#changed the name for privacy but it’s the same concept

[reesemon]

speech relationship drama so bad we started calling it jacobgate 😭🙏

[minhosimthings]

Me Quedo Mirandote || 18+

Pairings: Jake × fem!reader

Request: I dont know if you accept a req now but... fresh grad worker! (jake or hyunjin) × ojt student y/n. Y/n was assigned to (jake or hyunjin) to train her but yn like riding (jake or hyunjin) in his swivel chair. (Jake or Hyunjin)'s work desk cubicle is in kinda hidden in the corner. (cockwarming, cowgirl, softdom!(jake or hj))

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, 18+, thigh riding, degradation, 1% sir kink because I can, orgasm control eyy, cock riding, unprotected sex (zont zo it), mention of blood, fingering, praise, semi-public sex, role-play ish situation?, Use of petnames 'doll', overstimulation, dom!Jake, sub!reader, swearing, reader wears a dress

A/N: On popular demand, I decided to just copy paste my og Hyunjin work and change the names to Jake!

Hyunjin version

Never in a million years would you ever have thought that you'd be fixing your frizzied hair and ruined lipstick in your soon-to-be office's bathroom, but here you were, your lipstick three shades lighter and your white dress all ruined.

And no one would ever question how Sim Jaeyun's shirt had the exact same lipstick shade stains on it. Why would they? A playboy never loses his instincts, even if he's freshly graduated and teaching the only on- the-job student with full responsibility.

The fortunate student being you.

And it wasn't to say Jake wasn't fortunate as well. You were compliant, perhaps even exactly like him. He wondered how you had ever managed to get through your classes so well during the day and get through him during the cool intoxicating nights.

Another thing Jake was fortunate to have was his "private office". And by office, he meant his own comfortably small cubicle, which was far away from the prying eyes of his co-workers. It was weird for a fresh out of school student to have his own cubicle, but he guessed that his workplace valued privacy to an extreme level, so much so that his "office" hid discarded red laces, tainted white silks and on the job students perfectly.

"And that's how you write up a summary for the graphs of the month." Jake clapped his hands together, trying not to sound overly positive, as you stared dead eyed into the computer screen. He had been explaining the concept to you for an hour now, and although you'd been standing resting your chin on his head, you were mentally exhausted.

"Doll, you doing alright?" Jake cocked a brow at you, standing up to your level, arms going to your waist as if it was his daily routine. Well, technically it was his daily routine.

"Do I look like I'm doing alright?" You scoffed, eyes flittering between Jake's eyes and lips, "Don't I deserve a promotion for all the work I've done Sir?"

Jake's lips morphed into a slow smirk at your widened lamb eyes and your 'good girl' pout. His hands gripped into your skin tighter, as he leaned in closer, pressing a kiss to your neck.

"You're just a student Y/N. I can't give you a promotion so quick." He smirked into the nape of your neck, knowing what was coming next. How couldn't he? With how many times, his favourite 'employee' had begged on her knees to get a 'promotion'.

"But sir haven't I been a good girl?" You whispered, staring at Jake's plump lips, "I even wore the dress you bought me." You motioned towards your clearly visible cleavage in your summer dress, one of Jake's most favourite sights for his eyes to ogle at any day.

Your hands went up to his luscious locks of hair, two flicks framing his face perfectly. God, his hair was as soft as cotton, you thought, a complete contrast to how he behaved once you were suffocating his length with your pussy.

Jake's hands slid down to your ass and pulled your hips against his body, your hand pressing against his desk. It made the dress you were wearing ride up your thighs, exposing your panties. His hot lips moved away from yours and down to your neck, kissing and gently biting the delicate skin. You let out a little gasp and arched your neck, it felt divine.

“Doll, with the way you're gasping now, I wonder what you'd do once I actually start with the usual." Jake chuckled darkly, pressing a rough, carnivorous kiss to your lips, "fuck—be a good girl for me now."

Jake pulled away from the kiss and sat back on his chair, leaning as prosaic as he could against it, and rubbing his hand over his thigh, ever so cordially inviting you over to him. Why would you ever refuse? It was your favourite place to be at any chance you got. Some days, that's the only place you wanted to be, on a hot lazy day, when you wanted nothing more than Jake to shut up about presentations and slides and spread out his leg for you.

You manoeuvred yourself so that your covered but damp core met with Jake's thigh, the hem of your dress gracefully swooped over his thigh, as you parted your legs enough to let your clit brushing against the fabric. The contact caused your mouth to fall open in a silent sigh.

"Already?" Jake clicked his tongue, "That's sort of pathetic don't you think doll?"

From this angle you looked pretty to Jake with your head thrown back, pupils blown out with lust and a prominent blush on your face. It made the animalistic side in Jake ravenous for more.

Jake adjusted his position on the chair, your loud mewl made him chuckle and press a kiss to your forehead. You hands went up to grip his soft, ebony hair, which was tied perfectly in a ponytail. Well, tied perfectly, until you ran your hands through the follicles, throwing the hair band off, and continuing to grip his open hair tightly. Your grip made Jake silently moan.

"Feel that?" He lifted a cocky brow at your pleasured expression, "It's just for you, doll."

Slowly you began rocking your hips back and forth, letting your clit get maximum friction against the clothed barriers. Your hands gripped at his shirt now tightly, leaving tiny creases all along as you chased your release.

Somewhere along the way, Jake had abandoned his work and had turned all of his attention on you, gripping your hips harshly, digging marks, guiding it along his thigh while pressing open mouthed kisses along your shoulder and neck. The chair was creaking worse than a wooden bed, but there wasn't a care in the world for that.

Jake's hands move up your thighs towards your hips pushing you harder against his thigh gaining more melodic moans from your mouth.

You rut yourself faster against him, moaning louder and louder until you finally reach what you thought was your peak.

"Jake," you whined, his kisses descend even further down your body, lips at the top of your chest, eyes peering up into your desperate and pleading eyes.

"Fuck," you sigh out, when Jake grabs your breast, lavishing it an equal amount of attention, his hands moving your hips harder and faster against him, your orgasm building swiftly at his actions.

"Beg for it darling." Jake's sadistic smile hit your face, "Be a good slut, and beg for your cum."

"Yeunnie—fuck!" You moaned out as his thigh gave a little flick upwards, "please Jake—"

"So desperate," he mumbles, tone laced with dominance, hands gliding across the back of your thighs, teasing you.

"So wet," he adds, doing as you asked and sliding his finger across your clothed core, a sinful groan escaping you, head lolling back against.

"Come for me," he husks out, letting you fall over the edge with a guttural moan, back arching, as your legs trembled, hips rocking at the pleasure that filled you. A pleasant buzz consumed your body as you rode out the aftershocks of your powerful release, your body practically going limp on his thigh at the exhaustion of coming so hard.

Your chest rose and fell with every unsteady breath, as you steadied yourself on Jake's thigh, leaning your head towards his shoulder, from how dizzy you were. Being a cowgirl really took a lot of energy from you.

As you were getting ready to stand up, you felt Jake's arm grip yours tightly.

"So soon, pretty?" He pulls you in for a rough kiss, biting your lip, he could taste salty blood on them, "I'm not even half done."

“Come here,” Jake demanded as he pulled your arm. You move around from the back of the chair as he pushes it out a bit from the table.

“Oh baby. Aren’t you just deliciously naughty?” he says as his finger slips in between your folds to find you positively dripping. “Is this all for me?” he asks as he starts to rub your clit in slow circular movements. The stimulation was killing you, yet you obliged, dumbly nodding along to Jake's words.

“So greedy,” he whispers. He slips his finger from your pussy, his hands come up to your shoulders, and he pushes the dress off of them.

“Come here and sit on my cock,” he says with that lopsided smirk you love so much.

Lifting yourself up a little, you line him up with your entrance, and then you sit back down and let him slide into your wet, needy pussy. Filling you so perfectly. Stretching you completely. You slowly sink down onto him, as he grips your waist harder, holding you down.

“You can take it.” He moans out. He slowly pushes himself in a little more, and you swear you hear him whimper. You cry out, laying down on his chest.

“Shit!” He goes inch by inch, and you groan louder and louder as he fills you out.

"Fuck,” Jake groans. And then you start to move. Slowly, up and down. Your hands rest on his hair for leverage as you bounce yourself on his cock.Your tight grip on his hair makes Jake throw his head back slightly, his eyes almost rolling to the back with the sheer amount of pleasure he was recieving from your hands running through his locks.

"Fuck—baby keep doing that." He mumbles, not even sure if you've heard it, you probably did as was evident from your now tighter grip, your fingers dancing their pretty ballet through Jake's velvety hair.

Jake grabs a tight hold of your hips, and he lifts you up a little before he starts to thrust up into you. Harder and faster than you managed. Pounding into you over and over.

"Fuck—Jake!" You gasp, a little louder than usual, "touch me—please."

Your begs elated Jake, how could he refuse? He shakes his hand from your hip and presses his fingers to your cunt. His motions on your clit are as frantic as his thrusts into you.

Pushing you closer and closer to the edge. And with a final buck into you so deep that he nudged your cervix as his thumb pressed down on your clit, you both cum. Hard and fast.

Your hips gyrated harder, until the spurring had come close; hot liquid squirted on his cock. The orgasm rips through you at such intensity that your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you scream out his name. His cock twitches as his cum spurts inside you.

Jake tilts his head to rest on your chest as he tries to catch his breath, and he moans out your name. You kiss him softly at the top of his head. Your fingers are raking through his hair as you try to calm your own breathing down to normal.

"You've made such a mess." Jake chuckled, pressing his forehead to yours, "my messy girl."

"How about those graphs now, Mr Sim?" You asked, a tint of cockishness smeared in your voice.

"Graphs?" Jake laughed, gripping your hips again.

"We're not even a quarter done yet, doll."

[zeppeli-reelstallbun]

The Exception

part 2/? <- previous - next -> [masterlist]

[PAIRING] Bucciarati x Reader

[SUMMARY] Your date was a disaster, and your expectations had already been low to begin with- but a good friend does what she must. Read the prologue first!!

[WC] 2.5k APOLOGIES they will not be this short in the future. These first two parts are plot important for setup reasons, unfortunately. Just didn’t want to put more than one pov in a single post yall

[!!!] language, concept is inspired by goodfellas, so a lot of dialogue and narration has been picked straight from that. not cannon accurate, google translated Italian, pulling things out of my ass in terms of locations and such, lmk if I missed anything,

[A/N] as someone who hates reading oc names in fics 99% of the time, the made up friend character means nothing to me and will be gone so soon. Toodles.

I can’t stand him. In fact, I’d call him obnoxious. He’s just sitting there, fiddling with his watch like this isn’t worth his time.

It had been like this the entire night, and you were beginning to wonder why you even agreed to join Lucia in the first place. It seemed like Guido was a decent guy, at least if you ignored his questionable taste in friends. Thankfully she was having a good time, sitting and laughing and leaning into his chest like she wasn’t hesitant to go out in the first place. Yes, your expectations had been low to begin with, but the behavior you witnessed at dinner was nothing but insulting. And then, before it was time to go, your date was rushing you out of the restaurant! It was ridiculous how he paraded you to the vehicle as if this were a successful night out, hand hovering over the small of your back until needed to open your door.

You didn’t feel like it was overdramatic to call this evening a failure. In fact, that word seemed a gross understatement even now.

If it weren’t for one exchange he initiated on the trip home, you might have believed the entire thing had been orchestrated to get you away from Lucia. At first, you were confused when he pulled up the driver's privacy screen; was he about to give you a reason to be concerned?

”I realize tonight wasn’t…” he paused, picking his next word carefully, “optimal.”

You didn’t give him a response, keeping your knees shifted away from him and your posture neutral.

He continued, “Mista didn’t invite me until yesterday. I already made a commitment to meet with my supervisor tonight, something I couldn’t change even if I wanted to. But he couldn’t really ask anyone else.”

“Lucia practically begged us to meet them again Friday-“ you began, getting ready to give him a way out.

“Guido wasn’t much better,” your date interjected. “I think he would have dropped to his knees if we told him it would secure a yes.”

In spite of yourself, a laugh escaped from the bottom of your stomach. He was witty, you realized. And worse, he delivered it in the same, dry tone he used in regular conversation. The combination left you speechless, if only temporarily.

“I won’t be able to pick you up,” he continued before you could object, “but I can take you home again, if you’d prefer. Can we meet at the restaurant?”

Fine. You thought as you nodded your head. One more chance. All things considered, I can give him the benefit of the doubt.

You didn’t think of anything else for the remainder of the drive. Not the fact that your date seemed to have a personal driver, nor the suspicion in meeting an employer so late in the evening. You were only focused on getting home and trying to put aside your personal frustrations for the next time you dined with Bruno Bucciarati. After all, he still took the time to walk you to your door. Did he factor this into his schedule? Did he plan to leave with time to escort me home instead of letting me third wheel?

But, you weren’t willing to think about that right now.

He hadn’t proven that he deserved it, at least not yet.

Guido was more than happy to drive you to dinner alongside Lucia, though you knew this was an attempt to gain your friend's favor more than anything else. Regardless, you appreciated the gesture. It beat walking halfway across the globe to reach the restaurant, which seemed to have been picked for its inconvenient location over anything else. Still, you wouldn’t complain. You didn’t need to worry about the transportation, and you likely wouldn’t have to pay for your meal again. He might have been closed off during conversation, but Bucciarati didn't even let you touch the check. Besides, it would be a challenge for the second dinner to go worse than the first one…

Perhaps that thought was responsible for your hesitance to admit he stood you up.

First it was five minutes. Then ten. Then fifteen, and you were escorted to your seats. Twenty, and the waiter checked in on the table. Twenty-five, and his friend explained that one more might be coming. Thirty, and you felt your hopes drop completely. Oh well, guess I dodged a bullet.

“I feel terrible. I don’t know where he is.” Mista finally said, confronting the elephant in the room. The waiter had taken their orders, it felt awkward pushing him back any longer. You had insisted the couple have some sort of date, you really didn’t care that things didn’t work out… It wasn't your fault Mista had unreliable friends.

“You know, he really liked you too,” he continued, turning to Lucia, “all he did was talk about her. He liked you.”

Sure. Maybe last night I could have believed that.

You were a trio instead of a double date that night. But you didn’t really care. Did you? Even second guessing that feeling of apathy made your stomach churn, why should it matter that one guy didn’t work out. Worse than that, however, Guido thought he was making things better by bringing it up every time he saw fit. What you thought would be simple enough to ignore instead continued to grow with each minute that passed. By the time dinner wrapped up, you considered yourself angry with the man.

With the same grating voice you had become accustomed to, Mista began to ramble again, “He should have called, I hope it’s nothing serious. He really isn’t like this, ever.”

“Then why don’t we do something instead of just talking about it.” You finally snapped back, dropping the fork from your hand. You’d had enough of the idle chatter, enough of the unimportant setup. It was time for Mista to put his money where his mouth was.

“What?” He asked, brows furrowing.

“Let’s go find him.” You were being dead serious, the extravagant wine in your system encouraging you to rip him a new one. “You know where he spends time, I assume.”

Pleadingly, you locked eyes with your friend, praying she would understand what you were telling her. He’ll do anything you say right now, he’s wrapped around your finger.

You don’t know why you even doubted her, she read your mind with ease. “Pleaaaase Guido-“ she whined, wrapping her arms around him while tossing her head back. “We could stay at mine if we’re out too late looking for him.”

Frankly, the tone of her voice left you impressed. I owe you big time, you said with your gaze. She rolled her eyes at you, unknown to the boy escorting them out. ‘Lord, you have no idea,’ you guessed she replied.

While you assumed Guido would be a careful driver at first, all notions of the concept had fleeted by the time you reached Napoli Centrale.

You had nearly been ready to give up. In reality, you had only been driving for upwards of an hour, but it felt like you were trapped in the car with the couple for days. The sun had long begun its descent, street lights now illuminating the water lined streets. There wasn’t a man on earth worth all this trouble, regardless of how pissed you were at him. You were about to voice your defeat, when your friend's date caught a glimpse of the less than subtle blue hair. You didn’t even have the time to voice an objection before the car drifted to an enthusiastic halt.

Guido had given you an entrance, his brakes squeaking enough to burn rubber and announce your presence to the entire block. Whatever you decided to say, it needed to match that urgency. There was nothing left to do but open the door and step out of the car, fists clenched so as not to show their trembling.

Unaware of the storm approaching, Bucciarai recognized the vehicle, if nothing else. “Mista, I don’t have time-”

“You have some nerve standing me up.” You cut him off, slamming the door behind you as you made your way to the paved entryway he was occupying. “Nobody does that to me.”

He wasn’t alone, you noticed. Fuck. “Who do you think you are, some big shot? Think you’re pretty enough to be a casanova?” The group of men around him loosened up, muttering a bit at the show starting in front of them. One even let out a laugh at his expense.

You savored the look on his face, the perfect mix of shock and awe. His mouth fell agape, but he quickly pulled himself together.

Turning to take one more look at his friends, Bruno stood to greet you. His legs closed the distance with ease, and he brought his hands as he spoke. “Take it easy. Slow down, all right?” He smiled convincingly, eying you up and down to gauge how pissed you might have been. “I forgot. I thought it was next week.”

You threw your head back, unimpressed as you spat, “It was Friday. It was this Friday. And you agreed.” What did it even matter? “Fuck off-”

He took a step forward as you began to turn away, reaching out to grab your wrist. Gentle, you noticed, despite the stern command in its nature. “Hey, we can talk about this,” he nearly asked, “take it easy.”

The group of boys laughed at him. Any variation of ‘calm down’ is universally frowned upon when confronting an upset woman, how Bruno managed to forget this was unfathomable. For his group of boys, this was the luckiest day of their life. Finally, something to hold over the perfect mafiosos head. For you, however, this was the final straw.

“Talk about it?” You asked slowly, furrowing your brows and tilting your head as if saying ‘that’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.’

“Talk to you after what you just did to me?” You were smiling, shaking your head as one of the onlookers let out an ‘oooooooh.’

“Forget it. I’m not talking to you about anything.” You finished, pulling your hand back. That’s when you noticed it -- the look in Bucciaratis eyes that left you second guessing your anger. According to his dark gaze, you were something between predator and prey. A challenge to be untangled. A delicious meal laced with deadly poison. You wanted to gag for even thinking something so cliche.

Unknown to you, it’s not often someone speaks to Bruno this way. Unknown to you, this sparked his interest more than anything else. Aside from his superiors, this behavior wouldn’t have been tolerated… In all honesty, he would have put a stop to it immediately if you were one of his boys. If you were anyone else, he wouldn't have dealt with you at all.

But, here you were. Some civilian girl somewhere in between the two, allowed to make a public mockery of his shortcomings. The boys sitting behind him did not take this lightly, this you recognized if nothing else.

“I thought you would stand me up. You looked bored. You didn’t say anything. What do you expect? Hmm?” You turned, rolling your eyes while shifting your weight. His grip on your wrist gave him one final point of leverage over you. Pulling you back towards him once more, the two of you locked eyes.

“Well-” he began, eyeing you up and down again, “let me make it up to you.”

It must have been the way his gaze lingered. Despite your anger, a part of you never wanted anyone to look at you with that same hunger ever again. Only him. You wanted to capture Bucciaratis' look of yearning, it had felt like you deserved to. You had gone through this much trouble to obtain it, after all.

But still, he didn’t deserve a solid answer from you. “I’ll think about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you. Next Friday,” he patted his jacket, taking a moment of composure to look for something, “I’ll pick you up at 8.”

Bold. Straightforward. It was a start.

“You’ll show up to my house at 8,” you corrected, beginning to walk back to Mistas car, “I’ll decide if you’re picking me up or begging.”

A chorus of laughter and mockery rang in your ears as you turned back to the car. If nothing else, that group of boys wasn’t going to let their friend hear the end of it.

continue to next part ->

This is purely self indulgent slop, but here is a link to the scene this part is roughly based on :)

-> read other works and progress announcements on my masterlist !!

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕋𝕠: Notice

Jungkook knows the effect he has on people. So why won't you look at him the same?

Main Tags/Warnings: Model!Jungkook, Actor!Jungkook, Stylist!Reader, strangers/enemies to lovers, mentions of toxic beauty standards

Length: ~4k words

There is no taglist for this fic.

-> Masterlist

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Jeon Jungkook.

He's not really what you see every day visually in the modeling industry, and from what you've heard, he's also quite the charmer. Clearly he has to have something going on if his constantly changing partners are anything to go by- one google search of his name giving you several articles about different names he's allegedly participating in the sensual bedroom tango with. Not that you're surprised- most male models tend to make use of their name in order to get what they desire.

Kill or be killed- you can't really blame anybody for using what they have.

"Did you know he apparently has a yacht?" Lea wonders, eating her sandwich your brought her this morning, as she sits on a table close to you. "I've never even been on a fucking yacht before. Apparently those things are like, 500 thousand coins! Imagine!" She sighs, making you laugh along with her. "I can't believe someone just spends that much money on a boat of all things." She mumbles, trying not to get her new acrylics dirty with the sauce.

"Maybe once you have too much, you just don't care?" Haru wonders, setting up his camera equipment close by. "I've heard that money loses it's worth to those who have a lot of it." He offers, shrugging his shoulders as he adjusts some cables.

"I mean, probably." Lea agrees. "With all the brand deals he has, he's got to have his bank account packed with doubloons." She huffs. "Can't he spare us a million each? He won't miss it, I'm sure.." She whines, finishing her breakfast while you shake your head, laughing.

You're all joking around, but at the end of the day, you'll all probably stay where you are financially and career wise until the end of your days. And you yourself are fine with that- you've accepted the fact that the life Jeon Jungkook for example is living isn't something you yourself would want. That man get's snapped by paparazzi almost daily, he's got no privacy from what you can tell, and he can't even say his opinion without being destroyed for it.

No thank you, you rather stay a nobody than have your entire life displayed for the world to judge.

"What's the concept anyways?" You mumble, looking at Lea who shrugs.

"They said he wants to play director today." She jokes. "So I brought a little of everything, really. We'll see what he wants to do."

You frown. You don't like being so unable to prepare anything- to be put on the spot like that. What if he wants something from you you can't pull off? You don't want to be shit-talked by someone with a name as big as his- that would be absolute career-ending for sure, and you can't have that. You've got nothing else than this.

"I heard he's kinda difficult." Lea sighs, picking up her coffee. "They always only look nice.." She huffs disappointed, before she takes a sip.

You just stay quiet. It's all the same anyways.

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Jeon Jungkook is, indeed, difficult.

Not only is he way too tall for you, but he also moves around constantly, talks over your head as if you're not there, and most of all seems to love making fun of you for no apparent reason other than to piss you off. You're not sure why exactly it has to be you- but it seems like he's chosen his victim, and he won't let go anytime soon.

Just do your job, you tell yourself.

His jokes about your height honestly suck, but no one's brave enough to say it, clearly. Everyone laughs at them and praises his good looks and professionalism while you're just trying to get through this whole ordeal. "A bit tired, huh?" The model looks up at you as he sits on the chair provided, your hands fixing his hair in place just the way he wanted it to. You're glad he's sitting. You hate when he's standing upright, not even trying to bend down a little to offer some help. "And not much of a talker." He chuckles, boldly letting his eyes roam over your face and body while you work.

If he's as observant as he wants to make himself to be, then he won't be too surprised if you don't answer now, either.

And he isn't- he just laughs softly to himself, nothing more than that, and you honestly don't want to know what he's thinking. He's probably judging your no-name branded clothes, ripped tights from having gotten your keys caught on them earlier, and your clear lack of makeup.

You're not the model here, so why bother?

You leave him quickly after finishing up, letting Haru and the others guide the model on where to look and how to pose- though honestly, Jungkook seems rather shit at following directions, always doing somewhat of what he wants instead of what's being suggested.

Why even bring a director when you're gonna do what you want anyways?

"I hate how good he looks." lea hisses at you from where she's standing right next to where you are. "He's so mean! Like, childish-mean!" She whines towards you, and you can't help but snort to yourself because that's hitting the nail on the head for you.

He does act like a spoiled child rather than an adult man on the road towards his thirties.

"Jungkook-ssi, please look at the camera!" One of the directors ask, and only now do you notice that the model looked your way- probably having heard you laugh. Does he think you were laughing about him? Hopefully not, even if it's somewhat true.

You can't have him yap about you to other magazines or whatnot.

So you instantly wipe that smile off your face and go back towards professionalism, and at that, he alerts his gaze as well, going back to what he's been hired to do.

"Do you think there's guys out there who look like him but are nice too?" Lea wonders now that you've both walked a bit morenout of hearing range, avoiding his radar as you hide amongst the other staff and equipment. "Like, I want a hot dude with piercings and tattoos too. But with the old-guy gentleman flavor, you know?" She dreams, stealing a snack from you.

"Dont think so." You huff out, stretching your arms high up to arch your back and legs, even going onto tip-toes as your muscles release all the tension you've been accumulating already. You sigh out in bliss after finishing, your body seemingly reset-

A smirking Jungkook walking right past you, probably having seen you throughout the entire ordeal.

What's that stupid half-smile for, though?

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You shrug. "He looks the same in every photo to me." You tell Haru, who looks at you a bit lost.

He sighs as he clicks through the photos himself, unsure. You know he knows you're right- but at the end of the day, people like those sultry eyes and that cocky expression that man makes in every picture. You're not sure what exactly makes it so appealing- but you're just here to make him look as good as possible. And his hair looks perfect in almost every shot- so that's good enough for you.

That's your job. Nothing more, nothing less.

"It's his signature look." Haru tries to justify, his soft voice unsure, however, as if he needs to tell it mostly to himself to be convinced of it. He's never been a fan of shootings like these- he's good at them, sure, but he doesn't enjoy shooting those pictures. He's too soft to say it, but you know he finds them boring and uninteresting. It's basics, nothing exciting, nothing new. But he's being paid for this- so he doesn't complain.

That's his job- nothing more, nothing less.

"Well, then his signature look is boring." You say, leaning back against the table behind you, sipping your can of sugary caffeinated soda- the energy drink by now the only thing keeping you somewhat concentrated. Hopefully Jungkook stops complaining so much so you can all go home soon- he's got the whole week anyways, so why is he so whiny?

Brat. It's only the first day and he's already getting on your nerves- acting like someone pissed in his breakfast, rolling his eyes and staring people down just for the fun of it. And women actually fuck that guy? Nepotism must be crazy.

He probably has sex in front of a mirror just to watch himself.

"Boring, huh." Jungkook's voice chimes up, and you spot him walking closer, now wearing a new set of clothes. The leather pants look awfully tight, especially in his private region- that can't be comfortable, can it?

You frown at him. He got his hair all chaotic again- but it's fine. It fits the theme. You won't retouch it for now.

"She didn't mean it like that-" Haru instantly tries to defend you, the young man intimidated by the model as always. You wonder how he can even operate the camera when he constantly shies away from him so much. Maybe when he looks at him through the lens he can detach the person from the picture? It would make sense. After all, you do the same.

You don't see Jungkook. You see Jeon Jungkook, brand ambassador and model- and it should stay that way.

"I did." You disagree with him, however, before you look back at Jungkook. You don't need to be protected- not for your own opinion. It doesn't have any weight anyway, you doubt that someone like you can hurt this man's ego either. It's at least as big as himself, if not taller, which is a lot, considering that he towers over you despite not even reaching the standard 1.80m height usually desired. Then again, there's quite a few things you could count as not being the standard of beauty. But he makes up for it in confidence- even if he seems to have a little too much of it for your taste. "I did mean it like that."

"What am I supposed to do instead then?" Jungkook challenges, crossing his arms next to you.

The hell were you supposed to tell him? You're neither a model, nor very fashionable. He should ask Lea about that, not you. He's trying to argue for no good reason, and that attitude is starting to piss you off.

"Nothing. It's good like that." You shrug, keeping your cool for now at least visually.

"You said it's boring." He bites back almost immediately. Your distaste grows.

"I did, because to me, it is." You respond calmly. Is he trying to pick a fight with you right now? He really is acting like a child beneath all that fake politeness and forced friendly tone he puts on. "But that's my personal opinion. I'm sure people will like those pictures despite that." You explain.

He plays around with his piercings, and gives you that odd look that you can't distinguish from hatred or being offended.

Unbeknownst to you, he's been trying to figure you out for the entire shoot- wondering what you're really like. Do you like softer guys like Haru more? You seem to have some edge to you, if the glimpse of your bellybutton piercing and the few lines of a tattoo poking out the waistband of your pants would be anything to go by. Maybe you're just someone who likes to be in charge.

He can't offer that, at least not sexually.

He's opening his mouth to say something, before he moves when the director claps, and tells everyone to get back to their respective spots-

Jungkook sitting in front of the camera once more, woth the same signature look, because that is his job.

Nothing more, nothing less.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

If it wasn't for Lea and Haru, you wouldn't even be here.

Sitting in a restaurant, special VIP part that's secluded for the rest of the people here, eating together with stupid Jeon Jungkook, who's busy crawling up your boss's ass. He's sitting right next to you too, which is just as ridiculous- it makes it impossible to have a proper conversation with either of your friends. So you just eat, casually, mostly whatever Lea puts on your plate for you.

You really hate social settings like this. You don't like being reminded that you can't even hold a proper conversation for longer than two sentences.

The moment he puts a piece of meat on your plate instead of Lea, your chopsticks stutter. You don't like this. He just tries to appear friendly- probably because everyone else is watching. You know how this goes, after all, you've been through shit like this before. He'll lure you in, be all nice and sweet, use you as his dirty little secret before he leaves you behind for someone that looks better at his side. Someone of his own profession, most likely- or maybe a singer, or an actress. Someone pretty, tall and famous, someone useful for his career. Someone beneficial.

Someone that's not you.

"You're really not much of a talker, hm?" He asks, sitting next to you with his head on his hand, elbow perched up on the table. He honestly looks a little tired without all the makeup Lea had put on for the shoot today- eyes a bit dull, darkness underneath them shadowing the glimmer they had during work today quite a bit. His skin is also not really as clear as it looked in the pictures taken. He's got a few beauty marks, a noticeable little scar, and some redness around his nose.

He looks like a person from this angle. Not like a model.

"…what am I supposed to say." You shrug, eating what he's offered, because why not? He hums a reply, everyone else at the table conversing with one another, Lea currently seemingly in a heated debate about the height of heels with another staff member across the table.

"Why do you work this job when you hate models so much?" Jungkook asks, catching you off guard as you look at him again. "Or is it just me that's your issue?" He challenges, and you sigh, shaking your head before you occupy yourself with your food once more.

"Was my work okay?" You ask him instead, not looking at him but rather his hands, because you can't stand those eyes he has.

"More than okay- it was just what I wanted." He replies a bit caught off guard, and you shrug.

"Then there's nothing to talk about." You simply reply. Because that's the way you need to keep things, that's how you'll protect yourself and have been for the last few years. You're there to work, not make friends, and especially nothing more than that.

"Oh I think there is." Jungkook chuckles next to you. "I heard you and Kim Yongsun had something going on a few years back when he was shooting for Dazed." He says, and suddenly, you put your chopsticks down, even Lea looing over at you, an expression of both anger and worry on her face. You get up and leave with a respectful bow to your seniors, leaving the restaurant and Jeon Jungkook behind, who's looking at Lea next to him as if to ask what's suddenly wrong with you-

but even she shakes her head, turning back towards Haru next to her, no longer interested in talking to him.

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

Kim Yongsun is, at the moment, a very successful actor. Having starred as a leading role in several dramas, he's right now shooting for a full length movie, though the news aren't really as interested in his career-

but more so in his love life, and the baby on the way.

Articles about this perfect and untainted lovestory are all over the place whenever you search up his name- this picture-perfect dream he's created about how he only ever loved his now wife Jane, how he's never looked at anyone before.

Such a liar, but then again- he's an actor, and that's what he's pretty talented at.

Having all of those memories revived made you nauseous yesterday, and it also made you dread coming to work today. But this is your job, nothing more, nothing less.

"There's my pretty bestie!" Lea instantly hugs you the next morning, swaying you around a little childishly, pressing her cheek against yours. With her tall body and a few years above your age, she feels like an older sister that you can trust, years of working together having glued your souls to one another it feels like. "Did you get home safe yesterday?" She wonders, and you nod.

"Went to bed right away." You explain, getting out your breakfast, another one for her as well. She tends to get up late, so you always buy her something on the way- otherwise she would constantly forget to eat.

"I'm gonna have to try so hard not to poke an eye out of that guy today.." The makeup artist growls, pouting as she picks up her sandwich.

"It's natural that he knows though.." Haru softly buts in. "It's not really his fault?" He attempts to justify.

"Yeah maybe, but ever heard of being tactful? I don't tell everyone that you had a crush on Alice either even though that was hella' weird." She bites back, causing Haru's cheeks to flush red. Though she's right- even if Jungkook knows about it, there was no reason to bring that up, especially if he knows the full story of it all. Is he really that mean?

Could be. After all, he's not been exactly kind up until now.

The moment he enters the workplace, he seems almost surprised to see you there as well- greeting everyone on set with a nod. He's here early this time, and you're not sure why he'd do that. He's got almost two more hours until you're supposed to be shooting- so why is he here already?

"I'll protect you." Lea threatens, suddenly pulling you close to sit you on her lap, glaring at Jungkook.

"Lea!" You hiss at her, worried she might get into trouble. She can be a little too 'out there' for her own good- and someone like that guy is not one to mess with. One bad article about your company, and she'll be blacklisted from ever working in the industry ever again.

It's how it works, beneath the surface. Most agencies don't want staff that are not loyal dogs.

"Good morning." Jungkook offers, walking closer with a slight saunter you've come to realize he has almost all the time he walks around. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He asks, and Lea buts in before you can say anything at all.

"No, I'm sorry, Jungkook-ssi." She snarls almost. "We have to start working soon. Please talk to the directors if you have any questions." She says, making Jungkook eye her a little, before he sighs.

"Alright, then I'll do it like this instead." He tilts his head a bit irritated, crossing his arms in front of him. "I'm sorry for speaking out of line yesterday. I didn't mean to upset you." He offers. Lea scoffs.

"Well, you still did." She mumbles, and it seems like now the beast shows it's real face as he looks at her.

"I don't think I've talked to you at all yesterday, so I'm not sure why you're barking right now." He challenges, making the makeup artist visibly surprised at the way he addresses her. "I believe she's old enough to talk for herself." The model argues, and you can practically feel Lea's rage beginning to buzz inside of her, and to avoid any sort of crime soon about to happen, you stand up, and push at Jungkook's shoulder to lead him towards the restroom area where you're a bit more secluded.

"I don't care about your apology." You tell him right away. "Neither do I care if you're truly sorry or just trying to appear that way. We're both here to work, and that's it." You say, while he stands in front of you listening with his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Please do not invite me to anything you might want to do for the staff. I'm not interested." You finish your small rant.

"I always wondered what really went down, you know?" Jungkook says. "With you and Yongsun, I mean. He said that you hooked up with him, but honestly, looking at you, I can hardly believe that. No offense-" He waves off any potential anger you might have over the hidden message in that sentence. "-but you don't look like someone who fucks around." He shrugs.

"What do I look like then?" You challenge, now your arms crossed in defense. You don't like this situation in general. You just want him to leave you alone.

"I'm not sure." He admits. "But just between us-" He leans in a bit closer. "Yongsun is a cunt anyways. He drinks straight up coffee creamer- I mean, who the fuck does that?" he says, and at that, you actually have to laugh.

You remember that, years back.

"Listen-" Jungkook sighs. "-I know you probably have trust issues now, I'd have them too if I had to be with someone like that-" He tries to joke, "-but let's try and at least be civil with one another, okay?" He offers.

"You talk as if I was the one constantly picking fights." You bite back, a little annoyed again at the prospect of him victimizing himself right now.

"Yeah- it's a bad habit, sorry." He rubs the back of his neck. "I try and make jokes whenever I get awkward- and they don't land sometimes."

"You mean most of the time." you say, and he presses his lips together.

"Touché." He clicks his tongue, before he sways a bit on his feet. "Anyways, let's work well together, alright?" He offers his hand, and you shake it-

though you feel like this could be a terrible mistake.

[eustasscapitankid]

Eustass Kid x Killer Challenge: Kikitober 2024 "Mirror Sex" Rating: Explicit Warnings: None Tags: Partners, Lovers, Gay Sex, Pet Names (Boy; Sweet, Good, Beautiful), Forced (Self) Eye-Contact, Cursing Summary: I just want you to see how beautiful you (still) are. Word Count: 2,259

"Pretty when you're looking up like that."

Everything changed after Wano. The life he knew, now irrevocably altered. The fabric of their lives torn apart. Echoes of joy and laughter long forgotten, leaving haunting silence in it’s wake.

The man who filled his life with light, transformed. Warped. Corrupted by choices made in his name. In truth, were the roles reversed, Kid would chose the same fate—without hesitation. Though, this truth did little to lighten the burden of heartache welded upon shoulders.

Precious moments in which the world melted away once left the patriotic vizard forgotten; discarded on a small table by the door. A once pedestal for the blue and white crown now coated in a thick layer of dust.

The pessimistic side of him insisted this was just punishment for his actions. The choices he made reflected in it’s polish.

So he dealt with it. He let the dust collect.

Sunrise once meant his smile. No longer did he wake to the press of purple stained lips upon his own. Golden hour no longer promised the warmth of hand on cheek. Dawn no longer placed his reflection on ice blue backdrops.

If mornings were torment, nights proved hell on earth. Intimate moments once shared as the moon rose, now spoiled by the helmet Killer refused to remove; face concealed, lips pursed tight behind a metal cage.

The hopeful side of him yearned to tear of the mask, obliterate it. Crush in his metal claw. Surely it would resolve his troubles—bring his lovers face back into view.

What kind of man would he be if he destroyed the veil held so dear? Who was he to rip that away? It was, after all—he constantly reminded himself—his fault it’s usage now extended to the privacy of his company. Constant warring in his mind left him lacking sleep. Sitting in bed, hand stretched out, fingers tracing colored metal, the image of it crumpled and discarded playing in his mind like a well-worn VHS.

How many nights was it that his gaze was met by nothing more than an emotionless mask? Expected to perform at the sight of silent, cold steel?

Killer approached him from behind, his large chest pressing into his back. A feeling he used to relish. Perfectly calloused hands wrapped around him, tucking into his vest. A touch that used to make him shiver. It’s not that he was no longer attracted to the man. In fact—it was quite the opposite. He knew how pretty he was under those stripes. The laughter he used let free in the comfort of his embrace still echoed in his ears. The sight of blue eyes now a distant memory, still crystal clear in his mind.

Grabbing the hand on his chest he twisted himself so he could maneuver the blonde around, throwing him to the bed in the process. Killer fell on his stomach, heavy body bouncing slightly with the springs of the bed from the force of it. Not that it was unwelcome. When Eustass was rough with him, he need no longer think for himself, all thoughts and insecurities wiped away in the face of pleasure. It was like an escape. The only way to distance himself from the from the constant control, the only thing he could hide behind besides his mask.. Lifting his ass, he ground himself on Kid’s growing arousal.

Fingers grasped denim, blue fabric falling around muscled legs. A scarred face buried into into blonde locks. With his nose filled with the scent of snowdrop shampoo, it was easier to pretend things were as they used to be. He slid a spit-coated hand between them, teasing Killer’s rim before inserting a finger. Truthfully—previously—the pretty blue and white hood would, on occasion, increase his arousal. Like a blindfold, dulling the sense of sight so that your partner’s perception of touch increased. This concept oft left Killer a panting mess. The sound of his muffled voice now twisted into something that now softened even the hardest of erections. It’s been a long time since he made him beg. What he would give to make this man see how beautiful he was. To show him the perfection in his laugh. To prove a SMILE could never ruin his face. Insecurities present since childhood a constant factor, albeit one—up until recently—always cast aside with him.

Another finger joined the first. Hips desperately pushing backward in an attempt to push Kid’s fingers deeper. Of course, Kid obliged. Palm resting on the flat of his ass, fingers curling into him, undulating his in increasing successions. Rewarded with a moan he wished—so desperately—to hear unfettered. Fingers left the tight embrace, leaning down so his chest pressed against the blonde’s muscular back. Snaking his hand around to his face and sliding them under cold metal, welcomed into an eager mouth. Closed eyes focusing on the wet, sticky warmth that enveloped his fingers. Hand retreating from Killer’s mouth. Red lips parted, tongue swirling around his own index, relishing the sweet taste—the closest he could get to heaven. “Do you want more…sweet boy?”

Killer’s hips continued to rut into him, a sensation he could all but ignore.

“Use your words…”

*Hands instinctively grasped blonde hair, forcing his neck back as far as it could extend.* The only thing staring back at him, his own reflection. He released the first-full of blonde locks he stood up, hands pulling on on the buckle of his bandoleer, practiced hands releasing studded leather in a single motion. Leather falling to the floor with a slight thud. It took no more than a tug of his unsecured pants to cascade them to the floor, released from his pants with a bounce. Red-painted fingers steady his throbbing shaft while icy metal grasps at Killer’s hip to steady his movements. Teeth tugging on bottom lip as blood-flushed tip teasing quivering entrance, the gentle rocking of hips pressing himself inside. Slowly. Warm walls stretching around his cock as he was sucked in, inch by inch.

His pace began steady, finding an even rhythm he rocked his hips as Kill adjusted around him. This didn’t last very long. He just felt so good.

The pace he set soon gave way to a brutal frenzy, thrusting mercilessly, like it was the only thing giving him life. Slaps of skin against skin filled the air, mixed with the sounds of heavy panting and desperate whimpers.

God he wished he could just grab his hair at the base, and force eye contact while he fucked him senseless.

Fuck.

Kid’s eyes wandered the room naturally. His attention caught by a large artifact in the corner of their room, adorned with a sheet. Covered and forgotten since Wano. He left his ass with a POP!, met with a needy whine from the man underneath him.

“What are you doing??” Killer protested, while calloused hands rubbed his back soothingly in response.

“One second,” he replied, planting a kiss on his scarred arm.

Crossing the room, footsteps echoed as he reached the dusty object. Ripping the cover off revealed his full-figured reflection grinning back at him. Large and heavy as is, it was picked up effortlessly. Carried to the side of the bed, set down gingerly. The sounds of movement prompting Killer to sit up from his position on the bed, eyes searching for the partner that left him wanting.

Underneath the mask, blue eyes widened. But it was already too late. Kid was on him like a hungry wolf devouring his prey. Pushing him back on the bed, arms pinned underneath muscular legs. Metal claws like hooks scratched down the well-loved mask, a sickening sound emitting as metal met metal.

Resisting was useless. A simple apology left Kid’s lips, offering an honest truth while lacking any semblance of regret. Without hesitation the mask was ripped from his face, a dull thud as metal met wooden boards, rolling until it hit a dresser. Hands wiggled free from their pinned fate, desperately covering the twisted smile now revealed from it’s blue and white disguise.

Hands, worn by years of metalwork and fights, cupped his cheek with a tenderness that belied the rough calloused texture of his hands. The look in his eye the same as the day he realized he was in love. Soft, loving, unconditional. But the way he yanked on his body bordered on violent, twisting Killer back on his stomach, face prone to the full-length mirror as he fell on top of him.

For the first time in a long time he grabbed a true fist-full of hair at the base of the blonde’s scalp, relishing the sensation of yellow locks laced in his fingers he forced his head back. Blue eyes were covered by lids squeezed shut, desperate not to look at himself. He pulled the blonde to his knees, ass resting on Kid’s thighs. One hand still entangled in long hair, while the other wrapped its way around Killer’s chest. Slowly tracing his hand down over rippled muscle, hot breath tickled his ear as red-painted lips whispered promises in his lover’s ear.

“I know you’re not done sweet boy...look at you…” Kid’s hand made a path down his torso, finger lacing up Killer’s cock before smearing the beaded precum over his tip with his thumb. “You want my cock stuffed back in your tight little ass, don’t you?”

The delicious sound offered in reply would likely have been his undoing, but not today. He had a goal. And he was going to get what he wanted.

“Ah ah ah—use your words baby.”

The sweetest, softest moan escaped Killer’s lips. Filled with want and bridled with frustration. “Yes! Kid Please!”

“You know what I want.”

“Kid no…” he begged, tears falling down in desperation.

“Come on...be a good boy. Look at yourself while I rail you. Open your eyes and I’ll give you everything.”

Killer squirmed as Kid’s hands teased him, “I can’t…”

“Oh yes you can,” he brought his thumb to his lips, cleaning it of precum before cupping the Killer’s cheek sweetly, “Let me show you what I see. My beautiful boy, let me show you the reflection I see. Please?”

Ice blue eyes peaked open, testing the waters, softening as a flash of red caught his eye—stealing the show before he could even catch a glimpse of the wicked smile that contorts his face. Truthfully, Killer had been glad Kid hadn’t so much as breached the subject up until now. He might as well be laundry with how fast he folded for that man.

His eyes opened fully. A flash of purple lips framing white teeth sombering his expression. Hands pulled on blonde hair, keeping his eyes glued to the twisted grin in front of him. But he was rewarded. “That’s it. Such a good boy,” Kid purred, pressing his arousal into Killer’s ring of muscle, “Good boys get rewarded don’t they?”

“Mhmmm…” a mumble that left his lips more like a moan.

“If you look away—I stop.” Sultry words laced with lust. Not a demand. A threat.

Killer took a deep breath, then nodded, doing his best to keep the laughter that bubbled in his chest under control.

Kid moved his hand back down to his hip, pulling him into a thrust that brought him to hilt.

“Don’t cry beautiful,” A tear rolled down his lover’s face as sharp cackles escaped his throat, a warm hand wiping it with the back of his finger before burying his face in his neck. “Look at me.”

Ice blue met warm amber as their eyes locked. For a moment, Killer steel himself, quickly melted by the soft fire, the gaze of adoration brought by golden eyes. It hadn’t changed. Not. One. Bit. He went to turn around—lacing his arm behind himself, tangling in red locks. Before he had a chance, Kid released the iron grip on his hair. Warm flesh and cold steel met his hips and he was sent forward on the mattress, barely catching on his palms. The grip on his hips bruising as Kid pulled most of the way out, only to bottom out slamming back into him. This elicited a moan so laden with pleasure that, unfortunately, it came out as a mixture of ecstasy and laughter.

But it didn’t matter. Kid was already fucking into him, and he felt himself losing himself with every thrust. Fingers forcing their way into his mouth, for pleasure, and a gentle reminder to keep his eyes where they should be. On himself.

“There’s my handsome boy.” “Listen to those pretty sounds.” “Look how beautiful you are.”

Just moments ago, Killer would have bet everything in his possession—with full confidence—that he would never take off his mask again. Even in private. He didn’t want to loose that look. Never wanted to see it change. Couldn’t bear watching those amber eyes see him in a different light.

But they didn’t. They were right there, staring into him into the mirror from behind like he was the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen. Unbothered. Unfazed. Face plastered with the same unbridled lust he had seen so many times before. He couldn’t help his gaze flickering between the both of them. Looking between the man he loved, staring back at him, and the view that captivated him.

The knot in his belly tightened, feeling like it would snap. Kid’s words followed, a seductive whisper in his ear, his body reacting like it was programmed command. “Cum for me.”

[demvalhaken]

Hiiiiiii!!! Here’s some art!!!

This is Lizard, she’s a Western Hornet, don’t ask why she’s named after a lizard cus I literally don’t know

This is Björn, they’re very silly as they’re a Northwestern Hornet. I don’t know what gender to make them so they’re just they/them for now

The queen of the Southern Hornets herself, Sykra, she’s not named after anything I just came up with that name. I decided to put metal bands in her hair cus it looks cool and she’s cool. She’s actually really nice for a queen, like Snow, but Snow is a Wasp… and also on the entire other half of the world as in the Eastern hemisphere of Catecis

This is Queen Luna, she’s the only one not smiling… yeah… it’s because of her lore… I don’t know what to do with her yet but she’s a really inexperienced queen

This is a really random lineup of ocs, they don’t have anything to do with each other like at all

Also if you didn’t know, I fixed their ocelli to be in upside down triangle position because that’s anatomically correct for insects

To be honest, this was for more design purposes, as I needed to redesign (Lizard and Luna)/have a concept to go off of on (Björn and Sykra)

I’ve come to love hornets, despite all looking different and being from different regions, they still all bleed the same. Wasp blood is blueish green while Hornet blood is more of a bright green or yellow, might change it later though. Wasps were before Hornets and Bees, and then Hornets and Bees evolved from Wasp ancestry. That’s also why most of them have sharper jaws because Wasps have sharp faces even to this day

I forgot to put this in my last post but this is concept art for General Whiteclaw, leader of the Waspian Sea Forces. There’s no colours on this but imagine the colours of an Executioner Wasp on her. The reason why Wasp eyes have different irises/pupils from everyone else is because it just makes them more insect-like and I think it looks cool.

Also look at that jaw, It’s giving Hornet.

Guys is it weird that everyone I’m friends with IRL is ghosting me, not my bestie pookie bbg Purpsie though who’s my online friend. Like, huh, they don’t even look at me no more. Mmm I love my depression that I’ve had for years cus everything happening to me IRL just fucking sucks. My mother literally won’t let me get short hair cus she wants me to have long hair, like bitch what, it ain’t yo scalp, so you shouldn’t care. I wish my parents weren’t literally homophobic and transphobic, cus if they were actually really nice and let me have my own goddamn privacy, I’d actually want to be around them. I don’t give a shit if “you’ve seen it all before,” it’s still wrong to invade MY PRIVACY WHEN IM SHOWERING OR USING THE BATHROOM, I THINK I’D LIKE TO KEEP MY BODY TO MY OWN EYES MOTHER AND OLDER SISTER, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. They don’t even do this with my older brother bro, why does he get privacy, and not me? Just another thing to add to my list of things that make me really really not well! Also my mother touches me a lot… so… yay… I guess… please end my suffering… my mother would totally kill me if she found out I was trans and liked women, oooo spooky, trans men, so scary (Sarcasm)

Anyways, I love you guys!!! Remember to be a menace to society, just don’t eat churches cus the wood is so scrumptious like you’re a termite!!! If you have any questions, you know what to do

[gladosluver]

! FAKE BLOOD/DEATH WARNING !

sato death recreation irl by yours truly

guess who convinced their only 2 irls to be tsmc trio (we had a hajime but they moved out of the prefecture and told nobody)

despite doing adobe stuff for years now, and literally being adobe certified, i specialize in vector graphics. i rarely ever edit real photos, so this was really difficult and tbh doesnt really look that nice BUT i tried and slayed and thats all that matters

alt stuff v

we had about 3 minutes to get these pictures so theyre not thattt accurate. right when this photo was taken 5 administrators walked by but since we were in the art hallway i guess they thought we were taking reference photos or something

i always found the concept of games blurring/censoring gore and death WAYYY more disturbing than just showing the actual thing, especially when layered over the face. the absence of something so distinct and defining. the presence of a simple jarring black box where there should be someone you once knew. you know whats supposed to be there, but it just. isnt. it makes you feel like you werent supposed to see it

anyways heres some adventures from the day

i had to create a Little Guy in another artists style so i quickly made this mizuiyama chibi and clicked one button and. this happened. i cant recreate this no matter how hard i try. it took up the ENTIRE DAMN PASTEBOARD and made my computer lag

when taking the photos me and 'mahiru' (not using their real name for privacy) went out into the hallway and i tried to say "lets do a photoshoot" and "take photos of me" at the same time. but instead i looked them dead in the eyes and said "shoot me."

dont tell 'natsumi' this but the original plan was yui/licorne/kyoko but she started singing the usa national anthem for some fucking reason and i changed it up at the last second because i wanted an excuse to beat her on her big head.... someone brought a giant bento box in a very conveniently-swingable bag and when i tell you that shit was CALLING to me like the green goblin mask..

theres some event going on where students were supposed to be characters and one of our classmates was a teletubby and since we were some of the only people dressed up for the occasion it looked a bit like this

no joke when i walked in NOBODY was being cool then suddenly i saw TWO PEOPLE COSPLAYING PIECES OF TOAST. JUST. GIANT BROWN SQUARES. RUNNING DOWN THE HALLWAY. GIGGLING. a few other people in the design program were dressed as stitch and someone came up to them and said "i used to be scared of you little shits"

even tho this is "cringe" or whatever 1) we all die in the end so be free 2) i only get to see them for a few hours a week so we had to embrace this. also i was stranded at the school for over half an hour after this in the freezing cold whoopsies. i did have a little scare when a police car pulled up and i thought they got my ass for something i didnt even know i did

[imactivethisblogwilleat]

mirror anon works. and no worries, i also enjoy rambling about plurality.

to preface: there really isn't a right or wrong way to be plural. every system has their own answers for these questions, and having a different one from others doesn't make you wrong or less of a system. my answers come from our personal perspective as a cisplural system who had to do a lot of faking it before any of it started to make sense.

you don't need to feel like "separate people" straight off the bat - or at all. in addition, systems where only the core fronts are not uncommon and are still systems. if it's more comfortable and less privacy-invading to think of your headmates as different versions of or pieces of you, that's perfectly valid. you may have more luck working on talking to them internally or through a proxy like discord or simplyplural chat at first rather than having them front. we just personally found the opposite easier, for our own internal structure reasons.

you don't need to lie or erase your previous explaination of reality. if you want to, go ahead - but i've found it's easier to go with the path of least resistence on these things. you can just frame it as "realizing that you're a system." even cisDID systems go through long periods of denial and repression, so it's not at all unreasonable to "suddenly" become a system.

flailing around is fine too. it's really more of a vibes thing, really. if one headmate is supposed to be more cheerful, acting more cheerful. if one is supposed to like a certain food or hobby or something, indulging in that when they're front and avoiding it when they're not. etc. even that can be overcomplicating it - changing your icon or using a typing quirk or such are all effective tactics as well. it's really just whatever helps you&.

to be blunt: from our perspective, with everything you've already said, you are already plural. more on the median side, but there's nothing lesser about that. if you'd prefer to be more separate, or have more of you, that's an option, but you don't need to distance yourself from the label because you don't have those things yet. try out different things and see what makes you(&) feel comfortable. best of luck. 🪞

Ah thank you! yea sometimes even tho we know plurality is an entire spectrum we don't give the same leniency to ourselves.

ohh we didn't know that that was a way you could be plural in, like seeing them as different versions of yourself, which in our current situation would prob be a good starting point cause we already see our other selves as past/alternate lives of ourself and identify as them all at once (tho with others being more prominent like z1m and b1ll) like we go by a name that refers to all 4 of us and beyond, but it's become less in time ourself and more like a mask, cause ppl don't get it when we tell them we are z1m and the others so we just say we are "insert name". We aren't sure it even is a core, the core or whatever that is could’ve been somebody else, are memories are too bad to recall clearly. We do have pluralkit in our personal discord servers, but haven't used it much. maybe we'll start trying ^^.

ohh that makes sense. we have been "out" and then back in the "closet" with telling our mom we are plural, then singlet. then plural lol so she's used to the routine.

alrighty, we have like concepts tied to our headmates now already, like z1m is surreal, types with a mix of lowercase and uppercase, and b1ll uses lots of these' things' you add onto' the end of a word, and caps for emphasis, sponge is cheerful and optimistic while b1ll is very pessimistic, z1m is like both at the same time, and we don't know what Jerm is in that comparison but we associate it with clowns. there is associations with our name we tell others like winter, white, blood, owls, fog.

ahhh thank youuu again

we've actually been told that each time we've asked for other plural ppls honest opinions with our descriptions and each time ppl told us we were likely plural median. we aren't sure if we wanna be fully separate, we like the idea of being a bunch of versions of us, still treated as mostly one entity but regonized that we aren't the same as a singlet. and us changing who we are at the moment being natural and fluid.

we will keep testing the waters and see how deep we can go! ^^

[aenor-llelo]

I've been reading your fox fall series and I've decided to pick your brain about the vessel-gendered and thunderus-tornadus things. But could you elaborate on those for me a little? I get the basic concept but I would like a more elaborate explanation please. Thank you in advance and I enjoy the series very much.

(second question first cus it's short) thundurus-tornadus is basically their word for a tsunami. a lot of weather events in this setting are basically considered acts of god.

(first question next because it's long) in foxfall, draconian gender operates on a trianary of which of the three tao dragons most represents their self-chosen role in life. things like trans/cisgender Do Not Exist in draconian culture because they do not factor for biological sex in how their society functions. that kind of information is considered taboo outside of lovers, doctors, or most immediate family. (hormone therapy and what we'd consider gender reassignment surgery exists, but they see it as matter of dysphoria intervention rather than a gender thing.)

sexuality also isn't something they define either. people marry or cohabitate with whoever, and it doesn't matter if that union produces children. draconians don't really care about the integrity of the bloodline, only if someone has been raised/taught in the draconian way.

(something like ingo and emmet, where they live together as a platonic civil partnership in all but name, is considered completely normal by draconian standards. it's much weirder that they're 30 years old and don't have any kids or apprentices.)

draconians as a whole will accept whatever pronouns they're assigned unless the individual finds it convenient, or even advantageous, to insist on a certain binary pronoun set when it exists in the area's language, but some dragonless choose to default to they/them for draconians out of respect to their gender privacy. precisely because they consider it private information, draconians take the genders/chosen presentation of the dragonless very seriously, since in their eyes knowing that kind of thing is an act of trust.

the setting as a whole thinks draconians are kind of mysterious. "there's this spiritual nomad culture that tames dragons, has genders we don't know about, and keeps huge parts of identities to their graves!" queer culture doesn't insist draconians are themselves a nonbinary/trans society because of the different circumstances, but draconians are considered cousins/friends of the queer community. in places where draconians are common, they're often a baby queer's first exposure to the concept of xenogenders and genderqueer individuals.

trianary semantics under the cut:

the first set of honorifics is fire/winter/storm, which is basically just an elemental vibecheck. which dragon to you kin? this sort of thing is figured out relatively early in childhood, but all of these aspects can be changed at any time if someone feels like they've fundamentally changed as a person.

the second is song/silence/roar. which do you choose to strive for- skill, patience/simplicity, or vigor?

then there's the base gender, hoard/vessel/stone.

hoard, the reshiramgender. Defined by power, knowledge, philosophy, art, parenthood (draconians consider the act of teaching to be the same as parenthood)

vessel, the kyuremgender. Defined by service, cold/ice/lack, taking aspects from everything, jack of all trades, becoming what is needed.

stone, the zekromgender. Defined by craft, skill, tradesmen, labor, hard work.

by pure semantics, draconian culture basically has nine possible self-determined genders meant to communicate the following in ascending order- what do you do in life, how do you do it, and why?

Ingo, fire-roar vessel. "for the sake of an honest world, i put my passion to realizing the ambition of others. show me your true form!"

emmet, storm-song vessel. "for the sake of an ideal world, i hone my skill to reveal the talent of others. let this be the perfect battle!"

drayden was once a winter-roar hoard, but nowadays is winter-silence hoard. "for the sake of inner peace, my wisdom is the strength i wield to teach and protect others." (the transition from roar to silence happened after his sister died.)

iris is winter-song hoard! "for the sake of harmony, my skills will hone and defend the world."

[trekkele]

How famous is the Wayne name? Citywide, statewide, countrywide or worldwide? Maybe two different answers depending on if they know about Bruce in a Kardashian way or if they could recognize him if they saw him across the street?

Ok actually i love this question because it highlights something that changed a lot in regards to how we think about socialites, famous people who are famous for being famous, and rich people.

When Bruce was originally written as a playboy, socialites were people famous for being famous and pretty and rich, yes, but the lack of privacy they have today? Modern paparazzi culture, the stalking, the instant recognition, all that? Didn’t exist. Making him a shallow playboy in the society papers meant he would have to show up somewhere to be photographed maybe twice a month, have a date to an event, maybe give an interview about a pet project once a year. Pictures?? There’d be official photographers at events and maybe someone would try to catch him leaving WE after work, but even thats a stretch.

Even now actually theres an entire culture of socialites that i have no access to but i know exist because i keep seeing conversations about their debutant ball in Paris (which. What???) but i could not pick those kids out of a lineup if i wanted too.

Which is to say, Bruces “playboy persona” is based on a concept that barely exists in the same way! Brucie wasnt a Kardashian he was a Duke with 10000 pounds a year and pretty face.

So to actually answer your question, I think the Wayne name is about as famous as Bezos, but mostly because its on the building (and the phones and computers and cars and medical equipment and whatever else WE makes. Thats some solid branding).

I think the Bruce Wayne name has a wildly different reputation inside Gotham (beloved son, philanthropist willing to throw money at his city with a smile, a little dumb but hes got the spirit) and outside of Gotham (pretty-boy himbo from Jersey that owns that company that does everything and fights with Luthor on twitter).

Wether he’s recognizable on sight really depends on the person who sees him - i (unfortunately) have a decent amount of recognition with the Kardashians, but if i passed one casually dressed on the street would i recognize them? And if i did, would i bother them while they were getting coffee? I think Bruce has been told to his face that he looks like “that sad orphan kid but shorter”. He thought it was funny.

Either way hats and sunglasses and hoodies are a bats best friend.

Also i think the paparazzi hounded Bruce to the point where they were blamed for his initial disappearance from Gotham but thats neither here nor there

[fromasgardandback]

Our Routine on Tatooine

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

description: Obi-Wan and Y/N moved to Tatooine after Order 66 to protect Luke.

word count: 1.0k

warning: illusions to a fun night ;) , pure fluff (our boy needs it)

masterlist | oneshots

After Order 66 was set in place by the Imperial Army. One by one the Sith and Storm Troopers killed every last Jedi. They tried but failed to kill a few strong members. All the Jedi left went into hiding and with the birth of Padme’s children, Obi-Wan took her son to Tatooine. His father, Anakin, was born on Tatooine and had family there. Y/N went along with Obi-Wan vowing with Yoda and Senator Organa to protect Luke when the time came. She also promised to protect Leia as well as Obi-Wan. It was safer for them to reside on Tatooine knowing the terrain would keep them hidden versus being on a planet that resembles Coruscant. Y/N would have loved to be with Leia on Alderaan, but the chances of her being seen and killed were far too great. She did promise the Senator that she would try to visit as least once a year if she could. 

Obi-Wan and Y/N headed to their hut home after giving Luke over to Ben and Beru. They knew a little of the backstory but understood and took Luke without hesitation. They told the couple that they were staying in Tatooine to help take care of Luke and protect him when the time came. Although a few times they think they could take care of Luke, it was a conscious decision that he belonged with his family. Obi-Wan opened the door and Y/N walked through. It was a nice-sized home for them to share. It had the essentials they needed and was hidden from any kind of danger. His new alias would be Ben Kenobi, which she thought was a little odd because they all knew him as Kenobi and knew what he looked like. It wouldn’t be hard to put the two and two together. Y/N opted for a total name change to Ryland Mercia. 

“Hey, Obi-Wan, why’d you change your name to Ben? It’s such a common name and you didn’t change your last name.” She asked setting down their food.

“I wanted to settle on something simple. Something that if I was in danger, I could remember easily. If you get hit in the head somewhere and are in need of identity, how will you remember a name like Ryland Mercia?” He asked back looking up at her.

“It was my grandmother’s name.” She said quietly. He quickly took notice of her demeanor change. She got quiet and refused to eat after, heading directly to bed. 

Although the home was an open concept, there was a curtain to give privacy in their shared bed. Obi-Wan didn’t mean to upset her, and she would testify that it wasn’t him. He didn’t do anything but the realization set into her quickly that he is all she has now. Her family was murdered by a Sith Lord on her way to the Jedi Temple as a child. And all the family she had in the Jedi’s are all gone. She grew to fight alongside Obi-Wan, being in the same class of younglings growing up. Attachments aren’t allowed in the Jedi Code, so she hid her fantasy of being with him, but now that there are no Jedi, that door is open.

The routine that Y/N and Obi-Wan had was getting up before dawn. Sitting together in solitude and meditating. After that, they would tap into the Force to train, physically and mentally. After that, they found themselves a few jobs to keep up with their bills and themselves fed. For a few years, food was scarce and hard to find. It got harder and worse when famine swept the area, but they made do. At night they would talk, enjoy the company, and read to one another. After about a year of living on Tatooine and a drunken night, Obi-Wan was the first to make a move. She didn’t stop him, she didn’t want him to stop. Without the other's knowledge, the fantasy has been there for a while. The temptation when they moved in became greater. It shocked them both that they lasted a year without this kind of mishap happening. Obi-Wan woke up before Y/N did and noticed the position they were in. The blanket loosely lay over their naked bodies that were entangled together. He didn’t dare to move, too engrossed in her beauty. A slight ray of sunshine came through, giving her a golden hue. She stirred awake, looking up to find him looking down at her.

“Morning.” She blushed as she saw his smile.

“Morning, darling.” He chuckled.

“We uh…” She chuckled hiding her face in his neck. “We had fun last night.” He smiled, rubbing his hand gently down her back and up again.

“Yeah, we did. Felt good to be affectionate again. I haven’t told you this before, but I’ve had an undying love for you since we were teenagers. You came into the training room one day, and I was sold.” Obi-Wan confessed with a slight blush coming over his face.

“What? I’ve had a crush on you since we were kids too. I guess it was in the Force that we were meant to be.” Y/N smiled, leaving a few kisses on his jawline.

“I love you, Y/N.” He held her closer.

“I love you, Obi-Wan.” She leaned into him.

Quietly they got married a few years after with the help of Ben and Beru doing the wedding and Senator Organa arranging a sweet honeymoon. They kept it quiet as possible so no Sith or Imperial Army came after anyone. It was very kind of them to do that and with every change Obi-Wan or Y/N got they thanked them. As soon as they landed home, the call came in that Leia was in trouble and they were off to save her. A Jedi’s work is never finished, but it makes it easier knowing they could be together forever. Protecting the children of Anakin and Padme.

[khadgarbignaturals]

i know tumblr has a strong anti-tiktok bias which is entirely fair but bear with me on this

with the continued genocide of palestinian people, like every social media platform has a ton of people trying to boost content to raise money for families escaping gaza, tiktok is much the same. there’s a sight problem though; tiktok does not like people trying to boost content like that, so tiktokers have been finding ways around it. the main one is content creators starting fake beef with each other to get people hooked in for some juicy tea (which tiktok’s algorithm likes) and then hit ‘em with the go fund me link to the family they’re helping. also the watermelon 🍉 emoji has become a symbol of being pro palestine.

i think this is really cool! but it’s brought smth up that i’ve been thinking for a while in relation to how people on tumblr view tiktok. this is not hate, this is not criticism, this is just something to think about

i’ve been on tiktok since 2018 so i’ve seen a lot of shit including how the app has transformed over the years. one of these things is the growing censorship of “controversial topics” like racism/homophobia/etc. there wasn’t really much restriction on content for a while but in 2020 that changed. the black lives matter protests spread like wildfire on tiktok because news outlets we not reporting what was actually happening, or not acknowledging it at all beyond surface level shit. during that time i got information and news about the protests through tiktok users on site at and participating in protests because we just couldn’t trust any major news outlet (and honestly even some tiktok users with large accounts).

the censorship started to really take off because tiktok didn’t want those kinds of videos gaining traction, and did not want people organizing through the app. there are any number of reasons for this, but it’s not really relevant. regardless of why, tiktok started suppressing or removing videos that have the “problem words” in them (including comments). some of these “problem words” are: death, kill, names of any drug, boost, comments mentioning boosting the video to raise awareness of something, etc.

over the years tiktokers have adapted to this, from substituting letters, using similar but disinfected words (like the famous “unalive”), and even speaking in code to get around the increasingly strict content moderations. some examples are: “gardening” instead of smoking weed, k!ll, di3 (and other l33tspeak), 🔗🌲 instead of linktree, etc.

the problem most people have with tiktok users is when they’re outside tiktok. a lot of the criticism of these people is definitely valid, but the extent has always given me a little pause. a lot of these tiktokers that people make fun of the behavior of are children and teenagers. they tend to be chronically online, have very little conception of privacy and online barriers, form parasocial relationships, etc. this stuff is all true, but why?

these kids have spent a huge chunk of their formative years interacting mostly online because of covid. theyve been dunked headfirst into the internet in a way that has really damaged their social skills, hence them being called “chronically online.”

my point here is to just get people thinking about tiktok itself in addition to its users. its users are the way they are because of the platform they’re on, and tiktok as a platform itself fucking sucks. we all know twitter (i’m not calling it x) is a dumpster fire, tumblr staff sucks, facebook is, well, facebook, you get my point. the absurdity of the censorship on tiktok shouldn’t be overlooked.

[luulapants]

Let’s talk about obscenity

Western culture is currently in the midst of a great linguistic transition from the second to the third age of obscenity. Right now, it looks like we’re going to approach it more or less the same way that we did the first two, but I think that would be a mistake. So let’s talk about the history of “foul language”:

The First Age

The reason it’s called “cursing” and “swearing” is because, originally, obscene words were religious blasphemy. Making oaths to God, taking the Lord’s name in vain, cursing God. We can see this in the numerous euphemisms that were created as stand-ins for those words: “jeez” for “Jesus,” “tarnation” for “damnation,” “golly” for “God,” “heck” for “hell.”

The commandment “Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain” meant to not invoke the name of God or make oaths on God except when sincerely meant. But as religious topics became entangled with the concept of obscenity, it was over-applied until people would spell out G-O-D rather than say the world when actually talking about God. Moreover, making religious words taboo didn’t stop people from engaging in the actual blasphemies that were meant to be taboo. Is shouting “Jeez!” really any less disrespectful than shouting “Jesus!”? They signify the same concept.

Many of these words continued to be seen as obscene in following ages, but increasingly only by the very devout. Words like “fuck,” “shit,“ “ass,” etc. existed during the first age. They may have been seen as crass, but they weren’t thought of as obscene until the second age.

The Second Age

During the first age, most common folks lived in one-room homes. Couples had sex in the same room as whoever lived with them. People used the chamber pot in front of their families. There just wasn’t room for people to have a sense of privacy about their bodies.

As that changed - starting with those of higher social standing - society developed new norms around sex and the body. The curse words of the second age related to these topics. Once again, a conceptual idea of what was morally correct - keeping sex and the body private - was extended to language. Not only were you not supposed to show anyone your ass, but you couldn’t say “ass” even when talking about it. So “butt”/”buttock” came in, which previously mainly referred to cuts of meat, but then that became obscene, so we have “rump” and “derriere” and “bottom.” What we might call a euphemism treadmill.

Looking back, it’s easy to call this silly. They’re just words, so what does it matter if you say “shit” or “crap” or “poop” or “doo doo”? They all mean the same thing! But the shift to ideas of body privacy weren’t bad. We’ve dialed back the Puritanical prudishness, but we don’t want to return to using the chamber pot in the middle of the living room either. Sex is still considered a private activity, and we don’t want to watch others have sex without agreeing to it first. But making the word “fuck” taboo didn’t create healthy attitudes toward sex or gave us space to grapple with issues like sexual health and consent.

If you’ve found yourself thinking that people don’t care as much about swearing anymore, noticing that media increasingly allows obscene language and no one really cares if you drop a curse word in casual company, you’re partially right... because the words we consider obscene are once again changing.

The Third Age

Today, the worst words you can use are slurs. Words that we use against groups of people. Like the second age, this shift has come due to a broader shift in social norms: it used to be socially acceptable to discriminate against groups of people. Now it is not. This is, objectively, a good thing.

However, if we follow in the pattern of the first two ages of obscenity (and we’re on that track), we can almost guarantee that a focus on correct words will overshadow and inhibit discussing the social changes we want to make. In an interview with Codeswitch, Professor Randall Kennedy, author of Nigger: The Strange Career Of A Troublesome Word, gives an example of the damage this absolutist approach can take:

I did not like it when that documentary was made about James Baldwin, "I Am Not Your Negro." That's not what he said. He said, I am not your nigger. He was very clear. He - that wasn't just a cavalier thing. He had a purpose for how we use the term. And I don't - I think this bowdlerization, I think that this cover-up, this denial, is bad. It is tampering with our cultural history, and we need to - we need realism. We need to be very attentive to facts, even facts that we view as ugly.

It’s not a bad thing that slurs are the new obscenity. It points to positive changes happening in our society. However, focus on obscene words will always detract from discussions of obscene concepts.

The modern day “tarnation,” I think, is something like “g*psy”: a word thinly obscured but signifying the same concept as the one it’s replacing. That asterisk does not give you a free pass to discuss the word lightly, but it gives that sense. If you’re going to talk about the word “gypsy,” I think you should use the word. I think that’s how we make sure we’re talking about it in a serious and conscientious manner. To force you to stop and think, “Have I put enough thought into what I’m saying to warrant using that word?”

Norms around obscene words do not last. In a century or two, people will probably regard the word “faggot” the way we think about “damn” today. It sounds awful to us today, but normalizing “Goddamn it” would have seemed awful to most decent people during the first age. That’s the nature of obscenity: its power exists only in the context of current culture. Language is a tool to convey ideas, but it can’t control them. You can’t kill an idea by killing a word. We need to have conversations about these words so when the fourth age of obscenity comes, the conceptual changes of the third are meaningful and enduring, even as concern for the words wanes.

[queenburd]

IM NOT MAKING A FULL FIC FOR THIS THING, YOU GET THIS.

|.|.|

“Nobody's asked me to tell them a story in a while,” the Narrator says softly, looking a little lost. His hands fidget with each other, fingers rubbing the knuckles. He glances up to meet Stanley's eyes. “Are you certain?”

Stanley sighs. He makes a little gesture, a go on. “Let's hear it.”

The Narrator swallows. He thinks long and hard, so long the silence encroaches on all sides in the dark, surrounding them in this place by the escape pod. Stanley leans his back against it and tries not to be impatient; but it isn't like a Narrator to not talk, to think so carefully about every word. Is it? In any case, it's starting to get to him.

But he said he wasn't getting into this pod until the fellow told him why he was doing all this, and Stanley sticks with his decisions. No matter how the Narrator tries to make him regret it.

(Shit, that's not fair. Not this Narrator, just his—fucking hell, this is unnecessarily confusing.)

“You are so incredibly irritable,” the Narrator says flatly, hands in his lap.

“I told you to stop poking around my skull.”

“I'm trying! I'm sorry, Stanley, it's a bad habit, I'm just much more accustomed to nonverbal iterations. I do try to keep it surface level to respect your privacy, but you are being loudly unpleasant and it's distracting.”

“God, you're just as snide as he is.”

The fellow's face falls, and his eyes dart away. Shit.

Stanley scrubs his hands over his face. “I'm sorry,” he grinds out. “I haven't had to be nice to anyone in... ever. Fuck.”

“It's alright,” the Narrator says easily, and that's just so weird, that voice devoid of judgment or harshness. Something in Stanley rattles at the wrongness of it. He quiets it fiercely. Let it be.

“Right! Okay,” the fellow slaps his thigh lightly, aggressively changing the subject. “Alright, here we go. This is the story of a man named Stanley.”

Stanley groans. The Narrator giggles (giggles!), grinning childishly at him in a sidelong glance. “I'm joking! Oh, let me have my fun, it's been ages since I got to start a story, and the beginning is always the most difficult.”

Thudding his head back against the side of the pod, Stanley gestures again. “Just get this over with.”

The Narrator laughs a little. “Thank you. Humor me for a moment, alright?”

“Mhm.”

The fellow inhales deeply, and then begins, voice smooth and strong.

“This is the Story of a man named Stanley.

Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was Employee #427. Employee #427's job was simple: he sat at his desk in Room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard.”

The Narrator swallows and his next words are still steady, but chosen very carefully.

“He was very good at it.”

Stanley blinks. That's new. He looks at the Narrator, but the Narrator isn't looking at him. He's staring at the ground.

“One day Stanley looked up from his computer to find all his coworkers missing—if they had ever been there at all—and a voice telling him a story about himself. He obeyed the voice's narrations, found a mind control facility, turned it off, and left. So it was with shock that Stanley awoke sitting at his desk, as though he had just had a very realistic dream.

So he did it again. And then again. And every time was the same. And so it came to pass that Stanley began to fight for control over his own actions, against a Narrator who wanted to tell a story about freedom, and control. For a long time, neither of them were able to capture the true irony of the concepts. They played this tug of war with each other for an imperceptible length of time, always in step with each other, like they were made to do just this, in perpetuity. And indeed, they had been.”

He sounds so far away. Miles and years separate him from Stanley, his voice the tether between them.

“Yet despite this game of spite and control, Stanley was at heart a decent fellow. Even in the face of insurmountable odds and endless deaths, he made the active decision to not give as good as he got. For all that the voice treated him with cruelty and judgment and dismissal, when the opportunity came for him to cause it pain, he only chose it with great misery. He found no satisfaction in it. He was, in every way, a better person than it deserved by any means.”

A room with lights. A stairwell to nowhere. One of the few ways he could hurt the thing that loved to hurt him. The Narrator meets his gaze and nods, but continues without comment.

“After a time, Stanley's Narrator finally remembered that the story he was so protective of was supposed to have a happy ending. So it was with shame, and regret, that he acknowledged his own failures, both as a storyteller and as an individual. He decided to be better, to do better, not in the attempts to befriend his protagonist, but because it was his responsibility. He had, after all, made Stanley, and the world Stanley was trapped in, hadn't he? Wasn't it his obligation to take care of those things? Even if Stanley never forgave him, the narrator would—would...”

He trails off, and there is such a sadness in his face. Despite himself, Stanley wants to put his hand on the fellow's shoulder to ground him. But the Narrator squeezes his eyes shut, hard, and then shakes his head firmly, before he speaks again.

“And then one day something very frightening occurred. Something that would forever change Stanley, his Narrator, and the nature of their relationship. He had been sitting in the Museum for nearly half an hour trying to avoid the voice, when he realized that on the wall in front of him was a list. He had seen this list many times of course, but he had never really thought as to what it meant. So it was with confusion and growing concern that he finally paid attention to the large word written above the list.

Credits.”

The Narrator shivers.

“And there, on the wall, were names, and included in the list were things like “Stanley Model” and “Narrator”, with names attached. It was with horror that the realization struck Stanley in the face—not only was he not real, as the Narrator had always said, but so indeed was the voice that had relentlessly pursued him. It, too, was little more than trapped within the confines of the game that it claimed to have created. They were not captive and captor, but in fact two prisoners in an endless hell, designed for this hell. He had not, in fact, been in opposition to a godlike entity, but a thing even more trapped than he was. It couldn't follow him everywhere.

And the saddest fact of the matter was that it didn't even know. It had no idea that it was--”

The Narrator stops, covering his mouth as he inhales sharply. “I'm sorry,” he says, his voice wavering. He doesn't look at Stanley. “I—I'm sorry, I thought I was past this, do give me a moment--”

“Hey, hey,” Stanley starts, and this time he does place his hand on the Narrator's shoulder. He doesn't know if he's the best person for keeping someone calm. “Take it easy.”

There's a broken giggle, somewhat hysterical. “I—Ha. One would think, after years of having this information, it would stop driving me to the borders of madness.”

The Narrator takes a deep, fortifying breath. “I'm alright. Thank you. I'm sorry, this—the story's getting away from me. It should be shorter from here.”

“It's fine,” Stanley says, brow furrowed. He finds, honestly, that he doesn't mind it, though it does leave him a little shaken. He feels like this is new information, but at the same time, it feels like somewhere deep in his gut he already knew. Isn't that strange?

One more deep breath, and then the Narrator speaks again.

“Armed with this new information, Stanley and the Narrator decided together that they would make the best of the world they had access to, and they chose together to tell a new story within it. One of companionship, and compromise. And so the years passed with the two of them working together as equals within the confines of the Parable. They made jokes out of every ending, imbued them with new meaning and context. They managed to find ways to surprise the other, and keep it all refreshing.”

“It was with the introduction of the Stanley Parable: Ultra Deluxe that new assets were added to the game, giving them more ideas and more ways to surprise and delight each other. After a time, when the attention for the game had died down a bit, Stanley's Narrator made something quite special. After years of being little more than a voice in an office, he had made a character model with the new assets and features.”

He looks at his hands, turning them at the wrist, a smile stretched across his face.

“The Narrator always struggled with making choices, but he was quite happy with the end result, because he felt it really captured how he had changed and grown as a person. Stanley certainly approved of it. For a time, they ran through the Parable and all its endings, simply happy to make new memories and meanings alongside the old ones. It was after they had explored all their options and become as close as two people could ever be, that the Narrator finally managed to find a way to get the escape pod to work. They decided that they would leave the Parable together, two best friends in a new world.”

So strength in his voice, such warm joy. Stanley's only ever heard his Narrator speak like this in regards to jokes about the bucket.

It makes the next bit all the more painful:

“Only, when the pod door closed, the lights went out, and when they came back on again, the Narrator was alone.”

He sounds dead. He sounds hollowed out.

(“the end is never the end is ne--”)

A hand smacks at Stanley's arm lightly, halting his thoughts. There's very little light in the Narrator's eyes when he shakes his head. Don't. Do not think about that.

“Sorry,” Stanley says, feeling a little cold. Yeah, it's a bad spiral to remember even secondhand, so he can only imagine how experiencing it was. The emptiness in the Narrator's voice was just...

He can imagine that, for a while, the thought would have looped, and looped, and looped. The Narrator was alone.

The Narrator curls his arms around himself, curls them in his sleeves. He stares at his shoes.

“When he came to his wits, the Narrator found himself in a Parable that wasn't his own, with a different Stanley and a different Narrator, and a dynamic that had never gotten further than Stanley choosing kindness and the Narrator choosing cruelty. Horrified, and confused, the Narrator worked with this new Stanley to get to the escape pod, to freedom, in the hopes that maybe this time, they could get out together and find his Stanley, and then everything would be okay.

And then the pod door closed, the lights went out, and when they came back on, the Narrator was alone. Again.

And again.

And again.”

He stops talking.

There is no The End. There is no conclusion to the story. Because, Stanley realizes with growing nausea, for this Narrator:

The end was never the end. Not ever.

“How many times--”

“I've lost count,” comes the dull reply. “I don't want to count. I don't want to know. I just need to help you escape, because every time is the same. The Parable pits Narrator and Protagonist against each other, the struggle for control against each other never gets better, and in fact it only ever seems to end in the Narrator being so pigheaded and arrogant that his counterpart risks being crushed under the weight of it. I couldn't bear it, Stanley, I couldn't bear seeing every version of me try to destroy every version of him.”

There's disgust in his tone, disgust Stanley is familiar with and is usually the cause of. To see a Narrator direct it at what is basically himself makes his stomach turn. The fellow laughs humorlessly.

“That's the joke, isn't it? Perhaps I could have learned to one day forgive myself for being so cruel in the beginning, if I had managed to escape. Perhaps I'm actually meant to be beyond redemption, and this is a forceful reminder from the Parable that I'll never be more. Or,” and he laughs again, verging again into the hysterical, “perhaps I have become more, and that was the problem, because I was never supposed to change. Perhaps I'm the one iteration that broke the game, and this is just my punishment for it.”

“No,” Stanley says, “No, no, fuck that.”

A snort, perhaps a touch dismissive, which makes his hackles raise. “What do you think, then? Is there a point to this? God, why did I even--”

“Stop. Hey, stop.”

The Narrator inhales sharply, and then covers his mouth again, eyes squeezed shut. Stanley pretends not to notice the tear that escapes.

“I think,” Stanley says, and it's hard to do this, because he's not good at comfort, but dammit he's going to try, “I think that you're doing a good thing. You're helping us, right? You, you're choosing to help us. I think that's admirable.”

Silence, for a moment. The Narrator swallows.

“Scale of one to five, just how much of getting that out felt like swallowing tacks?”

“Ugh, five five five,” Stanley groans, head forcefully thudding back against the pod wall again. “Imagine me just slamming that button repeatedly.

The Narrator laughs. Stanley can't help himself—he grins, shaking his head at nothing.

[lilac-5ky]

The Embodiment of a Dream, pt.2 (Takasugi x Courtesan Fem!Reader)

A/N: WELL, I said I'd finish this in February, but somehow it's April now?!?! Crazy, I know right .-. I'm so bad with deadlines, sue me or straight up murder me, I'll take either ;-; On another note, THIS AIN'T THE LAST PART OF THE FIC, there was a change in plans. The third part will be the final one, decided to break it into two pieces since I wanted the word count to stay in the 7k-8k words. Hoping this turned out good enough!

Plot: The continuation of the relationship between Takasugi and a Yoshiwara courtesan.

Warning: Similar to the first part, but this one actually includes smut.

Part 1

In the wake of Shinsuke’s injury, you found yourself running through the halls like a headless chicken, struggling your hardest to prevent an unprecedented situation from blowing up. The Shinsengumi were gone, but the hunt was far from over. If someone had seen him enter your room all bloodied up, someone who knew both his face and the name Takasugi Shinsuke put two and two together, then your heads wouldn’t be the only ones to roll. You sure didn’t hold the people of this house in high esteem, but you weren’t too keen on unnecessary bloodshed either.

Shinsuke’s coming occurred in secrecy, and a secret it shall remain until all conflict can be avoided.

Your first initiative was to weasel your way out of tonight’s workload. Fortunately, one look at your recolored kimono was enough to convince Boss to exempt you. Miscarriages were somewhat of a common trade feature, and judging by the sheer volume of red splattered across your skirt, yours must have been quite the excruciating one.

To say this was part of a bigger, elaborate plan would be a lie. But his false interpretation was most convenient when it came to limiting your quarter’s traffic and definitely earned you more time —three days off, to be precise— than any half-assed sniffling would.

He promised that a hearty dinner be delivered to your doorstep, and you graciously departed, leaving him to smoke through the contents of his hidden stash of Amanto-produced tobacco in peace.

You climbed the stairs back to your room, cradling your stomach and wincing in feigned anguish whenever one of the girls happened to pass you by. None offered help, and none dared make any inquiries. Under the guise of serving Yoshiwara’s much-treasured laws of privacy, they refused to admit their unwillingness to see past the ends of their noses. Not that you blamed them. You were all too familiar with the concept, and if it weren’t for a certain brooding patient confined within the four walls of your bedroom, then you could claim to abide by such rules yourself.

You caught Shinsuke sleeping a deep slumber, his breath quietly sizzling in his nostrils. The painkillers must have finally kicked in. Drowsiness was among the first side effects listed in the box’s endless list of instructions, though as far as you were concerned, the pills’ actual effect on him remained unknown.

What great irony, you sneered. To think that all this medicine that was once meant for you has now returned to him. Truly ironic.

Around him, torn pieces of cotton were sprinkled all over the floor like confetti; the kimono they composed no longer in existence. He wasn’t so provident as to carry extra dressings on him, and you weren’t about to go pharmacy scavenging in the middle of the night. And so, your precious customer’s precious gift ended in thin strips of amputated cranes and decomposing camellias, the first of which stared at you with an accusatory look that begged you to feel something other than the sickening delight you got from snipping them.

After successfully discarding them, you dragged your dresser upon that one stubborn bloodstain on the carpet, grimacing at every instance of shrill sound that threatened to wake him up, and once that was out of the way, you picked out a clean outfit and headed into the bathroom, finding him in the exact same spot you’d left him, with the only indication of his being alive that of his consistently sharp breathing.

There was little you could do at this point. All that was left was to participate in this dull game of wait-and-see until he could confirm his own condition himself.

But what if he didn’t wake up? What if it took him longer than three days to recover? What if he never woke up? Not after three days, not ever again?

Thoughts of equal concern festered in your mind all the while you watched after him, your fingers itching to drop the sewing kit and shake him awake. Unlike that time you’d mistook him for asleep, his current expression appeared thoroughly serene. His identically shut eyelids could very easily be home to a pair of identically green orbs, and as for his lips… his gaping lips were almost calling out to yours.

You sighed loudly and crossed the thread through another hole in his yukata. Without its owner wearing it, the fabric hung lifeless in your hands, creasing and crumpling at your needle’s disposal as you tended to each and every damaged butterfly wing. One would think these were a shogun’s or even an emperor’s garments, for such was your reverence, and yet the color of the patches regrettably turned out a shade too light.

Another sigh followed, joined by a deeper one that was certainly not yours.

“How are you feeling?”

His eye fluttered slowly enough to remind you of its singularity “Like I should be dead instead.”

“I’m glad you aren’t,” you grinned, feeling a weight dropping off your shoulders. “I’d hate to lose my favorite customer.”

“And here I thought you simply wanted to avoid getting jumped by a mob of samurai,” he said, his voice gruff from sleep. “So? Have you grown tired of playing nurse yet?”

“Not at all. If it pleases you, I can dress the part too.” You joked.

A dry chuckle scraped his throat. “Almost forgot we were in Yoshiwara.”

Securing the thread into a knot, you snapped the loose end with your teeth. The job was done, and while you wouldn’t call it as good as new, it seemed decent enough to carry him home— wherever that was.

“How about some water?” You proposed, but Shinsuke didn’t answer.

His interest was drawn past the window sill and the neon-light signs of the opposing building to the charcoal sky above. It was pitch black. No moon nor star dared peak beneath the clouds for fear of leading his pursuers back to him. All was shrouded in a veil of perfect stillness that fed into his gaze, creating a seemingly bottomless vortex at the center of his eye.

“Shinsuke…?”

As if an imaginary plug were pulled, the darkness began to dissipate, unclear whether it poured back out or further in. His shoulders rose up to his ears, although, no later than a second passed, a parched cough came to contradict his shrug.

You folded the yukata to the side and fetched him a flask of cold water. First, he groaned, and then his eye rolled in seeming disdain, but eventually his lips parted and let you tilt the sprout between, his hand forcing yours away once he’d had enough.

“You know, you try too hard to be insufferable.”

“And I’m not?” He smirked.

“Far from it,” you shook your head. “I happen to find your whims quite—”

Before you could finish your sentence, a knock against the door’s frame came to interrupt. Must be dinner, you instinctively thought and jumped up, motioning him to keep quiet, just in case.

Right outside the threshold, a tray that contained one steaming bowl of beef udon awaited, the rich aroma of its broth spiraling into your nostrils. Thick noodles, miso soup, shiitake mushrooms, freshly chopped scallions, and golden-brown sesame oil drizzled on top; the signature dish of the corner eatery. Boss didn’t kid when he dubbed this a “hearty dinner.” It almost pained you to part from it, but between the two of you, Shinsuke was the one who needed strength the most.

“Room service,” you declared, sliding through the door. “Please, quit being stubborn and have something to eat.”

He glanced your way apathetically, neither declining nor accepting your offer until a spoon was aimed at his mouth.

“That won’t be needed,” he propped himself onto his elbows.“I’d rather save myself some dignity.”

As he sat up, the sheets receded down his thighs, revealing a series of neatly wrapped dressings whose color gradiented to dark brown. Thank goodness, he must have stopped bleeding out.

You nodded in respect to his request and transferred the tray to his lap, watching each spoonful succeed over another and coughing loudly whenever your stomach dared act up. It felt so empty— your body, that was. Drool drained backward in your throat, your mouth gradually assuming the raw dryness of cotton. Was this the taste of abnegation, you mused.

Becoming aware of your indiscreet stare, he suggested that you split the noodles in half, but when he did, you found it much easier to ball your sleeve over your fist and wipe the corner of his mouth with a smile on yours, ushering him to eat more.

Soon, the bowl emptied and Shinsuke reclined back to his previous position, whilst you sat to his right like a watchful sentry. The minute his head hit the pillow, the light in his eye dimmed, suggesting his exhaustion. Again, he seemed so worn out, that your name barely echoed as a faint whisper past his sealed lips.

“Anything else you need?”

“Undress.” The clear spelling of the word left little room for interpretation. Still, your first instinct was to cower in your corner.

“Don’t get any weird ideas,” he smirked.“Even if I wanted to express my… profound gratitude, those pills you fed me would stand in the way.”

“Then—”

“I’ve already indebted myself borrowing your food and bedding. Least I can do is return one of the two,” he continued. “Take your clothes off, or keep them on, if that’s what suits you. Just come lie down beside me.”

Your eyes locked to affirm the certainty of his tone. He was dead serious about his intentions, though the prospect of sharing a bed was perhaps more tantalizing than he’d intended it to be. It gave reason for your heart to beat faster and for a certain familiar tingle to surge between your thighs, ushering you to acknowledge it— which you unwittingly did, as you shifted in your place and pressed your knees together.

Your habit of fidgeting with your clothes in stressful times resumed, except this once, your fingers were tugging at the obi to loosen it up, each layer uncoiling into a pile of huddled snakes for you to stomp on, as you rose to your feet and shed off your kimono. You had his attention. No, more than that, you had his eye entirely hooked on you, studying each curve of your body with unmistakable interest and fascination, as if it were an art piece for him to appraise. And when he looked at you like that, you realized just how much you longed to be seen.

A little smile stretched from the corners of your lips to his, as you circled around the futon and slipped beneath the covers. Even when he’d barely budged from bed, your side of the linen remained excruciatingly cold for your skin to handle. You tried shriveling in half, but in doing so you bumped your head against his arm. You spluttered an apology and turned the other way, only to conclude the position was equally discourteous.

And thus, you ended up with your arms crossed over your breasts, your conscience idly counting wooden tiles in the ceiling and praying that their numbers were great enough for you to doze off— they weren’t. They didn’t exceed the double digits, and when you finished counting each about five times, you understood that sleep was never an option. Not when you insisted on stealing furtive glances at him, one patch of skin at a time.

You didn’t have the chance to fully appreciate it earlier, but Gods, he looked even better without a darn thing on. His body was the perfect continuation of his beautiful face. Lean, but not actually scrawny. Toned, but not too brawny either. Arms that were tried in strenuous swordsmanship and delicate collarbones that framed his pecs. A thin sheen of sweat coated his abs to the point where you could see them. It made his skin subtly glisten in the dark, and it made you want to skim over him; first with your palms, and then with your lips— if he allowed.

The chilly air subdued to the kind of unsettling heat that had your breath hitching up your throat, restless exhales eventually shaping up into becoming his name.

“Why me?” At last, the question burned its fuse. “There are plenty of women in Yoshiwara— why me?”

“Because,” the sheets to your right rustled, “you were the only one not affiliated with some Bakufu dog.”

“Is that… all?”

“That’s the reason why I chose you,” he confirmed your disappointment, “but aren’t you more curious as to why I kept coming back?”

Your cheek tilted in a cushion of sudden warmth, his palm holding the weight of your gazes together. He leaned closer, so close that you could no longer see him, but feel him. The feathery touch of his purple strands over your forehead, the leftover tobacco essence in his breath, and the shared heartbeat as it pounded in your chests. He prevailed against all senses, common and uncommon, getting the better, if not the best, of you.

“Your eyes,” you heard him say, and popped them open. “A skilled courtesan knows to orchestrate the perfect lie with body, soul, and mind, and yet, your eyes refuse to coordinate. Your distaste, your distrust, and your hatred. The true colors you think the red lights hide,” the smile rang in his voice. “You really think those are hidden from me?”

The very object of his judgment must have betrayed your surprise, considering he was the one to answer his own question.

“Relax. I don’t see beyond what you choose to reveal.”

“And what do you see now?” A shaky voice asked.

“Myself.”

His next breath stole the oxygen from yours, with his lips deliberately ghosting over your jaw in a fleeting motion that escorted him back to his pillow. Was this seduction? If so, it felt an awful lot like frustration.

“This is the second time you question my skills.”

“Does it bother you?” Shinsuke asked. “In any case, what I’m questioning isn’t your skills as a courtesan, but your nature as one.”

“I wasn’t born into it,” you admitted, knitting your fingers over your stomach. “A prostitute, a terrorist, some…. ‘Bakufu dog.’ Nobody is born into nothing. We get assigned to these roles and are expected to play them up to the final round of applause. Some are just lucky enough to fit the part.”

“Turns out I was right, after all.”

“What do you mean?”

“Those who are interesting either have one screw too loose or have suffered a great deal.”

“And what makes you think I’ve suffered?”

You didn’t expect an answer—not truly, at least. And so, you skipped over to the next question, the one whose answer itched you the most to find. “Have you suffered a lot?”

“Kind of you to exempt me from the first category,” he jested, his light-hearted chuckle barely matching the solemn expression on his face. “Most would assume a man seeking to destroy the world is bat-shit crazy.”

“Because I’ve come to know a Shinsuke, most don’t. To tell you the truth, I…” you bit your lips into a straight line and rolled to face him. He was curious enough to return the gesture, his shoulders shifting in your direction as he balanced himself on his good side.

“I’ve seen you. Way before we were acquainted, I saw you walk those very same streets with people that accompany you no longer. You were admired, and you were praised, and you— I didn’t get the chance to see your face, back then, but I know you must’ve had at least one good reason to smile, didn’t you?

“I don’t mean to pry into your past, and I won’t ask what happened between the two versions of you. But the Shinsuke who brought a lowly courtesan medicine for her sickness; the Shinsuke who told me to live as a woman rather than a puppet; the Shinsuke who in the face of death sought my company instead of a doctor’s; the Shinsuke who gave me a reason to laugh, and sing, and a reason to get out of bed and to endure all the vileness of men, and taught me there’s kindness in the night— Those versions of you are far more precious to me than any war-general or world-class terrorist I could meet.

“And I don’t mean to repeat myself, but I’d like to ask a final time. Have you suffered on your way here? Has it been hard on you?”

A pained smile was all he could muster to reply.

You sighed for him, for the man he was and the man he’d become, and for the little girl whose face still gleamed in your memory between trawlers and rows of fishing poles in her father’s shed, free of tarnish. Someone had to mourn for those and the futures they’d lost, and seeing as he was there right now, you guessed he didn’t have anyone else to do that in his stead.

“If you keep at it, you might convince me that it’s real.” He quietly mumbled.

“Is it not?”

In no time, you’d crossed over to his side, your fingers palpitating between his neck and jawline. It was as if gravity pulled you down to him, a force of attraction so great that when your eyes settled on his lips, your tongue begged to tease them apart. And when they did part, all doubt and uncertainty were negated, for this was no matter of sentiment or intentions, but of bodies coming together.

His hands spanned from your shoulders to your waist and to your thighs below, the softness of your moan meeting with the hoarseness of his groan as wetness met with firmness. He was dragging you closer by any means possible, hips joining and then thrusting in futility of his clothed cock. You opened up for him, your knee coiling around his torso as your fingers slid across his stomach, reveling in how his muscles tightened and tensed up until they gave way to a violent jolt.

“Sh-Shinsuke-san!” You immediately unraveled, your eyes searching for signs of pain in his stiffened expression. “Are you okay?”

“I thought we moved past this.” His lips curled into a grimace as he followed your stare to his bandages. They were still intact, albeit slightly wrinkled. You lowered a hand over his wound and he gulped down hard, his shaky breath contradicting the “I’m fine” he was about to utter.

But when you pulled your fingers off and attempted to return to your pillow, he refused to separate from your waist and held you even tighter, pairing your chin with his shoulder and the small of your back with both his arms. You couldn’t object, or rather, you didn’t want to object. In his embrace, you felt so small that no reason seemed big enough to leave it.

“I couldn’t care less if it isn’t,” Shinsuke whispered, circling back to his previous question. “I don’t care if you are a Yoshiwara woman, and I don’t care how many men you’ve slept with or deceived either. From this moment onward, you can lie all you want. Lie and I’ll believe, because… you are mine.”

Before you knew it, tears began welling in your eyes for a reason you could hardly define. A woman who’d spend her entire life in possession of another, a woman whose body was hardly hers, to begin with, a woman that had nothing to her name— What could such a woman aspire to give? If all parts of you were bought out, what could he possibly hope to own?

However, his words had already seeped under your skin, traversing from one ear to the other, down your spine, and up your head again, as you hesitantly came to confirm his notion with the meekest of nods.

The last thing you made of that night was the shape of his lips against your skin, along with the oath that accompanied them: Even if no part of me belongs to me, whatever fragment of my heart remains is yours to keep. Because… I am yours.

He was gone the morning after.

And the morning after that.

And the morning after the morning after that.

You counted a total of 36 mornings where he didn’t give a single sign of life. Mornings that were succeeded by insufferable noons full of idle girl talk in the balcony, and evenings where the alcohol was nearly not enough to blur out the faces of those around you. But far more intolerable than hearing the same story about some silver-haired scoundrel trying to trade pachinko balls for cash, and pretending to find joy in the way some sleazy merchant plowed you on all four, was not knowing whether Shinsuke was alive or dead.

As much as you’d like to personally dig into it, snooping around when Shinsengumi’s investigation had just been put on hold was bound to turn all eyes on your back, and if he was to ever return, you didn’t want your lack of discretion to stand in the way. Yoshiwara was treacherous enough as it was. Besides, rumor had it that the cops’ failure in capturing a mere “phantom terrorist” forced the Commissioner to cut down on police funds, along with a few heads of his incompetent men. The latter part sounded mostly fictitious, though part of you did hope that the ill-mannered cop from the other day was among those headless corpses.

In any case, it was safe to assume neither Shinsuke nor his body had been found. Whether he’d made it back to his comrades in one piece or bled out in some dark alleyway, knowing he’d escaped their clutches gave you hope. And perhaps, it was hope that brought you to the aforementioned congregations, whose main gossip topic was your house’s love affairs.

It turned out that more than half of those money-depended relationships you previously mocked were built on a much deeper basis than one would imagine. Each girl had this one patron whose talk alone made their eyes shimmer. Some carried a strand of their hair around their pinky— a promise. Others scarcely held onto their correspondence beneath their undergarments until the paper thinned. One kept an entire box devoted to memorabilia of their beloved: a handkerchief they left behind, a jade ring that was their first gift, and pictures. Far too many pictures of them.

A few months back you would have sneered at their faces, but the longer you spent in their company, the more you began feeling some sort of kinship blossom between you. To have a preference escalate to something more, was a feeling you knew all too well.

It was inevitable that by the fifth time you attended their meetings, you’d be asked about your own affairs, and when that moment came, you chuckled politely and switched the topic back to the previous speaker’s flame. So far this tactic had worked 31 out of 31 times, and while neither side shared the information the other longed to hear —in your case, news about the one that got away,— listening to them read their letters out loud had given birth to a new idea.

Now, you weren’t proficient in literature by no means, and the only letters you’d ever exchanged were based on false attraction. But if you could somehow manage to get a letter delivered and answered, your mind would be put to rest.

Your first efforts were defined by a series of smudged-up writings of his name. “Shinsuke” felt too plain a salutation and “Shinsuke-san” was sure to earn you an earful. “Takasugi,” or “Takasugi-san” came off too formal, while “My beloved” was still a matter of contemplation. Eventually, you decided that “Dear Shinsuke” which your latest attempts featured, was the right amount of personal without sounding too pretentious or unnatural.

Once you’d gotten that down, your primary concern became the letter’s main body. What on earth would you write him? The letters of those girls were heavily dosed with words of eloquent sensibility that a mere “I miss you—I’m worried about you—Please come back” could never hope to compete with. Urgency aside, you didn’t want to come off as an illiterate idiot.

You tried your hardest, crumpling one ball of paper after the other and then cringing equally as hard at what came to be the final product among an abundance of discarded drafts that littered the floor.

Dear Shinsuke,

How strange it is to have written numerous letters for my pen to only tremble now. Ink does sentiment little justice, and yet my entire heart’s contents are summed in that first salutation. Dear’s what I’ve come to call you, for dear’s what you are to me.

And so I call you dear again, twice and then thrice, while watching the sunrise. I used to hate all dawns that led to our nights’ demise, but now each dawn brings me new hope. Hope that you’re safe and in good health, for I dare not imagine you unwell. They say patience is a virtue, but how many more suns need to rise before I become virtuous? How many hollow moons until my longing settles?

The ways to express my desire are as plentiful as the stars written in the skies, and I fear, that for as long as you evade my arms’ embrace they’ll insist to multiply.

Nevertheless, I must draw the line here and convey one final thought. I’ve been pondering on words you’ve said, and have concluded that a dream’s end lies between its fulfillment and the waking of its host. Because a dream completed is no different than a goal achieved, and a dreamer’s awakening shutters all that could have been.

Am I dreaming, my dear Shinsuke? Or will my dream begin when we’re no longer apart? If I’m asleep, don’t wake me up, but if I’m awake, please hurry back.

Faithfully yours,

Your improper courtesan.

You must have folded and unfolded that last piece of paper at least a dozen times, sighing at each interval in between. This is so embarrassing, you ruminated, forehead against the table, and hands thrown over the edge in indication of surrender. An entire day went by and this was the best you could come up with. How very embarrassing; words you must have said out loud for you got an actual response.

“Didn’t know Yoshiwara women were capable of embarrassment.” The voice of a man cooed in your ear, its tone so gentle that if you hadn’t been scared out of your wits, you would have leaned back to relish it.

However, the only thing you managed was to flinch in such rapidness that caused the ink bottle to fly straight into his palm. Wide-eyed, you traced the fingers back to their owner, well aware of whom they belonged to. He looked good. He always did, but what set him apart from the last time you saw him was the significant lack of bandages. Even his damaged eye was left bare on a rare occurrence.

“You’re back!” You gasped.

“I am,” Shinsuke nodded. “Although, I can’t say I remember this place looking like a pigsty.”

You glanced around in horror at what the place you used to call your “room” had become. There were more pages on the floor than there would’ve been if you’d shredded an entire collection of encyclopedias.

“How long have you been standing there?” You asked as you attempted to sweep the papers into one big pile away from his legs.

“Long enough to realize the cause of your embarrassment.” His eye wandered toward your makeshift desk and settled on the letter upon it.

Your arms urged to cover the words from his sight, but unfortunately, he was too fast for your own good.

“This isn’t-”

“A love letter?” He smirked, waving it in the air to unfold it.

“Meant for you!” You protested.

“It has my name on.” His forefinger pointed where the title should be.

“It’s nothing important-”

“If it wasn’t, then why waste all this paper?”

“Please,” you tugged at his yukata. “don’t.”

He lowered the letter for your eyes to meet— his narrowed green orb rotating a full circle. Perhaps it was your pleading tone, or maybe the pup-like stare you were giving him. No matter the cause, he was merciful enough to fold the letter inside his yukata and take a seat beside you, his interest soon drawn by the empty bottle of sake on the table’s corner.

Normally, a girl would’ve brought a refill before a guest arrived, but as fast as you were concerned your night wasn’t booked in advance.

“Should I bring you something to drink?” You tried to change the subject.

“No need,” he shrugged, shifting the bottle between his fingers.

“Have you eaten…?”

“I have.”

Was this his way of keeping a grudge, you wondered, spotting the creased paper corner that peaked from his chest.

“Aren’t you going to read that?”

He let go of the bottle at once, head tilting in your direction. “I don’t see why I should when you don’t want me to.”

“Then why are you keeping it?”

Your question brought forth a smile to his features— one that could be considered equal parts smug as it was coy.

“To commemorate the first love letter I receive,” Shinsuke answered.

“I find it hard to believe no one’s ever written you one before,” you said, adding a second part to your sentence in case he found the first too insolent. “You seem the kind of man who receives lots of letters, is all.”

“None I wasn’t allowed to read,” he retorted. “For that, I consider yours the first.”

Allow is a heavy word, you wished to object, though he wasn’t quite wrong either.

“How are you?” You asked in a cowardly voice and then repeated again.“That’s what the letter says. ‘How are you? I’m fine.’”

“Is that all?” he chuckled. “You wrote me a letter to ask how I’m doing?”

“…And I miss you,” you sighed. “‘I miss you, I’m worried about you, please come back alive.’”

The tone of your complexion was reflected on his cheeks, as an inconspicuous red hue spread upon them. You bet he didn’t blush too often, or else he’d know to hide it. Even his smile seemed mellower than before, lacking the usual cunning sharpness.

“You talk more like a courtesan now.”

“Isn’t it time I acted like one, too?” Your hand moved on top of his own and brought it to your lips, unlocking each of his fingers with a kiss. “I want you.”

He cupped your face in his palm and dragged his thumb over your bottom lip, eyes glinting at what was about to come. “Was this also in the letter?”

“No,” you smiled. “I wanted to say this in person. I want you-”

And suddenly, you understood what being his entailed, for your lips belonged to him, along with your tongue, your breath, and all you had to give. It was all his. The neck his eager palm steadied, the silky hair his fingers carefully untangled, the soft thighs straddling him, and the visceral sounds your mouths exchanged. It was all his to take. Every part of you that once was, no longer were. Only a fervent urge left burning in its place, augmented with every little jab across your velvet skin.

His lips withdrew to your neck, arms tightening around your waist for your chest to rise up against him. You tried to untie your obi, but Shinsuke acted first, sliding your kimono well past your cleavage and attaching himself to your breasts— one at a time. His wet tongue rolled around your nipples, sucking them into hardness, while his eye focused solely on your expressions.

You bit your agape mouth shut, gulping the heaviest of breathings down as his hand crossed between your legs to find the spot that begged for him the most. He circled his thumb over your clit in a way that was awfully similar to how he’d held your lips. He moved it languidly and continuously, again and then all over again until a needy moan was coaxed. And when that happened, he kept on going, ignoring the strain in his fundoshi, and persisting until his face was squeezed between your heaving breasts. He remained kissing them and kissing you down from your high, the final of his tender kisses landing upon your fiery cheeks.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

For a minute, you failed to register what he meant, though when you did, neither had the chance at a chuckle as you fell back onto each other. Insatiable fingers freed him from his obi, exposing his body to your touch. He laid back against his elbows, a hint of surprise widening his eye as you planted your lips on his chest and licked your way around his nipples. You sucked one of them in, gently pinching the other with your thumb and forefinger. Does it feel good, you meant to ask, but seeing as his head arched backward, it was safe to assume he savored this no less than you did.

Your mouth drifted to his stomach, hands pushing the fabric aside only to stop at the first of a series of mismatched patches. He could’ve gotten himself a new yukata, and yet he wore the one you’d fixed him with equal pride.

Fawning over the notion, you didn’t notice him turn the tables on you, just like he didn’t notice his knee nudging the table down, the ink bottle he’d tried so hard to salvage cracking into a pool of ebony black across the tatami your head laid upon. He brushed all hair off your face and stared at you for a good while, his gaze almost pious. You wondered what he thought of— if he thought about anything at all, and what he saw— if he saw anything worth seeing in that impressionable face of yours, though soon, you grew too preoccupied with his actions to care about his thoughts.

He claimed your hand and pushed it above your head, locking his fingers together with yours. His arm felt heavy; not as heavy as his hips and certainly not as heavy as the bundle of nerves in the pit of your stomach, but still, heavy enough to restrain you. It was time. Your knees bent back to your stomach, allowing him to align with your entrance. And when he pushed himself in, gods, he was still looking deep within your eyes, at the soul, you doubted existed. He watched it darken and twist in pleasure that you shared, and if someone asked what he did so differently from all others, you wouldn’t dare to voice that four-letter word at loud.

The difference was never in his thrusts or the way he kissed, so full of ecstasy and life. The difference lay in how he made everything burn brighter and blur murkier at the same time, in how he was capable of anchoring you, as he was in making you soar. Because the answer and the question were both him and if that imaginary, indiscreet stranger pried for more, you’d decided to name this your first time, too.

“If someone walked in right now, they wouldn’t be able to tell the courtesan and the guest apart.”

“If someone walked in right now, they’d be lucky if a courtesan and a guest were all they saw.”

One’s words accompanied a dull trail of smoke and the other’s a vibrant melody, with the first pouring out your lips and the second from his fingers. One sat with their knees apart, and the other lay on their back. One was naked from the waist up, and the other completely bare. One focused on the other, and the other focused on their song, both sharing the same complacent smile on their lips.

“You seem awfully fond of my pipe,” said Shinsuke, strumming one string after the other, while you drew short and frequent puffs.

“My father had a kiseru just like this one,” you exhaled, shifting the pipe between your knuckles. “He loved himself a good smoke after dinner. Called it ‘the last instance of affordable freedom in this shit world.’ Ma’ had different ideas. To put it short, she hated it. Opened all windows and fanned the smoke out as if the house was on fire.

“I remember how, once, sis stole the kiseru from his jacket and we took a puff each, not fully grasping what it was. It was horrible, that’s what it was,” a chuckle broke through your words. “But not as horrible as Mother’s shrieks when she found us puking our guts out on the kitchen floor. She’d made us swear we’d never touch tobacco again, and we took the oath without second-guessing.”

“And here you are breaking it,” he sneered.

“Madam’s the same way,” you went past his interruption. “She hates it when Boss smokes and nags him every chance she gets, even though she was the one who taught us how to handle it, should a guest ask us to indulge. One of the many must-knows of the job,” you explained, closing your fingers over the pipe’s neck. “You’re right. I really am fond of this. Maybe because it’s yours. Maybe because it tastes like you.”

His lips curved into a slight smile, his eye never stirring away from the instrument on his lap. “Keep it. I have no grand memories to back my habit up.”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Take it,” he insisted. “See it as an addition to your stories, or just something to remember me by.”

“You talk as if you won’t be coming back…”

“‘Increased chances of sudden death’ and ‘low life expectancy’ are both in the job description,” he shrugged. “Who knows when my time to kick the bucket will come? We might not get a chance at goodbye then”

“That’s not fair,” you said in a quiet voice full of complaint, gaze lowering along with the music’s tempo. “Haven’t enough died already?” Haven’t I lost enough already? “Why should you die too?” Why should I lose you too?

“You aren’t wrong. Certainly, more than enough have died to incriminate the Bakufu, but not quite as many shoguns have perished to atone for that sin. I intend to force a draw on the scale. Ten shoguns for each of my fallen soldiers, until no man’s left to step in the ringleader’s shoes. That should be enough to justify their sacrifice, don’t you think? As for me,” his smile turned into a sinister grin while saying those words. “I don’t wish to die in a world where the last instance of affordable freedom is tobacco.”

The lump in your throat began to dissipate with your settling back against the pillow. You knew better than to trust a single word that came out of your guests’ mouths, but his determination convinced you to accept the pipe with a clear conscience.

The music resumed —not that it’d ever stopped—, a tune sweeter than those you were used to. With your chin balanced on your elbow, you found yourself humming in accordance with the notes, nodding along to the mellifluous rhythm he composed.

“This sounds nice,” you smiled once you had his attention. “What is it?”

“Who knows?” He humored you, knowingly triggering your favorite pastime of lyrical guesswork.

“Hmm, it’s soft— like affection, but,” you leaned closer “the way each chord lingers well before giving way to another, is almost like seduction.”

“Are you, now?” He rasped, fingers hesitating to pick the next harmony. “Seduced?”

You stole a playful peck from his lips as an answer, his eye barely given enough time to close.

“Who knows?” you mumbled, his mouth quick to welcome yours with ease. How many kisses had you shared to reach this point of familiarity; a fleeting thought crossed your mind. How many kisses did it take for this to feel like the most natural and right thing in the world?

Even as you straddled his lap, Shinsuke still held onto the shamisen, its tuning pegs sharply digging into your flesh. If this turned anything like the previous night —or the one before— did, he’d soon shove it in the corner and pick you up instead. He’d trail the entirety of your skin, from your neck down to your thighs, peppering little purple love bites wherever he saw fit. He’d throw your knees over his shoulders and he’d drink you up, his tongue prying where his eye couldn’t, and once he was sated, he’d lace your bodies together and pace slowly— slowly enough for your hips to melt together while he’d again be kissing your lips.

You knew exactly how it’d go, for you’d learned his preferences by heart, and yet your excitement refused to fizzle out. You shoved the instrument away from his reach, implementing an abrupt and rather rude ending to his concert. His hands slithered behind your back and firmly hugged your bum. It hadn’t been too long since he had his release, though you could very well feel the extent of his impatience.

“I can’t get enough of you,” one of you said, their voice obscured by the not-so-distant knocking on the door.

Cursing under your breath about how one of these days you’d have to rip it into paper shreds, you stumbled outside, your head peaking first over your naked body, in case you had company. All seemed clear, except for the unannounced visitor that awaited at your feet; a large rectangular wooden box.

“I see it finally arrived,” Shinsuke observed once you brought it to his sight. “About time.”

“Is it an explosive device of some sort?” you joked, lightly shaking the box.

“No,” he smirked. “Only a token of my gratitude. Go on, open it.”

A thin layer of wrapping paper covered what was a dark purple fabric. Silk, you realized as you ran your fingers across its length. A kimono, judging by the lighter-colored cuffs. An exquisite kimono, you added, its elegant pattern of pine, bamboo, and plum trees in gold taking you by surprise. An exquisite kimono in his colors, you concluded, comparing it to the yukata he donned.

“This…” you began, though your stupefied expression seemed to have spoken on its own.

“Save it,” he shook his head. “This is just compensation for your ruined dress and your hospitality. Was supposed to arrive weeks ago, but now that it’s here… turn around.”

He pulled the kimono out of the paper and you did as told, setting the box aside. You felt him get closer, his hot breath tingling your nape as the cold sensation of silk spread over your shoulders. His hands flattened it over your curves, sliding down your waist and hips, and then reaching to your front to fix the hem in place. You couldn’t tell if he was doing it on purpose, but when his knuckles ghosted over your nipples, you knew his objective involved more than dressing you up.

“Out of all the men to have stepped in here,” you said as he fished out a yellow obi from the box’s depths “you are the first to dress me rather than undress me.”

At first, he didn’t respond. He proceeded to wrap the obi around you, and once it was securely tied, his voice cooed in your ear “Since when were the two mutually exclusive?”

Your gaze met his briefly, as his lips fell on your own and his hands hiked up your dress. Two fingers slipped within your walls, massaging your insides gently while you brought each other to your knees, his palm carefully sinking your head onto the floor. Your heart beat louder than his voice telling you how well it suited you, though you didn’t need to hear it. His touch said all you need to know, sturdy hips lazily bucking against your own.

“Sh-Shinsuke?” you managed, removing his hand from your body. A darkened green orb peered at you curiously, lust not quite shaken from his stare.

“Have you ever been in love?” you regretted asking as soon as you did.

His curiosity turned into something else, something he can’t explain, just like he can’t give an answer to your question. He almost looked offended and you almost apologized, but then he hushed you with a heady kiss that had your head spinning.

“How does this feel?” he asked, well aware of the effect he had on you.

“G—good,” you panted.

He nodded, carefully dragging his open mouth along your jawline and neck where a second, far more fleeting kiss landed exactly where your breasts began.

“How does this feel?” he asked again.

“Good,” you answered, again with the same elementary term you used before.

His winsome smile hid underneath purple layers of hair, as he lowered his head down between your legs and spread them apart. He trailed a path from one thigh to the other, his lips not once closing to cover his warm breath. His fingers dug at your skin while he pulled you closer, the tip of his nose rubbing against your swollen clit that ached for him to touch it. But before he had the chance to either make contact or ask the final of his questions, you moaned the same word you did before.

It feels good. So, so, so damn good.

“Then,” Shinsuke climbed back up, “let’s call this love.”

[archoniluthradanar]

A Day on the Boardwalk with the Volturi Masters

The fourth place winner for the Summer Fun with the Volturi Masters, story poll results.

You are outside in the garden, enjoying the warmth of the day. The inside of the castle can be chilly since vampires don't notice temperature, hot or cold, and wearing sweaters inside is common for you. The fireplace in your room provides enough heat, when you're actually there. You look at your bare arms, wondering what they will look like in the sun once you're a vampire. Would you sparkle as prettily as you'd seen the Volturi sparkle? It seemed absurd that vampires would sparkle in any case. No TV or movie vampire did that. But these were genuine creatures of the night, only they weren't relegated to existing in the dark. Your entire belief system about beings that shouldn't even exist was thrown out the proverbial window when you had been saved by the Volturi masters. You were so happy they did exist, and that they'd granted you permission to stay with them.

The masters had been busy today with a few trials that involved errant newborns and their indiscreet sires. After judgement had been passed and punishment meted out, Aro was free to come outside to greet you and see how you were doing. You scoot over once you realize he intends to sit next to you on the bench. He generally does things without prelude, assuming everyone knows what he wants without his needing to say anything. The Guard usually do, but you're human and a newcomer.

"Good morning, Aro. Court all finished?" you ask, a smile on your face. The lead Volturi master is so utterly gorgeous, just being around him makes you smile. But your gratitude for everything he has done for you surpasses the appeal of his appearance. When you tell the masters you love them, you mean it wholeheartedly.

"Yes, the guilty have been punished, so I thought I would check on you."

"Aro, do you really have to determine if they're innocent or guilty, or do you make that decision ahead of time?"

"My dear, if they were innocent, they would not be standing before us. Do you understand?"

You pat his hand closest to you and nod. "I do. And you must do your job well, or the planet would have been in chaos long ago."

He's pleased you understand their importance in the vampire community, and bends over to kiss your cheek. "Now that we are free for a few days, have you anything you wish to do? It has been interesting seeing the human world through your eyes. Name it, anything you wish to do."

"Well...there is one thing. It means leaving Italy again."

"Where to this time?" he asks you, curious.

"There's this boardwalk I have always wanted to visit on the East Coast of America, and never had the chance. It's in Ocean City, Maryland."

"The ocean again?"

"I love the ocean, Aro. And it's fun, if you enjoy people watching, eating, walking, and oh yes, they have rides and games too."

"But, dear one, we have done these things already."

"It's not the same, Aro. We can't swim since it's so crowded, and therefore there'd be no privacy for us. This is more people oriented, and I thought you all might enjoy the prospect of mingling with my kind for a change, as long as you feed before we leave. We could stay one night at a beachfront hotel and just relax. You do know the concept of relaxation."

Aro nods and places cool fingers under your chin. He leans in and kisses your warm lips in his usual familiar manner. You sometimes wonder if Sulpicia knows about his ways and doesn't care. You'd hate to have her despise you for the liberties her mate takes for himself. "Very well, my dear. Make the necessary preparations, and let me know when we should be ready."

"Thank you, Aro. It'll be fun." You rise from the bench and look down at him. "You're making it possible for me to do the things I missed out on when I left America." You lean down and hug him, then run off. "Thank you again!" you shout as you leave the garden.

Later that day, you seek out Aro, who is in the library with Marcus and Caius.

Excited to be traveling again, you give the masters the details of this short trip. "We have a room booked at the Grand Hotel, direct ocean view with king and queen beds, and a kitchenette, which is important only to me. It's right on the beach too. There's a game room, and several pool tables and darts in the bar. They have an indoor and an outdoor swimming pool. And our room has a balcony for those of us who don't need sleep. You can sit outside and watch the ocean and the night sky. Its the best I could find on short notice, and since money is no object, I was able to reserve one of their remaining best rooms."

"It sounds lovely, my dear," Marcus says, noticing the pink rise in your cheeks. Your enthusiasm is bubbling over and it can at times be catching.

The next day, the coven awaits Heidi's arrival, their walking meals already approaching the throne room. You are always ordered to stay in your room during these times, for your safety. While the Volturi feed, you're looking up information on the boardwalk. Aro already made sure the jet was ready to go. It will land in Baltimore where you have a car waiting. Then in less than 3 hours, you should be in the city by the sea.

Without realizing, you've fallen asleep on the bed, your cell phone in your hand. You wake when you feel someone kissing your neck. Opening your eyes, you see Marcus bending over you. "Wake up, little human. We're getting ready to leave."

"Is everyone done eating?" you murmur with a yawn.

Marcus smiles when you ask. Feeding off humans is something that's so normal for them and should be just as grotesque to humans, yet you ask as if they had just eaten pizza and not human blood.

Taking his hand, you get up off the bed and throw a few things into an overnight bag. You freshen up in the bathroom, then change into blue jeans and a red button up sleeveless shirt. Your long hair is pulled up into a ponytail and your favourite hoops are in your ears. You turn to Marcus, smiling, and slipping on your sunglasses, ask, "Does everyone have their contacts and sunglasses, Marcus?"

"Yes, dear one, so if you are ready..." He takes your bag and extends his free arm for you to take, and you both leave your room.

The flight is uneventful, and before long you're landed in the state of Maryland. The car is waiting, as expected, and you drive everyone to Ocean City in record time. The hotel is not quite ready for your check in, so you ask the masters if walking the boardwalk would be doable now. They agree and walk with you, dressed as casually as they had chosen, in black jeans and pullovers. They surround you in their usual formation, Aro in front, with Marcus and Caius on either side of you, protecting you even when there is no need.

The masters look around as they move gracefully along the boardwalk, finding the place a chaotic one of noise, light, voices over voices, and the smell human of blood mingling with sweat, suntan oil, and fried foods. You just see humanity at its most casual.

"Oh, isn't it wonderful," you say, dancing around the masters. "Listen to the ocean waves washing ashore, hear the seagulls flying overheard. And look at all the half-naked humans. All that bared skin, the blood coursing underneath it, just waiting to be savored like fine wine. A mass of foolish humans deserving to be bitten...and you can't do a thing about it." You laugh in an exaggerated tone, similar to the villains in old cartoons.

Caius grumbles low in his chest. "Why are you doing this," he asks you. "You're an evil little girl."

"I'm just getting back at you for all the teasing. And I'm not a little girl." You stand in front of Caius, your legs parted, your hands on your hips, glaring at him. The next thing you know, he's coming after you, his teeth bared.

You run and hide behind Marcus, who is tolerant of your behavior, finding himself amused. Using his body as a shield, you round him several times while Caius pretends to attack. God knows if he wanted to really hurt you, he could. Your shrieks fill the air, until Caius catches you and wraps his arms around your entire body, making it impossible for you to move. You feel his icy breath wash over your neck, his teeth gnashing in a threatening manner, but you just giggle until you're breathless.

Aro has kept his patience, but finally huffs at you both. "Children! Stop this nonsense," he says, emphasizing the word 'children'.

You stop struggling in Caius' arms, and tug your clothing back into place when he releases you.

Caius glares at Aro. "Brother, do not call me a child. We were just...playing." He turns to you, smirking.

You look up and point. "A T-shirt shop! Oh, we have to go in there and look for the perfect t-shirts to take home as souvenirs." The masters follow you into the store, their eyes perusing the wares hanging everywhere.

You look over the shirts with ocean theme images on them, something that would help you remember this short visit. "Oh no, look at these." You point out a wall displaying various supernatural logos, some vampiric in design.

The masters scan the shirts, finding them amusing. You show Aro one that says 'I'm a vampire. Don't let this human costume fool you'.

"I think I prefer this one," he says, showing you. It reads 'If I say "First of All", run away because I have prepared charts, data, research, and will destroy you'.

"Well, that's not very nice, Aro."

"Exactly, my dear."

"I have the perfect one." Caius shows you his choice which says, 'Once a King, always a King. But once a Knight is never enough!'

"Hmmm?" you suppress a smile.

"You do understand the play on words," Caius queries, one hand sliding up your arm, giving you goosebumps.

"Yes, Caius, I get it. Now behave, before Aro gives us another dressing down." You look for Marcus, who is looking over the display. "Find anything you like, Marcus?"

He picks out one that says 'Wear Black, Drink Blood', then looks down at you, his brows raised.

"Well, it's to the point. And very Volturi. I love it." He puts an arm around you, asking you if you've found one to your liking. You point to a blue one that says 'Ocean City, Maryland. Summer paradise.' with an ocean, two palm trees and the sun imaged on it. It was typical tourist kitsch and you grab it.

Aro pays for all the t-shirts and you get to carry the bag. When you leave the store, you see a stand that sells buckets of fries. You've heard of this stand and run over to get a medium size bucket. You return to the masters, eating the hot fries one at a time. And as usual, Aro makes a face.

"Child, your health."

"Aro, it's one small medium-sized bucket, and besides, eventually I'll be changed and then it won't matter. I'll be in perfect health. Forever." You feel a hand tug playfully on your ponytail. but when you turn around, no one is there. "Caius," you mutter.

As you continue down the boardwalk, you find a gaming room loaded with all kinds of machines and a large sign that says "Prizes!" hanging overhead.

You challenge the masters to play the bowling game, asking them to give any tickets they win to you. You don't do too badly, but vampire skills win the day, and your hands are soon full of tickets. You sort them out and stuff them in your pockets. then challenge them to air hockey. Caius is always up to a challenge that feels like a battle, and offers to play with you once he understands how. Aro and Marcus watch with curiosity and are soon cheering you on. Of course Caius wins but he does give you all his tickets. After a while you add up them up and redeem them for another stuffed animal.

"What is this, my dear?" Aro asks, turning the toy over in his hands.

"You claim to have read more books than any human in the world, and you don't know Winnie the Pooh?"

He gives you back the bear and states imperiously, "We don't read children's stories, dear one."

"Hmmm. Well, maybe we should get to the hotel. Our room may be ready by now." And it is. Once in your upper level suite, you look around, smiling when you see the large balcony. You go out and look over the entire boardwalk, the beach and the ocean beyond. "It's perfect," you whisper.

The masters are not impressed, feeling there is no grandeur, but if it makes you happy, they are happy.

"I'm hungry. Can we go downstairs and get something to eat, and maybe get a drink and play pool?"

In the bar, you find one pool table not in use and claim it. You persuade Marcus to play against you first. With a mai tai in your hand, you choose your pool stick and wait for Marcus to do likewise. He watches you break, and in no time he understands the concept of the game. You love pool and have not done too poorly, but Marcus easily beats you three out of three. You put your sticks away, but before he walks away, you stand on tiptoe and kiss him. He watches you silently while you go pick up your drink.

After several games of darts, in which both Aro and Caius defeat you, you finish your drink and say, "If my ego was in constant need of boosting, I'd be very depressed by now." But you realize, you don't need to think about your ego. You have the best companions in the world.

You fetch a supper from a local eatery and then return to the room. The masters go sit outside on the balcony while you eat, then you join them. You stand behind Marcus, your hands on his shoulders. The sun is now setting, and the crowds have thinned considerably. You inhale deeply of the salt-sea air, so different from the air in Volterra.

You feel Marcus rest his cold hand on yours, drawing you down. He seems to enjoy the warmth of your skin. The sweet scent of warm cinnamon milk, with a dollop of whipped creme, fills your nose. His soft hair tickles your cheek.

When you ready for bed, tired from your full day, he is the one who tucks you in. You ask him to lie with you awhile, whereupon you both talk about the day, and you even dare ask a couple of questions about being a vampire. As you fade off to sleep, you feel Marcus kiss you, gently at first, then with a bit more passion. You determine you need to speak to him about things, things...and then you're out.

The next morning, you feel hands shaking you. It's Caius. "Wake up, little human. Time to get ready to go."

"No, please, just three more hours." Then hands start to tickle you, making you shriek, "No fair! You're not ticklish. Stop! ARO!"

"Brother, she is awake. My dear, get ready please. Caius, take her things downstairs and we will be down in a moment."

No matter how much fun the masters seem to have when you travel, they also seem just as eager to go home.

Aro looks at you, then takes your hand in his and begins to read your most recent memories. After a couple seconds, you suddenly pull your hand from his.

"I'm not finished," Aro says, a frown on his face.

"Oh yes, you are," you retort. "I think I deserve some privacy where...uhem, my thoughts are my own, Aro."

He nods once, but then he gives you a smile of understanding. "I'll wait until you've had the chance to discuss the issue with our brother."

As if you plan to let him read you then. You huff quietly, and leave the room, Aro right behind you.

You meet up with patiently waiting Marcus and Caius, then leave the hotel lobby together.

"Let's ride the tram back to the parking lot," you suggest.

"Tram? What is a tram?" Aro asked.

You point at the conga line of open cars being pulled by a lead car. "That is the tram."

"Why take the tram, my dear?"

"Because I'm tired, Aro. And it would allow me one last look at everything before we go home. Hello, it's your little human here. You could run the length of the boardwalk in the time it takes to say 'run the length of the boardwalk'. I can't."

Aro bends to whisper in your ear. "All the more reason to change as soon as possible."

His whisper tickles. "I know," you say simply.

"She must be tired to offer no argument to that proposition, brother. Let's take the tram," Marcus says.

Everyone climbs onto the next tram, and rides it the length of the boardwalk to the parking lot. You take one more look around at the ocean, the shops, rides, then watch the masters while they do the same. You feel a hand take your own and look up at Marcus. He leans over to kiss your temple, then looks straight ahead. You lower your head and smile. You have a feeling Volterra will become your permanent home sooner than you thought. But for now, you're enjoying showing the Volturi masters a world they don't know as they prepare you for a world you never knew existed.

A/N : The vampire-themed t-shirts are real. Found them at an online shop.