#anyway. let me know if you have thoughts on what would be the most compelling

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

some nights when i don't have enough time to watch anything, i just stare at the wall and try to work out this non-existent episode's plot

i do have a pitch for an episode of the x files where the agents are tasked with trying to solve a huge art theft. scully is convinced it was for normal art theft reasons (reduced sentencing for prisoners revealing their location, or perhaps the hubris of a very wealthy private collector) whereas mulder is convinced aliens are making a collection of earthly culture to enhance their understanding of the human species. i just haven't come up with the plot twist that makes them BOTH wrong yet!

[l4mplight]

Miquella and Trina; A Tragedy

Hey Tumblr. I have a lot of thoughts about Shadow of the Erdtree, and these ones... let's just say I don't think they'd do well on Reddit. It's not often that I feel particularly impacted by a particular fictional character. Usually I connect more with narrative arcs and themes, which is why I think I'm so drawn to the ephemeral, vibes based storytelling of Fromsoft's games. Playing through SOTE, though, I found Miquella (and St Trina) to be extremely emotionally compelling and relatable, and I wasn't sure exactly why. I think I've put my finger on it now though. First of all, know that I am writing from the perspective that Miquella is a sympathetic character. I know that it's not uncommon to read him as a manipulative Machiavellian villain, but I think that's both a misreading of the text as well as just plain boring. Like, he's not a Griffith clone you guys, give From some credit. Anyway, here we go.

"You have no understanding. Of Miquella the Kind. Of St. Trina's Love.

Content Warning: I'll be discussing themes of depression, and the implication of suicidal ideation.

So, a classic Fromsoftware theme is despair, and the ways we cope with a world full of it. It shows up twice in Shadow of the Erdtree; with Midra and the Frenzied Flame, where despair leads to a selfish nihilism that asks us to burn everything down, and with Thiollier and St Trina, who offer sleep as a comfort to the weary. Running a small errand for Thiollier has him say the following.

"If you find yourself… weary of the weight of this life, then just give me the word. Sleep is a balm, and eternal sleep… is an elixir."

Drinking the elixir he offers will, of course, result in an instant death. This is our first encounter with the idea of "Eternal Sleep," a more potent form of the sleep status effect that only appears here in the Shadowlands, after St Trina has been abandoned. The Velvet Sword of St. Trina tells us as much: "Silver sword of St. Trina, now stained the color of velvet. Inflicts eternal sleep. When St. Trina was abandoned, the faint, light-purple mists coalesced into an intoxicating deep-purple cloud." In order to ascend to godhood, Miquella abandons first his physical body, and then the more abstract aspects of himself. As we begin to descend down the fissure where we'll find Trina, a cross marks the spot as the place where Miquella abandoned his love. This connects Trina, "the discarded half" as Thiollier puts it, with Miquella's love. Leda confirms this in her own dialogue:

"St. Trina's love for Kind Miquella is boundless. She is, after all, his other half. Or perhaps her feelings go beyond even that. Even if she was left behind, I doubt her heart would waver."

Keep that in mind, it'll be relevant later.

Near the cross, a spirit offers up some of the most heartbreaking dialogue I've come across so far. The spirit gives us a bigger picture of Miquella's goals:

"Kindly Miquella... I see you've thrown away... something you should not have. Under any circumstances. How will you salvation offer... to those who cannot be saved? When you could not even save your other self?"

I teared up at this. The emotional impacted was aided by the fact that I ran into the spirit right after telling Moore to put his past behind him, leading him to rededicate himself to Miquella. He says:

"Hm. Maybe that’s Kindly Miquella’s love. Love for all the unloved. Love, to banish the pain."

Note here that Moore suggest Miquella's love will "banish the pain." This is also essentially what Trina's sleep does. It's a comfort to those in need. Anyway, between these two instances, we end up with a pretty good picture of the sort of god Miquella wants to become. He was already sympathetic to the outcasts of The Lands Between in the basegame, where he built Elphael and the Haligtree as a haven for those rejected by the Golden Order, such as the Albinaurics and Misbegotten we find there. In the Shadowlands, he has gone a step further. Hornsent tells us that he has committed himself, in essence, to righting Marika's wrongs.

"Miquella has said as much himself – he wishes now to throw it all away. He says the act – though undoubtedly painful – will sear clean the Erdtree’s wanton sin. The truth of his claim can be found at each cross. 'Tis evidence enough to earn my belief."

Of all of Marika's children, Miquella is the only one to see the serious flaws in her empire. Ymir points this out to us as well.

"No matter our efforts, if the roots are rotten, then we have little recourse. Ever-Young Miquella saw things for what they were. He knew his bloodline was tainted, his roots mired in madness. A tragedy if there ever was one. That he would feel compelled to renounce everything when the blame lay squarely with the mother."

My thinking here is aligned with Mother Ymir. You really have to feel for Miquella; he has essentially taken on, alone, the responsibility of making up for centuries of Golden Order imperialism. That's a massive burden to bear, especially for Miquella, cursed with eternal childhood.

(It's easy to miss, but Miquella actually ages up significantly when we see him in god-form. Until he steps back through the Divine Gate, he would have looked and sounded like he does in the introductory art and in ending memory scene. Compare those with how he appears in the boss fight, and it's clear godhood at least helped him reach puberty lol) So we've established that Miquella is the child of Imperial Rome on Steroids, is cursed with eternal childhood, and is an empathetic prodigy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Surely his mental state is perfectly healthy, right? Right??

Final warning, this is where things get quite sad. Here is where I will try to tie Miquella's arc together with Thiollier and St Trina, and the comforting oblivion and relief from despair that sleep represents for them.

As we search for St Trina, we descend down into the Stone Coffin Fissure. This is a place of death, with massive coffins built into the fissure walls, and Gravebirds, Bloodfiends and Putrescent enemies everywhere. St Trina is found at the deepest possible pit of this fissure, in a swamp of putrescence that has since blossomed into a garden of deep velvet lilies because of her influence. Trina offers us nectar of "eternal sleep," as Thiollier did previously, and as established then, "eternal sleep" is essentially nothing more than a peaceful death. Trina seems to fit in quite well in this place of ancient dead things, with some of the ancient remains even being compelled to fight for her in exchange for eternal rest, becoming the Putrescent Knight.

(Side note for levity because we're about to get sad again; I love this guy. It's a knight made out of the skeleton of a horse, riding on that same horse's decaying flesh goop body. Like, ugh. Beautiful. Plus, it may even have taken that shape because of Trina sharing Miquella's memories of Radahn, who was never far from his horse Leonard...)

We meet St Trina in her garden, and when we imbibe her nectar, we eventually begin to hear her voice in our death-dreams. She seems to pity him. Mourn for him, almost.

"Make Miquella stop... Don't turn the poor thing into a god..."

Trina appears to be in a bad state after her fall. She can only manage to get a few words across to us at once. Just as Leda predicted, her heart hasn't wavered. She is only concerned with Miquella's well-being.

"Godhood would be Miquella's prison. A caged divinity... is beyond saving."

Trina's most pressing concern is that godhood will be a prison for Miquella. Now, this could in theory be because gods are subject to manipulation from the Fingers and the Greater Will or a similar reason, but given that she calls him a "poor thing," I think there is likely a more emotional reason behind Trina's plea. I think that Trina is speaking as the embodiment of Miquella's love, but especially his ability to love and care for himself...

"You must kill Miquella... Grant him forgiveness."

...and she asks us to kill him.

In excising Trina from his being, I think Miquella also expelled the part of himself that was able to recognize how miserable divinity would be for him, and how miserable he was. The part of him that was tired of carrying the responsibilities that his compassion demanded of him. The part of him that was exhausted, despairing and desperate from having failed to cure Malenia, failed to save Godwyn, failed to perfect the Haligtree. St Trina is the part of Miquella that wanted to be stopped, to rest, to sleep, to die. In abandoning her as he does, Miquella is essentially repressing those thoughts and feelings, replacing them with more "selfless" ones; self-sacrifice, suffering on behalf of others, his martyrdom and apotheosis. I don't want to forget about "grant him forgiveness" either. She might mean forgiveness for failing to become a god, for not being good enough to succeed Marika and right her wrings. Maybe forgiveness for failing Malenia and Godwyn, or for leaving the Haligtree behind. Maybe even for abandoning her. But on the road to godhood, Miquella can't afford to indulge in this sort of self-pity. A child craves forgiveness and approval, a god must cast these things out.

"I'm feeling rather lost. Haunted by memories. Of St. Trina. Her visage. Her scent. The lure of velvety sleep. Would Kindly Miquella chasten me? For falling for St. Trina, while knowing that she was the discarded half? The problem is… I simply cannot help it. I would sacrifice everything, just to gaze upon her, one last time."

I want to mention Thiollier one more time here too. His primary visual motif is the long white braids that he wears on his clothes, reminiscent of Miquella and Trina's own signature braids (remember, she looked like an older feminine Miquella before her fall and injury). Thiollier is obsessed with Trina, pursuing her to hear her voice and fade into the comfort of her velvet sleep, though this doesn't kill him like it does us. I don't think Thiollier is connected to Miquella in any textual way, but I think he does serve as a reflection of the sorts of thoughts Miquella may have been surpressing. The self-pity, the need for approval and love, the feelings of weakness and uselessness. These are the things that lead Thiollier to pursue endless slumber.

Thiollier doesn't give in to that despair, however. Though he initially takes St. Trina's words... poorly, he eventually realizes what must be done, and dedicates himself to his new purpose: carrying out her final wish.

"I am here to serve St. Trina evermore. I am deeply sorry. For doubting you. I am here only to grant St. Trina's singular wish. I will stop Miquella the kind. He will never become a god."

This post is already quite long, but I also want to mention the obvious gender stuff going on here. There are a number of moments that make it seem as though St. Trina might actually be more than just "half" of Miquella. Firstly, as she is shown falling in the story trailer, Leda is describing how Miquella abandoned his fate, as if Trina had a vital role to play in Miquella's future. It also seems as though Trina isn't cursed in the same way that Miquella is; her voice and size indicate that she is at least more substantial than his "infant form," and she is depicted in "adult form, somewhat unnervingly" on the Torch of St. Trina. Furthermore, her "adult form" has a third eye in the middle of her forehead. The third eye is a symbol of enlightenment in both Hinduism and Buddhism; it seems that Trina has achieved some level of wholeness in this depiction. Meanwhile, when Miquella achieves godhood, his eyes remain permanently shut. He also appears to have only one physical arm. He holds Radahn with two incorporeal arms while casting with his real right arm, but his left arm appears to fade away to nothing before the elbow, as if unfinished. Miquella's blindness and asymmetry here, I think, reflect how unbalanced and incomplete his divinity is without Trina.

One more hint towards St Trina being a part of Miquella's future lies way back at the Haligtree. In Malenia's bossroom, just above where Miquella's cocoon was once embedded into the tree, the branches and roots appear to form a silhouette. This could be Miquella, Trina, or both, but I do see a certain resemblance to Trina's depiction on the torch in the way the "hair" covers the eyes. Given that Miquella's body appears to have grown a decent amount inside of the cocoon when we see in at Mohg's palace, it's possible that the cocoon situation was his original attempt to cure himself of his own curse, or perhaps become a part of the Haligtree itself. In the Shaman Village, Marika's home, there is a similar scene. A woman's body that resembles Marika seemingly mummified within the hollow of a tree. I honestly have no idea what to make of that just yet, but I thought it worth a mention.

So, with all that in mind, abandoning Trina seems to be even more significant. Not only has Miquella divested himself of his love and his fate, but maybe even his future, too. Being eternally nascent, he is always in a state of potential, after all. Am I suggesting that Miquella is a transfeminine character? That he was meant to grow up to become a goddess in the aspect of St. Trina, or maybe even more like Marika than he already is? Well, maybe. If you find it compelling, then absolutely. Fromsoftware's storytelling is always ambiguous, and is always design to leave us some room to read and interpret, to really play in the space we are given. Personally, I do find it compelling in a horribly tragic sort of way, fitting for the setting. It's also entirely possible that I have rather self-indulgently projected some of my own angst onto these character. I likely have, to be perfectly honest. It's rare that I really connect with a set of characters or a story like I have with this lot, and I hope that maybe some of you reading this will feel similarly. If you have read this far, thanks <3

[hitomisuzuya]

Ruan Mei x fem!reader. Smut. Cunnilingus. Mommy kink. Mentions of sex toys.

This is a test write, I suppose. I am very nervous, but I can't get this out of my head 😳 Who is gonna see this, anyways? Part two maybe?

Ruan Mei didn't understand love. So, what was it about you that stirred her fancy? Was it because you were always by her side, even in her lab? Was it because you shared tea and cakes with her, providing a most astute opinion that quite matched her own?

You weren't in the Genius Society.

Was it because you often encouraged her to follow through on visiting her creations? Was it because even her creations seemed to smile at you and accept you?

Was it because you often let her indulge in your body for the pursuit of exploring the deeper depth of intimacy and the meaning behind it? She remembered spending one night stimulating your nipples in various ways, observing and documenting your body's reactions to the sensations of intimacy.

She'd never seen anything quite like it before.

Your nipples had felt so soft despite being hard underneath her fingertips. You writhed and drooled when she'd pinched a certain way. You moaned, and called her Mommy, asking in the sweetest tone for more.

Ruan Mei herself didn't expect to find this side of you to be so arousing. When did you start tasting as sweet as her cakes? So sweet that she felt compelled to taste other parts of you?

"Did you know that on average, the clitoris has over 8 thousand nerves?" Ruan Mei traced the shape of your clit with her tongue, letting out a hum of approval at your taste." My tongue has the potential to stimulate all of them with one, single lick," She slowly swirled her tongue, a flush dusting her cheeks.

The gentle, almost teasing sensation of her tongue on your clit made you gasp softly, your hips jerking up to grind your clit on her tongue. Looking down at her beautiful blue eyes as she experimentally licked your clit sent a shiver up your spine.

You blushed realizing she was looking up at you like she was expecting something. "Will you try and stimulate them all, Mommy?" You shakily moaned, reaching out for her.

There was the sweet tone she'd been wanting to hear. Ruan Mei took your hand and put it on her head. Her heart was racing with the anticipation of you inevitably pushing her mouth down onto your pussy, grinding on her mouth and saturating that sweet taste she craved on her tongue. "Good girl. I sure will try," She prodded her tongue on your clit.

You gently pushed her mouth down on your pussy. The string of moans you let out as she latched her lips around your clit made her reach between her legs and play with her clit. "How extraordinary," She marveled, pausing to suck and swirl her tongue around your clit again, "The human body always reacts the strongest to intimate stimulation. It's quite beautiful," She skimmed her thumbs over the insides of your thighs to remind you to keep your legs spread.

"Please, fuck me with your tongue, Mommy," You moaned, struggling to keep your shaking legs from closing around her head. Her tongue felt determined and thorough, like not one sensitive part of your puffy pussy would go explored.

Ruan Mei moaned softly into your cunt. Hearing you call her Mommy sent such strong spikes of arousal through her. She was always stunned to feel how wet she was after she heard it. She circled her fingertips around her swollen clit, pushing two fingers inside of her.

Just like she thought, she was getting just as wet as you were. Lately, uncontrollable thoughts about you came in abundance. What it would be like to see your hole stretched and weeping around a dildo while she fucked it into you. Or to have you whimpering and moan with your head buried her between legs, begging her so sweetly to cum on your tongue.

She fingered herself for a few moments more, sucking on your clit. Her eyes were keenly trained on observing your every twitch and movement. You are a fun, new research specimen with many other benefits for her.

"It's believed that an orgasm occurs from the hormone oxytocin. My mouth is causing it to rapidly course through your body," She traced the shape of your hole with her tongue, prodding the tip inside of you. "It's produced during sexual arousal. Stimulation of the nipples aides this as well."

She paused thoughtfully, experimentally lapping and sucking on your pussy. "I'm sure I could find something to stimulate your nipples while I play with you like this," She raised an eyebrow playfully up at you, kitten licking your clit.

"I would love that, Mommy," You whimpered so so sweetly, rubbing your pussy on her mouth needily. What a sight you are to behold. Ruan Mei shivered at your response. You had just opened up a whole new world of exploration for her.

"Your body becomes tense before orgasm. Your breathing and your moans uncontrollable. Right at this moment," She moaned, sucking with various pressures on your clit. "Your brain is releasing dopamine and oxytocin."

Your body seemed to respond to her words as she said them. Each lick and suck made your clit throb harder. Your legs shook as you desperately sought friction from her mouth. Your body was tense with the ache of needing to cum. Your moans were loud, and uncontrolled.

Maybe sexual intimacy is the purest bud in the flower of life?

Ruan Mei fingered herself to the sight of you cumming. She'd relentlessly stimulated your clit, holding your drooling folds apart with two fingers until your orgasm struck you with visible intensity. The way you shook was extraordinary. She eagerly lapped at your pussy.

She would keep you by her long into the night. You'd made her ache for you. Was it love that was making her ache for you. Ache to hear you ask if you could please her now?

[katiemay-025]

Unexpected

~~~~~

summary: Johanna Mason had a plan for the 71st Hunger Games but she never expected a budding relationship with one of the other tributes let alone a Career

wc: 4.4k

warnings: use of y/n, mdni, character death, angst, graphic violence, mentions of forced prostitution, swearing

~~~~~

Everything was perfectly as planned. Johanna might have had a few bruises from the stunt she pulled at the parade but other than that, everyone fully believed she was weak. Even her district partner believed it, opting to sit with the other tributes. She credited her ability to cry on cue. Johanna was now sitting alone on the training center secretly observing her competition.

That was until a girl put her tray in front of her. When Johanna looked up she was met with the eyes of a career. God she hated them, thinking they owned the place. “Hi. I’m y/n from District 4.” Johanna knew who she was, this year among the careers, she was the top of the food chain. Your brother is the one and only Capitol Darling Finnick Odair.

Johanna stayed quiet hoping the girl in front of her would hurry up and tell her what she was doing here with her. The top of the food chain with the bottom. You didn’t say anything eating her food in silence. It was annoying the district 7 tribute, so she mustered up her meekest voice. “W-why are you sitting with me?”

“My brother won when I was 11 and he would take me out to sea to fish and train. It didn’t go too well with my classmates. They said it was unfair that I got to go on all these ‘field trips’. They were jealous and their jealousy quickly became hate.” What does that have to do with me? Johanna thought. “Anyway I know what it’s like to be an outcast. It’s not fun, so seeing you alone, I didn’t want that for you.” It was like you read her mind, answering her question as soon as she asked it in her head. For the rest of lunch you asked her about her life in District 7 and playing up to the weakling she was, didn’t speak, only opting to shake or nod her head.

Still, you found out a lot. First talking about your brother and then turning the conversation to Johanna’s siblings. She didn’t know what compelled her to tell the truth about them. Nodding when you counted to 4 and then again when you got the correct number of brothers, 3, which meant you knew she had a sister. Other things like her being the middle child, her age (17) and her favorite color (Green because of the forests) were discovered.

Johanna found out about your favorite color (blue for the ocean), your most prized possession was the conch shell you found at the beach, your relationship with Finnick, how he was protective and caring under all that bravado.

After lunch, Johanna fully expected you to rejoin the careers but you didn’t. You went to the weapons station and picked up an axe, which was not in the category of your specialty weapons. ‘Stabby stabs’ as you called it. She sat in the corner hugging her knees as everyone over looked her. For good measure, Johanna decided to cry again.

Through blurry vision, Johanna watched you with the instructor learning the basics. It was okay form and she couldn’t say anything without giving herself away so she turned her attention to crying again. It was its own workout. She buried her face into her knees and practically cried herself to sleep.

Johanna was woken up by you gently shaking her shoulder. You were sitting on your knees at her level. In a calm, soothing and oddly charming voice, you persistently asked her to join you for training. No was not accepted as an answer so Johanna was dragged to the weapons section. You picked up an axe and Johanna dreaded not being able to swing it around like she could. Oh god I’m going to have to pretend to be bad. She thought.

As soon as you instructed Johanna to hold it with 2 hands, she dropped it to the floor. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready.” She forced the tears to well up.

“No. It’s okay.” You consoled her with patience and shook your head helping Johanna lift it. She let you adjust her grip and your eyes lingered on her hands for a few seconds. You simplified your explanations after that and Johanna assumed you were giving up on a hopeless tribute from District 7 who couldn’t even hold their trade weapon but still being nice.

By the second day of training, it was clear you separated yourself from the career pack. Going to the survival sections and checking in on Johanna throughout the day retelling her about what you learned. Finnick got you in a habit of teaching him what he taught you saying the best way to truly know something was to teach to someone else.

The sibling-ship between you and Finnick was definitely stronger than her own relationship with her own siblings. You always had a story with him, like how you almost drowned him, how he let you drive the boat, or even the stupid dolphin sounds he made when a pod of dolphins swam next to the boat. You had your own whale speak that you demonstrated and gave Johanna second-hand embarrassment. She couldn’t have possibly shrunk any smaller.

Johanna wouldn’t lie, you were making her job a lot easier for her checking on her less and less throughout the day, quickly leaving when you couldn’t stop her from crying. God she hasn’t cried this much ever, her stomach was hurting to the point of nausea. To everyone else it looked like you were getting tired of her but she knew you better. You silently left a bottle with her name on the label of water filled with electrolytes so she could replenish the salt she lost while crying.

Johanna nearly had a heart attack when she saw your score after the individual assessment. An 11! Even after taking time to take care of her. Had you been prioritizing yourself, Johanna was sure you would’ve gotten a 12. Anyway, you did miles better than she had, earning the lowest training score ever at 2. Though according to plan, she couldn’t help but think about how you’d react to it. Were you disappointed?

During the interview with Caesar Flickerman, you addressed stepping away from the pack. “Oh those rumors are true. I don’t need them to win clearly with the score I got.” You flashed them a smirk that got everyone swooning over you. Johanna hated it, they didn’t even know like she did. They didn’t know that your favorite animal was a manatee. They didn’t know that you scratched your ear lobe when you were deep in thought. They definitely didn’t know that when you laughed, you place your hand over your heart. “And if that puts a target on my back, let them, I’ll kill them all.”

There was a flicker of darkness in your eyes and a venom in your voice that spread goosebumps over Johanna’s arms. The way you looked into the camera was like you were talking to her specifically. A horrible thought surfaced in her head. You were at the top of the tributes, you could easily feign kindness and kill her. It wasn’t ridiculous, after all, she herself was acting. It never occurred to her that someone else could be acting because at the end of the game, there would only be one victor. When the games started she needed to get away from you.

Johanna focused on herself, trying to speak about her family but then burst into tears again. She spent the rest of her interview time crying. It was getting old, even Johanna herself was getting tired of it by now. Blight was there to retrieve her after it and handed her a water bottle. “It’s from the District 4 girl.”

“Y/n.” She whispered, Johanna felt her heart tighten in her chest. Why am I feeling this way? She pushed it away, these were her cards and now all there was left to do was wait.

The arena was mountainous and rocky with patches of trees. When Johanna rose into it, she saw the cornucopia, and in the center, was a battle axe. You were six podiums to her left and when she found you, you were already looking at her. The moment the gong sounded, Johanna stumbled off her podium and ran toward the trees. She needed to get away from the bloodbath.

Just before reaching the tree line, Johanna dared to turn back. She saw you in the center dodging an attack from someone and grabbing a knife from the pile to slit their throats. You grabbed a harpoon, and a couple more knives before slinging a backpack over your shoulder. You made eye contact with her across the way before darting your eyes towards your left and her right.

When Johanna followed your gaze, she found the District 2 girl running towards her with a sword. Before she could even be close enough to start swinging the sword, a barbed dart flew into her head and her whole body jerked back to the ground as her head snapped. You gathered the rope around your arm and pulled the harpoon out of the dead Career. Johanna stood frozen, the center of the cornucopia and the edge of the tree line was at least 100ft and you just killed the career easily while she was moving.

“Go.” You said putting your hand on her shoulder and forcing her to run. “GO!” Johanna didn’t need to be told twice, and ran through the trees. Dodging and weaving were second nature to Johanna especially either all the tree farms. You followed closely behind for a while until you found a small cave, skidding to a stop. “Johanna! Over here!” Johanna was panicking. She just ran so fast for so long people would clearly start being suspicious. The District 7 resorted to dry heaving. “Oh. Oh man.” You said, you grabbed her arms and placed them behind her head. “Open up your airway love.”

Johanna was fine, but something about the way you called her love made all of her pretending go away. “I’m okay y/n. I’m fine.” Well almost. Her voice still had the softness to it. For the night, you tried to fit Johanna and yourself in the cave but she were hesitant.

You had unpacked your bag before asking Johanna a question, “Jo. Come on what’s wrong?”

“What if you try to kill me?”

You gave her a glare under the flashlight. “Honey, if I wanted you dead, I would’ve done it by now.” That shut Johanna up real quick and apparently the entire cave too. She did not expect to be scolded. “Why did you look back? God you were such an idiot. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“I don’t know.” She did know. Johanna needed to know you were okay but she wasn’t going to tell you that. “Why did you save me?”

“I do not want or need your obituary to say death by standing in the middle of a cornucopia bloodbath.”

Johanna wasn’t sure what your plan was. Didn’t you know that there could only be one victor? What were you going to do when there was only the two of them left? It seems to Johanna that you weren’t going to think about it until then.

She didn’t mind it, sitting all day in a cave might be boring but if she isn’t doing anything, Johanna’s conserving energy. You and Johanna shared more about your homes, you more than her since now everything was on camera. At night you sat quietly holding Johanna in the sleeping bag you shared, she was sniffling and you decided to glide your nails over her forearm.

On the second day, after a bit of hiking you found a large river and immediately jumped in after stripping. “Come in the water!” You laughed cupping a handful of water and drinking it.

“I don’t know how to swim.” Johanna replied meekly.

Your shoulders visibly dropped before making your way back to the shore. Suddenly you stopped eyeing something down stream. You squinted your eyes and Johanna watched you sink your head underwater only to surface 20ft away fighting a red splashing fish the size of your torso. You laughed as its tail whacked you in the stomach. With incredible strength you hoisted it between your arms and slid your fingers into the second gill and pulled. The fish stopped moving and you held it over your shoulders as you finally made it back to shore.

“Dinner! And breakfast and lunch and dinner again. For the two of us, I could probably last a few days. I hope you’re not allergic to fish Anna.” A small ding sounded and Johanna found a parachute floating right towards you as you were now gutting the fish. You paused for a second opening it to a full ice chest. “Thank’s Finn!” After cutting the fish into pieces, you and Johanna continued hiking finding another cave.

For the next couple of days, you and Johanna stayed in the cave only going out to get water. Johanna played her weakling part, clinging to your arm to not go. The compromise you came to was that Johanna would sit at the entrance with a knife and watch your back as you went to grab water.

On day 5, you told Johanna that since they were nearing the top 8 tributes, they would be interviewing family soon. She hoped her family knew what her plan was and made something up. You ran out of food this morning and told Johanna to not worry about you when you went out. It was only a few minutes you were out of site that a cannon sounded.

Johanna immediately ran out of the cave. “Johanna? Johanna!” She heard you call.

“Y/n!” She called back. You ran up the ridge to her. “I thought you-“

You pulled her into a hug shushing her. “It’s okay Jo. I’m here.” You stroked her hair trying to calm her. She spent the rest of the walk to the river clinging to your arm. The two of you made your way back to where you left your harpoon only to literally see all the water drained into the floor.

“What are they doing?”

“The Gamemakers are draining the river, probably to set up something to bring tributes together.”

“We don’t have to go right?”

“We need the water.”

“How long can we survive without water?”

“3 days.”

“Can we make it 3 days.”

“Yes but who’s to say the Gamemakers won’t wait 3 days to bring everyone together? When we’re desperate water.”

Johanna hated the Capitol. She hated being at their mercy. And she hated her plan right about now. The clueless weak girl that could do nothing could probably tap a tree for sugar and water by now if she had just showed who she was from the beginning and gotten that axe. But had she done that, she wouldn’t have you.

You and Johanna toughed it out waiting the rest of the day and the next before an announcement sounded. Attention Tributes tomorrow morning at the Cornucopia you are invited to attend. Each of you desperately needs something. That will be the only announcement. May the odds be ever in your favor.”

There hadn’t been a cannon since the scare cannon a few days ago. With the fallen tributes tribute that night, you figured out that besides you and Johanna, there were the rest of the careers, a boy from 9 and a girl from 11. You were stressed, Johanna could tell, you were fiddling with a rope you brought in as your token running your fingers through the grooves.

Hiking back to the Cornucopia at night was pretty easy since you and Johanna spent most of your time in cave. Johanna navigated through the trees easily, being from 7 and working in the tree farms, she had to know the way home or she’d become the forest witch’s food, or she was told. The two of you made it to the cornucopia in the middle of the night just after they played the anthem where no fallen tributes appeared.

In the night, neither you or Johanna could get some sleep knowing there were tributes around. You sat back to back and eventually you used Johanna’s shoulder as a head rest and she felt your soft breathing on her neck. Your right hand reached for her left behind you and you ran your thumb over the back of her skin. Johanna turned her head to look at you only finding that you were already looking at her with a sparkle in your eyes. She might’ve imagined it but your eyes were focused on her lips. Johanna felt a weird feeling in her stomach. Part of her wanted you lean in. That thought scared her so she laid on your shoulder. Johnna felt her face go red as she stared ahead to watch you 6.

In the morning, you gave Johanna a knife and told her to walk in front of you. The plan was to get what you needed and get the hell out of there. You stood with you back facing her as being the first people here meant you were the first targets, but she’s seen you throw. It felt like forever waiting for the feast but then Johanna heard a humming and saw the packs. Before it could even finish rising, Johanna grabbed the District 7 pack and District 4 pack trying to run away.

You held an arm out to stop her. Across the way were the four remaining careers. Johanna almost questioned why you didn’t throw your harpoon but then that would be taking your only weapon away. The careers charged towards them raising their weapons. You gripped Johanna’s shoulders as you strapped the backpacks onto her. “Run! You hear me? Run and don’t look back!”

She took off through the cornucopia but stopped when she heard a cannon. You were her ally and friend, she wasn’t going to leave, not after everything you have done for her. In the cornucopia, the battle axe from the first day was no longer there. There were smaller chopping axes and splitting axes that’ll have to do. Johanna picked them up hearing metal clash against metal outside.

She heard groaning that wasn’t yours and another strike that caused another man to scream. Then the dread filled her ears, she heard you gasp in pain fall to the ground with a thud. Johanna gritted her teeth when she heard the careers taunting you.

“Now that you’re as good as dead, your little cry baby is nex-“

Johanna put an axe in his face before he could even finish his sentence and before the other two careers managed to make sense of what was going on, the District 7 tribute had swung in their direction. The second one was barely lifted his bloody sword before Johanna literally chopped his head off.

Johanna saw red, hacking and swinging at everyone around her. The boy from 4 put up a fight but was so badly injured by you that he didn’t stand a chance against her. Back at the feast table, someone else had grabbed a backpack trying to run from the danger but Johanna threw the knife you gave her into the person’s calf. In one swift motion, she removed the axe from the career’s face and split this tribute’s head down the middle.

Blood sprayed on her face. When she looked up, the girl had wide eyes and tripped on the floor falling face first into the gravel. Johanna ran straight to her and swung at her shoulder. She was down but Johanna kept swinging until her body was nothing but a messed up pile of flesh and blood.

Looking around with a strong grip on the axe, she couldn’t see anyone else so Johanna quickly ran towards you. As she approached you, she heard a quiet voice congratulating her but ignored it. You were on the ground in your own pool of blood. The red liquid was flowing out of your torso and your eyes and her heart clenched. “Come on we have to go!”

“Johanna? You’re alive? You’re okay?” You choked out.

“Yeah I’m fine. Theyre dead. We need to go before the others come.” Johanna slings her arm over to carry her but you groaned at the slightest movement.

“Jo. Johanna! Stop! There’s no one left Jo. 22 cannons. We’re the last two.” Johanna was shocked she thought she was keeping track too but she must’ve lost count somewhere. Johanna realized the gravity of your situation. he should have told you she could fight. She could’ve grabbed an axe faster to help you. She might’ve blown her cover but you would still be okay. And you were, Johanna brought her hands to your stomach and pressed into it.

“Hey tell my brother I love him okay?” Her heart beat soared and she felt it in her throat when you said that. You were dying. She let out a choked sob.

“No. No! No you are not dying on me. You’re going to win this and tell him yourself.” She yelled.

“Love, judging by how strong your voice is, only one of us is on our death bed.”

No! Shut up! Stay with me. Stay with me please. Do you hear me? I can’t lose you Y/n!”

“You don’t have a choice Jo.”

She did have a choice. She chose to present herself as weak and now you were dying because she let you do all the work. You could’ve been a power duo, at least you wouldn’t have had to 1v4 the rest of the careers. Even though the careers had stabbed you, it was Johanna’s fault and for the first time since her reaping, she cried real tears.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head and struggled to open your eyes to meet Johanna’s. “Don’t be. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I lied to you. I- I killed them all. It was all an act, the crying, the fainting, the training score. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” If she didn’t have tears streaming out of her eyes she would have seen the smug smile on your face.

You reached up to cup her cheek swiping the blood from it. You shushed her caressing her face. “You give them hell Johanna.” Johanna let out a whimper leaning into your hand as she pressed into you harder to stop the bleeding.

Something weird filled her vision, waves breaking over the rocks, Finnick’s smile, swimming with the dolphins, a field of wild flowers. The conch shell you liked to listen to after catching it and herself sitting alone at lunch.

Boom.

Johanna burst into tears and buried her face into your neck crying, leaving a trail of snot on your shoulder. She wiped the snot with the back of her hand not caring that she just smeared your blood on her face. Ladies and Gentleman the victor of the 71st Hunger Games Johanna Mason.

You were gone, just like that. You didn’t deserve it, you were a good person. She came in here with a plan and she never expected to fall in love let alone have an ally. She hated the Capitol and she is going to give them hell. They will regret taking you from her.

~

Outside of the helpless girl act, Johanna proved to be a formidable district girl. She was known as strong, cunning, angry and after refusing to prostitution, extra angry.

Johanna was standing on an empty balcony swirling a drink around with a scowl on her face. There was no need to be cordial with everyone. She openly hated them and everyone praised her for her strategy even fooling a career. You weren’t just a career to her, you were an ally, a friend, her love. She cried all her tears for you, vowing never to cry again.

She heard the door click open and was about to rip into this person until she turned and came face to face with the familiar sea green eyes and tanned skin. Johanna didn’t know how much attention she gave to you and your features until now. “Finnick.”

“Johanna.” He said. The newest victor immediately back tracked on her vow. Tears welled in her eyes but she didn’t let them fall. Here she was categorizing her feelings to love when it did not compare to Finnick’s pain. He practically raised you and it showed on his face, the half smiles and the bags under his eyes, his disheveled hair, though all the capitol elites found it hot.

He leaned against the same railing facing the opposite way to Johanna. He didn’t offer to talk, sitting in the silence was an Odair thing apparently, not that Johanna knew what to say anyway.

She settled for, “I keep thinking about what would have happened if I picked up the axe sooner. I might not have had an ally in her but she’d probably be alive. Some ally I was.”

Finnick had turned his body to her. “I thought Y/n was crazy for wanting to be your ally after the first day of training.” Johanna looked at him puzzled, thinking back to what she possibly could have done to get you to want her. She cried, you sat with her for lunch and you taught her how to use an axe. Well as much as you can teach someone who already knew how. “But I guess she saw something in you.”

“When she taught you how to tie a knot or any other skills, did you pretend to be bad?”

“Yeah. Why?”

It was the axe, Johanna remembered now, when you looked at her hands and then gave her less explanations on how to wield one. Of course, you taught Finnick skills he already knew so you could commit it to memory and actually learn it instead of forgetting it. “I did the same thing when she tried to teach me how to use an axe. She knew! She knew all this time and didn’t say anything about it. God! I should’ve done something to help her sooner.”

“You can’t change the past.”

“I fucking know that.” She was indebted to you. For keeping her secret, for trusting her, for protecting her. Always. “I just wish I could tell her how much she means to me.”

“There are so many things left unsaid. But wherever my sister is, I think she’ll know.”

[anxresi]

I Beg To Differ.

Okay, now just because I'm about to embark on an epic rant does NOT mean I think anything bad about you as a person, OP. It's just on this one teensie-weensie most minor of points, I happen to think you're 100% wrong. Just thought I'd clarify that, so no offense intended. Anyway, on with the show...

Nah, they did us SO dirty with Chloe. I hear your above argument a lot, and it WOULD be a fair point… if it wasn't for the fact that there are SO many clear signs this wasn't what was intended from the beginning that it makes your reasoning completely null and void. Chloe's 'arc' was the most blatant case of in-show character assassination I've ever had the displeasure of witnessing, and I'm about to explain why. Read on! (If you want to, that is.... no pressure).

They strung us along for at least three seasons with various hints about her 'traumatic past', her problems with her often absent mother (which Marinette didn't help by encouraging them to bond because 'they're both such awful people'), showed her genuinely apologizing to her victims, protecting Sabrina from akumatization and having times when she treated her as a real friend, sacrificing herself to save the day occasionally, hugging Miss Bustier in a moment of genuine emotion, telling Ladybug how 'useless' she felt in a teary rooftop encounter, saving lives both as a superhero and a civilian (check back if you don't believe me), giving Adrien a moving speech on his phone about how 'she'd always be there for him', sharing a really close bond with her father, telling her butler Jean it was time she started doing things for herself, loving Mr Cuddly, adoring Pollen… I could go on. Not the best person in the world, true.... but a promising start. Green shoots, and all that. Her name literally means that.

S4 simply forgot any of this happened, and literally pushed her burgeoning development off a cliff with Sisyphu's boulder tied to it's big toe. There was NO build-up, NO foreshadowing, NO precedent for Chloe suddenly becoming a one-dimensional total-sociopath irredeemable-monster AT ALL, they simply made her that way on a whim. They had her start acting like a complete psycho for the evilz, made her the most stupid person in the show BY FAR, severed ALL of her few close relationships, wrote AN ENTIRE FLASHBACK EPISODE in incrimate her newfound nastiness even more and 'punished' her by sending her off exiled on a plane in tears with her abusive mother to… what else? Get abused, of course. GREAT MESSAGE TO ALL THE VULNERABLE TEENAGE GIRLS OUT THERE. (I won't even get into how utterly useless and blandly boring her 'replacement' of a plot device Mary S... oops, I mean Zoe is).

And we're supposed to believe the former corrupt mayor Andre, the terrorist Gabriel Agreste and Thomas Astruc (you know him) are the GOOD guys here? Well, I'd like to tell you what I'd like to do to them… but for fear of censorship, I'd better withhold that particular information for now.

The upshot of it is… if Chloe had been bad from the beginning and terrible at the end, I'd have accepted it. Heck, if her so-called damnation arc was even halfway well written and gave us an accurate and compelling look at the moral descent a person who's capable of redemption could take to the light but ultimately chose to stay on the Dark Side, this would've been highly disappointing to me but fine from a storytelling perspective.

But they didn't give us anything like that, did they? It was just… 'pretend the last three seasons never happened, develop amnesia, hit yourself repeatedly on the head with a shovel… we don't care. Just accept this is the NEW Chloe without question despite past evidence, because you won't be getting any answers. Now let's go back to what we're REALLY here for… Marichat, Ladynoire, Adrinette and that other stupid ship name. SWOON!'

Thanks, but no thanks. Did I ever tell you how much I HATE this stupid show? Apologies if I didn't make that clear enough.

[gffa]

I made the mistake, after episode 7 of the acolyte, to look through the tags (I’ve given up on Reddit for sw discourse lol) and there are so many bad takes out there. It’s like people watched a different episode. I’m glad there are some good meta takes from people like you, or I’d be lost! I think nuance is dead in fandom and people just can’t see things as more than “Jedi Bad!” When there’s so much more nuance than that. Were the Jedi perfect? No! Of course not. That would be so boring. If all Jedi were always perfect, SW would be dull. It’s because they aren’t perfect that they are so compelling. That they try to do the right thing, even if it doesn’t always work out.

A quote that came to mind by Teddy Roosevelt: “It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.”

Anyways, thanks for your continued good meta and cultivating a nice pro-Jedi space!

Hi! I hear you, it can be tough going into the tags sometimes (and I've given up on both Reddit and Twitter for any kind of discussion, I just do not have the time/energy for that when sometimes I still have to fight for my life on Tumblr) but I will say that the best remedy I have for that is to start posting the content you want to see! It's so satisfying to write down your thoughts just to have fun in your own space, I don't need other people nearly so much because I'm having a great time just making myself laugh or cry over my faves or nerding out over worldbuilding. It's a bonus that I've collected a bunch of really great people around me, both ones I vibe with and ones who are chill when our vibes don't match and we disagree on stuff. I've been having an absolute joy of a time after episode 7 of The Acolyte because I've seen some great posts, I've had some hilarious conversations, etc. And part of that is just. Letting go of a lot of fandom. I'm a lot more relaxed about the Star Wars media I consume because it's not Lucas' Star Wars, I can take or leave it as I will and, most importantly, I don't need the Jedi to be perfect to be good. So much of my need for the Jedi to be perfect once upon a time came from that any little mistake they made, ones that were completely reasonable, ones that were simply just "didn't solve everyone's problems instantly", ones that were present in other characters who were allowed to just be instead of being raked over the coals for it, and how fandom would use those as a bludgeon against the Jedi. And that wasn't fun! So, instead, yeah, the Jedi are flawed, because any character ever is allowed to be flawed. The most cinnamon roll character ever is flawed and that's okay. Luke Skywalker is flawed. Padme Amidala is flawed. Bail Organa is flawed. Yoda is flawed. Obi-Wan Kenobi is flawed. Mace Windu is flawed. Ahsoka Tano is flawed. Leia Organa is flawed. Han Solo is flawed. Lando Calrissian is flawed. Ezra Bridger is flawed. Kanan Jarrus is flawed. Hera Syndulla is flawed. And on and on and on. If those characters can have flaws and be seen as good, well, then that's how I'm going to proceed with my Jedi faves, too. Oh, Mace wasn't bending over backwards to smile and be soft when he was having the worst day ever? That's what you're bringing me to show that he was bad actually? Babe, please, Luke started out as whiny and annoying and he's amazing, so Mace is amazing, too. The Jedi were in a no-win situation, not fighting would mean people would die, fighting meant compromising themselves, they had to make a choice, there was no third way out, there was no secret magical answer in Star Wars, so they did what they could to the best of their ability. And it's not on them to fix everything in the galaxy, they're peace-keepers who were drafted into a war, they're not the whole of the government, they're not there to be social service agents, that's not who they are or what they're equipped for. And yet they still tried to help whenever they could. Everyone fucks up sometimes and that's okay, it doesn't suddenly mean they're the real villain all along, because otherwise they would have to be literally be perfect to be "good" and that's just bad writing imo. Ultimately, just take a break from scrolling through the tags if you can and join me in writing your own stuff, it's hard at first to get the words to come out the way you want them to, but with some time and energy put into it, I've found it to be so much more rewarding. <3

[samcarpentersgirlfriend]

ILLICIT AFFAIRS | BILLY LOOMIS X READER 𖤐₊˚.

summary: you know he’s in a relationship. you know that this is wrong. but somehow, you just can’t seem to stay away from billy loomis.

word count: 1.5k

warnings: angst, cheating, billy isn’t a great guy lol, reader is insecure, suggestive content, swearing, fem!reader

a/n: yes this is (admittedly a little loosely) based off of the taylor song… I never claimed I was 100% original!! idk what this is tbh but I haven’t posted in a while so <3

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹

He’s barely opened the door before his hand grabs yours, pulling you out of the rain and into his warm embrace. He doesn’t even complain about your sodden state, lips crashing into yours as he clumsily backs you against the wall.

“I’m glad you made it, baby.” Billy murmurs in between kisses, voice low with lust. “Fuck, I couldn’t wait any longer. See what you do to me?”

God, it makes it so much easier when he talks to you like that. When he talks like he breathes just for you, like you’d hung the stars and moon. It’s easier to pretend that way. 

It doesn’t take long. One moment, your legs are wrapped around Billy’s strong frame and the next, you’re laying beneath him on his bed, sighing as he works on your neck. The marks he leaves are purposeful, and they’ll no doubt be a pain to cover up tomorrow. You tell Billy exactly that, making sure to inject just the right amount of that teasing tone you know drives him crazy into your voice. 

“Good,” he says lowly, “Lets people know you’re spoken for. Can’t have anyone touching what’s mine.” He grinds down as if to emphasise his point, hips meeting yours in a way that sends a jolt of electric thrill through your bones. 

At least, you think that’s what it’s from; maybe it’s all simply down to his choice of words - mine. He knew what that did to you - what visceral effect it must have on you. Knew how much it meant to you to be wanted and desired and cherished by somebody like Billy Loomis. It was all you’d ever wanted. 

Except…

“Except I’m not.” Your voice barely comes out above a whisper. Billy comes to a halt, his lips moving from your collarbone as his brown eyes meet yours. He looks confused and vulnerable in a way that makes you sorry for even bringing it up, but you can’t ignore it. Not now. Not today. 

“You are. You know that you are. You mean everything to me, just-"

“Just not as much as Sidney, right?” Her name tastes like ash in your mouth. It always came back to Sidney Prescott - sweet, smart, stunning, Sidney. The girl who barely knew you yet always made an effort to smile at you in the hallway and compliment your outfits. The girl whose boyfriend you were sleeping with behind her back. 

From the moment he’d flashed you that charming smirk of his, you knew you were a goner for Billy Loomis. And you’d tried to fight it, you really had. He was bad news, all of your friends thought so, and most importantly, he had a girlfriend. Everybody knew him and Sidney were serious. And you were better than that, sleeping with a taken man. 

Except, as it turns out, you weren’t. Not really, anyway. He didn’t even have to try to get you in bed with him, but after the first time, you’d felt so goddamn guilty that you swore it would never happen again. 

Your resolve lasted an entire week. Billy was like a drug, alluring in every possible way and so entirely addictive. You couldn’t stay away from him even if you tried. And although the guilt never entirely disappeared, it sure as hell became easier to ignore when Billy whispered sweet nothings into your ear and made you feel like you’d had everything you’d been missing your entire life. 

“Sidney?” Billy laughs, a sound almost as beautiful as he is. “Sidney means nothing to me. I’m going to blow her off, and then we can really be together, do it right.”

As awful as it is, the thought of that seems completely compelling. You want to be Billy’s, utterly and solely, more than anything on this earth. Besides, anything would be better than passing him in the hallway and pretending you don’t know every fraction of him so completely intimately.  Pretending like he’s not the first and last thing you think of each day. Pretending that you don’t solely wear the single perfume that he complimented once.

So intimately that you know that, at this moment in time, you can’t believe a single word that flows from his mouth - no matter how desperately you want them to be true. 

“Billy,” you sigh, turning your head away from his pleading gaze. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he replies rather impatiently. “You know it’s-"

“Complicated,” you finish miserably. “I just don’t get why it has to be!”

“Look, I can’t talk about this right now. Can’t we just…” 

He trails off, and his lips catch yours in a passionate kiss. It’s too easy to sink into it, to sit back and just let Billy take the lead and give you just what you want. It’s damn near impossible to pull back, but by some miracle, you manage to do so. 

“I’m just saying,” you protest. “If you can’t stand Sidney, if she’s truly as bad as you say she is, why can’t you just end things with her?” The sheer frustration that laces your tone is evident even to you. “I don’t know if I can keep doing this Billy, it’s driving me insane, I-"

“What, so you’re mad at me now?” Billy scoffs, tone completely accusatory. “Because you knew what you were getting into - you’re hardly innocent here, alright! I didn’t trick you into sleeping with me - last I checked, you're perfectly fine with our arrangement when it means you get to be the one under me! So why d’you even care, huh - in fact, why don’t you do us both a favour and keep the fuck out of my business?”

You reel back as if you’ve been slapped. Not because of what was said - you both know the words to be true, however deep down that is - but because of how much they hurt. You knew you were a horrible person, but you hoped that Billy saw you as more than that - you needed him to see you as more than that. And by the way he usually acted in your company when it was just the two of you, you thought that he did. When you were alone, he worshipped you. Fuck, the boy looked at you as if he was completely and utterly in awe of your mere presence. And he’d definitely never snapped at you like this. 

It’s one thing hating yourself for what you’re doing, but it’s another having the one person you love so deeply confirm all the ugly parts of your personality that you work so hard to keep hidden from the world. 

He can evidently read the hurt written all over your face, and Billy’s once irritated gaze softens. “Shit,” he breathes, and you can’t tell if he genuinely sounds remorseful or if you’re naively hearing what you want to believe. 

It’s easier to go with the latter option. 

You make a move to stand, but you feel a strong arm pulling you back down onto the bed below. “I’m so sorry,” Billy apologises, pushing a stray hair behind your ear. “I’m being an ass, I know that. I didn’t mean to take it out on you, baby.” With your arm still in his tight grasp, it would be difficult to stand up without outright pushing him away from you. But with each hushed word Billy speaks, you find yourself wanting to stay more and more. After all, he was right. You were already guilty, and your dignity was clearly long gone. What would be the use in leaving? It’s not like you could fall any further from grace. 

Your eyes flutter closed as Billy kisses all along your jaw, mumbling apologies under his breath as he does so. “I’ll fix everything, I swear. You’ve just gotta trust me,” he vows before his lips suddenly move beside your ear. His breath is hot as he murmurs, “you do trust me, right doll?” A small, pathetic whimper escapes from the back of your throat, and you find yourself nodding before you even decide to move. 

“That’s my girl.” The honey-sweet tone of his voice is enough to make you crumble, and your fingers desperately start to make work of undoing his belt. It doesn’t take long, what with your hands working practically on autopilot. Billy takes the hint, and he eagerly pulls your shirt over your head with ease, strong fingers unclasping your bra once he’s finished. 

You’re making a complete fool of yourself, a bitter voice whispers at the edge of your mind. He’s spelled it out for you, and yet you’re still here, letting him undress you like this. How pitiful. 

It’s not incorrect. Billy Loomis had undoubtedly made a mess of you. Ruined you. Before all of this - and God, how long ago that seemed now - you were good. You were headstrong and assertive, and you’d never been one to let people walk all over you. That girl was a far cry from the person you were now, and she’d undeniably despise the idiotic fool you’d become.  

You wouldn’t exactly blame her, either. You know that when you get home, you won’t even be able to face your own reflection. You never can. 

But you also know damn well that when Billy undoubtedly comes running back to you, because he does, every single time without fail, you’ll blindly follow him right back into his arms - and right back into his bed. 

It’s awful. You know that, no matter how much parts of you try to pretend otherwise. There’s no sugarcoating it, no justification for your actions that aren’t completely shallow and selfish. You just have to hope that one day, you’ll snap out of it. If Billy doesn’t choose you - accept you fully like the way you accepted him long ago - you like to think that one day, you’ll have the self-respect to leave and tell Sidney the truth. Hope she’d accept your shitty excuse of an apology. But as you lay here in this room right now, back arched and Billy in between your legs, you know that day won’t be any time soon.

⊹₊┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ✿ㆍ┈ㆍ┈ㆍ┈₊⊹

[angellayercake]

face down in décolletage - chapter 2

Papa Emeritus IV x Fem Reader | NSFW | AO3 | Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Copia talking about being face down in tits has all the feminism leaving my body. I am sorry but he can leer at my boobs any day and I would thank him. So TW for Copia being a fucking perv and kind of degrading but if you are into that we are golden! (check AO3 for full tags) And now ... what happens in his dressing room. I think this is the most NSFW, NSFW thing i have ever written so here you are. Massive thank you's to @ghostchems and others on discord who i have been torturing with parts of this over the last week. You guys are the best 💜

The door opens with a bang startling you as you sit nervously, waiting. Your thoughts had been warring in the time since you had set yourself up in his dressing room, entirely naked as he had requested. The way his eyes had been following you had been irritating you all day and yet you just allowed him to fucking motorboat you in your place of work. There’s something about him with the paint and the costumes that you just found irresistible, as if you are compelled to do as he tells you. You had been debating just leaving but as his eyes land on you as he closes the door you feel no regret. A look of dark satisfaction crosses his face and he slides his hand down his body drawing your attention to the thick bulge already forming at his crotch. 

‘Brava ragazza,’ he moans as he palms his dick through his trousers. ‘I do enjoy an obedient slut.’ You sit up straighter and open your mouth to object but the look he gives you has your jaw snapping closed. Part of you wants to argue still but then again you are sat naked in his dressing room after a handful of short conversations and half a day. Perhaps you don’t really have a standing there, and the way your body is already reacting to him, you don’t want to put an end to whatever is happening prematurely. He stands up straight and crooks his finger at you. ‘Come here cara.’ You rise slowly from the sofa, fighting the temptation to cover yourself. It is pointless you know, he will just insist you show him all of you anyway. He raises his hand bringing you to a halt in the centre of the room and he starts to pace, slowly, leisurely, around you, still not having taken his hand off his cock. 

‘Not just a nice pair of tits, eh?’ He comments as he circles you, taking in your body from every angle. You feel like a piece of meat, like prized livestock being inspected and again part of you wants to object but something tells you that if you do he will stop. And you really really don’t want him to stop. You start in surprise when he kneels down in front of you. That was not what you had expected him to do. 

‘Now let’s see how ready for me you are Cara, before I decide what to do with you.’ He doesn't break eye contact as he pulls off his glove with his teeth, one finger at a time before dropping it to the floor. He slides his now bare hand between your knees, encouraging you to spread your legs, then tracing his fingers up the inside of your thigh. ‘When I have finished with you, you will be soaked down to here you know.’ Your legs start to tremble at his touch.You want to press your legs together, to ease some of the ache in your cunt but you hope if you are patient you will get to feel his fingers at any moment. They are almost all the way up your thigh when he stops and sighs in disappointment.

‘Oh cara, I thought you wanted me, no?’ Looking down at his face you can still see the teasing look in his eyes. ‘Do you not want my touches? Is that why you are not already leaking down your thighs for me?’ He starts to pull away and in a panic you clamp your legs shut against his hand keeping him in place. He looks at you with a raised brow, questioning your audacity and you know you must do something to appease him. 

‘I’m sorry Papa, please don’t stop,’ you beg as you spread your legs once again. He doesn’t remove his hand from you thankfully continuing his path up your leg until the back of his fingers graze your pussy. It feels incredible already but as he slides his fingers between your folds you struggle to stay upright, your knees threatening to give out from that alone and you have to grip his shoulder for support when he teases at your entrance. But it seems he really is just checking how much he has turned you on because he pulls away, his smug satisfaction returning as he inspects the way your slick coats his fingers.        

‘This is a good start, si, but you are not ready yet Cara. Not for my cock, not here anyway.’ He slips his soiled fingers into his mouth groaning at the taste of you. ‘You taste sinful,’ he tells you. You gasp at the thought of his mouth on you but instead he stands leaving you still wanting for now. ‘Perhaps you want a taste of me too?’ He doesn’t wait for an answer, pushing you backwards until your legs meet the sofa forcing you to sit down and affording you a full view of his thick ever growing bulge. It must be painful with how tightly his trousers are laced and you want to free him but you look up first, feeling like you need permission. 

‘Go ahead cara.’ As soon as he says it you scramble to get him free. While lovely to look at the laces are frustrating and working them loose feels like it takes forever, that is, until you catch a glimpse of skin and hair and realise he isn’t wearing any underwear. You redouble your efforts knowing your prize is so much closer. You work them loose enough that you can pull his tight trousers down far enough that his still growing cock is revealed to you. It crosses your mind that this could be why he wants to make sure you are wet and ready enough because that thing has the potential to split you in half. You reach forward, eager to get your hands wrapped around him but he knocks them away. 

‘Hands down Cara. You have to earn being able to touch me.’ You quickly drop your hands to rest on your legs looking up at him impatiently. You want, you need, something so you decide to just look instead. It’s long, but also thick, so thick you think you would struggle to grasp it with one hand and it is so hard now that if you lean only slightly forward you would be able to take the pink head in your mouth and swallow down the precome gathering at the tip. Your mouth waters in anticipation of tasting him but you wait for his instruction, only able to pull your eyes away when he grasps the base with his own large hand. 

‘Open up Cara mia.’ He laces the fingers of his spare hand through your hair, guiding you forward as he directs his cock to your mouth but instead of sliding straight inside he traces the shape of your lips with the tip, groaning as he coats your mouth with his precome. He pulls away just enough that he can see your glazed lips. ‘Taste it,’ he commands so you lick your lips savouring the salty bitterness and he lets out another deep rumbling groan. ‘Bene cara, so obedient for papa.’ He strokes his fingers through your hair and you keen at the touch. ‘Now open again for me.’ This time he pushes the head through your lips letting it rest on your tongue. You want to close your lips, suck him in deeper but you wait for his direction. Both his hands cup the back of your head encouraging you to take him and although you can’t take all of him, you will be damned if you don’t try to take as much of him as you can. 

He is watching raptly as your lips stretch around him and you are impressed by his self control. He is a visibly holding back from fucking your face, you can tell from the way he is gritting his teeth but he must appreciate having to give you time to get accustomed to the size of him. Breathing deeply you focus on relaxing your jaw and easing him deeper and deeper, willing your gag reflex not to kick in as you do. He feels so good in your mouth you can feel your slick building between your legs as you imagine how he will feel filling your pussy. You moan around him, the size, the taste and the commanding way he is treating you already doing more than most of your past encounters.   

You pull away momentarily, a string of spit keeping you connected as you struggle to catch your breath. Deciding not to take him all the way down straight away, you kiss and lick your way down his considerable length, taking note of his low moans and hitching breaths. As you get to the base his tight trousers restrict you moving any further and both of your frustration is palpable. Before he can stop you, you grab at the waistband working the laces further open and giving you better access. His fingers tighten in your hair but he doesn’t stop you as your mouth finds his balls. 

Letting your hands wander along with your mouth you get your first feel of his thighs below the ripped fabric. You can feel the strength in them but there’s enough give that you can dig your fingers in as you pull him closer. You kiss your way back to his tip eager to get another taste of him but as you suck on his head his grip tightens encouraging you further and further down. You trail your hands around his thighs and up to his perfect ass, squeezing and hoping he understands the permission you are giving him to use your throat. He groans as he guides you further and further, all your concentration on keeping your throat as open, as relaxed as you can even as the burning stretch intensifies. You want to do it once, take him fully, to prove something. To him or yourself you aren’t sure but despite the discomfort you aren’t ready to stop quite yet. 

‘Can you take it eh?’ You hone in on his voice letting his slightly mocking encouragement help you to relax. ‘Just a little further cara and you will have all of me.’ His thumb comes to brush your cheek, massaging your stretched jaw. 

‘You look so good like this, look at me.’ You flick your eyes up to meet his intense gaze. ‘If I knew you were this good of a slut I would have had you earlier.’ You swallow around him as you realise how close you are, eyes going out of focus when you try and look how much of him you have left to take. 

‘So fucking eager aren’t you?’ His self restraint impresses you again as he lets you work your way down at your own pace. ‘You want to please your Papa don’t you by swallowing me all down.’ After what feels like forever you feel your nose against him and you have done it. It feels like there is no space left in your head for anything but him, consuming all your senses, all your thoughts. You feel a rush of something, satisfaction, pride or it could just be the lack of oxygen but it makes you moan around him which must be a step too far for him but in the next moment he has pulled out of you, leaving you coughing and spluttering as he grips the base of his cock and turns away from you.  

‘That is enough of that Cara. Touch yourself now.’ His back is to you so you know you don’t have to follow his orders instantly but as you try and steady your breathing you find yourself doing it anyway, dipping into your entrance with a groan before teasing your clit with slow slick circles. You watch intently as he peels his clothes off layer by layer. The jacket first, still sparkling in the overhead light. He takes care, hanging it on a moulded hanger hooked on the back of the door, straightening the lapels and smoothing out the creases in the sleeves. Next his boots, a simple zip inside of each and he is able to pull them off with ease lining them up first left, then right next to his scuffed brogues. 

When he reaches for his shirt buttons your mouth goes dry. He starts at the bottom, unbuttoning each button with a slow deliberate motion as more and more of his body is revealed to you. The groomed hair at the base of his cock thins out to a salt and pepper trail up his soft stomach and connects with his thick chest hair and you have to fight the urge to leave your position so you can run your fingers through it. The shirt gets discarded with little care and he moves on to the trousers. You are intrigued how he plans to get them off with any grace but you say nothing as he turns away again. 

The waistband is already sitting half way down his perfectly rounded ass thanks to your efforts but it takes some time for him to work the material down his thick thighs. You wonder if you should offer to help but before you make a decision he has managed to work them down to his knees and from there much less elegantly kicks them off. You have never felt so desperate to get your hands on someone in your life. He looks at you at last, as naked as you are, well except for the socks and notices you have paused your touches. 

‘Do you need me to take over now cara?’ He questions with a knowing smirk. You nod dumbly as you watch him saunter towards you, unable to settle on where you most want to look. His still achingly hard cock, his toned thighs, his broad chest or his handsome face. He was a feast for the eyes and you wanted him. Just as you think he is going to stop in front of you again he moves to drop down on the sofa beside you. He shuffles closer, laying his arm across the back of the sofa behind you and the other creeps across your thigh and underneath your own useless hand. 

‘Let me get you ready then.’ It seems he is done with his teasing as his fingers easily seek your entrance, sliding in with little resistance. He pumps them in and out, pressing down and spreading his fingers in an effort to stretch you enough to take him comfortably but not neglecting your pleasure either. His thumb grazes over your clit deliberately and he curls his fingers inside you as he finds your spot. You grip the arm rest as he pleases you, playing you as easily as he had played the crowd earlier in the evening. He adds a third finger and you start to feel the stretch but his whispered reassurances and stroking thumb work you through it until you are ready for more. 

‘I think you are ready now Cara.’ You keen at the loss of his fingers but he is already helping you into his lap, positioning you just so you will be able to control how much you take, at least for now. You grip his shoulders as you sink down so ready, you find yourself rushing. ‘Ah ah, now, we take our time or you might regret your haste tomorrow.’ You take a deep breath to steady yourself but you can still feel your limbs begin to shake as you struggle to hold your position. The long day and prolonged teasing make it hard to resist your exhaustion. You rely on him to guide you instead and one hand on your hip and the other directing his cock to your entrance. The first brush against you sends shivers through your body but you wait repeating to yourself over and over that it will be worth it. The tip breeches you and you feel your eyes roll back the stretch so deliciously overwhelming in spite of his preparation. 

‘Oh fuck yes,’ you hiss out as he allows you to press your hips down, taking him deeper and deeper. You want it all, just as you did in your mouth, greedy for the feel of him inside you. When you are fully seated you grind your hips slowly in his lap allowing yourself to get accustomed to the feeling. His eyes had slipped closed as your wet heat had enveloped him, his arms winding around your waist, keeping you close and not allowing you much movement but on a particularly deep grind he fucks directly into your sweet spot making your pussy clench down on him like a vice and his eyes snap back open. 

‘You feel so good cara, so fucking good,’ he growls taking a moment to bury his face between your boobs now you are at the perfect height. ‘I need more though, si? I need to fuck you hard and deep.’ Just his words have your insides fluttering, you need it as much as he seems to. 

‘Please Papa,’ you whisper against the top of his head. It takes all but seconds for him to lift your hips, turning you until you are bent over the arm of the sofa. He moves you like a ragdoll coming up behind you gripping your ass and spreading you open so he can survey the state of you, humming in satisfaction as he lines himself up. The stretch isn’t so all-encompassing the second time so you can appreciate exactly how well he fills you, although not for long as he picks up a driving rhythm, jolting you forward against the armrest and making your head spin. You had thought you had had good sex before, even great sex but you had never had anyone that managed to play your body so fully. There wasn’t a part of you that didn’t feel affected by the way he was fucking you and as much as you craved the climax you could feel building quickly within in you, you really did not want this feeling to end.  

‘Make yourself come on me Cara,’ he leans down to whisper in your ear somehow able to sense how close you are already. You don’t react straight away, not wanting to bring your inevitable end even closer but he is insistent, grasping your wrist, directing it to his chosen destination and leaving you with little choice. He switches his vice like grip to your shoulders, not only giving him enough leverage to slam into you but also helping to keep you upright and keep you working over your clit with quick sloppy strokes. 

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave but he gives you no respite.  His fingers dig into your shoulders, as he pulls you against him with every thrust. The sounds of slapping skin fill the room as he maintains the intensity with a spine shaking rhythm, the head of his cock pounding against your sweet spot over and over and over again. You think you might be screaming but as he fucks you through your climax you can't hear over the blood rushing in your ears. Your whole body convulses  and if it weren't for his bruising grip on your shoulder you would collapse. You are in a suspended state, pleasure clouding your mind completely as he fucks you to heights you have never before experienced and you can’t stop shaking. 

Your arms give out but he is there anchoring you against his chest, the coarse texture of his hair only adding to your over stimulation. He barely falters though, kneeling back and pulling you on top of him. He shifts his vice like grip to your hips, using your body weight to fuck you even deeper. With the change in angle something happens. Your last orgasm hasn’t fully passed but you can feel something else building, something far more intense. You start babbling nonsense not sure if you want him to stop or to please please continue but he just laughs, the vibrations travelling through your body where your sweaty skin is pressed together. You can feel your pussy clenching as he thrusts into you harder, faster, deeper and it builds and builds. 

‘Come on cara,’ he growls into your ear. ‘I can feel how close you are. Do you need something a little more?’ Unsure of what more he could possibly give you, you let your head loll back  onto his shoulder. His fingers creep down from your hip bone, inching lower and lower. As he reaches your cunt he doesn’t even graze your clit instead circling where you are stretched wide around his cock. ‘Fuck, I’m going to ruin this pretty pussy of yours.’ He pulls his hand away, relishing in your whines of loss but you weren’t prepared for his touch to return with a sharp slap directly to your clit. Once, twice and on the third time something inside you breaks. 

‘Oh fuck yes!’ he moans when the first wave squirts out of you, a brief panic crossing your mind until you realise what is happening. Wave after wave comes as his thrusts keep hitting home. He moans, feeling your spend drip down his thighs, milking you until there is nothing left and his pistoning hips start to slow. He presses sloppy kisses to your shoulder and neck, his arms coming to lock around you and keep you pressed against him. You cling to him as your strength leaves you and he eases you down until you are resting on the arm of the sofa once again. When he is sure you are settled he pulls away, sliding out of you completely and you whine at the sudden emptiness you feel. 

‘Hush Cara, just give me a moment.’ He eases you over on to your back, arranging your shaking limbs to his liking, bending you almost in half and holding your legs together. He has a perfect view of your already well used pussy, tracing around it softly with his finger before lining himself and fucking into you with a steady rhythm. ‘I love seeing a cunt like this, all pink and puffy for me.’ Grasping an ankle in each hand he spreads your legs apart giving him an even better view every time he sinks into you. ‘You are wrecked.’ He pants between thrusts. ‘Because I fucked you so well.’ You writhe beneath him moaning and gasping. You would have thought your last orgasm was your limit, the intense pleasure almost making you numb but now as he slides into you with so little resistance you can feel it building again. 

‘You almost ready for me to fill you up eh?’ He asks with a dark chuckle. He must sense how your body is starting to respond to him again, involuntarily clenching around his girth.   

‘Please,’ you whimper barely loud enough for him to hear.

‘You want me to fill you so when you go home back to your normal life you can still feel me dripping out of you,’ he whispers to you but you feel his words down to your core. He was determined to ruin you, completely and utterly you were sure of it. ‘So when you fill yourself with your fingers tomorrow, as you think about me, far away with the next willing hole, you will remember how no one has ever filled you so good.’ You can only moan, so far beyond words and so drunk on pleasure you can't even deny the vulgar things he is saying. You can’t imagine thinking of anything but him. He slows down, fucking into you with slow deep thrusts that fuck the air out of your lungs. 

‘I asked you a question.’ You groan as you realise he is waiting for some response. 

‘Do you not want to come again?’ His slow hard thrusts don’t falter and again you marvel at his self control. ‘Shall I just stop and jerk off until I can paint you instead?’ He stops moving all of a sudden, your full attention now on his words. ‘That option works for me too.’ Your eyes widen in panic as he starts to pull out until just the tip of his cock is still inside you.

‘Please,’ you say, not sure what you are begging for specifically but you need him to do something.

‘Please what?’ With what little strength you have left you try a wriggle back down his cock, enough of the tip inside you that if you could move just a bit he would slide straight back in but another stern look stops you. 

‘Please please Papa please.’ You are babbling again but you can’t stop yourself. He wants something specific from you and you want to give it to him so badly but you just can’t think.  

‘Please. What.’ His eyes darken when you fail to answer properly again. He lets go of your legs which drop against his shoulders now you no longer have the strength to hold them up and pinches your nipples cruelly. Your back automatically arches up off the sofa as your eyes roll back in your head. The sudden unexpected pain brings enough of your brain back online that you are able to form a somewhat coherent thought.   

‘Please please fuck me. Please let me come and please fill me up Papa please.’ You need him to fill you up, more than anything. 

‘Brava ragazza, that wasn't so hard was it.’ He strokes your now tingling nipples soothing the burn but as he massages the pain away he gets distracted by your breasts once again. He leans down between your legs burying his face between them, sucking and nipping and licking at your already abused skin. ‘Oh Cara, they are so beautiful,’ he laments into your chest. ‘I wish I was a younger man that I could fill you up and paint your perfect décolletage but no. I must choose.’ He drops a sloppy kiss to each nipple before sitting back up and smirking at you. He looks absolutely devastating, his face paint smudged and hair in disarray. 

‘And you begged so nicely.’ You were a whimpering mess by the time he began to fuck into you. He had been seated as deeply as he could have been inside you as he had been lavishing attention on your breasts but he had kept up the slow grinding circle of his hips, pushing the head of his cock impossibly deeper and massaging spots you never before knew existed inside of you. But as he picks up the pace again, short sharp thrusts angled perfectly to make you see stars, you know you won’t last much longer. 

‘Come for me cara, one last time for Papa.’ He almost sounds like he is begging now, needing to wring one last orgasm from you before he can take his own. You can already feel it building like a crescendo inside you. Every slap of his hips against you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. He reaches for your clit circling it in time with his thrusts and you are so close it barely takes a moment and you are there. 

‘Yes Papa,’ you breathe with the last bit of air left in your body. It ripples over you and you feel yourself clamp down on him. Nothing registering but blissful rolls of pleasure and his faltering thrusts as he joins you, tipping over the edge. He rides you both through it, filling you up just as he promised and as he collapses against you, face buried in your chest once more you start to drift away. 

You come too to the feeling of a gloved hand stroking your hair and gently scratching your scalp. You stretch, enjoying the delicious burn of well used muscles. Tomorrow is going to be a struggle but it was so worth it. You start to take in more of your surroundings. You are still naked but a blanket has been placed over you and your head is resting on what you decide is probably a soft warm thigh. Your eyes blink open and all you see is burgundy cotton until you look up and see his paint free face smiling down at you having noticed you are finally awake. 

‘Welcome back Cara Mia,’ his voice sounds different, more like the man you first met this morning. You would be confused if you weren't so blissed out so you return his nervous smile as you try to sit yourself up. He looks at you in slight alarm quickly placing the silly little juice box you hadn't noticed until now so he could use both hands to help you get upright. He pulls the blanket up over you so you are still covered and reaches down beside the sofa, struggling to find whatever it was he was trying to reach. You watch quietly wondering what the hell he is doing when with an exaggerated 'ahah' he produces a new juice box and offers it to you with a flourish. 

‘For you? To help after all the screaming?’ You look between him and the little carton of apple juice. This guy, you can't control the half hysterical giggle that escapes from you at the absurdity of the situation. That this absolute sex god that may have just given you the best fuck of your life wound down afterwards by sharing apple juice. You accept it because why not and try to subdue your giggles but he doesn't look offended, the slightly nervous yet content smile still on his face as he picks up his own juice box. 

‘Thank you Papa,’ you say after your first sip, pleasantly surprised at how well it quenches your thirst. Maybe he is on to something with the juice.

‘Copia you can call me Copia,’ he offers, ducking his head down to try and hide the flush of his cheeks. ‘If you want that is,’ he adds, managing to make eye contact with you again. He is nervous and you are confused but you feel a warm feeling of affection towards him for reasons you don’t have the brain capacity to pick apart right now. 

‘Ok Copia,’ you say with a tired smile. ‘Thank you.’ You both lapse into a comfortable silence with your juice and the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through you when the odd thought pops into your still somewhat addled head. This was the best consequence to being lazy about your washing you had ever experienced.

[sissylittlefeather]

In honor of Halloween...

"Devil in Disguise"

I wrote a vampire fic but PLOT TWIST Elvis isn't the vampire.

YOU ARE!

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI!!!! Kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), a little girl on girl action, threesome (MFF), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, also vampire bites and blood drinking

A/N: this was a fun stretch for me. Please let me know what you think!

You've honestly forgotten how many years you've been a vampire. You know you were turned at the end of the American Civil War as a means of survival for your children, who are all dead now anyway. After your youngest passed, you moved to France. You followed the American soldiers here in 1944, since they had literally been your bread and butter since you were turned. Now, the war was over, but your job as a dancer at the Moulin Rouge was too good to leave and there was still a steady stream of young men, and even soldiers at times, to keep you well-fed and young(ish)-looking. You had been 33 when you were turned, so that was your permanent age, but when you were well-fed the men assumed you were younger and never bothered to ask if you weren't.

None of the other dancers knew what you were except for Anya, who was also like you and had been a refugee after the Russian revolution. While she was younger, she had become your closest friend in the years since you'd come to Paris.

She was the one who alerted you to the presence of one Elvis Presley in the spring of 1959. You'd seen him on television and knew he was in Germany with the Army, but you hadn't expected him to show up here.

"He's on furlough. The girls are fighting over who will get to be with him first." Anya whispers to you as you get dressed. Luckily you've learned to understand her thick accent. She knew you were always looking for a new challenge and she preferred rich, older gentlemen, so she wasn't interested in this boy, as she thought of him.

"Oh, Anya, I don't know. I'm exhausted and he's sure to be surrounded by photographers and fans. It'll be hard to get him alone."

"You're tired because..." she leans in and speaks softly, "you need to feed. And how fun would he be?"

"Maybe. I don't want to compel him, though. That's too easy."

"Then don't. Go out there and show these little girls how a woman works." She slaps your ass and gives you a wink before walking to line up for the opening dance.

******

After your dances are finished, you're sent to mingle with the men in the club and see if you can't score a few extra tips. You see the throng of people and assume that must be where he is. Swinging your hips as you walk, you move to a spot in his eye line, but far enough away to not draw the attention of the crowd. He's got dancers all around him and he must've kissed a half dozen of them already, but you recognize the look in his eye. It's the same look you have on most nights. He's hungry for a challenge, something new and exciting and not the same girls falling at his feet.

That's when his eyes meet yours. They lock for a good thirty second before his gaze moves down your body. He takes in your black and red bodice and fishnet hose, all the way down to the black heels on your feet and back up again to the feathers stuck in your hair. But you know what he wants, so you pull your eyes away from his magnetic stare and start to walk away, a look of disinterest on your face.

You move slowly across the room, talking and flirting with patrons as you do. Still, you can feel his eyes on you, tracking you like a predator with prey. Little does he know, he's the prey in this scenario and he's falling perfectly into your snare.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him dismissing the girls around him and trying to shake the crowd that follows him, assuring them he'll be right back. But you know better. Once he's yours, he'll be yours for the night.

You keep making your way around the room until you feel a soft hand on your shoulder and a voice in your ear.

"You runnin' away from me, mama?" You turn to face him with a bored smile.

"Should I be?" The hunger in his eyes intensifies with your apathy towards him.

"I'm told I'm a pretty good time. You might not want to run away just yet." He's laying it on thick for you, smiling devilishly, with his lip curled just so. You have to admit, he is very good looking, and you smile in spite of yourself. He leans his head back a little, confident he's got you now.

"Come on, mama. Let's go somewhere we can talk."

That didn't take long. He's less of a challenge than you thought he'd be. Turns out his hunger is your best weapon.

"Follow me." You smile up at him through your lashes and make your way to the door that leads backstage. Once you're back there with a little privacy, you push him up against the wall and kiss him deeply, running your hands down his front to the top of his pants and then back up. At first, he's caught off guard, but it doesn't take him long to wrap his arms around you and pull your body in close to his. He has some skill with his tongue and you realize that you're hungrier than you thought you were. You feel your fangs start to extend, so you pull away quickly and grab his hand, practically dragging him to one of the rooms you use for this sort of thing. He doesn't complain about your speed, though.

When you get inside, you turn and lock the door behind you.

"Damn, baby. Somebody knows what she wants."

"You have no idea." You round on him, trying to keep your fangs hidden until the right moment. You don't want to scare him away too quickly. It takes everything inside you not to just pounce on him, but you take a deep breath and feel your fangs retract.

You push him backwards to the edge of the couch.

"Sit down."

"Yes ma'am." His eyes sparkle with the excitement of being told what to do. You can tell he's used to being in charge, but he's not opposed to letting you take control. You walk over to the record player and put on something jazzy and sensual. The more aroused he is, the more vitality you can derive from his blood. When you get back in front of him he reaches out and puts both hands on your hips.

"Nuh uh." You move his hands back to his lap. "Just look. Don't touch."

"Mmm." He grunts and bites his bottom lip as you begin to move in front of him. You sway your hips seductively and touch your body as you dance. Slowly, you reach behind you and unzip your bodice, letting it fall to the floor. The only thing you have on underneath is your fishnet hose and his mouth drops at the sight in front of him. He adjusts his pants and you know he's well on his way to where you need him. You slide the hose down and kick off your shoes until you're standing in front of him completely naked. He still hasn't closed his mouth or been able to make a sound. You straddle him on the couch and reach for his tie. His hands go to your breasts and again you stop him.

"Did I say you could touch?" He whimpers.

"Honey, please..."

"I will tell you when you can touch me." He whines and flexes his hands before he puts them back at his sides. You begin to undress him slowly, first his tie, then his jacket, and finally his shirt, running your fingers across his chest lightly. He barely even has hair there.

"I need to touch you. Please." He looks at you with puppy dog eyes and bucks his hips up into you. You feel his hardness pushing against his pants. Then, you stand up again and he moans.

"No, honey, I'm sorry..."

"Take off your pants." He does as he's told and frantically removes his pants and shoes and then sits back down on the couch. His cock bounces in his lap and you can't help but be a little impressed by the size of it.

"You want to touch me?"

"Yes, please, mama." He looks at you with his eyes wide, dick twitching. You walk toward him and he reaches out, first cautiously and then hungrily, his hands exploring your body feverishly. He pulls you down into his lap and kisses you passionately. He lays you on your back on the couch and kisses down your neck. You put your hand on the top of his head and gently push him down toward your center.

He smiles. He can do this part well and he knows it. When his mouth makes contact with your clit, you yelp a little because it feels so good. He really is talented with his tongue and it's obvious as he licks and laps at you. Then, he slides two of his long fingers inside you and starts to move them in and out. The sensation is almost overwhelming and you feel your orgasm building deep in your core. He knows he's almost got you there too, so he picks up the pace of his hand and tightens his tongue to a point as he licks over and around your clit. Finally, the waves crash over you, sending heat and electricity to your fingertips and back again. You shudder and pulse around his hand and he does that boyish grin again.

"How badly do you want to fuck me?" You ask as he makes his way back up your body.

"Honey, I don't think I've ever wanted anything more in my life." You push him up into a sitting position and straddle him again, slowly sinking onto his cock until you're stuffed to the hilt with him. He groans and leans his head back on the couch. You feel your fangs extend again with the pleasure and do your best to keep your mouth closed, but his neck is exposed and you're so hungry...

"Honey? You okay?" You realize that you've stopped moving and snap back to reality.

"Mhmm!" You go back to grinding on his lap, pushing him deeper and deeper. That was too close. You have to keep yourself under control better until he's lost in a post-sex drunken haze. Why is he getting to you like this? You need to not let yourself get this hungry.

"Fuck, mama. This feels so good. I'm getting close." You stop and stand up off of him. "What? Why?"

"Not yet." He breathes deeply and leans his head back on the couch again. You grab a robe off the back of the door.

"I'll be right back."

You step out into the hallway and almost run smack into Anya.

"Oh thank God. I need your help. I'm having a hard time controlling myself. Help me finish him off." Anya looks at you concerned.

"Okay. I will help you." This isn't the first time this has happened. You've helped her and she's helped you before. Balancing the desires and hunger as a vampire is a delicate business. Sometimes it takes two of you to keep each other in line.

You open the door again and step in with Anya. He sits up and attempts to cover himself with his hand.

You unzip Anya's bodice and let it fall to the floor, pulling her into a deep kiss, your breasts pressed up against each other. Elvis sits on the couch with his mouth open again, unsure of what to do next. When you both turn to him, he sits up straight and swallows hard. His cock bounces in his hand as he looks at you both there naked in front of him. You sit on either side of him on the couch. Anya's hand goes to his dick and you pull him into a kiss. You add your hand to hers and he groans, watching you both work with his eyes wide.

"Holy fuck." He whispers as you lean in and kiss each other again over him as you touch him. Together, you lay him down on the couch. Anya climbs onto his face and he goes to work. But when you slide his cock into you, you hear him moan audibly. You begin to bounce up and down on him quickly and he grabs your hips. He has a hard time deciding what to do with his hands as Anya sits on his face and you sit on his dick. He gets her to an orgasm pretty quickly, being as skilled as he is and she stands up off of him. He's surprised when you lean in and kiss him, even with Anya's desire on his lips. He thrusts into you from underneath and you feel another orgasm forming, your fangs starting to descend. She can tell you're struggling, so Anya leans in and kisses you hard.

"I think he's almost ready." She whispers with her thick accent. She grabs his hands and holds them above his head while you fuck him.

"'M gonna come, mama." He groans. You don't stop. Instead, you move faster, your own orgasm just a couple of thrusts away. You slam into each other faster and faster, harder and harder, all while Anya holds his hands. Finally, you scream and he cusses loudly.

"Yes, fuck, oh my god!" He pumps into you weakly as he shudders and fills you with warmth. You come too, hard, and your fangs come out one last time. You can no longer hide them and you lean forward to the soft supple skin of his neck.

"What?!" He begs, but doesn't fight back. You gently pierce him with your teeth and suck as the blood comes quickly. It's sweetened with the energy of his desire and his release and it fills you in a way you didn't think was possible.

As you finish, Anya releases his arms and you lick the tiny marks on his neck, knowing your saliva will heal it quickly.

"Did you just bite me?" He asks drunkenly.

"I did."

"I liked it."

"Most of you do, you just don't know it until it happens."

Anya kisses your forehead and grabs her things, wrapping the robe around herself and disappearing through the door.

He sits up and wraps his arms around you.

"Did you get younger?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Make me like you."

"Oh, no, honey, I would never."

"Why not? Please?" He looks at you with his round blue eyes and you see the pain there. You kiss his hair and hold him close to your chest.

"You don't really want this. I promise."

"What if I really do?"

"I'm not turning Elvis Presley into a vampire."

"Then I'll find someone who will." You look deeply into his sex-drunk eyes.

"We'll talk about this in the morning." You curl up next to him on the couch as sleep approaches both of you.

"I'm not changing my mind."

You drift off in his arms, thinking about what it would mean to release him into the world as a new vampire. Is that a responsibility you're willing to accept? Is it really what he wants? Can you be the vampire that makes the most famous man on the planet immortal?

You don't know. But tonight, you were the vampire that fucked and drank Elvis Presley. And who else can say that?

******

Hope that was a fun treat!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Taglist:

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @ashtag6887 @your-nanas-house @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows

Sorry if you didn't want a tag in this one! Either way, I hope some of you enjoy this little Halloween treat!

[dragomfry]

Discussion on Doumeki’s Current Treatment of Yashiro

(And what it means for the story’s mature themes + Tangent on Romance and BL as genres and how I interpret Saezuru)

This continues the conversation from @nanayashi-agenda’s reply. Thank you for replying, you’ve given me lots to think about. It seems my views on Doumeki’s treatment of Yashiro are similar to yours. Speaking to all: I’m always open to hearing the diverse opinions of others and broadening my own views, so please, keep giving your honest thoughts on the story and what it means to you. I think it’s wonderful that we can interpret this story in a multitude of ways; it’s what makes the story so compelling to me.

Disclaimer: I’m going to be very harsh on Doumeki in this post. In no way am I trying to take away from anyone’s enjoyment of the story, and if you interpret it differently than me, that’s cool! I’m just giving my opinions in this post, and we can agree or disagree. Please, if you’re sensitive to a harsh look at Doumeki’s actions or your reading of the story is more idealistic, I kindly suggest you move past this post. But if you’re open to a critical reading of Doumeki’s actions, this post has a ton of thoughts that I hope are interesting.

Just to be clear, I believe he’s a very well-written character, and I still like him. But he is very flawed, just like other characters. Even though I understand his actions, I don’t believe they are the most moral. Basically, this post analyzes and aims to understand the complicated why and how of Doumeki’s actions, and I give my opinions on them while being as understanding as possible.

TW for themes of sexual violence and abuse

Full disclosure: I am of the opinion that the first time they *made love was non-consensual and almost every sexual act Doumeki has made on Yashiro after the timeskip has been dub-con at best… and rape at worst.

I mentioned this before, but I think Yoneda-sensei is the only writer that can make me acknowledge the apparent toxicity of the relationship yet still have me actively wanting the characters to get married. Never before have I encountered a romance that is hindered by such realistic, unavoidable barriers and misunderstandings that it makes complete sense for both partners to act and feel in the controversial ways they do; therefore, the drama never feels unnecessary or gratuitous for the sake of the audience. Based on my interpretation, the slow burn and controversial drama exists because anything else to advance their relationship would be antithetical to their characters. And all while we understand the complex reasons for their actions, it seems Yoneda-sensei never attempts to romanticize the toxic behaviors, either. If there are any other stories or authors that do this, I wouldn’t mind some recommendations…

Sorry for the slightly related tangent in the next 4 paragraphs within the lines. You can just skip those if you want to jump right away into the topic of discussion. My thoughts overwhelm me a lot, too…

———————————————————————————

Ig there is quite a bit of context as to why I asked for your thoughts on this topic in the first place. This tangent is related to my general views about how I interpret Saezuru as a whole and what that means for this topic.

Let’s just say I was not all that interested in romance as a genre. I have nothing against romance (and I should probably read more of it to get a better idea on the genre as a whole), it’s just that I’ve always associated it with contemporary issues, not much conflict, and a predictable structure that typically ends happily with a stereotypically heterosexual couple getting together, which doesn’t interest me too much. Why read a romance when you already know how it ends? Rhetorical question, it’s the journey, but I like many of my journeys to have substantial bumps in it and at least some food for thought, yknow? Anyways, I didn’t think BL would interest me at all for a similar reason. Furthermore, I’ve heard many negative traits about the genre. That it romanticizes abuse, depicts gay people unrealistically, and is just gay porn with no substance. Also I heard rape was such a common backstory trope that it became banal… which is just awful to me, especially with how it mostly isn’t given the same sensitive treatment as I believe it is in Saezuru. Rape should never just be something to add to a story for worthless drama. With all this, it’s almost like BL would be anathema to me… until I found one that surprised me with its themes (which I’ll write a review for), and then found Saezuru. Saezuru is just different from the others (I sounded like Doumeki there, huh), and I believe it’s an anomaly in terms of the romance department and storytelling generally. I could quite literally talk about this series for hours and not get bored. Apologies, my blog is basically all those random thoughts… tl;dr: Saezuru seems to defy its genre conventions, critique them, or give a nuanced perspective on them, where others have failed to do so, which makes the story infinitely more interesting to me.

In terms of “ships,” I personally cannot ship anything unless there is substantial evidence in the canon to suggest the couple can exist realistically. Also, I try to look at characters as objectively as possible. I try to understand the characters for what they’re written as, not as my own interpretation or to reduce them to just a ship. This is why it’s so hard for me to read fan fiction. I can’t read or mentally accept stories of the characters when they don’t act like themselves.

So anyways, these views are why I can’t help but be critical of Doumeki’s actions and words towards Yashiro. I feel, in being able to view Doumeki as a sex offender and Yashiro as a victim, I can derive a more meaningful interpretation of Saezuru’s story and not have rose-tinted glasses when I pair the two together. I suppose we’ll have to see what Yoneda-sensei has in store for the ending to see if she really aligns with my interpretation of the story’s themes, but judging by how she’s managed to so delicately handle many of the controversial themes she presents (and how she clearly cares about her characters, how she handles rape, and how she wants to deliver a satisfying end to the story), I have reason to believe she could pull it off. I am cautiously optimistic.

Jeez I went overboard

———————————————————————————

After having binged all of Saezuru from chapters 1-58 in like a week, my thoughts were going haywire. The main thought on my mind though, was this: Why was Doumeki treating Yashiro so callously when he loves him and treated him so gently beforehand? Turns out, this is quite the loaded question, so I broke it down into 3 parts below.

I stumbled upon this old interview and was even more confused when I considered this quote from Yoneda-sensei:

When I was thinking about whom I should pair Yashiro with, this is the kind of character that turned out.

Doumeki is a character originating from Yashiro.

It's like he started functioning because Yashiro existed.

…So the two are literally made for each other, but now Doumeki is sexually abusing Yashiro? How can that be his ideal partner? Why can’t he just let the poor guy sleep??

Well, I reason that it’s because of the super complicated tangle of emotions and effects of the upbringings of Doumeki and Yashiro that this is their situation in the story. I also think Yoneda-sensei is giving some concrete commentary on rape culture.

I believe that Doumeki’s actions are based on a large mix of what you said.

Here are the questions I’m tackling:

Why does Doumeki treat Yashiro that way?

Why won’t Doumeki abide by Yashiro’s requests to not have sex?

Why hasn’t Doumeki questioned the morality of his actions?

1.) Why does Doumeki treat Yashiro that way?

The conversation with Nanahara and Doumeki’s takeaways are still very mysterious, but it’s undeniable that it influenced his views and behaviors towards Yashiro now. Sidenote: did we get to see Doumeki’s reply to Nanahara at the end of the extra yet?

I agree with your statement here:

he thinks that "kind" and gentle treatment is what made yashiro leave. doumeki's main concern now is not letting him "run away" again. […] and by that logic, cruelty and sex are the best tool

Adding on, I think there are 2 main reasons in Doumeki’s head that he uses to justify the cruelty and sex: 1.) Doumeki does not want to hurt Yashiro again by treating him gently because Yashiro perceived that as rape (which is a belief I will tackle later), and 2.) he still believes Yashiro hasn’t changed because of Yashiro’s words and his sleeping with Inami/other men. The second reason in itself, oh my, is another entire post on how the misunderstandings in Saezuru are actually realistic and compelling and not stupid for the sake of relationship drama, but I digress.

Ch. 43 (top) and ch. 46

Because “Yashiro hasn’t changed,” he still thinks Yashiro doesn’t like serious relationships. He still thinks Yashiro will only have sex with men who are rough and don’t care about him (Inami, Kido) because that’s Yashiro’s coping mechanism. So, to not hurt Yashiro with gentleness, to prevent other men from hurting him, to be as close as possible to him, to keep him from running away, and to appeal to his coping mechanism, he uses cruelty and sex.

It’s very backwards. Hurting to prevent hurt... Similarly, being hurt to prevent hurt…

Doumeki and Yashiro’s fortes. These two are the best worst match, truly.

I didn’t even mention the slut-shaming, but I believe that lies in his jealousy, possessiveness, and hurt from being tossed away mostly.

2.) Why won’t Doumeki abide by Yashiro’s requests to not have sex?

doumeki assumes with confidence what yashiro wants and needs, and then acts on those assumptions.

Agree. It doesn’t matter what Yashiro says he wants Doumeki to do or not to do, Doumeki will act the way he does so he “helps” Yashiro realize what he “actually wants and needs” because he thinks Yashiro isn’t capable of that.

To Doumeki, he thinks Yashiro wants what he says he doesn’t want. I believe this is what he realized on the rooftop with Nana.

It always puzzled me why Doumeki didn’t take into consideration that time Yashiro told him he got raped by his stepfather in his realization of… something… after Nana told him this. In ch. 4 we are aware that Doumeki knows about how Yashiro’s stepfather raped him (“This man went through the same things as my sister”), so surely he should have considered that part of his past’s effect on his twisted perception of sex??

But now, I think my interpretation—that Doumeki is acting deliberately against what Yashiro says he doesn’t want because, on the rooftop, Doumeki concluded that that’s what Yashiro actually wants—makes sense as to why that scene isn’t considered here, when it really should have been.

Upon this false realization, he is willing to ignore Yashiro’s protests for the purpose of getting him to realize what it is he desires. He’s forcing him to admit his feelings for him, so that he can accept love. He isn’t wrong that Yashiro is in love with him and has trouble accepting Doumeki’s love and realizing his own feelings of love, but that doesn’t mean he can choose when Yashiro should accept these feelings. That is Yashiro’s choice to make.

My thoughts are the same as yours here:

there's the well-meaning read on this of course, about how doumeki simply wants to protect yashiro from "other men", make sure he doesn't seek them out by satisfying his, as always assumed, needs. and sure, i won't deny that protectiveness is part of it. i don't think it amounts to much, though. this isn't how you help someone you love. nanahara compared yashiro having sex with men to smoking, and he's right. here's the thing: forcibly taking away someone's cigarettes (or "cigarettes", you know), disregarding their personal autonomy, shaming them for their habit and making them feel like shit without addressing the underlying issues doesn't really accomplish much. yashiro starts smoking immediately after doumeki leaves in ch 57, and seeks out inami and kido "despite" his needs supposedly being satisfied for a reason after all

I also read his actions as him partly trying to protect Yashiro from other men by satisfying his sexual desires, but I don’t condone this at all. You can’t sexually abuse someone you love because you think others will. And yes it is very telling how even though Doumeki is there to take away his “cigarettes,” Yashiro still “smokes.” Even though Yashiro’s body seems to enjoy all their sexual encounters, his mind knows there’s something wrong. He knows he doesn’t want sex with Doumeki in these instances, and Doumeki should have respected that.

It’s important to point out how rape victims can still have their bodies “enjoy” the sex, but they really don’t.

We saw this theme at the very start of the story in volume 2… It’s when Yashiro gets raped by his stepfather. His body enjoyed it, but we clearly know it is NOT what he wanted. There was both blood and cum depicted in those panels for a reason… And these contradictory feelings—the crux of Yashiro’s character—cause rape victims to feel worthless and guilty when it was NEVER their fault. This is EXACTLY what Yashiro was feeling at the end of ch. 57. Doumeki needs to realize this…

What makes his actions so messy and you can argue morally gray is that there has been progress, in terms of getting Yashiro to realize things about himself. But I don’t condone his actions and argue Yashiro could definitely have realized these things without the sex. I’m sure that even if Doumeki didn’t make love with Yashiro the first time, Yashiro could still realize and eventually accept that he wanted gentle affection through non-sexual acts. In fact, he was starting to, with liking and eventually loving Doumeki when he was impotent in the first place. Yashiro is perfectly capable of realizing his true wants and needs. To think that he isn’t, is a huge flaw. To think that rape victims can’t figure out what they really want by themselves makes you infantilize them, ignore their voice, and grossly disregard their autonomy. But because Doumeki escalated to sex that first time, and now his discovery of Yashiro’s impotence with others proves to him that he did something that changed Yashiro, he keeps using this same method… believing it will cause him to change again.

This could also explain why he asks about when Yashiro became impotent in ch. 56. He wants to see if Yashiro’s impotence with other men was his doing, so he can prove that he means something to Yashiro and that his current method of using sex has caused Yashiro to change, so that his actions weren’t worthless and he can absolve his own guilt.

most of his actions after the time skip revolve not around trying to understand yashiro, but rather trying to get him to say or admit what doumeki has already assumed

Again, I agree. It’s as you said, Doumeki is self-centered and thinks he knows best, and I’ll address this flaw in my answer to the last and imo most important question.

3.) Why hasn’t Doumeki questioned the morality of his actions?

Surely his actions should remind him of his father in some fucked up way? And surely this would mean that he should realize that and stop treating Yashiro so horribly?

I believe his persistence with the way he currently treats Yashiro stems from, besides the reasons said above, this false belief that he has yet to properly confront: that it wasn’t his fault for Yashiro to consider the time they made love as rape, it was Yashiro’s fault because of his trauma. What he fails to understand is that he actually did rape Yashiro, and it was his fault.

This false belief stems from how he wants to absolve himself of guilt.

he struggles to understand other people's feelings, and sometimes doesn't seem to even consider them in the first place

Yes, it seems this character flaw has been evident ever since we first saw it with Aoi. Because he is self-centered, he can’t understand the feelings of others nor consider them, and he feels guilty when that lack of understanding results in those he loves getting hurt. He then blames himself. It’s an uncomfortably realistic flaw… It’s too hard for him to accept being the one at fault. What’s most important is how he tries to deflect this guilt from himself. With Aoi, he couldn’t understand her crush on him and ignored her, and when he found out what his father was doing, he blamed himself for ignoring her all those years and became impotent. As a result, he vowed to never be like his father to absolve his guilt. This way of absolving his guilt plays directly into how he views and treats Yashiro now.

With Yashiro, he wanted to express his love to him by having sex, but Yashiro never consented to it and was traumatized by both the non consensual aspect and the realization that he never liked cruel treatment to begin with. It broke Yashiro, and Doumeki felt horribly guilty for that. But Doumeki only considers the latter aspect and not the first. The first is too hard to accept for him. It would mean he is like his father, that all his efforts to prevent becoming like his father were for naught, that he is trash who’s barely worth living. But…

…after ch 25, after the damage is already done, but there is still hope for the answer to "am i like my father?" to be "no" (i hope i don't need to say what that question actually stands for, what doumeki actually asks in ch 32, and why it matters that yashiro takes note of it but doesn't answer one way or another).

You refer to this part of ch. 32?

I see what you mean, with not wanting to point out the question. Yes, what Doumeki implicitly asks here is the uncomfortable question, the question both of them already know the answer to. It’s the ugly truth.

“Did I rape you?”

“Yes.”

But Yashiro didn’t answer.

Both of them are willingly denying something here, and these are both of the things I believe they must accept in the end. They must accept these facts in order to truly heal and, if Yashiro wishes, develop a stable romantic relationship between them. Doumeki must come to terms with the fact that he is like his father in that way, and Yashiro must come to terms with the fact that he is a victim.

Even after these dark realizations that they can’t yet accept, this scene occurs…

They just can’t help but want the other.

God. They’re so fucked up…

———————————————————————————

In the end, I reallyyyyyy hope we see this side of Doumeki again. I really want him to wholeheartedly apologize in the end and make up for the wrong things he did. I really want him to forgive himself enough to start properly loving Yashiro. And when Doumeki accepts this, I want Yashiro to slap the shit out of him.

*When I refer to the time they made love, I mean chapter 24/25. I use this term rather than “have sex” because it was emotionally deeper than the more clinical approach Doumeki is taking now. This article explains why I chose the term “make love” and makes the distinction between making love and having sex, while also acknowledging the two terms’ changing connotations. I used the phrase “make love” to simplify the term “emotionally connected sex” and apply the positive connotation, without disregarding the non consensual aspect of the moment.

[stelly38]

This review contains SPOILERS for the book and the series!

Just finished reading Rivals, and one big thing that stuck out for me was that I found the romance between Taggie and Rupert far more charming and compelling in the book. I was actually rooting for them in the book, whereas in the series, I just didn’t care.  The only thing I can think of to explain this is that the characters were just more developed in the book.  I mean, with 700+ pages of prose, there was plenty of room for that.  I only wish Caitlin’s character had been a little more present in both the book and the series.

One thing I found odd was that when reading, I could easily devour 8, 10, 12 chapters in a sitting, but once I put the book down, I had no real desire to pick it up again.  When I did get around to reading it some more, I found the same thing—I was completely immersed.  I have no idea how to explain this.  I found the book a little slow at first—Jilly has to establish characters and back story, and there are a literal fuck-ton of characters.  It’s a good thing I watched the series first, because with this many characters to remember and juggle, I don’t know if I would have gotten very far in reading without some previous guide as to who would be an important character, and who would be “filler.” 

The story really picks up when Declan arrives.  You get a little more insight into his character here than in the series, which I liked, but overall, I thought the series did a great job of sketching him out for television.  I didn’t feel like Maud was fleshed out much more than she was in the series, and I’m indifferent about this.  I didn’t care for her character either place, but in the book, I think she’s a little worse.  She performs the ultimate betrayal.  Not only does she cheat on Declan (which we all know), but she does it with Tony, AND she leaks Venturer secrets and information to him.  Maud was the rat! 

The other big reveal (that isn’t treated as such) is that Declan and Cameron hook up while they’re working together in Ireland.  It is barely covered in the book; in fact, if you blink, you’ll miss it. Jilly only mentions the encounter via two characters discussing that it happened—that’s it.  Now you understand why I felt compelled to write a fanfic with the two of them getting hot and heavy.  Anyway, I’m hoping that we get some steamy Declan/Cameron action in the upcoming season. They're my fantasy couple. Fingers crossed.   

And this is neither here nor there, but as far as Maud and Declan’s parenting goes, I mean, its classic eighties parenting.  Yes, they’re horrible parents—by today’s standards.  Most parents who raised kids in the seventies and eighties were 'bad' parents and probably shouldn’t have had kids, but plenty of them did, and plenty of them let their eldest child raise his or her siblings; and plenty of them functioned as absentee parents for one reason or another.  This approach to parenting is what gives Generation X most of its bright, charming character.  I was raised this way, so I didn’t really bat an eye at the “awful” parenting on display in Rivals. 

Aside from a few timeline differences, and some minor plot adjustments, the series sticks pretty closely to the book, which I enjoyed.  Would I read it again?  Eh, probably not, but I’m glad I read it.  It was a great way to kill time while I waited for my cat to get her testing done at the vet.

[ohnoitsz1m]

It him 👍

Furry Adrian Shephard :]

He's a sheep (mouflon x navajo churro)

Ramble below

So to be honest I really didn't like Opposing Force. It was kind of a chore and it's really not that well designed from just like a gameplay perspective. And to be fair neither is blue shift but blue shift is poorly designed in a way that's just kind of boring and lets you breeze through the game without much of a challenge- Opposing Force has the complete opposite issue at least in my opinion. Opposing Force has such a strange difficulty curve and really struggles to communicate concepts to the player.

But I did like one thing about Opposing Force. I like the silent protagonist. He gets so much characterization most of which I think is probably unintentional and me just reading something interesting into an uninteresting character. But like hear me out.

The game opens up with Adrian Shephard on his way to Black Mesa while the other people in his unit talk amongst themselves about how much they want to kill something and how irritating it is that they don't have their orders yet. Their helicopter is taken out and Shephard is now the sole survivor out of his unit. Following this he is saved by a Black Mesa scientist- had Shephard received his orders and made it to Black Mesa he probably would have had to kill this dude. However he doesn't know he's supposed to be killing scientists and security guards and is later forced to accept help from Otis a Black Mesa security guard 🎉 so already he's kind of doing the opposite of what he's supposed to be doing. Later in the game you start picking up little alien guns and whatnot and use them to get through the game, one of these being the spore launcher. This thing really made me open to the idea of caring about Adrian- I'm really fatigued by the whole army man shit. I like war movies don't get me wrong but there's only so many times I can watch full metal jacket before I get tired of it. So anyways. There's an idle animation that sometimes happens while you're holding the spore launcher where Adrian will pet it. And it responds to him. They didn't need to do this. Like they really didn't need to do this, but it adds so much to Adrian as a character that he's just.. compelled to pet this weird little alien that he's been using as a gun since he found it.

I just think like conceptually he's really interesting. Like this game demands you to rely on everything that you were primed to kill going in. Like in Half Life and in Blue Shift you have to kill soldiers, in Opposing Force the main like thing that makes this game special is that you are a soldier and you have to rely on other soldiers to help you through the game. Well okay you're a soldier so that means you're going to be killing scientists and security guards right? Not necessarily. Your first encounter with a scientist is him saving your life and trying to save the life of your comrades, your first encounter with a security guard is him opening a door for you after you run away from a zombie completely unarmed

So those are my thoughts on Adrian Shephard 👍 I think he's strange and very interesting

[lanitalay]

One Day : Chapter 3

azriel x reader

a/n: let me know if you'd like to be on a taglist for this series!

Warningsd: fluff, pining

word count: 1.6k

Masterlist

“You're not going to spend the Summer Solstice with us again?” Azriel had just informed Rhysand he was departing for the Dawn Court, where y/n had been training under Thesan for ten years. “You know I always spend it with y/n, Rhys.” 

“Didn’t she visit recently?” 

“Don’t I spend everyday with you?” Rhys raised an eyebrow at his brother. “You two are adorable, really.”

“Shut up.” Azriel would never admit it to anyone, but he held a small bit of resentment towards Rhys for introducing y/n to Thesan. If he would have known that bringing her to that meeting would have ended up in her moving away he would have never done it- or at least thought twice about it. He loved Rhys and Cassian and Mor and even Amren for the unlikely family that they were. Bound not by blood but by choice. Their lives were so interwoven that meeting y/n was a breath of fresh air. He got to spend most days with her for a year before she left for Dawn. They visit each other frequently enough that the friendship hasn’t faltered in the last decade. 

But Azriel missed her. Spending the holiday with her was nonnegotiable. 

“I have to deliver some things to her anyways.” Rhysand gives him one of those looks “you don’t need to make up excuses Azriel, you miss the female you love that is perfectly understable. What I do not understand is why you insist on keeping her as your friend-”

“Don’t you ever get tired of listening to yourself talk? And I’m not making up excuses. Her friends always give me letters and care packages to give her since your wards don’t allow mail to go in or out of Velaris.”

“Sorry for keeping the city too safe for you-”

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Send y/n my love.” 

Once in the Dawn Court Azriel felt infinitely lighter. There was a permanent air of tranquility that the Night Court lacked. He walked a few steps up to the the familiar cottage and knocked three times. “Az!” The pink door swung open and y/n jumped on him, squeezing tight. “I’m so happy you’re here, come in, come in.” Azriel handed her one of the two bags he carried “Bec, Nomi and Fran sent these.” Then he remembered “and Rhys sends his love.” 

Y/n smile widens as she grabs the large bag of goodies. He watched her open them. Most were letters containing updates and gossip about their lives. There were a few care packages, Nomi always sent her cookies, Fran sent books and Bec sent a small portrait of her babe. “I can’t believe how big she’s gotten,” y/n turns the frame around so Azriel can see “I saw her this Spring and I swear she was half this size.” 

“I can’t believe Bec has a baby.” Y/n gasps and tries to push down a chuckle. “She was the wildest of us, now look at her, mated and a mother.”

Azriel did not know what compelled him to say what came out of his mouth but before he could stop himself he was asking “would you ever want that?” 

“What?” 

He reasoned there was no real harm in asking a friend about her desires so he clarified “you know, a mate and a baby, that whole thing.”

“Oh,” she thought about it for a moment. “Yes, I think so. But not now. Well- I don’t even have a mate but with work right now I’m doing so much I’d hate to stop. But in the future, yes.” Azriel muffled the warm relief that flooded his chest at her response. “And you?”

He nodded, “same as you, one day, far into the future.” Y/n smiles as she looks through the books Fran sent. “Do you have food?” He walks towards the kitchen he knows she never fully stocks. How she keeps herself alive on crackers and nut butters he will never understand.

“I don’t like what you are insinuating. I went to the market yesterday.” Azriel opens the icebox and sees some meat and fruits. Then he opens the cupboards and sees a sack of potatoes. “We can actually make something-” knocking on the door interrupts him. 

“Finally,” he hears from the other room “Az, come here.”

“Are you expecting someone?” Y/n opens the door and a male stands on the other side. His hair is light brown, almost blonde. He’s taller than her, but a head shorter than Azriel. He wears glasses and he smiles as he hands y/n a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. “Az, this is Lenus, my boyfriend” Azriel feels a stab in his gut “Lenus, this is Azriel.”

The boyfriend steps forward and extends his hand to shake Azriel’s. “I’m so glad to finally meet you, y/n has told me many things about you.”

“Oh Az, I hope you don’t mind. But since there is no Summer Solstice party here I thought we might as well celebrate just us three.” Three. He knew he needed to react well, never wanting to do anything to upset you. “Oh of course, I just- I didn’t know you met someone.”

Y/n walked to the kitchen and the two males followed. She opened the bottle of wine and Lenus fetched three glasses. “Thank you honey, we started seeing each other around the time I came back from the Night Court. But we met a few years ago, in one of the libraries.” 

“I’m a scribe,” Lenus explained with a smile. “Oh?” 

“Yes, I had to research an herb that one of the apothecaries wanted to add to a tonic we use frequently and- well you know me I had to double check the information. So I went to the library and Lenus spent the whole day helping me.” Azriel could throw up from the lovey dovey display happening in front of him. In all their years of friendship he had never seen her actually like someone. 

She had dated plenty of people, but nothing ever lasted more than a week or two. More importantly she had never called someone her boyfriend.  

Lenus prepared dinner for them. Azriel had to reluctantly compliment him on the food because it was indeed delicious and whenever he visited y/n in the past, the pickings were slim when it came to eating. He never blamed her or complained about it. She was a healer and cooking was not her priority. 

He hated that this male seemed to be good for her. Knew that was selfish of him. That deep down he wanted to be in his position. His thumb drawing lazy circles on her hand. “So y/n tells me you two actually met on Summer Solstice?”

“Technically we met the day after, but yes. Eleven years of friendship today” Azriel tips his glass towards her and she returns the gesture. “Happy anniversary Az.” 

Lenus looks between them “have you always been just friends?” Azriel lets y/n handle the question. “Well, he’s also been my patient more times than I can count.” 

The male relaxes a bit at her explanation. “Dear, I’m sorry but I must be on my way. There is an auction in the Day Court tomorrow for some ancient texts and I was tasked to go. I’ll come find you when I get back.” The group stands up from the table and walks Lenus to the door. “Thank you for cooking” Azriel shakes his hand and leaves the couple to say their goodbyes in private. 

“So… what do you think?” As much as he wanted to dislike her boyfriend he couldn’t. “He seems great, y/n.”

“Do you mean it?”

“You know I’d never lie to you. Are you happy?”

“It’s still early days, but yes.” That’s all he could ever want for her. “Then I’m happy for you.”

Y/n hugs him. Her scent has never changed, not since that first night. It’s sweet with a hint of citrus. He breathes it in as he hugs her back. “Wanna dance?”

She laughs “here?” Azriel breaks the hug and makes her spin “Summer Solstice tradition.” He pulls her close and they slow dance to imaginary music. “Are you going to stay in this court forever?” 

“No, I’m only waiting on Thesan to find my replacement. I miss the Night Court.”

“It misses you too.” They dance in silence for a few moments before Azriel speaks again. "Will Lenus come with you?"

"We haven't discussed it yet."

“You know, I often wonder what would have happened between us if you had stayed.” 

“I used to wonder too.”

“We had a pretty good date, remember? Before the meeting with Rhysand.” She laughs, probably remembering how much of a nervous wreck he was that day. “It was a nice date, yes. But you know this was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.” 

“I know, and I’m so proud of you.” 

“I think, had I stayed, we would have made it work.” 

“I think so too.” 

She breathes, “I think if we got together that first year it would have been a different story, though.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, I was convinced you were in love with Mor and I never allowed myself to see you as more than a friend until that conversation on the boat, but by then we didn’t know it was too late.” 

“To be fair, I could have been clearer with my intentions.” She laughs, “that’s true. What about you, is there someone back home?” 

Azriel could have lied and said there was someone, maybe a few people he was interested in seeing, but he couldn’t lie to her “I’m a lone wolf these days.”

She pulls away from his chest to look up at his face “are you happy?”

He thinks about it. His existence has been filled with hardships and heartbreak. Scars litter his body. But, in this moment, with her so close he can honestly say “I am.”

[secretmellowblog]

I hope tumblr doesn’t die because No other social media site is as good for long, thoughtful, nuanced analyses of media. Yeah tumblr is also full of dumb shallow hot takes and shitposts, but you can make dumb shallow hot takes and shitposts anywhere —-there are no other popular social media sites that let you easily format and share long essays on the media you enjoy, and then have conversations around those long essays.

Fandom on all the other big social websites just seems so utterly …shallow. And it’s not because people on other websites aren’t thoughtful or don’t have deep things to say, but because these sites’ formats do not allow for any kind of long nuanced conversations.

Tiktok? Things have to be crammed into a super short video with an attention grabbing headline, and you can’t hyperlink sources. Instagram? Everything has to be in an image format with strict limits on length, and nothing will be shown to your followers anyway because of how Instagram’s algorithm works, and also no hyperlinks. Twitter? Strict character limits, and if you split it into threads it means someone can retweet a part of your essay completely out of context, and also very little freedom with formatting.

It frustrates me so much. If I go into the Tumblr Les Mis fandom I’ll find really compelling long essays on the original novel (including essays being written for the ongoing book club) on the story’s historical context, or the parallels between different characters and their narrative foils, or the way the politics were defanged for certain adaptations, or the way Victor Hugo’s personal life and failings affected the novel. But on tiktok I’ll get the same five shallow stale jokes from 2013 over and over, or maybe the same “DID U KNO THAT IN THE MUSICAL JAVERT AND VALJEAN SING THE SAME LEITMOTIF” style of basic Intro To Les Mis 101 For Babies media analysis (which is what Tiktok considers deep media analysis), or stale “LOL JAVERT ACTS GAY” style jokes as if we’re living in the early 2000s and calling a character gay is still a funny punchline. And it’s impossible to have any kind of deeper thoughtful discussions than “DID U KNOW <x Kool Fact>” or “lol <shallow observational joke>” on tiktok because the platform just isn’t built for building niche communities around in depth conversations. it’s built to churn out bland generic content for as wide an audience as possible, which means pointing out a small detail like an Easter egg and calling it “cool” is deep media analysis, because you cant have longer more in depth conversations without alienating people. And I hate it. Bc like, it’s not because there aren’t smart clever thoughtful people on Tiktok— there are—it’s because Tiktok isn’t built for these conversations, and anyone who wants to have them has to really fight against the things the website encourages or prioritizes!

Or like, if I go into the LOTR fandom on Tumblr, I’ll find tons of extremely long analysis and fanfic, and analysis of queer readings of the story. On Instagram people will still shriek in terror if you suggest the characters are gay, and most of the popular lotr posts are stale memes recycled from like 2007. There’s really no room for thoughtful media analysis, and even if you did create it, instagram’s algorithm would make sure no one saw your post anyway.

And everyone’s going to say “the algorithm shows you what you’ve seen before so maybe it’s your fault ~” or whatever but i do look for things I want! I do! “The algorithm” doesn’t know me or what I want or value or care about beyond this meaningless surface level.

The only thing that was worthwhile about these sites was the great visual art people were creating, but now the websites are overwhelmed with meaningless soulless machine-generated AI glurge, and it sucks. It just really, really sucks.

I’m honestly confused about why people don’t use tumblr….There’s no character limits! You have freedom with post formatting, and can insert images throughout textposts to illustrate specific points you’re making beneath the paragraphs where they’re necessary! You can add hyperlinks, linking to your sources! People can reblog your entire essay and share it, and then add on with commentary that then becomes part of a larger conversation! People can find your stuff through the tagging system! Reblogging means posts stay in circulation for years instead of being dead 30 minutes after they’re uploaded! If you want to have genuinely interesting text conversations about a piece of media, there really isn’t a better social media website for it anywhere.

To be clear, I’m definitely not saying Tumblr media analysis is *always* clever and thoughtful or etc etc. there are shitposts and nonsense here too (plenty of which I’ve created lol.) I’m saying that Tumblr gives people the tools for in-depth insightful analysis to happen. Whether people choose to do it or not is their own decision XD. But the reason lengthy in-depth conversations and book clubs are even possible here is because Tumblr is built for allowing these conversations to happen, in a way other sites simply aren’t.

It’d really suck if it died, because it’d be a huge blow to…being able to easily find long insightful in-depth media analysis written by fans. I currently don’t think there’s anything that could replace it.

[destiel-wings]

I hope you don't mind me asking, but what are your thoughts on angel x buffy? :)

Hii i don't mind, thank you for asking 😊

So, I used to love bangel sooooo much when i first watched the show. I was 100% into it, (with a crush for Boreanaz too) and i cried so much for them in s2 and when Angel left the show in s3. And I truly, sincerely, unironically hated Spike too (I thought he was a great character but i just loved hating him, you know? Lol). When we saw Spike's dream of kissing Buffy I swear i felt nauseous.

... and then they aired Fool for love.

By the end of that episode I was left in utter existential crisis in front of my tv because i felt my whole world shift. There was a part of me that still liked Angel and Buffy, but there was also this new part that wanted her to be with Spike now.

So anyway, that's when i decided to switch teams and i became team spuffy, and for as much as i had been obsessed with bangel before, it was nothing compared to how deep i was caught into the Buffy and Spike relationship. I never looked back. They were just much more complex and real and compelling. And it made me reevaluate Angel and her relationship with him too. Angel never really knew Buffy, always treated her like a child, and let's be honest--and that's something that hit me only years later when I got older--she was a child when they were together. He was spying on her and falling in love with her when she was just fifteen years old and he was a 240-year-old vampire who had been sired at like 26 years old, and they got together when she was 16/17 and he broke up with her when she turned 18... I don't think that's something the writers did intentionally of course, because (as everything else in buffy) it's just meant to be taken as a metaphor for the ideals and struggles and the intensity of drama of a girl's first love, but it still comes off as icky.

And before anyone comes at me, I know spuffy isn't healthy either, but that's kinda the point and the appeal. First of all, it's fiction and a metaphor, and secondly, it's about two broken people that are supposed to be mortal enemies but are actually two sides of the same coin, so different and yet so much the same, who can understand each other as a whole, light and darkness, in a way that no one else ever could, who yes, hurt each other along the way, but whose love saved them from the deepest darkness, ultimately bringing them into the light.

This is what spuffy is to me, and this is why i think it's not only the superior ship, but one of the best ships of all time (thee best, until i saw destiel, now they're sharing the podium).

So anyway, to get back to your question, the moment i became obsessed with Buffy and Spike (and i have been ever since 2005, lmao, they've been my first real obsession, alongside btvs, until spn and destiel) Angel sort of became the enemy 😅. And I hated him so so so so so much when he appeared in 7x21 and kissed Buffy (pure fanservice, but okay) and brought the medallion that ultimately killed Spike. So i spent years very maturely holding my vendetta against Angel (like, rooting for every demon that fought against him when I watched Angel, lmaoo). In most recent years, I've (sort of) made my peace with the character, after rewatching Angel. I mean he's still the enemy (of course, duh!! Who am i if not eternally petty??) but i appreciate him in his own show.

So i don't ship Angel and Buffy anymore, but I can understand why someone would (as i myself used to), and more importantly, i respect other people's right to ship them.

If we're joking, I'm going to insult Angel and keep saying he's the enemy. But on a mature serious note, I think Buffy and Angel were a great first love (for Buffy), but they were supposed to be just that, the impossible teenage girl's dream of a first love, eternal but doomed to end and break your heart.

I think Angel was much more well paired with Cordelia (which is something I'd never think I'd say), and i found myself shipping them so much when I rewatched the show. It felt so much more mature and profound than what we saw with Buffy and Angel (and that's probably due to the fact that we got slow burn for them - as we did for Buffy and Spike- and could actually see the feelings growing, while Buffy crushed on Angel in the pilot and she was madly in love (as teenagers do) in 0.5 seconds for no apparent reason than the fact that he was hot and mysterious.

So when I say the kiss in btvs 7x21 makes zero sense, I'm not just talking about spuffy, but also about cangel. I feel like both characters parted ways and lived on in their own shows to grow and become their own persons, developing other relationships that were more adult and meaningful, and that kiss was just disrespectful for both (but anyways, it doesn't change anything).

I have so many thoughts about all this honestly, and I hope I haven't gone too much off the tangent with my reply, but i couldn't just give you a simple reply because that would've had to be something like "angel is the enemy and i don't like bangel" but as you can see my thoughts are a little more complex than that 😅

[arliedraws]

Outtakes/Deleted Stuff: Part II

Another Harry & Slytherin!Sirius bit. Except that Harry is eight and has no idea who Sirius is. Extremely Unfinished.

Ministry of Magic, 1988

“Reckon that’ll do, Black.”

A hand on his shoulder startled him. Sirius dragged his eyes from the clay tablet to the small witch before him who looked as exhausted as he felt. Her eyes were bloodshot and her ragged strands of silver hair had escaped their pins. Behind her, the clock warned that the Ministry was due to close very soon.

“I think I’ve almost got it,” he muttered.

Joan plucked the tablet from beneath his hands, and he made a rather undignified whimper of protest.

“I quite appreciate the help, as always,” she said.

“If you’ll only let me stay a bit longer, I’m nearly there—”

“No, it’s time to go.”

Sirius grunted as Joan returned the cuneiform tablet to a wooden box that she sealed with a tap of her wand and stored in a cabinet drawer. The table where he’d worked for the last four hours was littered with notebook pages, Muggle pencils, ancient tomes and crumbling scrolls. Joan touched nothing of his workspace except the coffee mug which she sent levitating to the sink across the room.

“May I come again tomorrow?” he asked tentatively.

“Well,” she said, “You ought to. Half of this mess is yours, isn’t it? Might be a bit impolite not to come back.”

Sirius nodded, and they spoke no more. Joan flitted around the room in that frenetic way of hers as Sirius gathered his belongings—the notepad filled with his late-night brainstorming, his gloves, his coat, and the pair of spectacles that only Joan Geary, Unspeakable, had been allowed to see him wear.

Before he swept through the door, he bid Joan good evening, but she didn’t seem to hear. He left anyway. It was difficult to insult Joan, a woman so practical and engrossed in her own work that the name Sirius Black was not one she’d seemed to know. He liked her. Most Unspeakables were odd people whose thoughts rarely left the Department of Mysteries, who often had little notion of the world outside of their dark offices and bizarre rooms in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. It was a perfect place for him to disappear.

Sirius loved the Department of Mysteries. Perhaps, if the war ended and by some miracle, he made it out alive, he imagined applying for a job and working for Joan Geary. He could come to this room whenever he pleased, spiral into ancient riddles, spend his days decoding the spells of thousand-year-old mystics.

There was sweat beneath his collar that cooled quickly when he left Joan’s office. He dragged a hand through his hair, smoothing it back to look halfway respectable. It was an incredibly lonely department. Unlike the offices upstairs, the Department of Mysteries hosted the most reclusive and secretive of employees, those who would disappear into the experimental for days, emerging only when it was time to eat or when a worried spouse came to look for them.

Torches flickered on the stone walls. He paused, listening, but he was alone. Curiosity compelled him to slink back to the Hall of Prophecy as he often did when no one was around, lured by fortunes he could never know; he could only read the names of people whose futures were foretold and surmise what their prophecies must have entailed.

There was one prophecy that had been made nine years earlier that pulled him through the rows of dusty orbs. It belonged to the Dark Lord and possibly Harry Potter, the son of James Potter, but it was of little concern to anyone. Sirius knew the contents of the prophecy, and it was he who sought out Dumbledore to warn the Potters of Voldemort’s intent to kill the boy.

Voldemort was much more superstitious than Sirius would have expected—at least, when Sirius was young, he was taken aback by Voldemort’s insistence that any threat to his power must be eliminated even if that threat were a prophecy spoken by a frequently fraudulent Seer. Foolishly, Sirius had tried to tell the Dark Lord that most prophecies were self-fulfilling, and most wizards misinterpreted them anyway, but the Dark Lord became obsessed.

Severus Snape overheard the prophecy and delivered its contents to Voldemort, but his mistake had devastated him. He begged Sirius, appealed to Sirius’s obsession with James Potter, to save Lily Evans from Voldemort—that Voldemort would believe that Sirius desired Lily as some sort of pet, that he might spare the girl if Sirius wanted her.

Instead, Sirius summoned Albus Dumbledore.

They met in the ruins of an abbey near the old Black holdings in Devon. Sirius remembered waiting, his heart hammering as he leaned against a crumbled pillar, schooling his expression to remain apathetic as Dumbledore appeared suddenly, his wand illuminating the deteriorated walls.

“Sirius. What message has Lord Voldemort for me?”

“I have no message from him, only one of my own.”

“Ah,” said Dumbledore. “A request, perhaps.”

Sirius tilted his head. “I suppose you could say that.” A crack of thunder betrayed his nerves—he started, shifting to stand tall. “Listen, Dumbledore, you ought to know—Sybill Trelawney’s prediction concerning the Dark Lord—it was overheard and has already been relayed to the Dark Lord. He intends to eliminate the threat.”

“I see. And how has this information come to you, I wonder?”

Sirius did not see reason to hide the truth. “Severus Snape overheard your interview with Trelawney. The fool went straight to Voldemort, told him everything, realizing too late that Voldemort believes the prediction refers to the son of James and Lily Potter.”

“If this is a request of Severus Snape,” said Dumbledore, frowning, “then why have you come, Sirius? You should have compelled Severus to represent himself. Unless there is something else you would like to tell me.”

Years later, Sirius remembered that moment, the way his heart pounded and the dryness of his mouth. Later, he would dream about choking and trying to spit out everything that would incriminate and exonerate him. In that moment, he might have confessed to Dumbledore about the truth behind his recruitment into Voldemort’s ranks—the truth about Regulus, his father’s death, the Horcruxes, his ultimate plans; he might have given Dumbledore a bit of the burden. He might have given himself the chance to escape his future. Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“There’s nothing else. Hide them if you believe they ought to live.”

Dumbledore had smiled then. “Are you certain, Sirius?”

Sirius merely shook his head, and before Dumbledore could pry into his thoughts, he Disapparated.

In the Hall of Prophecy, Sirius wandered the shelves, watching the numbers and reading ancient names and even some he knew as he passed. The prophecy about the Dark Lord and Harry Potter had never come to fruition, and eventually, Voldemort lost interest in the boy. Unable to reach Harry, Voldemort decreed that he would wait to meet the boy who was destined to defeat him when the boy showed any sign of great power. It was because of this that he allowed Sirius to spare James Potter—to antagonize his old schoolmate so he could keep an eye on the boy.

He was nearly to the prophecy in question when he heard a huff.

Curiously, he strolled to the next row of shelves and found standing between the shelves and staring at an orb, a small, black-haired boy in a dark red jumper.

“Harry Potter,” said Sirius, smiling.

The boy spun, apologies spilling from his mouth. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean—I got lost—I thought this was—er—I was looking for—er—”

“The toilet?”

“No, I found that, but after, I was trying to find my dad, and someone said he’d gone to the Atrium so I tried to go there, but then the elevator brought me here and I went through a room with doors—and I s’pose I got lost. Er…” Harry looked around nervously. “What is this place?”

“The Department of Mysteries. This room is the Hall of Prophecy. Do you know what a prophecy is?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“Did you know there’s one right behind you with your name on it?”

Sirius moved slowly as the boy whirled to search the shelves. He put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pointed up at the small label scribbled with the initials of Sybill Trelawney and Albus Dumbledore, and below it, The Dark Lord and (?) Harry Potter. Although Harry was quite small, he seemed to be able to read the label far above his head.

“Why’s it here?”

“The Ministry likes to keep a record of these things,” said Sirius. “But you can take it or smash it on the ground if you’d like. You’re the only other person other than Voldemort who can remove it from this shelf. Or, if you’d like to have a listen, I can lift you up to get it.”

“I already know what it says.”

“Well,” said Sirius, “then I suppose you have no need of it.”

Harry, politely, slipped out from the hand on his shoulder and lightly stepped away to put distance between himself and Sirius.

It really was astounding the similarity between Harry and James Potter. The wild black hair was just the same, and his face cut the same angles as his father’s.

“My dad’s probably looking for me,” said Harry firmly.

“Of course. Let’s find him.”

“I can find him by myself.”

Sirius nearly laughed. How like James to insist he needed no help when it was painfully obvious that Harry was lost and had wandered beyond anything he knew. Without a hand to direct him, Harry would stumble around the Department of Mysteries all night until someone found him in the morning, he was strangled by brains, or he staggered into the archway in the Death Chamber. It was a lucky thing Harry hadn’t picked up a prophecy that didn’t belong to him, otherwise Sirius would have found a babbling, broken child instead.

“I’ve no doubt you’re perfectly capable of finding your way out, but allow me to show you a shortcut.”

Harry must have known there would be no way out without help; he nodded and followed Sirius past the rows of glass balls and labels, trailing behind a few feet. He doesn’t know who I am, Sirius thought wildly.

They crossed the hall. Joan Geary wouldn’t be pleased to see Sirius lingering in the Department of Mysteries when she had told him to go home, so he avoided the corridor of offices and instead led them into a room filled with desks. Experiments lined the walls: an aquarium filled with fish that swam unnaturally slow, a series of clocks whose hands spun, and a half dozen jars filled with glittering sand.

Harry wandered behind him, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide with wonder. When he noticed Sirius looking at him, he snapped out of it.

“What’s this room for?”

“The study of Time.”

 “Are you an Unspeakable?” Harry asked.

“Not really, no.”

“Do you work here?”

“In a way.”

“What sort of thing do you work on?”

Sirius, who had been walking rather quickly, paused. He gazed at Harry who seemed so small and so curious, completely lacking any shred of suspicion or animosity, asking Sirius about his job. But Sirius didn’t have a job—not a real one, at least. The work he did for Joan was unsanctioned, risky, and secret. None of the Unspeakables cared about Sirius haunting Joan’s office and decoding ancient curses, but the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would have put an end to his little hobby if they knew about it.

He couldn’t resist telling Harry.

“I help reconstruct ancient wards and protection spells,” said Sirius.

“That’s just Cursebreaking, isn’t it?”

Sirius smiled. “A bit like that, but it’s much easier to deconstruct wards than it is to replicate them. You see, thousands of years ago, wizards were performing magic in ways completely foreign to us now. While we’ve become much more efficient in our spells and charms today, ancient people did not have wands, and they were adept at threading sorcery in permanent, indestructible ways that are unfathomable today. But they’ve left clues behind, and I help put those clues together. I’m sure you can think of a few reasons why it might be useful to know how to construct an unbreakable ward.”

“Hogwarts!” said Harry eagerly. “I’ll bet there’s loads of ancient magic on that place.”

“Oh yes,” said Sirius. “And what I’m studying is thousands of years older than Hogwarts, even. Have you heard of the ancient city of Ugarit? Some of these spells are well over two thousand years old, and really, there’s much we don’t understand about ancient magic, but they kept thorough records of their work, allowing us to recreate their spells. I’ve been trying to decode a particularly tricky spell designed to reverse an entire river—it’s the sort of enchantment that ought to require a dozen people to cast, but calls only for one, which leads us to believe that it isn’t a question of power but determination.”

The boy couldn’t have been more than eight years old, yet he nodded as if he understood. To what extent he could truly understand, Sirius didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Harry’s shoulders had relaxed and he listened raptly. Sirius felt lighter. He wanted to take the boy by the hand and show him everything in the Department of Mysteries, to point out every experiment he knew of, to watch the small face light up with excitement, to impart knowledge on an eager mind, to share a part of himself that no one except for Joan Geary was allowed to see.

Instead, he nodded at the door. “Let’s go on, shall we?”

The fish tank across the room had stolen Harry’s attention. He gazed at the strange movement of the fish with a frown, as if he couldn’t quite decide what was happening inside the tank and wanted to find out before he left.

Don’t be stupid, Black, he thought grimly.

“Harry? I think we should return you to your father.”

Harry pulled a face. “Can’t I stay a little longer? He doesn’t know anything about this stuff. What’s the sand in those jars? And why are those fish like that?”

“Your father knows more than you realize,” said Sirius.

“How d’you know him anyway? I thought you worked down here, not with the Aurors.”

“We went to school together. Let’s go, Harry.”

Sirius indicated with an outstretched arm that they ought to go on, but Harry wandered from the path upon which Sirius tried to lead him, crossing to the experiments and studying them with intense concentration. Sirius could hardly blame him—the room was fascinating to him too. Time was a strange sort of magic, a branch that slipped into Muggle physics and challenged the notion that the magical and non-magical worlds had nothing to learn from each other.

Harry was almost pressing his nose to the glass as Sirius knelt beside him.

“How d’you know my name?” said Harry.

The bubbles that emerged from a fish with glimmering red scales expanded little by little as the fish moved as though it were suspended in jelly.

“I know a lot of names.”

Harry looked sidelong at him. “Yeah, but I’ve never met you before. How do you know mine? What’s yours?”

Mouth dry, unwilling to let this moment shatter, Sirius thought quickly.

“Stubby Boardman.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not.”

“Why couldn’t it be?”

“Because I don’t think so. Why are they moving like that?” He jabbed a finger at the fish that was diving at an inch per minute toward the bottom of the tank.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Sirius. “I wonder if it’s an observation of localized time dilation and how it affects an organism’s body. Does it slow aging? Could it be a form of time travel?”

“Maybe someone thought it was funny.”

Sirius laughed. “Yeah, could be.” He patted the boy’s shoulder. “Come on, then. Your father’s probably beside himself wondering where you are.”

“That’s okay. He probably doesn’t even know I’m gone.”

“I doubt that,” Sirius murmured. “Have you had an argument?”

“No,” Harry snapped. “I told you, I got lost after I went to the loo.”

“Right, I’d forgot that. So tell me what you expect to do now. Are you going to spend the night in here?”

Harry withdrew from the tank, his cheeks red, and moved to the rapidly ticking clocks. There was a grandmother clock, a big round clock with golden hands, an alarm clock, and a few oddly shaped clocks that must have come from a Muggle novelty shop. When Harry made to touch one, Sirius snatched his wrist.

“I wouldn’t,” Sirius warned. “There’s a reason children aren’t usually allowed here.”

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, all right. Er, maybe you can show me some of the things you work on, Mr.—er—Boardman.”

“I would, but there’s not much to see. If you find handwritten notes fascinating, I’d be delighted to show you. However, it’s not nearly as exciting as…well, anything else in this department.”

“Can you show me something else, then?”

Sirius couldn’t help it. James Potter would accuse him of kidnapping, and deeper into his disfavor Sirius would fall. And perhaps it was a bit cruel to keep a parent from his child, but he didn’t relish the idea of dragging a screaming boy through the Department of Mysteries when the boy’s father already wanted to kill him.

Beyond the Time Room was a corridor, and beyond that was the Room of Space. Sirius pushed open the door and immediately felt the mist easing his feet from the floor, unlatching him from the pull of gravity. Before Harry could float off, Sirius curled a hand around his arm.

“Keep close to me,” he said.

“What’s this room?”

Harry marveled at the planets that hung around them. Sirius opened his mouth to answer, but Harry was already pointing at each planet, naming them one by one.

“That’s Jupiter—and that’s Mars. Oh, look at the rings on that one…that must be Saturn…”

“Very good, Harry,” said Sirius, holding on tighter as the boy drifted. “Can you recognize constellations?”

“Yeah, some of them. That’s Cassiopeia. And that’s the Little Dipper.”

“What about the other way?”

Harry furrowed his brow. “I dunno. I think that big bright one’s called Sirius.”

“Indeed. And the others?”

“There’s too many to remember all of them, Mr. Boardman.”

Sirius laughed. “You’ll have to learn far more than that when you’re at Hogwarts. By the time you leave school, you’ll have the entire night sky memorized. Now, come on, I think that’s enough floating.”

“Can we see something else?”

“No,” said Sirius gently. “I’ve got to be getting on with my evening. You can stay here, I suppose. Keep drifting through the planets, but I can’t stay.”

“Why not?”

The disappointment made Sirius’s heart flutter. At a wave of his wand, the mist scattered and the earth pulled them down to the floor. His hand was still clutching Harry’s arm.