face."

"In the middle of the night?" he rasps, tilting his gaze down.

You teeter back a step, keeping a healthy bubble of space between your bodies. You're not sure why he hasn't just moved out of the way, or what he would be up and about for at this hour, but briefly, you wonder if he is suspicious of you. If after everything you went through, he still thinks you're trying to do something and might send you back to the shed. The three of you relieve yourself outside the cabin since the plumbing doesn't work, so it certainly does seem odd that you'd be in the bathroom during the night. 

"I was sweating a lot." Inwardly, you curse at yourself. "I mean, I haven't bathed since we got back, and I..." You trail off in a whisper.

"And you what?"

"I don't know." You fiddle with the hem of the oversized shirt he gave you. "I'm not trying to kill you or your daughter in your sleep, though, if that's what you're thinking."

He simply stares at you. It feels like he can see right through you, and your eyes drop to your wool socks. Then, he murmurs, “I wasn't thinking that."

"Okay," you reply carefully. "Could you... please move, then?"

Finally, he steps out of the way, but you feel the burn of his eyes on your skin as you brush past him. 

"Twix."

You pause, looking back. "Yes?"

A shake of his head. And then: "Take a proper bath tomorrow. You could use it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Will do." 

With that, you crawl back onto the couch.

[mangostarjam]

no promises — kaiju no. 8, hoshina soshiro x reader, use of foods as nicknames, best friends to lovers (finally), biting, 2.3k words

this is part four of best friend privileges; you can find the rest here

"Soshiro-kun…"

"Yes, pumpkin?" Hoshina Soshiro takes a sip of his coffee and leans back in his seat. The thick ceramic cup clinks against the saucer and you copy him, taking a sip of your iced caramel macchiato to steel your nerves.

It's been a normal coffee shop day. Soshiro always sets aside one of his rare days off to spend it with you out in the world, away from the base, so the two of you can freely talk about the books you've been swapping back and forth. These days are easily some of your favorites — away from the base, Soshiro is more relaxed, more boyish and loose. Even though you spend a lot of time together while on base, it never gets boring to be with him.

"Soshiro-kun," you take a deep breath. "Why haven't you kissed me yet?"

Soshiro raises an eyebrow and hums, tilting his head up to watch the clouds drifting overhead for a moment. "Well, apricot, if I kissed ya, I don't think I'd be able to stop there."

The blush that heats your body feels like a crashing wave. You knock your book over as you try to recover from the shock and he laughs, loud and bright and clear in the morning air. "Soshiro-kun!"

"What's up, beansprout?"

"You— I thought— !"

"Thought what?" Soshiro leans over to pick up your book. You watch with wide eyes as he dusts it off, wondering why seeing him in casual clothes is making your heartbeat stumble so much in your chest. He isn't wearing anything out of the ordinary — black slim fit pants and a white turtleneck sweater that hugs his pecs and shoulders distractingly, along with a blazer that only emphasizes the way his waist tapers — but maybe you're too used to his Defense Force uniform…?

Soshiro sets your book back on the wooden patio table and snickers. "Didja think I was holdin' back for fun?"

"N-no! I was just… wondering…"

"Hm?" He tilts his head and his bangs fall to the side a bit and your heart does something alarming. Is this what being in love does? Why is he so cute? "Tell me, plum tart."

You fidget in your seat as you try to organize your thoughts. Soshiro sips at his coffee patiently, but his gaze is unwavering on your every expression and he's making you nervous. Finally you reach over and take his hand. Red instantly burns along the tops of his ears, but you squeeze his calloused fingers. "Soshiro-kun, are we still gonna be best friends? Even though we're dating now?"

Soshiro releases a breath in a whoosh and covers his face with his free hand, peeking at you between his fingers. "Of course we're still best friends." He says your name and squeezes your hand back. "We're just gonna expand the definition of best friend privileges, that's all. Just between us."

His voice is shaky, and something about that makes warmth bloom in your chest. You nod. "Good."

"Good?" You watch his shoulders bunch as he takes a hurried deep breath. He drops his hand from his face and smirks at you, flipping the hand holding yours so that he can intertwine your fingers together. Your palm presses against his at the motion and you can't help the giddy smile spreading across your face. "Don't worry, honey bun, I'll give ya all the kisses ya want later."

You glance around. The patio outside the coffee shop is empty, though you can see the baristas and patrons inside through the café windows. Nobody is paying the two of you any mind, far too used to seeing you laughing and teasing each other from the many times you've frequented this café.

Soshiro catches your look and shoots you a lopsided smile. "We're not havin' our first kiss in public. Perv."

You frown. "But if it's in public, you'll control yourself better, right?"

"No promises," Soshiro laughs. "I've been waitin' for a long time, y'know? You can wait a lil' longer."

"Fine," you sigh. "Okay, so tell me what you thought about this book. You've been so busy with missions and training lately."

"Aw, didja miss me?" he teases. You snort and he laughs, but he listens to your request and begins talking about the books you've swapped recently.

It's easy talking to Soshiro, as always. The morning passes in pleasant comfort — except for the little zings of warmth and adrenaline shooting through you every time you catch his smile softening. Every time he suddenly averts his gaze as you play with his fingers, tracing the bones and callouses of his hand as he stumbles through his words.

"C'mon, strawberry," Soshiro murmurs, returning from dropping off your cups to the barista inside. He holds out his hand and you take it, a bubbly sort of happiness filling your chest.

You get to do things like this now — you get to touch him casually, intimately, learning the pressure of his hand squeezing yours and the way the tips of his ears turn cherry blossom pink whenever you reach for him.

Your next stop is one of your favorite bookstores, an independently owned little shop tucked away down an alley where the shopkeepers regularly write out little blurbs for their favorite recently read books. Soshiro tends to pick books based on his own secret criteria, but you like to see what the shopkeepers are recommending, and the two of you wander the aisles leisurely.

You're an aisle away when you spot an interesting title tucked up on a high shelf, and you stretch up on tiptoes futilely, fingertips just grazing the spine. You feel Soshiro behind you and he slides his hand along your hip before you can lose your balance, leaning into you as he reaches up for the book. "This one?"

"Y-yeah," you breathe, feeling warm. He's all dense muscle and solidity behind you, his fingers splaying around your waist with a surety that makes your knees wobbly. "Thanks, Soshiro-kun."

"Anytime," Soshiro murmurs. His grip on you tightens for just a moment and your heartbeat kicks — but then he takes a tiny step back. You turn to face him. "Wouldn't want ya to bring the whole shelf down."

You blink. "I almost had it." The pout is evident in your voice and Soshiro snickers, the sound low and fond in the quiet peace of the bookstore. You catch yourself staring at him in the golden sunlight, taking in the sweep of his cheekbone and the cut of his jaw as his gaze slowly turns sharp. Time melts and simmers around you. A shiver runs up your spine and you take a tiny step away, the hard wood of the shelves bumping into your back as his look settles into something focused and intent.

Soshiro would never hurt you — you know that — but right now… right now his look sends something instinctual scrambling through your mind, as if he's activated your fight or flight response with the careful way he's eyeing your every movement. You've fought and sparred with him before, but you're in a bookstore, so why does it feel like you're going to get snapped up?

"Sure, chestnut." Your eyes widen as he leans forward, but he bypasses your lips and you freeze as he grazes the edge of your jaw. "Ya look real cute, y'know?"

"Wh-what're you doing?"

Soshiro hums, pressing his lips firmly to the side of your neck. You've tilted your head subconsciously, granting him access as he sends heat and lightning zipping through your bloodstream. "Didn't ya want kisses?"

"This is not…"

He bites you lightly, just a short press of his teeth against your skin and a careful nip with the soothing swipe of his tongue, but it's enough to make you gasp. "Sorry," he mutters, "I toldja I've been holdin' back."

You can feel his breaths against your skin as he noses along your hairline tenderly. There's an ache in your body that matches tempo with your heartbeat and your hands have come up to clench the lapels of his blazer without you noticing. "I thought you said… not in public?"

Soshiro pulls away slowly and reaches up to drag his fingers along your jaw. Something in him lightens as he takes in your expression and the heat beneath his fingers. "Yeah," he grins, shattering the tension abruptly. "My bad. I'm gonna go buy our books. Gimme a minute. Meet ya in the front?"

He walks away before you can form a coherent thought, leaving you pressed back against the shelving for support as you wait for your shaky knees to recover. Your skin feels sensitive and tender, even though he didn't bite you very hard. You press your finger against the spot and wince as your pulse pounds beneath your touch.

Soshiro is standing in front of the shop when you finally make it outside, a small bag filled with your chosen books hanging loosely from his fingers. He shoots you a wide smile. "Ready to head back, egg tart?"

"You're bad for my health," you frown. Soshiro laughs, taking your hand and tugging you along. "I'm serious! I don't think my heart can take this."

"I'll take responsibility," he says, squeezing your hand. The back of his neck is pink and it's so cute and endearing you nearly tumble forward when he tugs you to a stop. "Here we are."

You blink and look around. He's led the two of you down a different path than the usual route you'd take back to the base. The gentle burble of the river rushing by fills your ears as you take in the sight — you're facing the river, tucked off the main pathway and roads in a little grove of trees rustling in the breeze. There's a bench, and Soshiro goes over to set the bag of books on the seat before he comes back to you and pulls you forward.

"Ya like it?"

"It's beautiful," you sigh. "When did you find this place?"

"I took a wrong turn on one of my morning runs," Soshiro says, "and I thought ya might like it here. Nobody ever really notices it 'cause it's so tucked away."

His hand tightens around yours and you blink. He's standing so close you can feel his body radiating warmth. "Soshiro-kun?"

"Yeah, vanilla bean?"

"Is it 'later' now?"

Soshiro laughs lightly, but there's a tense note to it and you reach up to cup his face in your hands, thumbs sweeping along the pink that rises on his cheeks. "I do really wanna kiss ya now."

"You can kiss me." You pause as he settles his hands on your hips. "I'll stop if we're going too far."

"Ya bruise real easy, hm?" Soshiro ducks his head and kisses the spot he bit earlier. The touch is featherlight and your heartbeat flutters. "I'll be careful."

He keeps his promise, brushing his lips against yours in the briefest of kisses, the soft careful press just a heartbeat long. Your hands clench his shoulders as he pulls back slightly to check your reaction. "Soshiro…"

"Yeah?"

"Kiss me again?"

You can feel him smiling into your second kiss, the curve of his lips mimicking yours as you lean up into his body, following his lead as he tilts his head to kiss you a little deeper. The rest of the world fades away as you melt into him, the hot heavy grip of his hands on your waist and his lips moving against yours silencing all the rioting thoughts in your head. Kissing Soshiro feels — it feels good and right and you never want to stop.

Soshiro tugs your lip between his teeth and slides his tongue in when you gasp, only to break the kiss with a laugh as your knees buckle. He catches you easily against him, holding you up by the waist with strong arms. "I thought you were gonna stop me?"

"I told you, you're bad for my health," you grumble breathlessly. "I can't concentrate when you're kissing me like that."

He leans forward to kiss you again, swallowing down your startled moan. Soshiro pulls back quickly, red eyes taking in your flustered expression as if he's trying to memorize the sight. His own face is bright pink. "That's dangerous, pudding cup."

"Wh-what?" You blink, trying to recalibrate as heat sears through you. "What was that?"

"That was somethin' that'll haunt my nights forever," Soshiro says lightly. His grip on your waist hasn't loosened one bit. "Can I kiss ya again?"

"You're going to give me a heart attack."

Soshiro laughs, bright and fond and quiet in your little pocket of space. His hand comes up to press against the tender bruise forming on your neck.

"I promise I'll behave," he says, but there's a hitch to his breath when your lashes flutter shut at his touch. "But then again, maybe not."

You laugh and tilt your head to kiss him, sweet and careful and soft. Soshiro groans when you swipe your tongue along his lips, parting them easily and allowing you to clumsily trace his teeth with your tongue. Your breaths come short and quick, a steady ache intensifying beneath your skin as he huffs and breaks the kiss to suck harshly at the sensitive spot by your ear. A soft noise escapes your lips.

Soshiro pulls away and presses his forehead against yours. You blink up at him dazedly. "You're dangerous," he murmurs.

"You're really hot," you sigh. Soshiro's flushed face burns even pinker. "I can't believe I get to do this."

"Just wait," Soshiro says, his lips twitching into a grin, "and I'll show ya all the things I wanna do with you."

"I think you should get recertified in first aid."

He laughs. "My certification hasn't even expired yet!"

"Then you should take responsibility for my poor fragile heart and kiss me again."

"Sure thing, apricot," Soshiro brushes his nose against yours. You can feel his lips move as he whispers. "But make sure ya stop me from misbehavin'."

You smile into the kiss. "No promises."

[shalotttower]

The Art of Disappearing (part 1)

Title: The Art of Disappearing Fandom: Resident Evil Village Characters: Lady Dimitrescu x Reader (female) Summary: Lady Dimitrescu enjoys wine; you enjoy living. You pray to god those don't overlap. Word count: 1800+ Notes: mentions of death, implied torture and violence, NSFWish, WINE Part 2

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here.

Melt seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains until you're indistinguishable from them. Become wallpaper with eyes that stare and mouths that don't open, and arms that only pick, and pass, and scrub, and fold.

You're not the girl who was locked in the cellar last week.

You're not the girl who dropped a plate yesterday.

You're not the girl whose blood got so deep into the dining room rug that it's better off being burned.

You want to say that you won't be that girl, but you can't promise anything anymore except that dinner is at 6 o'clock every evening unless stated otherwise by Lady Dimitrescu. Your schedule revolves around hers entirely, like planets rotating around their dying sun, even if it's not your shift. There's no such thing as a day off in the castle.

But there're such things as a quiet day, or a normal day, or a bad one.

Today is a bad one.

Lady Dimitrescu's favourite lipstick is missing.

It's a very rare, expensive shade, like the red shell of a ladybug, or the last breath of a maiden. Your ears pick up the word being murmured from one maid to another — 'if anyone sees the item, return it to the Lady's vanity immediately'.

You hope that someone finds it soon. Nobody here is dumb enough to steal, so it's probably forgotten somewhere. But you don't say it of course, because Her Ladyship doesn't forget anything and you still need your tongue intact.

---

Lady Dimitrescu likes wine; you enjoy living.

You pray that the two never overlap.

So far luck has been on your side — for six months now you've been working in the castle. You've cleaned stains from carpets and floors without asking what they are (because it was clear even without questions); polished silverware until you could see yourself reflected in them and arranged flowers countless times to learn which ones Lady favors over others.

You were a mouth that didn't speak and eyes that saw nothing. A piece of furniture with legs and arms.

As long as you do your job and keep a low profile, you're safe. Humans thrive in delusion, and so do you. It keeps you sane, what an oxymoron that is.

---

At three in the afternoon, you clean the bathrooms.

Bela is the neatest among the three, and Cassandra leaves everything scattered around for maids like you to collect and place where it's supposed to be. Daniela is... unique. You're not sure how she manages to get stains and fingerprints on such random surfaces. Sometimes you wonder if she does it on purpose.

Daniela loves fun surprises.

Like sneaking up on you when you're on your knees, scrubbing the tub. She pokes your shoulder. "Hiya."

Your heart drops into your stomach.

"Lady Daniela," you greet while trying not to let your hands shake under the apron.

She's smiling sweetly today, like she didn't just scare ten years out of you. You're not fooled and know better than to trust that expression. Nothing in this castle is innocent and saccharine and nice. Especially not the daughters.

"Can I help you with anything, my lady?"

Please say "no" and leave.

Daniela rocks on her heels then leans forward, inspecting your work.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

She's bored, you realize. Great. Bored means unpredictable behavior, and unpredictable behavior means trouble for everyone else who isn't Daniela herself. You wait for whatever she wants — entertainment? food? — patiently despite the churning in your gut.

"I'm bored," she announces.

"Yes, my lady."

"Let's play a game. Hide and seek, like little ones."

Six months have yet to make the instinctive urge to flee within you die out whenever one of them wants something from you directly. You'd think that this whole time might've increased your chances of survival, but humans thrive in delusion. In reality, everything is a gamble here. An embroidery of chance and circumstances that determines if you will live another day, that's all.

"I would be honored, my lady."

The bathrooms must be finished by five, and it's almost four. You're not going to make it on time.

"Who is going to hide first?" You ask after a moment.

Daniela claps. "Well you, of course, silly!"

Of course.

---

Hiding in plain sight is a skill honed by necessity here. Melting seamlessly into the decor of drapes and velvet curtains.

But you're not a vase or a coat rack. You're just a girl who's been in the castle for a while and has gotten good at being invisible. You can't hide your heart beat. Your scent and the warmth of your skin are impossible to erase.

"Ready or not, here I come!" Daniela's sing-song voice carries from the other end of the west wing, and then fades.

She didn't count to ten. You know because you've been counting along, just to have an idea of how much time there's left until she finds you. There're no harbored hopes about the opposite happening. Hide and seek is one of Daniela's favourite games, and she dedicates herself to it thoroughly, with great interest.

It's not about winning the game — that much you realized early on when she played against other maids, plucking one out and chasing her around the castle before dissolving into flies with a cackle.

It's about the entertainment good enough to satiate her.

You're not the most agile, not the fastest. Even after six months your knowledge of the castle's layout is patchy, but you try to think logically. What places will she check last? What will Daniela expect you to choose?

Closets are off limits. So is the library, unless you want Bela on your tail as well.

Your mind wanders.

There're so many rooms in this castle that you haven't seen once during all of your shifts. You're always cleaning hallways, sometimes the daughters' parlors, and nothing more.

Down the stairs, past the servant quarters, is a place where rumors are born. Of thick barrels stacked to the ceiling like dominoes and wine in various stages of production. It smells sour-sweet down there — like fruit rotting in August.

Wine that never runs out in Dimitrescu castle as long as there're maids.

That's what others say, at least. Nobody has come back to confirm.

Would she look in the cellar? Would anyone?

It's the last place you'd search if you were looking for someone insignificant and replaceable.

You take off your shoes so that your steps don't echo in the expanse of marble and stairs.

---

There're all kinds of things down here. Broken furniture that's been tossed aside for disposal, boxes and crates of unidentified items, old paintings of people you don't recognize.

And wine.

A lot of it in barrels and bottles, some of which are labeled, some aren't. You walk past them, following the corridors of dusty brick. The air smells like mold and fermentation, damp. It reminds you of the lakeside by your grandmother's cottage in summertime and you feel strangely nostalgic.

You miss home.

The thought is dangerous and you quickly push it away, back to where it belongs — in your memories. Home doesn't exist anymore.

Time passes. Minutes go by without the sounds of buzzing swarms or doors creaking open somewhere nearby. No voices either, except for your own breathing and heartbeat that fill up every corner of silence. You find a nook between the stacked barrels and settle there with your knees pulled to your chest.

The place is colder, uncomfortably so. Cool ground sends its chill through your stockings.

You've done everything you could. Found a good hiding spot, a perfect one, and it's out of your control from here on.

The art of disappearing is simple: be nothing and wait until time decides if you're worth staying like that or not.

---

Daniela finds you after your legs start to numb from sitting.

"Found you," she grins from ear to ear.

Her flies settle as she solidifies into flesh with a giggle, girlish and mischievous. It could be cute if not the bloody smudges around her mouth and chin. She crouches down in front of you, close enough for you to see the specks of gold in her eyes.

"Congratulations, Lady Daniela."

Your fingers dig into your skirts.

Daniela tilts her head; a fly crawls on her cheek before taking off. "I win! I get my prize now."

You didn't know you were playing for a prize. But nobody tells you anything in this castle until it's too late, like that you're not supposed to open windows in winter, or that you can't touch Daniela's books because she has them organized alphabetically.

"What would you like, my lady?"

Another fly lands on your lips, a thick creature with translucent wings and little fuzzy legs. They tickle but you resist the urge to make a face lest she takes it as an insult. At your question her expression turns impish, one of those you never fail to associate with trouble.

She reaches into your apron's pocket... and pulls out a lipstick.

You stare at it — a simple elegant tube with a golden cap.

"Look what I found!" Daniela waves it in front of your face like it's a toy.

Your blood freezes over. How did it end up there? You've been working for hours today yet you don't recall ever picking it up off anywhere. Where-

"My lady, I didn't take it!" you blurt out in horror, when it dawns on you. "I swear, I wouldn't! I would never-"

Daniela blinks owlishly and then breaks into laughter, clutching her stomach. Her smile is so wide that you can see her gums stained with coagulated blood which makes your stomach turn. The flies swarm and dissipate around you both, disturbed by her unrestrained mirth.

"Silly," she interrupts your stammering. "I know! You should've seen your face!"

Oh thank god.

You're so relieved that for a second all air leaves your lungs.

"...you tricked me?" you ask quietly after a moment, a bit more composed now when the accusation of theft doesn't hang over your head.

"Mhm," Daniela nods and wipes tears from her eyes, still giggling.

You're not sure if it was funny to anyone except her.

Her smile lessens gradually and eventually vanishes from her lips altogether when the initial amusement wears off. Something coy appears in her demeanor, sheepish even, as she fiddles with the lipstick in silence.

"Can you put it back in mother's vanity?" she grabs your hand suddenly and places it into your palm.

That's when you realize that you never even once questioned where she got it from. But Daniela gives you a pout with a warning look, like she's able to tell exactly what you're thinking. All questions die instantly on your tongue; you nod.

"Yes, my lady. Of course."

"Good," she pats your knee. "Don't forget! Or I'll eat you."

Flies descend onto your skirt, buzzing around Daniela's fingers until she disappears into dozens of black insects.

You know that she meant every word.

[unearthly-doting]

Heyyyy could you possibly do

Finding their soulmate: creepypasta edition

any creepypasta characters you want (including Jeff the killer & Homicidal Liu pls 🙏)

finding their soulmate: creepypasta edition.

notes: crying i miss my colored text :( i got another two soulmate posts coming ur way soon guys bc that's in high demand it seems so!! also im on my tablet writing all of this and tumblr mobile sucks so if there's any mistakes blame them not me. anyways send requests for things if u want. love u all !

includes: jeff the killer, homicidal liu, eyeless jack, nina the killer, the bloody painter, and ticci toby.

warnings: not proofread and written while i was super tired so, yandere content, mdni, inconsistent length, reader injury in jeff and toby's parts, stalking, mild poly content in liu's part bc he and sully r a package deal here, kidnapping, breaking and entering, murder, this is all actually pretty tame, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, overprotective behavior. i think that's all??

JEFF THE KILLER — didn't have a soulmate. He didn't have any soulmark, there was no name on his wrist or a string around his finger. The universe had destined him to be alone, it seems. When he was younger, this had been crushing. Why did his brother get to have a soulmate but he didn't? What was so different about him that he didn't deserve a destined love?

Though, after he became the man he is today, Jeff found that he didn't care about soulmates. He probably would've killed his soulmate, if he had one. If anything, he found himself developing a burning hatred at the very concept of soulmates.

Everyone had always played it out to be something wonderful, something people were lucky to have. But he's seen otherwise. He's killed soulmates who have turned on each other just to try and save their own life. It's all a bunch of romanticized bullshit.

And he thinks you're a dumbass for believing that your soulmate would be a good person. Jeff doesn't understand why he hasn't killed you yet, you're just some nobody that he for some reason enjoyed the company of. Maybe it's because you never try changing him. Or maybe it's boredom, who knows.

But he hates when you talk about your soulmate that you've yet to meet. You speak as if you're already in love, and it leaves this suffocating feeling in his chest each time. It didn't feel like anger or annoyance, but he was too prideful to label it as jealousy. Why would he be jealous?

Why do you want to meet your soulmate so badly anyway? You have him. He may not be your soulmate, but does it really matter? You better really hope this man never realizes he's in love with you because you're actually fucked if he does, like…

The moment he comes to terms with his feelings for you, you're never meeting your soulmate. He's crossing out their name on your wrist with his knife and replacing it with his own. You wanted to meet your soulmate so badly, so there. Now he's your soulmate. His name is forever carved on your skin, after all.

He may even force you to carve your name into his arm as well to further solidify the whole ‘soulmate’ thing you so desperately craved. You're stuck with him now, like it or not. No amount of screaming and crying will change what's happened.

Jeff doesn't understand why you're so upset. You wanted this. You were practically begging him for it, always telling him your dream life with the one you're destined with. Seriously, you should've expected this from him.

But it's okay, he'll be the soulmate that you've always wanted.

He'll stay by your side. He'll kill anyone who dares to even think about you. You said so yourself, you don't need anyone so long as you have your soulmate.

Really, he's just giving you what you want. Though he won't lie, he can't help but feel a sick and twisted pleasure at having you depend on him. He likes having you around, even if it's with your mouth taped shut to keep you quiet.

Maybe this soulmate thing isn't as bad as he thought it was.

HOMICIDAL LIU — had always dreamed of meeting his soulmate when he was younger. Something about soulmates always fascinated him, and he absolutely loved hearing stories of soulmates meeting and falling in love.

He learned from a pretty young age that whoever his soulmate was, he shared scars with them. This was something he discovered when he felt a stinging sensation on his arm one day and he could see the scar manifest on his skin. He had been so fascinated by it, and even excitedly showed it off to his parents and Jeff as if it were some sort of reward.

Though, after nearly dying at the hand of his little brother, Liu had become… terrified at the thought of meeting his soulmate. He knew that you shared his scars now. You probably got weird looks from people on the street because of them, right?

And it must've been a horrific experience, waking up in the middle of the night to blinding pain all over your face and neck and arms, unable to stop the scars from forming, not knowing what was happening. You probably hated him. He wouldn't blame you if he did.

But when Liu met you, there was no way he'd be able to let you go. At first, he had just seen you in passing, He knew you were his soulmate the moment he laid eyes on you because you weren't even trying to hide the scars you had. You wore them proudly. He had followed you home that night, just to make sure you were safe.

He felt bad about it, but he couldn't help but come back the next day. His mother must be yelling at him from her grave, scolding him for stalking his soulmate instead of just talking to them like a normal person. A simple mistake on his end (aka Sully literally forced the man in front of you) led to the two of you actually meeting.

You had been so concerned, asking him if he were okay. It had been years since he sustained these injuries, but you still asked. You had always wanted to ask, ever since that night. Your pain was dull in comparison to what he must've gone through, and Liu nearly cried experiencing your kindness because he simply did not deserve it.

Liu tries really hard to have a normal relationship with you, he really does, but he's so utterly paranoid about your safety almost constantly when he's away from you. It makes him sick to his stomach imagining the danger you could potentially find yourself in without him around to keep you safe.

It didn't help that Sully only amplified these thoughts and good lord, how would you react to meeting Sully? Liu had always been very careful making sure that he never fronted when you were around, but Sully was starting to become ansty, eager to meet you.

When Liu wasn't hunting Jeff, he was with you. Sometimes you knew, but most of the time, you didn't. Stalking you was second nature at this point, and he doubts it's something he'll ever stop doing. Besides, it's not like he's hurting anyone by stalking the person he loves. Is it completely wrong and a violation of privacy and respect? Yes. Does he feel guilty? Absolutely. Will he stop? No chance. This is for your safety, after all.

Sully thinks he's a fucking fool behaving this way all for one person just because you're his soulmate (which he also thinks is dumb, by the way.) but then he actually meets you for the first time. You had immediately clocked in on the fact that he wasn't Liu, even though Sully prides himself on mimicking the man fairly well. Looks like you have two soulmates now! Yay!

Unfortunately for you, Sully is a lot more direct than Liu. Liu keeps his possessive thoughts to himself whilst Sully makes it very clear that you belonged to them. Liu's affection was hesitant, scared that he may hurt you if he's too eager. Sully's affection was almost suffocating, the way he'd cling to you and refuse to let go.

And if you ever decide that being with them is too much, trust me when I say they will go to great lengths to keep you with them. Liu isn't above locking you away somewhere if it means keeping you safe, and Sully won't hesitate to kill someone just to keep you in check.

Liu just wants to keep you safe. You can't protect yourself, so let him do it for you.

EYELESS JACK — was confused by the blackened, withered string connected to his pinkie. He knew what soulmates were, though he's not sure why the remnant of one was still tied to him. After his… changes… he shouldn't have a soulmate at all, not even the remnants of one.

Even the smallest string around his finger meant the bond was still there. It made no sense, it defied nature itself just by existing. He didn't understand, but he couldn't deny that he was curious. Whoever was on the other side of this string was destined to be with him, how could he not be curious?

It took time, but Jack had plenty to spare. He followed the string as best he could. The poor thing was so fragile, the smallest tug could tear the bond apart. He's not sure what he'll do when he finds the one he has a fragile bond with, to be honest. Soulmates aren't really… useful, to him. His only driving force is survival. Food. Nothing else is important.

Yet this was, oddly enough. There was just something deep inside of him telling him that he needed to find his soulmate.

And when he found the end of his string, it was connected to you. Now, Jack has no memory of who he was before becoming a flesh-eating demon. He was human once, he thinks, so maybe that's why there's something so familiar about you. A long forgotten part of himself was craving you.

And you? You were utterly horrified to find someone that resembles your missing best friend in your home one night. This was Jack, and yet… he wasn't. You didn't know this man. You didn't want to know this man. But he didn't care. Jack was dead set on having you.

He wouldn't leave you alone. He showed up every single night just to watch you. It was unnerving. To you, it felt like he was waiting for the right time to strike. You were waiting for him to kill you, to devour your soul or whatever.

To him, he was protecting you.

You were his mate. That's what he recognized you as. And as your mate, it was his duty to protect you. He didn't see his behavior as odd. To him, he was just providing for you. He saw no harm in breaking into your home every night to make sure you were safe.

Jack may not understand fully why he's attached to you like this, but he can make an educated guess. It's clear that you knew him. Or, you did, at least. You look at him as if you're looking at a ghost. Clearly, you were someone he's always been attached to. Though, it seems his demonic traits have amplified that attachment.

He won't hesitate to hunt you down if you try running away.

There's nowhere you can go where he won't find you. He'll follow you to the ends of the earth, if he must.

Jack doesn't need you to love him back. Hell, he doesn't need you to like him. He just needs you, in any way he can have you. His entire being aches when he's not with you.

So here you are, stuck with the creature. You're haunted by him, really. And, to be honest, you're not sure if you wanted him to leave.

NINA THE KILLER — wrote literal fanfic on how she wanted her first meeting with her soulmate to go. All she ever wanted was for someone to love her, so when she learned that the inner voice that all of her thoughts was in belonged to her soulmate, she was utterly ecstatic!

This was the only thing in life that mattered to her. Nothing else was important. Everyone in her life thought she was strange, how obsessed she was over someone she hasn't even met.

But if they could hear your voice, they'd understand. Whenever she needed comfort, she would just think random thoughts so she could hear your voice.

And when she finally meets you, it's like something out of a fairytale. To her, at least. She had just broken into your home to kill you, but when you begged for your life, it was like everything clicked.

She looked at you as if you were everything she could ever need, and it made you feel sick to your stomach.

Nina had no plans of letting you go now that she finally had you. One moment, you're in your home, and then the next, you're waking up in a cabin deep in the forest, decorated to seem like a cozy home.

She acted as if she hadn't kidnapped you. In her mind, you two were pretty much married already. You're her soulmate, after all! That's better than marriage in her eyes. And if you don't play along with her, she won't hesitate to remind you just exactly what she could do to you.

Not that she would ever actually hurt you!

No, Nina could never do that. You're the only thing that has kept her sane all these years. Your voice is the only thing that keeps her going these days.

You just gotta understand that Nina can't live without you. She'd never hurt you, but she's not above scaring you into compliance if it means you'll play along with her fantasies.

But if you ignore the fact that she kidnapped you and is holding you hostage in a cabin so deep in the woods that your chance of escape is slim to none, she's actually probably the best soulmate you could ever ask for. When you actually play along with her, that is.

She doesn't force too much affection on you. If she wants to cuddle you, she will, like it or not. But she never takes it any further than that. She respects your boundaries in her own sick and twisted way.

There's no escaping her love now that she finally has you. She'll drown you in it until it's all you'll want.

THE BLOODY PAINTER — had no real interest in meeting his soulmate, even if it meant his world lacked color. The lack of color in his world didn't deter from his passion for art, and he didn't need to see color to create a masterpiece. If anything, the black and white world he lived in seemed to fit him perfectly.

Sure, he had a few passing thoughts on what his soulmate might be like, but it's nothing he ever really entertained. And if he ever met his soulmate, he sincerely doubts he'd want any real connection with them. Rather, he doubts they'd want anything to with him.

So imagine his surprise when he bumps into you one day and color suddenly bursts into his world. It's dizzying, for the both of you, but all Helen can focus on is the red you were wearing.

Red is a beautiful color on you.

It's an awkward start to your relationship, mostly because it was so sudden. Neither of you really knew what to do, and in the beginning, it honestly seemed as if you two just weren't meant to be. But somehow, it seemed to work out.

Helen really didn't want you finding out about his whole serial killer thing. He wanted a normal relationship with you. Something that would separate him from the whole ‘Bloody Painter’ title the media had given him.

He could spend hours just drawing you. You invade his every thought most days, and he can draw you from memory. He has numerous sketchbooks just filled to the brim with drawings of you. And almost all of them feature the color red in some way.

Art was his main way of expressing his love to you. His expression was always apathetic and his words never felt like enough to him, so what better way to show his love than by painting you masterpieces? Almost every piece of art he made these days were dedicated to you. Even his murders.

It was only a matter of time before you learned about his side hobby, unfortunately. You were smart, something he loved very dearly about you. He's not sure when you started to suspect him of being a killer, but he knew you were starting to become wary of him. Whenever the news talked about a recent murder, he could always feel the way your gaze drifted over to him, even if for a moment.

To be honest, he didn't see any reason to confirm nor deny your suspensions. He was curious to see whether you'd stay with him or if you'd try to leave the longer you suspected him. Not that he'd let you, of course. Helen couldn't lose you, you were his muse. If he lost you, how could he ever create art?

Helen would only do something if you tried telling someone about your suspicions. Maybe your friend or family member was a detective, but whoever you try telling is going to end up a bloodied corpse in front of you, your boyfriend standing over their corpse with a look of mild disgust.

Their blood smearing onto your skin when Helen gently cups your cheeks, telling you how careless you had been, how you left him with no choice but to kill that person. You were freaked out by the entire situation, but Helen wouldn't let you go.

Red truly is a beautiful color on you.

TICCI TOBY — genuinely had no idea he had a soulmate, simply because he couldn't feel pain. Truth be told, he didn't even know what soulmates were until he was already a proxy. Kate had been kind enough to explain it to him, when he questioned the mark on her neck.

It was a concept that he found interesting because the idea of meeting someone who would finally understand him was too good to pass up. At the same time, he couldn't help but think it to be bullshit. Toby had always been disillusioned to love, even if he couldn't quite remember why. It just seemed too good to be true.

He wasn't even sure if he had a soulmate, truth be told. He didn't have any marks on him as far as he could tell, and there were no words or names or anything like that. He just assumed he was one of the rare few that didn't have a soulmate.

But then he met you.

You, the newest proxy. Fresh meat, dazed and confused and in need of training. He was like you once, years ago. He trained himself, too stubborn to listen to anyone else. Because of that, Slender always made him train any new proxy it brought. It annoyed him beyond belief, but he didn't have much of a choice.

There was something strange about you. He's not quite sure what it was, but he found it strangely difficult to look away from you for too long. There was just… something drawing him to you. He only understood why when he cut himself on his hand when he retrieved one of his hatchets he had you throwing.

You had gasped. It was a pained one, so of course he had to check you for injuries. When he found the cut on your hand, you had pointed out the fact that he had a similar one on his own. It was… weird, truthfully. And maybe he was being dumb, or whatever, but Toby couldn't help but wonder if… were you his soulmate?

The very thought was enough to drag his hatchet across his arm, watching as the very same cut he had given himself tore into your skin as well. It had left him speechless, to say the least. He felt conflicted in so many ways, and to be honest, he avoided you in the beginning. He had nobody for the longest time, and now he suddenly has a soulmate? It was just a bit much for him, and he needed the space.

But trust that once he's accepted that he has someone in his life now, you're stuck with him. Toby isn't a physical person, so you don't have to worry about him actually sticking to you, but he always seems to be keeping an eye on you. For Toby, he's always been hyper aware of his surroundings because if he's not, he could get hurt without realizing it and then bleed out and die, so sad. But now he has to make sure you don't get hurt as well, already becoming increasingly protective over you.

Any missions tasked to you, Toby will always join you. Doesn't matter how simple the mission is, or if you or Slender try to argue with him, he's going.

He's so protective over you that it borders on possessive. He hates when you get close to anyone, and the moment you leave his line of sight, he's hunting you down. Friend or foe, Toby doesn't want you near them. You have to understand that everyone has bad intentions. Hell, Toby himself acknowledges his behavior to be bad as well, he's well aware of that fact. But to him, it's for your own good. You can trust him, but you can't trust anyone else.

And there's literally no chance that you'll be able to leave him if you tried. As a proxy of Slenderman, you're stuck with him. Slender doesn't care about your comfort, it only cares about you completing the missions it gives to you. Sure, it finds Toby's behavior strange and mildly annoying, but it's not causing you any physical harm, so it simply doesn't care.

But Toby would never, under any circumstances, hurt you. That's something he will vehemently refuse to do no matter what, so you could use that against him if need be.

Just… just let him have this. Let him have you.

[inkskinned]

she's three years younger than i am, and i put on cascada as a throwback, cackling - before your time! i've been borrowing my brother's car, and it's older than dirt, so the trunk is like, maybe permanently locked. when the sun comes through the window to frame her cheekbones, i feel like i'm 16 again. i shake when i'm kissing her, worried i won't get it right.

in 2003, my state made gay marriage legal. where she grew up, it wasn't legal until 11 years later - 10 years ago. if legal protections for gay marriage were a person, that person would be entering 5th grade. online, a white gay man calls the fight for legal marriage boring, which isn't kind of him but it is a common enough opinion.

it has only been 9 years since gay marriage was nationally official. it is already boring to have gay people in your tv. it is already boring to mention being gay - "why make it your entire personality?" i know siblings that have a larger age gap than the amount of time it's been legally protected. i recently saw a grown man record himself crying about how evil gay people are. he was begging us, red in the face - just do better.

i am absolutely ruined any time my girlfriend talks about being 27 (i know!! a child!), but we actually attended undergrad at the same time since i had taken off time to work between high school and college. while walking through the city, we drop our hands, try not to look too often at each other. the other day i went to an open mic in a basement. the headlining comedian said being lesbian isn't interesting, but i am a lesbian, if you care. as a joke, she had any lesbian raise their hand if present. i raised mine, weirdly embarrassed at being the single hand in a sea of other faces. she had everyone give me a round of applause. i felt something between pride and also throwing up.

sometimes one thing is also another thing. i keep thinking about my uncle. he died in the hospital without his husband of 35 years - they were not legally wed, so his husband could not enter. this sounds like it should be from 1950. it happened in 2007. harassment and abuse and financial hardship still follow any person who is trying to get married while disabled. marriage equality isn't really equal yet.

and i don't know that i can ever put a name to what i'm experiencing. sometimes it just feels... so odd to watch the balance. people are fundamentally uninterested in your identity, but also - like, there's a whole fucking bastion of rabid men and women who want to kill you. your friends roll their eyes you're gay we get it and that is funny but like. when you asked your father do you still love me? he just said go to your room. you haven't told your grandmother. disney is on their 390th "first" gay representation, but also cancelled owl house and censored the fuck out of gravity falls. you actively got bullied for being gay, but your advisor told you to find a different gimmick for your college essay - everyone says they're gay these days.

once while you were having a hard day you cried about the fact that the reason our story is so fucking boring to so many people is that it is so similar. that it is rare for one of us to just, like, have a good experience across the board. that our stories often have very parallel bends - the dehumanization, the trauma, the trouble with trusting again. these become rote instead of disgusting. how bad could it be if it is happening to so many people?

i kiss my girlfriend when nobody is looking. i like her jawline and how her hands splay when she's making a joke. there is nothing new about this story, sappho. i love her like opening up the sun. like folding peace between the layers of my life, a buttercream of euphoria, freckles and laughter and wonder.

my dad knows about her. i've been out to him since i was 18 - roughly four years before the supreme court would protect us. the other day he flipped down the sun visor while driving me to the eye doctor. "you need to accept that your body was made for a husband. you want to be a mother because you were made for men, not women." he wants me to date my old high school boyfriend. i gagged about it, and he shook his head. he said - "don't be so dramatic. you can get used to anything."

the other day a straight friend of mine snorted down her nose about it, accidentally echoing him - she said there are bigger problems in this world than planning a wedding.