#but back to the point of my point of my point

[depresed-duck]

evening drive

oh yes and some little doodles of them... sunset totally drives a motorcycle right?? been experimenting with how i want to draw her so maybe this'll stick idk.

[valentineshearts]

My only complaint is that a lot of said romance novels are shit both in terms how well it’s written and also that a lot of the “romance” (at least in the excerpts I would see on TikTok) is often either outright abusive, or glorifies abuse. Bottom line, read your porn on AO3 there’s gold in them there hills and it’s free

booktok did ruin a lot of romance novels bc of the demand for instant gratification but culturally it is kind of a slay that so many young women are just reading smut and masturbating all day #respect

[pukicho]

You've changed, man. I don't know what it is but some time in the past six months your shitposting got a bitter edge to it. Sure you could blame the political climate or world events on it but...I dunno. I used to scroll your blog to momentarily escape the hardships of today but now it feels like even you're not a safe place any more. I wish you luck on your journeys onwards but I'm sorry to say I cannot travel with you any more. Be well, puki, and I hope whatever troubles you passes.

Escapism is important and I try to offer that to a degree, but ultimately, I am a person. I experience hardships, I empathize with the worsening conditions of my world. As long as I care about things external to myself, I will subtlety, or blatantly express them in some way in my blog, which I’ve done for years, not merely 6 months.

Unbeknownst to you, these concerns are often the inspiration for some of my most beloved posts.

You’re free to leave of course, if my 1 serious post out of every 30 fucks your day up that badly, then please, feel free! - I simply don’t see my blog as escapist fluff, it never has been, even if that is often the outcome. My page has always been about my interests, and I just so happen to enjoy making people laugh.

I see it more as a fun place to hang out and express the feelings I feel inclined to express, most of which are fun and goofy, some of which are not. I love our little playful back-and-forths, and I enjoy seeing your insights, even if some of you are fucking stupid as shit. Sometimes I just like using you guys as little guinea pigs, testing my odd expressions out on you, and sitting back and seeing the outcome.

Ultimately, I try to balance balance 3 things on my page:

Comedy, as you know - I like making jokes, I like testing them out on people. Even if they suck, I like writing them regardless. Sometimes I sit back after writing something I know objectively sucks, hit send, and watch as everyone tells me how much it sucks. It brings me joy.

A desire for money - because if not, I wouldn't be able to make posts half as often as I do (ie, shirt sales, promoting my music, etc) - Sometimes that anxiety for money also bleeds into my posts, it has for years; and I hold back from being even more desperate about money than I feel I should be sometimes.

And the point you brought up: The occasional comment on something real that matters to me. - Over the past 3 years, if not longer, I’ve made a few uncharacteristically-serious statements on things like Covid, Gaza, The Presidency, hell, even the indigenous people of Australia... and more.

Why do I feel inclined to discuss these things? Because I want to. My page has always been about what I want. Fortunately for you, what I usually want to do is to make you laugh! But sometimes I wish to express other feelings, because I have a platform that allows my voice to travel further than that of others!

For those angry at all the qualms I don't bring up, try to understand my balancing act, as someone who understands your desire for escapism, and the comfort that it brings you. If the veil falls, remember, we are of like-company - - and maybe, this veil was only ever in your head to begin with.

[enviedear]

jason todd rarely got upset with you. honestly—a very rare occurrence.

but tonight—as you stumble through the door, giggling to yourself as you struggle with your heels. he definitely gives you a look.

“ohhh, i know that face,” you slur, pointing a wobbly finger at him. “you're mad.” you draw out your last word, ending with a hum.

jason, who's still leaning against the couch with his arms crossed, exhales through his nose. “babe, s'just my face.”

you snort, finally kicking your shoes off with an exaggerated sigh. “my hero,” you murmur dramatically, flopping onto the couch beside him, head immediately landing on his shoulder. “you’re so comfy.”

he shakes his head, amused, as he catches you before you slide all the way down. “how much did you drink?”

you hold up three fingers, then squint, “wait…maybe four?”

“that’s not an answer.”

you wave a dismissive hand. “steph had us do rounds. ‘sides, i’m fine.”

he lets out a low chuckle, warm and fond. “yeah, i can see that.”

you tilt your head up at him, pouting. “why weren’t you there, huh? you coulda kept me from gettin’ so tipsy.”

“because it was girls’ night.”

you gasp, poking at his chest. “you said you wanted to crash next time.”

“i take it back.” a grumble, deep in his chest.

“rude,” you huff, snuggling further into him. “i missed you, though.”

his arm slides around you properly then, pulling you close. “yeah?”

“mhmm,” you hum, pressing a messy kiss to his jaw. “missed my handsome, broody boyfriend.” another kiss, “missed your grumpy face.”

“i’m not grumpy,” he mutters, but he doesn’t stop you, his fingers tracing slow circles against your back.

you nuzzle into him, eyelids drooping. “love you, jay.”

his breath hitches. then his grip on you tightens, lips pressing into your hair, “love you too, drunkard.”

you hum happily, already halfway to sleep in his arms.

writer's note: heavily inspired by my sweet bf taking care of my annoying drunk ass. also because i think everyone wants to go home to a pouty jason todd. there's no way i'm alone here. comments and reblogs appreciated, askbox open

[rafesangelita]

♡ it’s that time of year again, and kook!sweetheart!reader is here and ready to kiss for charity in her annual kissing booth! however, rafe is first in line.. and a peck on the cheek is not the only thing he’s interested in

warnings: s1!rafe, flirty banter, dirty talk, heavy petting, fingering, overstimulation, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, oral (m. receiving), hair pulling, multiple orgasms

a/n: now presenting… ‘KISSING BOOTH’ 🤍 i was so obsessed with this idea, i had came up with it last year but decided i should wait for valentine’s day to write it, so to say it’s been a long time coming is an understatement! i’m so excited for this valentine’s day celebration, i hope you all will love it <3

link: VALENTINE’S DAY CELEBRATION ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

wc: 1.5k

“wow, it looks like cupid threw up in here.” you smiled at the familiar voice, your best friend rolling her eyes when she saw the way your cheeks heated at rafe’s teasing words. while she thought rafe was annoying and insufferable, you absolutely adored him, always laughing at his lame jokes and letting him hold you close at parties as if to let everyone know that you were off limits. “you don’t like the way i decorated the booth?” you pouted up at him as he leaned over the front counter, a smug grin gracing his features. “yeah, it’s cute..” he trailed off, “but are you really gonna kiss some random assholes for a fuckin’ dollar?”

you sighed, pointing towards the tip jar. “it’s for charity, rafe.. and i’m not really ‘kissing’ anyone, i’m barely grazing their cheek!” rafe scoffed before studying you for a moment. you were such a pretty thing, the idea of some losers waiting in line to get something as little as a peck from you made his blood boil. “how much money do you have to make today?” he was fishing in his pocket for his wallet before you even answered. “i would like to make at least three hundred dollars.” you watched him curiously as he managed to get some crisp bills out of the expensive leather.

“i’ll do you one better, and give you five hundred dollars to ditch this joint right now.” you blinked, a nervous laugh escaping your lips. “are you serious?” he dropped the money in the jar that you decorated with pink heart-shaped stickers and red rhinestones. “yeah, but i don’t just want a kiss..” he leaned down to whisper in your ear, “i’d rather see those pretty, sparkly lips wrapped around my cock instead, yeah?” you felt butterflies flutter in your tummy, your needy gaze meeting his own. “come on, baby.” he took your hand in his, his thumb rubbing into your skin.

swallowing thickly, you glanced over at your bestie. “i can’t leave her to do this all by herself..” just as you were going to apologize and tell him maybe another time, she took the money out of the jar and placed it into an envelope. “i’m gonna go turn this money in to the charity organizers and close up shop, ‘looks like the boys of kildare will have to be kissed by someone else today.” you giggled, motioning for rafe to come inside once your friend left. he wasted no time, locking the wooden door shut as you closed the window, moving the silky red curtain over the glass.

rafe’s hands were palming the soft flesh of your ass in an instant, his large hands shamelessly flipping up your skirt to get a better grip on your skin. despite the small amount of pain he drew from squeezing you so hard, you still moaned blissfully when he took you in a sloppy kiss, his tongue wetting your bottom lip in the process. “you’re so sweet, y’know that? letting me have my way with you like this.” without warning, rafe took ahold of your thighs before hiking you up onto the counter. “i’ve been wanting to know how you taste for so long..” he groaned, both of you moaning as he rubbed you through your panties.

moving your hands to run down his chest, you and rafe shared a look before he slowly peeled back the pink lace. “all i gotta do is chat you up, and you’re already soaked like this?” he laughed incredulously, “fuck, you’re just dying for it.” you couldn’t help but whimper when he gathered the pool of slick between your folds, circling your clit slow and hard before popping his digits into his mouth. “rafe!” you’re shocked but so turned on at the same time, the look of pure disbelief on your face making him smile in amusement. “as much as i’d love to eat this sweet pussy, i need to feel you wrapped around me even more.”

fingertips hooking in the waistband of your panties, rafe slid the material down your legs before placing them in his pocket. “i’m keeping these for later, ‘that alright?” you nodded frantically, spreading your thighs open for him before he stroked your glossy slit. “m’gonna stretch you out just right..” you gasped, your eyebrows knitting together as he slowly inserted his middle finger. “shit, you’re so tight.” he smiled down at you, watching as you struggled to keep your eyes open. “if you think this is a stretch, just wait til’ i have my cock inside of you.”

rafe was knuckle deep at this point, your pretty moans giving him all the encouragement he needed to insert another finger. “oh, god!” your heel clad feet began shaking when his palm met your swollen clit, the pressure making you keen. rafe fisted your ponytail, pulling your head down so you could watch him curl his digits in order to hit that soft, gummy spot inside of you. your top was out of place, your tits threatening to spill out of your bra as rafe used his free hand to keep your chin pointed down. the closer you got to your orgasm, the more you tried to pull away from him, the intensity of your climax already coiling tight in your tummy.

rafe let go of your hair and pinned you down by your hip as he pushed you over the edge, the band in your stomach finally snapping as you came undone. you cried out, your nails raking down his forearm as he hissed at the stinging sensation. “you’re doing so fucking good, holy shit!” he cursed, the sound of your slick juices making your cheeks heat. you shook and writhed beneath him, your heart beating in your ears as you felt the pure unadulterated pleasure wrack through your system. surely, it couldn’t get better than this.. right?

wrong.

rafe wasn’t lying when he said the stretch from his fingers was nothing compared to the stretch of his cock, the tip of his length now kissing your poor cervix with each thrust. “t-too much! rafe, slow down!” he ignored your pleas, instead taking your arms and pinning them to your back so you couldn’t push against his abs anymore. you swore if it wasn’t for him holding your leg up, you would’ve fallen to the ground already. “ah, nah you got it, pretty girl.” he leaned down, pressing kisses to your shoulder. “this is all you, sweetheart, you’re sucking me in like a fucking vice.” he panted.

rafe was close, but he meant what he said earlier— he needed to see you on your knees for him, he needed to see those swollen lips wrapped around his cock just like how he’s imagined for so long. just when rafe felt like he was going to fill up your cunt, he pulled out, quickly pushing you to the floor so he could use your throat instead. you’ve given him complete control, and the power to throw you around as he got you on your knees, kicking your thighs apart so he could see the mess you made between your legs. rafe nearly came when he saw you open your mouth so willingly for him, almost like it was your instinct to take him whole.

taking the hem of his shirt between his teeth, rafe kept the cotton material out of the way as he slid between your lips with ease. you were so warm and so wet, and just so, so, so pretty with your mouth full, he took a breath before tugging at the roots of your hair. “make me fuckin’ cum,” your eyes widened slightly when he whimpered, the sound making you take him even further until your nose was nudging at his base, “oh, what the fuck, what the fuck—” he was done for as soon as you swallowed around him, your eyes watering with tears as you felt the warm ropes of his seed paint your throat.

rafe kept your head in place, his jaw slack as he emptied himself inside of you. it wasn’t until you tapped on his leg that he pulled you off, a strangled gasp leaving your lips as you finally sucked in a breath. he felt dazed, just the same way you did. “damn, sweetheart, should i bribe you more often?” you laughed, accepting the hand he held out for you. standing up on shaky legs, rafe got his shorts on, helping you readjust your clothing shortly after. “you don’t have to bribe me..” despite just doing the most filthiest things you’ve ever done, you still couldn’t help but feel shy underneath the intensity of his stare.

rafe kissed you, taking your hand in his before placing another kiss to your knuckles. “come on,” he poked his head out of the booth to make sure no one was around, “let’s get you back to my place, i need to get my head between those thighs like asap.”

[rainbowgod666]

Average day at the tumblr office

creating a new OC. He's a doctor who treats weird kink furries. his bit is that every patient who comes into his office he has to figure out how to complete the checkup while working around some weird toon-logic contrivance. He's like the doctor house of kink because he's the only one in his field capable of getting results. He's massively overworked and he's been IP banned from the e621 forums.

[bubblybloob]

The moment I realized Scarlet Hollow had romance options after thinking the flirting stuff was just for shits and giggles and I had flirted with everyone at least once without realizing it could lead to something more until Stella invited me into her house on day four, that was the funniest shit ever and I’m a colossal dumbass.

[c4toru]

loverboy toji enjoys showin his pretty girlfriend how much he loves her >.<

the two of you had just argued over something minuscule causing you to give toji the silent treatment. you know your dear boyfriend cares for you, you still wonder if he loves.. you. toji knows the perfect solution to showing you just how much he appreciates you!

you’re flat on your stomach, toji’s full weight on top of you in prime prone bone position. both of his giant muscular arms wrapping themselves around your precious face, your chin resting perfectly in between the crevices of his arm, putting you in a mean headlock as his other hand pushes your soft hair out of your face.

“f-fuck toji nngh s’too much!” you moan, feeling his hot breath flow across your nape. he’s pounding so very deep into you, his plump shaft hammering its way towards your g-spot. “nuh uh. . . h-hah my pretty girl needs to understand how much i love her, right?” he’s pulling all the way out , slapping his flushed mushroom tip onto your puffy clit before sliding his cock right back into you. he’s stretching you out justtt right

“hnngh d-don’t stop pleasee o. . .ohh” your hands latch onto his arm, instilling that harsh grip his bicep has onto your head. you’re nearly delirious feeling his balls slap against your ass as he’s giving you these long harsh strokes. “m’gonna cum t-toji.. fuuuck ah!” you mewl out as he picks up his pace, slamming his weighty cock into your sobbing cunt.

“mhmm, y-yeah give it all t’me, cum alllll over ya boyfie toji- heh..” he grumbles, his balls tightening as your sloppy pussy swallows him.. stroke after stroke. “inside p-pleasee- nngh i wanna feel you inside hah!” your mouth is hanging open, high off the way his thick cock is reaching all the crevices within your soaked pussy.

“inside? can’t tell if that’s you or her speakin- nghh shiit” he’s rutting his hips, feeling you tightening around him sweetly. “i wan’ it! h-hah- fuckk m’gonna cum mmh!” you whine, seeing literal stars, feelin tojis grip tightening around your neck. your cunt is gushing all around his weighty cock. “shiiit girl.. f-feels so good— m’gonna cum in this filthy pussy- fuck!” he moans into your ear, his cum spurting deep inside of you, your glossy lips are trembling in euphoria.

his hips stutter, grinding against your ass trying to shove his cum as far as he can inside you, overstimulating you in the process. “y’er gonna kill me pretty girl- hah.. you feel good? hmm?” he whispers into your ear, releasing your delicate head from his chokehold. “mngh.. y-yeah love you tojiii.. so much” you’re whimpering , tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you wait for a response from him. he slips himself out, causing you to wince, using whatever body strength he has left in him to flip you over. he cups your face before peppering it with kisses. “love ya, ‘kay?” he stares into your eyes as you bring your soft hands to his face, your thumb caressing the jagged scar on his lip before you give him a wet kiss.

you knew your boyfriend loved you, you just wanted to see how far he would go to show it! point proven :p

a/n : i love sweetie pie toji ughh.. thank you for all the reblogs <3 i listened to ‘pour up’ by dean while writing this, would def recommend :p | not proofread ofc

[creachiergh]

creature

hrm idk who to tag @giormless @what-if-inc @jokesterpilled just kidding yes i do. hello

Tag game🎉

Tag your moots and ask them where they got the idea for their tumblr accounts name!

For my name it was a nickname I was giving back in middleschool! One of our teacher had a system where we worked with 'wifi' eachtime we talked in class we lost a bar of the "wifi" (was a weird joke and we never held count on that) All the kids usually joked if they needed 'wifi' , they would borrow mine if they wanted to talk more. (I was incredibly shy in middle school, I only talked to like 3 people at school;^;)

They called me Ms. Wifi because of that. I just thought it would be funny if I put 'miss' instead of 'ms' because of my terrible actual wifi connection I have at home lol.

That's my story! Now moots, only if you guys want to, tell us your story.

Tags-> @slipping-lately @firequeenofficial @noagskryf @twinklstarrrr @halfbakedspuds @polterwasteist @rokushi-san @mygedagtes +anyone that sees this and wants to do this as well

[prokopetz]

You know a lot about the cultural influences behind various aspects of D&D, so: do you know the origins of the thing in 3.5 where it seems like a main way they want you to play as a psionic warrior is to grow massive claws and get breath weapons? It's so specific and out of left field for a "warrior who uses the power of the mind" that I've always wondered.

Much of 3E's handling of psionics closely follows material presented in the 2E supplement The Complete Psionics Handbook, which, contra later editions' habit of treating psionics as a variant of wizardly magic, presents psionics as a totally separate and mutually incompatible thing. One feature of this treatment is psionics having its own distinct set of "schools", or disciplines: clairsentience, psychokinesis, psychometabolism, psychoportation, telepathy, and metapsionics.

The 3E psionic warrior stuff is a more or less direct port of the discipline of psychometabolism; I can only presume that this is because it's the most "fightery" of the Psionics Handbook disciplines, though I can't back that guess up. Apart from your cited examples, other psychometabolic powers presented here include self-healing; energy absorption; turning into animals, objects, or living shadows; wuxia-style "lightfoot" techniques; camouflage; shrinking or expanding; stretching one's limbs Mister Fantastic style; and others.

Of course, that just kicks the can further down the road: if the 3E psionic warrior is a port of 2E's psychometabolism specialist, where the heck did 2E get the idea for the discipline of psychometabolism? The general idea of shape-shifting and fire-breathing and such being psychic powers that can be cultivated through mental discipline pops up in quite a few places, but we're looking for a specific constellation of tropes, not isolated instances of little bits and pieces of it.

The Complete Psionics Handbook helpfully includes a comprehensive bibliography of its inspirations (remember when Dungeons & Dragons used to have those?), though I'm unacquainted with most of the books it cites, so that's where my ability to help in this respect ends. I'll include a copy of that bibliography under the cut, though – maybe one of this blog's followers can point out which of its entries, if any, might be most directly informative.

Taken from page 113 ("Related Reading") of The Complete Psionics Handbook:

Fiction

Bester, Alfred; The Demolished Man, The Stars My Destination.

Bradley, Marion Zimmer; Darkover series: The Bloody Sun, Children of Hastur, Darkover Landfall, The Forbidden Tower, Hawkmistress!, The Heritage of Hastur, The Keeper's Price, The Planet Savers, Sharra's Exile, The Shattered Chain, The Spell Sword, Star of Danger, Stormqueen!, The Sword of Aldones, Thendara House, Two to Conquer, The Winds of Darkover, The World Wreckers.

Brunner, John; The Whole Man.

Del Rey, Lester; Pstalemate.

Henderson, Zenna; The People, The People: No Different, Holding Wonder.

Foster, Alan Dean; Flinx series.

King, Stephen; The Dead Zone.

Kurtz, Katherine; Deryni Rising, Deryni Checkmate, High Deryni.

May, Julian; Saga of the Pliocene Exile series: The Many-Colored Land, The Golden Torc, The Non-Born King, The Adversary.

Nourse, Alan E.; Psi High and Others.

Pohl, Frederik; Drunkard's Walk.

Russell, Eric Frank; The Mindwarpers.

Robinson. Frank M.; The Power.

Schmitz, James H.; The Universe Against Her, The Lion Game, stories.

Simmons, Dan; Carrion Comfort.

Sturgeon, Theodore; The Synthetic Man.

Tucker, Wilson; Wild Talent.

Van Vogt, A.E.; Slan.

Zelazny, Roger; Creatures of Light and Darkness, The Dream Master, Lord of Light, lsle of the Dead, This Immortal, To Die in ltalbar.

Nonfiction

Brookesmith, Peter (ed.); Strange Talents, from the series "The Unexplained: Mysteries of Mind, Space, and Time;" Orbis Publishing, London, 1983.

Index of Possibilities: Energy and Power; Pantheon Books/Random House, New York, New York, 1974.

Mind Over Matter, Powers of Healing, Psychic Powers, Psychic Voyages, from the series "Mysteries of the Unknown;" Time-Life Books, Alexandria, Virginia, 1987.

Puharich, Andrija; Beyond Telepathy; Anchor Press/Doubleday, Garden City, New York, 1973.

Rhine, J.B.; The Reach of the Mind; William Sloane Associates, New York, New York, 1947.

[egophiliac]

You think this will be THE last update for book 7.. or will there be more chapters q-q. (I'm totally not desperate for book 8 HAHHA)

I think we're gonna get at least one more chapter where we wrap back around to the Diasomnia boys (I have THEORIES!!!!), but I think 13 will probably be the last one! maybe also 14 as a short epilogue/setup for episode 8, depending on where they cut after we deal with Malleus. we are definitely approaching the endgame though! ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ the party is almost assembled...the light is at the end of the tunnel...it is almost time to go throw pies into Tsunotarou's silly face until he comes to his senses...

(disclaimer since I don't think they've actually officially confirmed that there's going to be an episode 8, that this is of course just me assuming that Grim's arc/whatever's going on with Crowley probably/various other wrapups are going to be a separate episode, and aren't gonna be folded into the absolute beast that has been episode 7. BUT it does make for a nice break point and makes sense thematically with Ramshackle being, like, the semi-official 8th dorm and all, so I think it's a pretty safe bet at this point!)

[brainlicking]

Janus Week Day 4 - Name Reveal

For @darksideweeks Janus' week! I've had the draft thumbnails for this comic sitting pretty for three years and today's prompt was PERFECT for me to blow off the dust and actually draw it!

(I have many ideas of how Janus shared his name with Remus but this is by far the funniest.)

Image ID below the cut.

[ID: A four page digital Sanders Sides comic with the brainlicking.tumblr signature at the bottom of each page.

Page 1: [A small yellow panel at the top of the page with a speech bubble]

Janus: I... ...I would like to tell you...

[Whole page panel with Janus at the forefront, his back to the viewer and his arms crossed behind his back, he is facing Remus. Remus is sitting on a purple couch, concentrating on reaching a book.]

[Bottom left panel. Remus looks up in surprise.] [Bottom right panel. Remus is looking intently at Janus with both hands pressed together in front of his mouth, there is a green text box with an arrow pointing to Remus that says, "Not saying a word because he genuinely wants to know."]

Page 2: [The panels of this page are bordered with yellow with faded text that reads, "HE'S GOING TO LAUGH" over and over.]

[Top panel. Profile shot of Janus' torso, going from neck to waist, he is facing to the viewers left. His arms are out in front of him and is taking off his right glove.]

[Middle panel. Closer shot of his right hand, it is now ungloved.]

Janus: My name...

[Bottom panel. Closeup shot of the lower half of Janus' face, teeth bared and his hand close to his mouth.]

Page 3: [Whole page panel of a bust shot of Janus, he is grinning widely, his expression cheeky and is pressing the length of his pointer finger against the space between his upper lip and nose. There is a mustache drawn on the finger.]

Janus: Is REMUS!

[Bottom panel. Janus and Remus stare at each other in silence.]

Page 4: [Top panel. Janus and Remus burst into laughter, there is yellow and green "HA HA"'s written around them, with green text of Remus saying, "You silly bitch!" to Janus.]

[Whole page panel. The laughter from the top panel trickles down the middle of the page. Janus is now sitting with Remus on the couch, he peeks one eye open at him, still smiling.]

Janus: It's actually Janus.

Remus: Aw, we match!

Janus: Heh, yes we do.

End ID]

@thatsthat24

[egregiousderp]

I’d love to see what your class has to say, yeah!

I was honestly just delighted with the tags and ready to wave around Cs Lewis’ Allegory of Love. I feel like people know his Christian Stuff and his stories but really gloss over some of the fun stuff he did about medieval chivalry. (It’s actually probably closer to kink or misassumptions people have about kink? Insofar as it’s all about showing your obedience to your lord by having his wife issue orders at you that you obey without question? Which makes The Green Knight all the more interesting. But is that duty or is it love? Similarly, certain ancient treaties for Vassal States use words for Love between the conquering, presumably protective, nation, and the under-city.

“Love” and “Friendship” do indeed have nebulous inter-mixing in the Ace/Aro spec lens. We use “Love” for so many things, and sometimes slap “Friendship” on aggressive mutual desire manipulations.

[guy who is aromantic voice] sexual attraction just makes more sense than romantic attraction. like ok, you want to fuck someone. this is quantifiable. it is quite easy to grasp what "i want to fuck someone" looks like, even if you have no idea what it feels like. romantic attraction, though? this is a nebulous construct which seems to largely be "glorified friendship with sex" in the popular imagination. what even is the difference between friendship and romance? the line between friendship and sexual attraction, though both can coexist, is that when there's sexual attraction present, you want to fuck someone. the line between friendship and romantic attraction, so far as i can perceive it within a heteronormative, amatonormative framework, is that it is... friendship where you want to fuck someone. what?

[reginyani]

Lessons | s.reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: You take it upon yourself to help Spencer Reid, your genius FBI co-worker develop confidence and social skills— especially in flirting. As you continue to give Spencer casual lessons in flirting, you both begin to realize this isn't just 'casual'. This leads Spencer into overthinking, and making a rash decision which ends in with him in your apartment half-naked.

cw: smut, 18+, mdni, flirty!reader, mentions of being in bar and drinking, use of y/n, clueless!spencer, sub!spencer, softdom!reader, p in v, unprotected sex, reader rides spencer, spencer comes inside reader

wc: 2.7k

a/n: please like and reblog if you enjoyed! support is always appreciated<3 (i listened to smarty while writing this and im absolutely screaming.)

Spencer Reid had many strengths. He could recite the periodic table in under a minute, read 20,000 words per minute, and could quite literally remember every single word ever said to him in perfect detail. But when it came to social interactions?

Well.. He was a work in progress.

You had noticed it early on— how he hesitated before speaking, how he fumbled over his words when confronted with casual banter, how he shrank away from physical contact as if it burned him. It wasn't that he lacked intelligence, in fact, he quite literally was the definition of intelligence. The guy could outthink just about anyone. But social nuance? The art of casual confidence? That was definitely not his forte.

Which is why, one evening after work, you decided it was time to do something about it.

"You really are hopeless sometimes, you know that?" You said, leaning back against your desk as Spencer furrowed his eyebrows at you in confusion.

"I don't— what do you mean?"

You smirk, pointing toward the break corner, where a young woman from accounting had just left from, looking vaguely disappointed. "That girl was flirting with you, Genius."

Spencer blinked. "No she wasn't."

"Yes, she was."

"She asked if I liked tea," he said while rolling his eyes, as if that was somehow an airtight defense.

You groaned, shaking your head. "Spencer, she was looking for an excuse to speak to you. She was touching her hair, laughing at everything you said— even the things you said that weren't funny."

Spencer frowned. "I wasn't exactly trying to be funny."

"Exactly," you say, crossing your arms. "Which means she wasn't laughing at the joke. She was laughing because she liked you."

For a moment, Spencer just stared at her, eyes narrowing in thought as if he was cataloging this information for a further study and analysis. Then he suddenly sighed loudly. "Even if that were true, it's not like it matters. I'm not.. great at that kind of thing."

You tilted your head. "At what?"

"Flirting. Making conversation that isn't strictly informational. Even as a profiler I struggle reading people." He gave an awkward shrug. "Flirting isn't really a skill I ever needed."

You studied him for a moment before pushing off your desk. "Alright, that settles it. I'm making you my new project."

Spencers eyes widened slightly. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm gonna teach you how to be more confident," you said with a smirk. "How to read body language of a person who isn't a serial killer, and how to hold a conversation without sounding like a Wikipedia page, and maybe even know how to throw a decent punch while we're at it."

He scoffed, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck. "I don't need—"

"Yes, you do," you interrupted, grabbing your coat from the back of your chair. "Come on, Boy Genius. We're getting drinks."

Spencer hesitated. "I don't really—"

"It's a lesson, not a date," you teased. "Unless you're scared."

That did it. He straightened his back, squaring his shoulders slightly. "I'm not scared."

"Good," you said, patting his arm. "Let's go then."

When you both arrived at the bar, it was quieter than most. It was a small spot near your apartment that you go to occasionally to decompress. Spencer had never been here before— not surprising, given that he rarely went anywhere that wasn't work related.

"You do realize I don't drink, right?" he asked as they slid into the booth.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that memo," you said, crossing your arms. "You can have water if you want, alcohol isn't exactly the point, it's the atmosphere around us."

He folded his arms together, looking skeptical at your words. "And what exactly am I supposed to learn here anyway?"

"Confidence, Reid. Social ease. You spend way too much time in your own head that you forget to live in the moment. So, here's your first ever lesson: stop overanalyzing."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you raise your finger to stop him. "Nope. Don't say anything. Just trust me on this."

Spencer exhaled heavily, looking vaguely pained in annoyance, but he nodded anyway. "Fine. What do I do then?"

You gestured to the bar. "Pick someone in the room and tell me what their body language says. C'mon, use those profiling skills to good use."

He listened, scanning the room, until they landed on a man at the bar nursing a whisky glass. "That guy is probably going through some kind of personal issue. His posture is slightly slouched, and his fingers are tense around his glass, and he hasn't checked his phone once, which most likely means he's avoiding calls or texts from someone or possibly has no one to even reach out to."

You raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Damn. Alright, expert profiler. Now, please do it with someone less miserable."

Spencers gaze shifted to a couple laughing together in a nearby table. "Well, the woman there is interested in the man, but he's clearly not picking it up that well. She's leaning towards him, angling her body to fully face him, but he keeps glancing away, distracted. Either he's oblivious, or not interested in the conversation at all."

You grin. "See? you're better at this than I thought."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "Observing is one thing. Applying it in real time is another."

"Okay, well then let's practice." you say, leaning froward slightly. "Tell me what my body language is saying."

Spencer hesitated for a moment. "You're.. teasing me."

"Obviously, Genius. What else?"

He studied you, his eyes darting over your posture, the way you rested your chin in your hand, and the slight smirk playing at your lips. "You're comfortable. Your body language is opened, relaxed. But you're also amused, probably at the fact you know I'm over thinking this."

You laughed. "Bingo!"

Something flickered in his eyes, something victorious, straightening a bit as he smiled.

"Alright," you said, finishing your martini. "Lesson one complete. Next up is casual confidence!"

Spencer groaned. "This is going to be painful."

"Excruciating," you said with a grin. "But trust me, Spencer. You will thank me later."

Over the next few weeks, your lessons continued on.

You taught Spencer how to hold eye contact without looking away in embarrassment, corrected his posture when he hunched over too much. Much to his horror, you even demonstrated how to casually brush someone's hand without making it completely awkward.

But somewhere throughout these lessons, things started to shift between the two of you.

It started out subtle at first. A glance that lasted a little too long. A touch that lingered a second past appropriate. The way you started to notice how his eyes crinkled when he was smiling, and how his voice softened just enough when he spoke to you.

It wasn't supposed to mean anything, but it did.

Another normal evening, after a round of drinks, you both found yourselves outside of your apartment complex. It had surprisingly been a good night— Spencer had successfully navigated himself through a conversation with a stranger without stammering, and you were so damn proud of him.

"You're getting better at this," you nudged his arm as you both walked up the steps of your apartment building.

Spencer smiled, small but real. "You're a good teacher." he said as you both made it to your apartment door.

Something in the atmosphere changed in that very moment, the air charged with clear unspoken tension.

You weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly, you were closer, looking up into his unreadable expression.

For a second, just a second, you wondered.

Then Spencer cleared his throat awkwardly, stepping back. "I should go."

You nodded quickly, shoving your hands into your pockets. "Yeah, yeah.. of course." you said disappointingly.

Neither of you said what you were thinking, and it was quite clear you didn't have to.

The were both wrong about this 'just being a 'lesson', and you both knew it.

As you heard his footsteps fade away, you quickly fumbled through your purse to find your keys. When you did, your hands shakily inserted the key into the keyhole as you unlocked the door.

When you finally entered, you let out a heavy sigh, removing your shoes at the entrance and putting them on a rack.

The door had just barely clicked shut before a loud knock echoed throughout your seemingly empty apartment.

You immediately froze, already knowing who was on the other side of the door.

Your heart thudded against your chest, your fingers curling around the doorknob. He didn't even enter, theres no way he left something behind— he never did anyway. He definitely didn't just come back to say goodnight either.

No, there was only one clear reason he was standing on the other side of your door.

Swallowing hard, you reached for the handle of your door, hesitating for a fraction of a second before pulling it open.

Spencer stood there, his expression unreadable, his breathing uneven and as if he had walked down the stairs and immediately ran back up. His hands were curled at his sides, and for once, he wasn't overthinking— he was only acting on his emotions.

Before you could speak or process anything, he leaped forward.

His hands found your face, fingers threading into your hair as his lips crashed against yours.

A startled gasp escaped your lips before you melted into his touch, your own hands gripping at his jacket to pull him in closer. It was desperate and certainly messy, all the built up tension from the past few weeks of lessons spilling over in one perfect, and reckless moment.

Spencer Reid —your best work partner and friend— was here, kissing you like he had been holding himself back from it far too long. And honestly, maybe he had.

He wasn't being shy now. There was no hesitation on either of your ends, no second guessing. His lips moved against yours like he had been studying the movement for years, like he memorized every possible way to make you feel like your knees could give out beneath you at any moment.

Your back hit the doorframe as he pressed closer, and eventually he pushed you inside, shutting the door. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear if he were to let go.

But God, no, you were definitely not going anywhere.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, your fingers tugging at the soft curls that hung at the nape of his neck. He made a quiet, shuddering sounds at your contact, and you grinned against his lips before pulling back just enough for both your eyes to meet.

His pupils were completely wide, his chest rising and falling unevenly as he caught his breath.

"Spencer," you whispered softly, still catching your own breath.

His hands continued to tighten on your waist, like he wasn't ready to let go of you just yet.

"I was completely wrong," he admitted, his voice low, almost dazed.

You arched one of your brows in confusion. "About what?"

"About not having feelings for you." His thumb traced against your waist, tapping in nervousness. "About this just being a lesson."

You let out a breathless laugh. "Took you long enough, Genius."

He huffed, half exasperated and half relieved. "You knew?" he asked in confusion.

"Of course I knew. I was just waiting to see if you were gonna figure it out."

He shook his head while letting a soft chuckle escape his lips. He finally let himself lean back, being able to fully take you in now. "And what now?"

You smirked, reaching up to brush your thumb against his soft pink bottom lip, swollen from the kiss.

"Now," you said, tugging him back toward you. "I teach you everything else you haven't learned in lessons yet." you say, grinning as you start to pull him away from your door and onto your couch.

Spencer is at a complete loss, unsure of what to do as you straddle his lap. He gulps, his eyes glued to you as you remove your shirt, throwing it somewhere across the room.

As if he were just following your lead, he removes his own shirt, completely unsure of what to be doing. His stomach seems to be twisting in knots, the heat rising in his chest.

Your lips crash into his once again, sucking on his bottom lip as your hips move against his lap, your skirt lying against your thighs. You pull away, the friction overwhelming and just enough on its own. Your hands grip onto his shoulders, feeling his erection through his pants.

Spencer bites his lip, holding himself back from letting out a loud whine, or saying something embarrassing like 'holyfuckpleasejusttouchmealready'. Although, as hard as he tried, of course he was unsuccessful.

"I.. need you, Y/N.." he whimpers, panting heavily as you move.

"That's all I needed to hear, baby." you tease, your hands quickly making their way to the clasp of his belt, quickly unbuckling it. You then unzip his pants, but instead of immediately pulling his boxers down, you rub his cock through them.

This drives him nuts, making him let out a loud moan.

"Please, just.." he mumbles, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"Please.. what?" you smirk, raising an eyebrow as you continue to move your hand, watching him as eyebrows furrow and his slick lips part.

"Just fuck me already!" Spencer begs, at this point almost screaming.

Although you wanted to tease him more, you could feel your own pussy throbbing as it quietly begged for the touch of the man beneath you. So instead, you smirk, allowing him to pull his boxers and pants down to his thighs.

You quickly scrapped your skirt, leaving you in just a pair of pink laced underwear. You look down at him, your own lips parted as you move your underwear to the side.

Suddenly, your hand takes his cock, slowly stroking it, before quickly speeding it up, making him moan in pleasure. "Holy— shit, Y/N.. Ah!—" he manages to sputter out, practically melting in your touch.

"Ready?" you ask, smirking down at him. He nods rapidly, not wanting to wait any longer.

At his approval, you lift yourself from his lap and position yourself above his cock, allowing it to hit your wet entrance. You groan in pleasure, feeling his tip slowly enter your pussy.

Eventually, his cock is all the way inside you, and you're bouncing up and down, feeling the warmth of him inside you as both your moans and slap of skin on skin filled your apartment.

"Fuck, Spencer... you feel— so good." you moan, stuttering as you continue to bounce on his cock, feeling him pulse inside you.

He rocks his hips, sliding in and out of you as you both begin to chase your high, sending Spencers mind reeling as he gasps.

"Is this okay?—" he asks, continuing to rock at a decent pace.

"Fuck, yes.. So good, Spence.." you answer, allowing the noises that are escaping your lips be the answer. "Shit.." you breathe out, "You're so fucking incredible, darling."

Spencer squints his eyes shut, feeling himself get driven closer and closer to the edge.

"Y/N.. 'M close.." he warns, beads of sweat rolling down from his forehead as he gets closer to coming.

"You gonna come for me Spencer?" you say with watery eyes, close yourself. "Look me in the eyes, baby." you demand him.

He looks up, his eyes meeting yours as you continue to fuck yourself into him, moaning in pleasure. You throw your head back, now your practically yelling out.

"Yes! Right there, Spencer! Come inside me!" you wail, your bodies now moving in synchronized motions.

This finally sends him through, jolts of electricity shooting through his body as he comes, legs shaking heavily as he fills you up with his sweet liquids.

You come soon after, moaning as the warmth of him inside you makes your own orgasm feel even better.

Eventually he pulls out, and your body finally gives out as collapse next to him, feeling empty without him inside you now.

"You better take me out after this." you tease, still catching your breath.

"Aw, do I have to? I wasn't planning on it." he jokes, chuckling as you smack his arm playfully.

"So, do you think my amazing lessons payed off then?" you ask, raising an eyebrow as you smile.

"Eh, I guess they were alright." he answers, zipping up his pants as he shrugs.

"Oh, c'mon!" you whine, defeated.

tags:

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part thirty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.1k tags: death. blood and gore. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. enemies to lovers. SA and implication of child SA (very subtle). summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: clearly I am bad at estimating how long this story will take lol

The tray of food crashes to the floor at her feet. Salome gasps. Her hand shoots back, fumbling for the doorknob, and her lips part, ready to call the guard you know is just outside.

"If you call for the guard," you stop her, "I’ll cut deeper."

She clamps a hand over her mouth. "Please—stop! Hurting yourselves is a sin, a great dishonor to the body God gave you—"

“It is,” you agree calmly. You press the shard deeper into the cephalic vein, ignoring the bite of pain. Blood spills in a fresh, startling curtain down your arm, the wound mimicking the severity of an arterial cut. “And she’ll blame you for it. You’re the one she entrusted to watch over us, and you didn't notice we broke one of the mugs."

"I did not think you would—"

"What happens to you,” you cut her off, pointing the bloody shard at her stomach, “—and your baby when the two new child-bearers die because of your failure? Because I will die, if I cut any deeper. This artery,” you lie, tapping the wound for emphasis, “is important. If I finish slicing through it, I’ll bleed out in less than a minute. Not enough time for you to get help. Not even enough to try saving me yourself.”

Her lashes flutter rapidly through a swell of tears. "You could have a good life here—"

"Answer me. What happens to you if I die?"

She swallows hard. "She’ll punish me," she whispers frightfully. "I have seen what happens to those who fail her. She might take my child and I will... never see them. Please, don’t do this—”

"Why should we care about you and your child when you are okay with them killing an eleven-year-old girl tomorrow?"

A flash of shame crosses her face. "I'm sorry. I-I didn't know Maman would want the girl. The offering has never been so young before. But it is God's will, there is nothing I can do to—"

"What you can do is open the cell. Open it and we will kill Maman, then you won't have to worry about anyone taking your baby. But if you don't open it, then we die in here and you will face her punishment."

Her lips part, but nothing comes out. She looks between you and Nereida, eyes darting wildly, fingers twitching against her stomach. 

"Decide before I bleed out!"

"I... I can't," she says pitifully.

With a glance at Nereida, she takes her cue, digging into her vein.

"Open the cell," Nereida urges far more soothingly than you can, blood dripping to her elbow. "We won't hurt you. We want Maman gone, not you."

Salome whimpers under her breath, but her fingers move before her mind catches up, reaching inside her robe to retrieve the key, gripping it like it might burn her. She shuffles closer but pauses, inhaling deeply before finally reaching the door. Her hands shake so violently that the key rattles against the lock. It slips against the metal, failing to match the hole, and your finger twitches when she nearly drops it.

"Mais si elles ne parviennent pas à la tuer..." The whisper leaves quietly, lost beneath the veil. "Sa punition pour moi sera pire."

Then, her hand curls back around the key.

She swallows hard—and steps back.

No. 

You see red.

A growl curls at your mouth and you snap forward, grabbing onto her dress through the bars before she can retreat too far, and pulling her flush against them, her forehead banging into the metal. Before she can scream, you clamp a bloody hand over her mouth and then press the piece of broken mug to her neck with just enough pressure to make her panic. She gasps into your palm, struggling. You dig it harder, forcing her body to turn still and rigid.

"Twix—"

"I tried doing things the nicer way," you speak in a low snarl, veering off the script you and Nereida conjured. Round, glossy eyes stare into yours. "You should have made up your mind before getting within my reach. Now give her the key. I’d hate for my hand to slip."

Another sharp press into her skin wrings a squeak from her, her breath coming out jagged and uneven against your palm. Trembling, she extends an arm through the bars, offering the key to Nereida.

The moment Nereida takes it, she fumbles to find the lock from the outside, her fingers searching blindly. The key scrapes against the metal—once, twice—before a soft click finally reaches your ears.

The door swings open.

You don’t hesitate. Keeping your grip firm over Salome’s mouth, you shove through the opening and swing around to the other side. Before she can react, you force her back into the cell, driving her onto the bed. The veil tears free from her head as you pin her down, your weight pressing her into the mattress, the sharp fragment still poised at her throat. When her legs begin to flail helplessly, you order Nereida to grab them. She clasps Salome's ankles to keep her from bucking you off.

"You were afraid of the wrong person," you hiss, your nose nearly brushing hers. "Maman may have spared your life because she values her baby makers—but I don’t. Answer everything I ask, or I’ll show you just how merciless I can be."

The dishonest threat rolls off your tongue with enough force to make her nod frantically, fear widening her eyes. But what she doesn’t need to know—what you won’t let her see—is the part of you still holding back. Because even now, even as you pin her down and press the shard to a vital piece of her throat, you’re careful. You don’t dig hard enough to damage. You don’t let your weight bear down on the swell of her stomach.

"I'm glad we understand each other. I am going to lift my hand, and you're not going to scream. You're going to tell me everything we need to know about the guards out there."

Her lips are puffy and raw when you set them free. 

"There is only one outside the d-door," she sputters in a whisper. "B-but there are more... more by the... h-homes and the keep."

"The keep?"

"Where they keep the new m-males," she chokes out, snot dripping from her nose.

"That's in the old slaughterhouse, right?"

She nods.

"How many guards are over there exactly?"

"I do not know." At your glare, she rushes out, "B-but there are less after d-dinner ends. Many go to sleep, and switch shifts at sunrise."

You mull over the information, eyes darting across her face. “And the child—the offering? Where is Maman keeping her?”

A terrible look of fear ripples through her eyes. "Only few are allowed near the offering b-before her ascension. 

"So you're telling me you don't know?" you seethe in her face.

She sobs. "I know they... they will offer her to the démons right before the sun rises. The night is when God’s wrath is strongest, but it’s in the morning—when hope ascends—that we seek atonement."

Despite further pressing, that seems to be the extent of what she knows—or she's still withholding. Either way, you're satisfied enough. You rip strips of the sheet, using one to gag her and two more to bind her wrists and ankles. You and Nereida wrap your wounded wrists tightly to stop the flow. Then, you remove her white gown. You’ll need something to wear that doesn't easily mark you as an escapee, but there’s only the one white dress and veil. You hurriedly slip into them, making sure all of your hair and face is hidden, leaving Nereida still in the thin slip. The shoes Salome wears are thin and made of unsupported leather, but they are all you have to tuck your bare feet into.

Salome said there will be fewer guards after dinner. You and Nereida listen carefully to every sound that bleeds through the window. When you hear a few exchanges of bonne nuit, you figure people are starting to retire for the night. You take this as your cue to grip your makeshift weapon. The guard outside the door is expecting Salome to leave at some point, giving you the perfect opportunity to catch him off-guard while dressed as her.

You quietly open the door to the warm summer night, the long gown ghosting around your ankles. As expected, a well-built man leans against the side of the building, arms crossed languidly. No one else is in sight, which brings you some relief. When his gaze shifts to you, he raises a brow.

"Tout va bien, mademoiselle? Vous êtes restée là-dedans un moment."

The last word barely makes it out of his mouth. Within a heartbeat, you spring at him like the head of a snake, one hand over his mouth and the other stabbing his neck with the shard, then sweeping it through the thick of his trachea. A gush of blood oozes out in one thick stream, before he gargles out a strangled choke and turns to dead weight against the wall. 

With Nereida's help, you quickly push his body inside the building to keep anyone from spotting it. 

"Wear this," you usher, already starting to undress him. Like the man who visited you, he's wearing a grey cloak. Though it's too big for her, and bloodied, it will be enough to keep her discreet in the dark, her long hair safely tucked beneath the hood.

Two things race through your mind: the ticking time toward sunrise and the fact that you still don’t know how many more men you’ll have to take out to reach Ghost, Price, and Kyle. The knife you find on the guard adds a small weapon to your shitty arsenal. You have no idea where they could’ve stored the guns and ammo they took from you, or your bow. How you'll manage to fight through a community of cultists without those is a worry you can’t afford to dwell on right now—one step at a time.

After a few minutes of collecting yourselves, urgency pulls the two of you outside, free from the barred enclosure for the first time in almost four days. In the blanket of night, you quickly scan the area, taking in what you’re up against. The community appears fairly spread out, with only six small farmhouses like the one you just escaped from, along with a few larger structures in the near distance—likely where they house the men. You catch a glimpse of a fenced pasture’s perimeter and the unmistakable stench of cattle fills the air. Despite the faint shuffle of hooves and grey plumes of smoke from a few of the chimneys, everything is eerily still, leaving an unnerving amount of quiet for your heart to shatter through.

From what you can see, there aren’t many places to hide Blue, but there could be more to this place beyond what’s visible, especially since the chapel you first saw is nowhere in sight. But none of that matters right now; you need to find the others first if you’re going to have any real chance of saving her and getting out of here.

The next male you encounter spots you first as you make your way up the gravel road towards the barn, the sound of his boots making your hand tighten on the knife's handle. He greets you unassumingly in French, causing Nereida to startle beside you as his shadow approaches. Then he stops in front of her, his shoulders tensing and his hand hovering near a knife at his waist.

"Que fais-tu avec la femelle? C’est interdit!"

Again, you go for the throat, desperate to silence any screams that could cause alarm. You get a good swipe at the base of it, but he is at least a head taller than you, making it difficult to stab fully. He grabs you by the waist, clearly in shock that a veiled female just sprung on him with a knife, but swipes a fist at your face nonetheless. The force spreads through your temple, thrusting your head to the side. 

"Take the knife from him," you hiss at Nereida through the pain, who until now was effectively frozen. She finally moves, using the distraction you've caused as he clutches his bleeding neck, and snatches the knife still hanging at his waist. Once she has it, you leap at the disarmed man again, this time stabbing his liver. With a muffled grown, he face-plants into the gravel, quickly soaking it with blood. 

"The body," she stutters worriedly. "We need to hide it."

You look around, spotting stacks of chopped wood.

"Over there. Help me drag him."

Once the body is heaved behind the logs, you pat him down in search for anything else, but there's nothing.

"Keep that on you," you tell her, and she gives a quick nod, hiding the knife under her sleeve.

You keep following the road up to the fence, your white dress splattered with crimson, resembling the dotted stars overhead. The 'keep' is somewhere by the barn that man said, but you notice smaller buildings to the right and to the left of it. Which one looks like an old slaughterhouse? It's too difficult to tell even when you squint, so you grab Nereida's arm and quickly lower by a bush.

"Watch that one, and I'll keep an eye on this one. Whichever building has more guards patrolling is probably where they're holding them."

"Okay," she whispers, peering around the bush.

Minutes pass. The building on the right has more shadows skirting around it—three guards total. You take a moment to study their movements. One is stationed near the back, the other two at the front.

"I want you to take the one at the back and wait for me. I'll handle the other two."

"How do I take him?" she whispers uncertainly. "He’ll see me coming."

"You’ll come at it from an angle." You point toward a stack of hay. "Sneak over there, quietly. Once you're behind it, circle around and approach where he can't see."

She hesitates, rubbing the back of her hand across her forehead. "I’ve never—"

"Never killed anyone?" 

The way she grips the knife, her fingers white on the handle, confirms it.

"These people deserve it, Nereida," you say, forcing her to meet your gaze. "John is in there."

She closes her eyes, and for a moment, the weight of it all presses down on her. When she opens them again, her jaw is set, and her grip on the knife tightens.

After reminding her where to strike, you pause for a moment, watching as she sneaks over to the hay. Then, you move toward the other two, slipping behind a tree for cover, but your foot catches on something and you almost trip, catching yourself against the bark. Your breath hitches and you steal a peek at them to make sure they didn't hear you. No—they are too busy murmuring to each other, laughing in a low exchange.

When you glance down, you spot a shovel half-buried into the ground, its handle sticking out. Carefully, you wriggle it free, having to grit your teeth to fully remove it. This will let you stun one while you deal with the other. Inhaling deeply to center yourself, palm tight over the splintered wood handle, you close in on the two guards.

The shorter one with curly hair spots you just before you take a swing, his eyes widening. The shovel slams into his skull, effectively making him stumble to the ground, but slips from your grip from the force. The other guard whirls around, hand slapping for the pistol at his belt. You deliver three consecutive stabs to his stomach, heart, and cheek. The gun never leaves his waist before he falls dead.

You suck in a gulp of air just as the curly-haired one regains his footing. His head is still heavy from the blow, and before he can draw his knife, you shove him in the chest, sending him crashing to the ground. You pin him easily beneath you, his movements sluggish and weak. The two of you wrestle in the grass, jagged breaths mixing with frantic, scraping nails, until, with a snarl, your knife finds purchase in his neck, stealing the life from his eyes in an instant. You stab him again and again, shaking, until the ticking urgency pulls you back into control. With a deep breath, you steady yourself and wiggle the knife lodged in his trachea, your hands slippery with blood.

"You got death," you spit in a whisper, thumbing his lids shut.

You lift up.

Now you have a single gun.

It is an old thing. Outdated and far from the military-grade weapons Ghost has. It takes a moment to figure out the parts—your fingers fumble for the small magazine, which is stocked with three bullets. You pull the slide to chamber a round with a click and keep it ready in your hand as you circle the building toward the back, praying that Nereida managed. When you find her, she is stood over the man's body, a deep cut oozing on her cheek.

"He saw me," she says, swallowing. "But I did it."

You nod. "We need to hide them before we go in."

All three bodies are hidden behind the hay stacks. You cover them with manure to mask the smell, not wanting a horde of Greys to materialize. You'd spotted a door at the back and hope it may be more discreet then blazing in through the front, given that you don't know who all is in there. Finger ready on the trigger, you hold your breath as you lead Nereida into the old building, instantly met with the rich smell of pennies. The space quickly unfolds into an old butcher house, rusted hooks hanging from the stone ceiling, the air cramped and cold. 

"Une femme? Maman ne voudrait pas de toi—"

The voice echoes in your ear as you round the corner, and then a fiery bullet rips into the owner's chest. Nereida flinches. Another guard comes barreling over, shouting, but you slide the chamber and shoot him in the head.

You don't linger by the bodies, itching to check the first steel door you see. You lower the gun only to pull at the handle, but it won't budge.

"Check him for keys," you motion to the dead guard.

Nereida crouches, hands rifling through his pockets until she yanks free a ring of keys. Her fingers shake as she tries them one by one, the lock stubborn—until, at last, it gives. With a sharp tug, the door groans open, revealing a windowless chamber. In the center, a lone captive hangs from chains.

It’s Price. Shackles bite into his wrists, his bare chest mapped with deep bruises against pale skin. Beaten, but unbroken—his gaze sharp as it lifts to meet yours. Nereida chokes on a sob, ripping the hood off her head and sinking to her knees before him, cupping his jaw.

A weighted baritone manages: "Duchess."

"There is nowhere I will not find you," she croaks. Teary kisses find the corner of his mouth. "I'm here, I'm here."

"How did you—"

"We got out. Where are the others?" you ask.

His jaw grits. "I haven't seen them since they knocked us out."

"They must be here somewhere. We need to move quick before someone notices the bodies."

After finding the small key to undo the manacles, you leave them to each other for the moment, continuing down the hall until the next door. An undeniable pull rises in your chest, something that has nothing to do with the adrenaline rushing through you—something you can’t quite name. But when you open the door, your heart falters with unwelcome disappointment at the sight of Kyle. He looks equally battered, but still aware enough to lift his head as you step in.

"Who are you?" 

You lift the veil.

"It's me," you answer, the words almost lost in the rush of emotions. Only when you fully take in the room do you notice Ari, curled in the corner. They’ve put them in here together. While there are no obvious injuries on the boy, the sight of the open Bible on his lap, and the empty dinner plate beside him, sends a cold shiver down your spine. You touch his cheek, feeling warmth, and reassure him he’s safe.

You release both of them. "Price and Nereida are through the door down the left. I need to find Ghost. I’ll be back."

Kyle rubs his wrists and manages to stand despite his black eye and shaky legs. "I’ll come with you."

"No. I’ll get him." The words come out sharper than you mean to, but you turn away before he can question them.

You are pulled further through the tight, cold hallway, movements turning more hurried as you look around. There are a few more half-opened doors, but they only lead to supply closets filled with whips and metal batons and empty chambers where old blood stains the floors. Something sharp tugs at your heart, and for the first time since initiating your escape, your fingertips succumb to a tremor of fear. 

Where is he?

The hall spits out into a room where dried animal carcasses hang from the walls.

One final door sits on the far end.

The rusted lock resists, swears hissing from your lips—until a sharp kick forces it open.

The smell thickens with fresh blood, and a cold pit sinks into your stomach at the sight of him—bound in chains, his body slumped haphazardly. Unlike the others, he doesn’t lift his head. You rush forward, a shaky breath catching in your throat as you take in the blood caked on his shoulder blades, deep welts splitting through the inked skin. His back, too, is covered in wounds. He looks worse—so much worse—that a bite of anger swells moisture in your eyes.

"Simon, you idiot. What did you do?" The words slip out on a sharp inhale as you lower yourself in front of him. "Simon," you whisper again, silent tears hot against your lips. You thread a hand through his hair, tilting his jaw up with careful fingers. His eyes are heavy, but relief finds you when they flutter open. He’s alive. The reddened whites flicker over your face, unfocused—until something strange sharpens the haze. A flicker of fear.

"It's me, Simon. We're getting out of here."

The brief fear shifts into shock when he recognizes your face, and only after you fumble with the key ring does understanding click into place, causing his jaw to flex. "Where... where is she?"

"I don't know, but we need to hurry. They have her." You undo the manacles, and his body rolls heavily into you, face falling onto your collarbone. You struggle to hold him up, gripping his shoulders without touching the wounds. A low groan bleeds through his teeth, and his eyes flutter shut again. No, no, no. "Please, you have to... you have to get up, Simon. I can't—she's going to fucking die!"

His upper chest rapidly expands with a breath, and he musters the strength to lift his weight off you and slap a hand against the wall. As he leverages his weight up, you help by grabbing beneath his other arm, until a final rush of adrenaline gets him on his feet. Urgency snaps tension into his limp shoulders, and he growls out another, more steady, breath.

"Price," he says.

"He's alive. Come on."

It takes some effort to help him walk at first, but eventually, he manages on his own. You guide him to the first room, where the others are pacing, murmuring in low voices.

"Simon, Jesus," Price mutters when he sees him.

Ghost brushes it off, his eyes narrowing. "They're going to kill her."

"At sunrise," you add, your voice tight. You pull out the pistol and show it to them. "I have one bullet left. I don't know how many more men are in this cult, but we've killed six so far."

"We have one shitty old gun." Kyle growls in frustration. "They took all our shit. How are we going to—"

"We find the weapons. They must have stored them somewhere," Price says.

"We can't just go searching through every building here. We don't have the time," you press. "And how are we supposed to get it back without everyone noticing we're gone?"

"I don't give a fuck about the guns. We find her first," Ghost grits, nostrils flaring. 

"We can't help her if we don't think things through. We can't just start a war with these people empty-handed, Simon," Price says.

"We find her first!"

"Simon," you say, reaching for his arm, but he pulls it away, clenching his bloody fist. The energy radiating from him would scare you if you didn't feel the same way.

Just then, there is the faint sound of a door opening and footsteps clanging through the hall. You tense up, two male voices shouting in echoes, one of them vaguely familiar.

"Quelqu'un les a tués ! On doit régler cette merde avant que Maman découvre quoi que ce soit."

"Les putains de prisonniers!"

Before you can react, Ghost snatches the pistol from your grip. The second they rush toward the open door, he launches at them—an elbow to one’s face, the butt of the gun breaking the nose of the other. Price uses Nereida's knife to stab the fallen guard, while Kyle helps Ghost subdue the second one. You only recognize him as the man who made you strip when they forcibly drag him toward the manacles, the sight of his blonde hair making your nails curl into your palms.

"You stupid fucking Brits!"

Ghost strikes the gun into his left eye, making him jerk within the constraints, howling as the socket turns into bloody pulp. 

Kyle grips the man's scalp from behind to hold his head up, while Ghost presses the gun into his cheek, where you notice a wound shaped like a bite mark.

"Tell us where she is," he roars. "Or I'll take the other eye."

Nereida cowers into the corner, holding onto Ari's arm. 

"I don't know!" the man spits blood, and Ghost digs the gun into his cheek, ripping it open further until the bitten flesh hangs as a torn flap, exposed all the way to his eye. The scream that follows feels inhuman. "I swear, I don't—I don't fucking know!"

Fresh blood drips to the floor. Price, much more calm, lowers at the man's side. "How many people live here?"

The man grits his teeth, struggling to answer, "T-thirty males, and six females. Plus the infants."

Twenty-two now, you count in your head.

"And the weapons we had. What about those?" Price questions further.

When only staggered, pained breaths fills the room, Ghost tosses the bloody gun and grabs the knife from Price, stabbing the man's kneecap without hesitation. Another scream ensues, and there is the small itch to cover your ears, but you steel yourself against the wall to keep watching.

"Answer the fucking question." Ghost twists the knife in his knee.

He cries out, more bloody spittle flying from his mouth. "All of the ammo is hidden. Only A-Alexandre knows!"

"Who is Alexandre?"

“Maman's son, he enforces her commands and oversees the males.”

"Where is he?" Price asks, voice hard.

“He… he resides in the work shed, while the rest of us sleep in the quarters within the barn.”

You step forward. "We saw another building outside with just one guard, that must be it."

There is a beat of silence as Price processes the information, giving Ghost a satisfied nod. With pain still contorting his face, the man's eye drifts past Ghost's shoulder toward you. His lips twitch into a faint, bloody smirk that makes your skin crawl. Ghost follows his gaze, snarls, and abruptly slashes the man's throat from ear to ear.

B

It is still dark when Eloise comes to awaken her, though Blue's eyes never once fell shut with sleep. She spent the short-lived night alternating between staring at the crescent moon outside the window, and fiddling with the knitting needles left on the table. There is a new dress in the woman's clutch, beautiful white fabric embroidered with flowers, and a pair of beautiful leather shoes in the other hand.

"See? I told you the dress would be nicer." She smiles and hands it over, as if to offer something to be thrilled for. "You must change quickly. There is a lovely breakfast of framboises and milk waiting for you. Put these on as well." She sets the shoes on the floor.

Blue thinks it strange, to bother feeding her just before her death. Blankly, she asks, "How many people will be there? To watch me die."

Eloise's smile quivers slightly, a slight crack in her composure. "Not too many, I assure you. Only a few of us women, and one or two worthy men. Most are still sleeping." After a pause, she adds even quieter, almost ashamed, "Be thankful you don’t suffer through childbirth instead. It is... a painful thing. Long, too. At least this pain will be honorable and swift."

Blue's fingers tighten around the dress. "Okay. Do you mind if I change alone, please?"

Eloise bows her head. "Of course."

She casts one last gentle glance her way before shuffling out of the room, locking the door behind her and leaving Blue with only the dress and shoes. Once the door is closed, Blue quickly slips the dress on, shuddering as the cold fabric caresses her limbs. It’s more beautiful than anything she can remember ever wearing, and that disgusts her. Swallowing the churn in her stomach, she grabs the needles and sits back on the bed.

The wounds on her feet are shallow, her fingernails only able to pierce the thick skin slightly. Using the needles, she digs into them deeper, trembling from the pain that throbs as fresh blood begins to seep from the soles. She cuts and cuts furiously, teeth gritted, praying it’s enough to soak into the shoes she slips on over the new wounds. She covers the blood stains on the sheet with the blanket, then stands, almost crying out from the agony of walking on her torn feet.

"Please dad," she whispers, closing her eyes briefly, before calling to Eloise that she is ready.

"But if they don't manage to kill her... her punishment for me will be worse." "Is everything alright, miss? You've been in there for a while." "What are you doing with the female? It’s forbidden!" "A woman? Maman wouldn’t want you—" "Someone killed them! We need to fix this shit before Maman finds out anything." "The fucking prisoners!"

[yumeka-sxf]

A very short new chapter this week but...wow, the preview mentioned that it's about a dream Anya had, but I wasn't expecting baby Anya right off the bat 😭

A couple things we can infer about this short scene with her mother is that 1) they're both wearing what appears to be hospital or another kind of medical facility gowns, which indicates that they were perhaps both at the lab together. Likely her mother was there first for who knows how long, and Anya was born there?

And 2) the emphasis on being able to fly like a butterfly makes me think that they're trapped there. Anya is too young at this point to understand what's happening, but her mother desires that at least Anya is able to "fly away" to a better life someday.

It's hard to tell if Anya has her mind reading ability yet, or if her mother can read minds too. We don't see any of the "sparkles" that are used as a visual cue for when Anya is mind-reading...I feel like we would have seen that in the scene below when she's looking up at her mother before hugging her. But it could just be too short of a scene to say for sure.

Some notes about the Japanese version, @spencer-is-someone and others were wondering if she calls her ママ ("mama") here as opposed to what she calls Yor, はは ("haha"), and yes, she does call her biological mother the actual word "Mama." This is consistent with the Eden interview scene too.

The first panel of the Japanese version also has this extra text on the left that reads "a precious memory from some other time..."

Something that I mentioned in my review of chapter 102 is how Endo hides the faces of certain characters in other characters' flashbacks, such as how Loid's parents' faces are hidden, as is the face of Henry's wife in Martha's flashback. In the same vein, Anya's mother's face is obscured as well.

I interpret this as the characters' suppressing the memory of the character whose face is hidden due to the emotional trauma that character elicits, a trauma that the character having the flashback is trying to overcome, whether they realize it or not. In Anya's case, it could simply be that she doesn't remember her mother's face since she was so young, but regardless, I like that Endo is being consistent with this.

Side note, it seems like the design for Anya's mother is based on Ashe, a character from one of Endo's previous works. Anya's design was based on Ashe as well, so makes sense that her mother would have a stronger resemblance.

Before the chapter ends, we're treated to "soft" Loid with the little sigh he has (the "phew" cloud in the lower right) whenever he's genuinely relaxing around the family 😊

It's interesting how the mind-reading thing from the previous chapters with Melinda is brought up...when Anya asks if Yor can read her mind, Loid looks concerned, but when Yor tells him she only knew about the potato gratin because Anya saw it on TV, he relaxed.

I kinda hope that the Melinda story continues in the next chapter, but it could be paused for now. Likely we'll be moving onto something else next time. Maybe we'll go back to the "Anya reveals her secret to Damian" thing, since school is resuming according to Loid. I am a bit surprised though that this chapter was so short despite not being called a "Short Mission" chapter. Endo could still be trying to catch up after the recent long hiatus he had due to illness. But it's fine, I'm happy with crumbs of Anya's backstory not matter how small! 😅