#here I go again with the self indulgent posts

[kyshosmd]

READY OR NOT— xeno h. wingfield x top!amab reader

synopsis: in which xeno gets tied up and y/n rails the arrogance out of him. senku walks in post-nut and realizes his big bro just fucked their mentor.

tw: top amab reader, sub character, kinda dubcon, reader is senku's older brother here, power dynamics (former mentor/protégé), mild degradation & possessiveness, semi-public setting, bondage themes, dark humor & inappropriate scientific metaphors, canon divergence, more plot than porn again, also, clowned stanley in this for no reason

author's note: HELP i first gotta thank yall for 400 notes on my stanley x reader fic? that was my first fic i didn't expect to gets so many likes tysm! this is again self-indulgent. also another thing, the fanart i used is from pinterest idk by who but it's so beautiful my wife looks so pretty.... idk i can't write smut or xeno. i hope this wasn't too ooc. i think this is more funny stuff than smut too. someone teach me how to write smut...

You didn’t realize how fast your heart was pounding until the silence between you and Xeno started echoing off the metal walls.

He looked smaller here—tied up on his own ship, back to sleek white cushions and arms behind him, restrained in a way that should've been humiliating. But of course, it wasn’t. Because Dr. Xeno Houston Wingfield did not do humiliation.

No, he did elegance. Even now, with his hair messy and his lab coat wrinkled, he was sitting up straight like a damn royalty. His chin was tilted up in a way that screamed, “I may be your prisoner, but you’re still beneath me.”

And honestly? You hated how attractive that made him look.

"I presume you're just going to keep staring," Xeno finally muttered, voice smooth and low. "That's what this entire endeavor has boiled down to? Some brooding visual assessment of the man who supposedly betrayed your brother?"

You resisted the urge to rub your temples. Of course he'd intellectualize this.

“No,” you said flatly. “I’m staring because I’m trying to figure out how someone so smart could be such a goddamn idiot.”

Xeno raised an eyebrow. “Ah. The classic emotional reasoning fallacy. Might I remind you—Senku trespassed into sovereign territory during an active militarized standoff. Logically, the standard response—”

“You ordered him to be shot, Xeno.”

There it was. The shift. Barely perceptible. A slight clench of his jaw. A twitch in the corners of his black, expressionless eyes—those soulless, shark-like orbs that had haunted you back when you still thought he walked on water.

"It was a calculated decision. You, of all people, should understand that sacrifices must be made in pursuit of a greater scientific goal. The preservation of civilization demands—"

"Don't," you snapped. Your voice dropped, low and tight, barely more than a growl. "Don't you dare go into one of your goddamn monologues. You’re not lecturing me in a DARPA lab anymore."

His eyes flicked over you, assessing, dissecting. “You’re angry. Fascinating. I recall a time when you hung onto my every word. When I was your idol. What changed?”

“You tried to kill my brother.”

A pause. Then Xeno gave a slight tilt of the head, like a chessmaster contemplating his next move. “And yet... you still volunteered to guard me. Alone. Curious, don’t you think?”

You stepped forward, slow and measured. Your boots thudded against the ship floor with each step. His posture didn’t shift, but you caught the smallest hitch in his breath.

"I’m not here for you," you lied.

“Of course, how elegant.” he said with a tight smile. “This is purely logistical. Practical. Rational. Just like you were trained to be.”

You crouched in front of him now, leveling your eyes with his. “Xeno, I swear, if you say the word elegant one more time—”

“—You’ll what?” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “You’ll silence me? Restrain my intellect with brute force? Very elegant of you.”

That’s when you pinned him.

Quick, precise. A palm braced on the back of the couch, your knee slotted between his legs, weight pushing into his chest. Xeno’s breath hitched—visibly. You were close enough now to see the way his pupils dilated, the very rare flicker of panic in his usually glacial expression.

“W-what exactly do you think you’re doing—?” His voice cracked halfway through, and there it was: a tiny, barely-there squeak.

God. You hadn’t heard that noise since you shoved a caffeine canister into his hands and told him to pull his first all-nighter. That was back before you realized you were in love with a sociopathic space nerd.

You leaned closer, lips ghosting the shell of his ear. “Still think I’m your obedient little student, doc?”

Xeno’s breath hitched again—shaky, unsure. You swore his legs tensed around your thigh. A flush crept up his neck like a betrayal of his entire icy persona.

“I— I would advise you not to act rashly,” he said, trying and failing to keep his voice deep and commanding. “We’re still in a volatile situation—diplomatically speaking—and it would be highly irresponsible to—”

You smirked against his neck.

And then the door creaked a little in the distance.

You straightened slowly, meeting his wide, glossy-eyed stare with calm indifference. “Relax,” you murmured. “We’re just catching up, remember?”

Xeno didn’t answer.

It should’ve been humiliating—being tied up on his own ship, his ex-protégé pinning him down like a particularly stubborn lab sample. But for some cursed reason, Xeno’s body refused to cooperate with his ego.

His breath was unsteady. His pulse was erratic. And when you finally slid your hands under his thighs to adjust him on the couch, Xeno let out a sound.

A real, human sound. Not elegant. Not calculated. Not anything he’d ever let anyone hear.

And that’s when your smirk widened. “Still think you’re in control, doc?”

Xeno bristled. “If you’re attempting to assert dominance through brute force, allow me to remind you that such behavior is unscientific, deeply crass, and frankly—” his breath hitched again “—inelegant!”

You leaned down, warm breath fanning across his neck. “You keep saying that word like it’s gonna save you.”

“I am a scientist,” he hissed through gritted teeth as you started unbuckled his belt and started pulling him out of his unnaturally ironed trousers (his kingdom of science was much advanced than Senku's, obviously they'd have an iron). “Not some... some primitive breeding stock you can toss around like—nnngh—like a troglodyte!”

“Well, science is about experimentation, right?”

You pulled his trousers down to his knees pretty roughly, and Xeno let out a muffled noise—part gasp, part whimper. Definitely not elegant. You whistled at the fact that Xeno still went through the trouble of creating ...undergarments.

He was flushed now. Fully. Hair mussed, chest rising and falling way too fast for someone supposedly “uninterested in carnal matters.” His hands tugged weakly against the restraints behind his back as you began trailing kisses (and the occasional bite) down the side of his throat.

“I’m your former mentor,” he spat, almost desperately. “Have you truly lost all manners and respect? You can't just undress me as you please!”

You huffed a quiet laugh against his collarbone. “Yup. Somewhere between you ordering my brother’s murder and calling me a ‘fascinating biological anomaly’ in your thesis.”

Xeno groaned and tossed his head back as you started unbuckling your own belt. “I was referring to your neural durability, not your—hnngh!—incredibly irritating proclivity to ravage people without preparation.” Xeno gasped when you grabbed his hips and pressed up against his ass. Not because it was sudden, but because he realized just how big his ex-protege is.

You grinned. “You’re gonna be fine, doc. I’ve had practice.”

You spit into your hand, just casually. Just enough to make his eyes widen with something like horror.

“That’s unsanitary!” he barked, full panic now. “Absolutely unhygienic! Saliva carries over 700 identified microbial— oh—OH—”

His sentence dissolved into a high-pitched breathy moan as you pulled his last piece of clothing of his lower half down and worked your fingers inside him, and holy hell, that was NOT a sound he was ever supposed to make.

“What was that, doc?” you teased, grinning against the side of his flushed cheek as you circled your fingers inside him. “Didn’t catch that last part.”

“I—I said—y-you’re a brute,” he gasped, biting back a noise that might’ve been a sob. “A barbarian. A—a statistically significant deviation from civilized conduct.”

“I think you like it,” you murmured, tone dropping like a hammer.

Xeno’s breath shattered. He bucked helplessly into your body, throat trembling with every strangled noise he swore he wasn’t making. If anyone walked in right now, they’d see the esteemed Dr. Xeno reduced to a breathless, glassy-eyed mess.

“I must remind you,” he gasped, “restraints aside, this kind of behavior is neither efficient nor—ah—nor sterile—!”

Your fingers brushed lower and he twitched. Hard.

"Pretty sure you lost the moral high ground when you tried to assassinate my sibling,” you muttered, leaning closer. “So shut up and let me prep you before I get impatient.”

Xeno's mouth dropped open like he wanted to argue, but all that came out was a pathetic, airless wheeze. “Th-that’s not a unit of time!”

You ignored hi m, slipping your fingers deeper inside with maddening slowness.Xeno bucked slightly, hands tugging at the binds behind him. “Y/n—Y/n, I—your fingers are—hnnngh—far too large to qualify as an appropriate—oh my god—substitute for proper preparation!”

“Then you’re gonna hate what comes after,” you murmured into his ear.

You pulled your fingers out, and what happened next was quick. You bottomed out inside him. And Xeno let out a high, startled gasp, almost like a hiccup of air, like his lungs had given up trying to do anything useful. His entire body went taut, back arching off the sofa in a panicked curve.

“You—your anatomy—" Xeno stammered, his voice climbing half an octave. “You’re—this is not—you're too big!”

You snorted softly. “You’re the one who kept calling me a ‘genetic marvel’ in your lab notes. What, surprised that the marvel goes all the way down?”

He gave an offended whimper.

You reached down, guiding yourself against him with almost scientific precision, watching the tension ripple through his restrained frame.

"You sure you can take it?" you murmured. “This’ll stretch you more than the truth did when you told Senku your nukes were ‘only theoretical.’”

"Wait—no, I—I need to calculate—" But it was too late. You pressed in, slow and deliberate, watching him break inch by inch.

Xeno gasped—loud, ragged, helpless. “Th-this is—oh god—brutish, absurdly large—” His voice cracked completely.

You leaned in, nipping the shell of his ear. “Bigger than your loyal knight?”

Xeno froze. You have no idea why you asked that. Somewhere in you was a deep envy of Stanley. You felt it—the moment his brain went from DEFCON 5 to full-blown catastrophic shutdown. His mouth opened, then closed. A sound like a dying fax machine came out. And then, almost in a whisper—

“…yes.”

You blinked. "Sorry, didn't quite catch that."

His face turned a deep red, almost purple. "I said—YES, alright?! You’re bigger than Stanley! Now just—just do it already before I develop some sort of mental scar from the suspense!”

The answer was pretty satisfying. Guess you won over Stanley in this field. You grinned like the menace you were born to be. “Gladly, doc.”

Then you rocked your hips forward.

The thing about having DARPA-trained cybernetic strength? You didn’t tire easily. The thing about Xeno? He absolutely did.

You flipped him like a on every surface that couch had to offer—face down, sideways, bent in half, you even wanted to do the cowboy position, but you scrapped that idea cause he's too weak for that. He kept sputtering about “ethical concerns” and “joint alignment” while you manhandled him like the unsolved mystery of human anatomy that he was.

“W-WAIT—wait wait—Y/N, my back!” he snapped in the middle of being rearranged into position number five. “How do younger people have so much stamina?! This is completely inelegant! This is—AH—s-something is definitely snapping!”

You snorted, not slowing down for a second. “That’s probably just your pride, Doc.”

“NO. It's my sciatic nerve!”

He still tried to maintain some dignity. At first.

Tried to keep his sharp tongue going, snarking between moans: "Primitive brute—" "So inelegant—" "This is the least sterile thing I've—HNNGHH—e-ever endured!"

By minute 56? He was fully limp against you, dazed eyes half-lidded, hair sticking to his forehead. A mess of trembles and quiet, breathy noises, arms still bound behind his back.

Senku totally heard the muffled noises.

Low groans. Sharp gasps. The occasional breathy “please—Y/N—slow—ahhh—" that sounded an awful lot like Dr. Xeno Wingfield being emotionally and physically dismantled.

But Senku, ever the rational king of ignoring things that didn’t concern him, just stayed in the lab corner of the ship, muttering something about chemical ratios.

“Aniki’s got it handled,” he said, flipping a page in his notebook. “Probably arguing over math again.”

About ten minutes later, the door slid open.

Xeno was cleaned up—technically.

He was sitting upright on the couch, hair still damp from your very rushed towel-down, cheeks flushed from residual heat, his legs trembling faintly under the blanket you’d thrown over him like that would actually cover up the fact his guts had been rearranged.

You were lounging beside him, completely unbothered, sipping a water bottle like you didn’t just rearrange the very fabric of academia with your hips.

And that’s when Senku walked in.

He looked at Xeno.

Then looked at you.

Then looked at Xeno’s very obvious post-orgasm daze, the faint bite marks climbing up his neck, the way he couldn’t sit straight even with back support.

And he froze.

One blink. Two.

“...Aniki,” Senku said slowly. “Did you just fuck our mentor?”

[fahye]

book recs: may 2025

first recs post in nearly a year! I plead: having a baby. turns out they surgically remove all your free time, who knew?? but I've been reading in tiny doses and now am able to read in LARGER doses so let's do this. highlights from the past year.

*means not yet released; read as an ARC.

FLOWERS FROM THE STORM by laura kinsale - I only discovered kinsale recently but I was electrified. halfway between georgette heyer and dorothy dunnett. this book in particular is bonkers intense and absolutely wonderful. the hero has had an aphasic stroke and the heroine is a quaker. yes I know. read it anyway. life-changing.

THE SENTENCE by louise erdrich - literary fiction about a year in the life of a native american ex-felon bookseller haunted by a dead customer. I fucking adored this. it's like taking a big bite of a perfectly cooked steak: rich, meaty, satisfying, self-indulgent. a perfect treat for book nerds.

SOMETHING EXTRAORDINARY by alexis hall - this is kind of a comedic romance novel about an aromantic woman who semi-kidnaps and marries her gay friend for Regency Reasons, and kind of a cross-country romp in which they collect sex partners, and very full of long grown-up discussions about feelings and family and priorities. it shouldn't work and yet I was HOOKED. the third in a series; I do recommend reading the other two for context.

*AN ACADEMIC AFFAIR by jodi mcalister - marriage of convenience for the extremely valid reason of academic partner employment clauses. I am obsessed with jodi's romances and this one is very sharp about how fucked up academia is while also being blissfully swoony and bantery. can't wait for the others in this series, too.

YOU ARE HERE: NINE MORE STORIES by iona datt sharma - I will sing iona's praises with my dying breath. deft, devastating, delicious. every one of these stories is a jewel. I will also throw in a rec for BLOOD SWEAT GLITTER, their recent romance novella about roller derby and trauma recovery.

WOOING THE WITCH QUEEN by stephanie burgis - romantasy girlies, assemble! this is a fun & satisfying story about a powerful woman trying to hold her kingdom together and the hot archduke she accidentally hires to be her magical librarian. found family! secret identities! a heartwarming banger.

*LADIES IN HATING by alexandra vasti - what if we were rival gothic novelists with a secret shared past and we got stuck in a Haunted Manor and had to have a lot of feelings about it while in surprising amounts of peril? sapphic histrom doesn't get better than this.

I SHALL NEVER FALL IN LOVE by hari conner - a graphic novel queer retelling of emma, which is one of my favourite austens. this is thoughtfully researched and grounded in history, has lovely and very funny art, and was a shot of pure joy.

*THE EVERLASTING by alix harrow - can't believe alix is out here grinding my heart into little pieces YET AGAIN. a tired lady knight and the historian trying to chronicle her life and control her ending get stuck in a time loop. this is about the violence of history and empire and narrative. it's brutal. it's romantic. it's so so so so SO good.

THUS WAS ADONIS MURDERED by sarah caudwell - I almost don't want to give too much away about this, because I went in with zero knowledge and had a blast. it's a murder mystery. it's extremely funny. go forth, enjoy.

EUPHORIA by lily king - not funny at all but a perfectly crafted, fairly short gem of a historical litfic novel. it's about the relationships between three anthropologists. it's very hard to describe. but I can't stop thinking about this book.

THE SAFEKEEP by yael van der wouden. also historical litfic and even shorter! even less funny! even more amazing! a bitter, repressed woman plays reluctant host to her brother's girlfriend; history, yearning, secrets and denial create a crucible of emotion and lust.

*THE DUKE by anna cowan - what if the rich, rakish, unrepentant duke of every regency romance was a woman? what if her love interest was a french courtesan who's blackmailing her? anna cowan's first book was WAY ahead of its time when it comes to fucky delicious gender stuff, and this one is equally great.

[scary-grace]

apparently it's not enough for me to roast the main character of BNHA or write so many fixits, I have to take it super literally and also give two middle fingers way, way up to a famous Ursula LeGuin parable by posting this self-indulgent miss-the-point thing. Omelas AU, for child abuse and neglect, hopeful ending, Oboro Shirakumo POV.

one who walks

Why did he have to look?

There’s no thought Oboro has right now, no thought he’s had for the past six months, that feels good, but that one feels worse than all the rest – the wish that he had let the knowledge be enough, that he’d managed to grasp it the way his best friends had, that he’d been outraged and betrayed and depressed and eventually resigned. Shouta and Hizashi reacted normally, the way most people react when they find out the truth. Neither of them wanted to look. But Oboro looked. Why did he have to look?

Oboro can kick himself about that from here to the end of time, and it won’t change anything. Oboro looked, and looking has consequences. For him. For everybody.

The city streets are empty at this time of night, but even if they weren’t, nobody would ask Oboro where he’s going. Nobody in Musutafu questions where anyone else is going, except to ask if they want company for the walk. Everybody’s going somewhere with purpose, or just to admire the view, and no one in Musutafu has bad intentions. Oboro never wondered why that was until six months ago. Never wondered why the things that went wrong in other places – crime, sickness, hatred, murder – never go wrong here. He just thought Musutafu was special, that the people who live here are special, too. And they are. Just not for the reason Oboro thought.

A trade, is how they framed it, when they sat Oboro and Hizashi and Shouta down to tell them why Musutafu is so peaceful, so prosperous, so perfect. You have to give something if you want to get something in return. Oboro and his friends know how trades work. They trade things all the time. They nodded, and Principal Nedzu explained what the whole city traded – and trades every day – so they can keep being happy and safe and free forever. Oboro didn’t get it at first. He could tell that Shouta didn’t, either, but Hizashi picked it up fast, and Hizashi got mad. A kid, he repeated. We can only live like this because you’re torturing a kid.

In exchange for Musutafu’s prosperity, they give up one person – a little kid, locked away beneath the city, left alone and unhappy and forgotten. Always hungry, never spoken to, never cared for. One person’s suffering in exchange for the happiness of six hundred thousand. No matter how many times Nedzu explained, it didn’t sink in – not for Oboro, at least. Hizashi had already gotten up and left, slamming the door so hard that picture frames fell off the wall and shattered on the floor. Shouta sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, and Oboro kept asking questions. The same questions over and over again, hoping the answer would change.

It never changed, and finally, Nedzu steepled his paws together and sat forward in his chair. Perhaps, Shirakumo, it would help if you could see.

No, Oboro should have said. I don’t need to see. I get it. I’m not as smart as my friends are. It takes time for stuff to sink in. Give me a second, or a minute – maybe a week – and it’ll all make sense. I’ll take your word for it. I don’t need to see. Yes.

Most people don’t go and look, but it’s not unheard of. And it’s not unheard of for people to be tormented by what they see. Some people have such a hard time with it that they leave Musutafu and never look back, never to be seen again, headed off into the darkness for parts unknown. Oboro’s never known anyone who left, but he always knows when someone’s gone. The whole city seems dimmer, somehow. It takes a while for the light to come back.

Oboro’s thought about leaving. There have been days in the last six months where he’s wanted nothing more than to get up and run. But he looked, and he saw, and that means he can’t just leave. Just leaving doesn’t fix anything. Knowing what’s happening and leaving is the same thing as staying, when it comes down to it. For Oboro to clear his conscience, there’s only one thing to do.

He knows that Musutafu is perfect, peaceful, that there’s no such thing as bad intentions or hidden evil, but it still surprises him that there are no guards outside the building that holds the sacrifice. Everybody knows where it is. Everybody knows exactly what goes on here and what the consequences for changing it are, and they haven’t even set a watch. Oboro knows why, and knowing why makes his jaw clench and his vision blur. They don’t need guards. They don’t think anybody would really do it.

The doors are unlocked, too. Oboro slips inside, his hands shaking, his legs leaden. He made this same walk six months ago, behind Principal Nedzu, still believing somewhere deep down that it was a joke. Just like before, it’s the smell that alerts him that something’s wrong.

Nothing decays in Musutafu. Nothing rots. No one leaves a mess uncleaned long enough for it to mold, or an injury untended long enough for maggots to set in, but the stench that emanates from the storage room at the bottom of the stairs is unmistakable. Six months ago and now, Oboro recoils from it, some instinct yanking at him to get away. He holds his ground. As terrible as this is, it’s nothing compared to what’s going on behind that door.

Nedzu explained it again as he and Oboro stood before the open door, as Oboro froze in horror, too numb and distant even to cry. In exchange for Musutafu’s peace and joy in a dark and dangerous world, something had to be given up – one child, not locked up as a baby but imprisoned once they’re old enough to understand what’s being taken from them, neglected and forgotten forever. Barely fed. Oboro asked about that as he looked in at the kid, whose limbs were stick-thin, whose face was hollow instead of round and healthy. Never cleaned up or tended to or comforted. That wasn’t allowed, Nedzu made it clear. Even being kind for a second would ruin everything.

The kid in the storage room didn’t ask for comfort. It cringed away from the open door at first, then snarled in anger, then cringed away again. Oboro asked if it was a boy or a girl, and Nedzu said it didn’t matter. He asked what its name was, and Nedzu said that didn’t matter, either. Oboro asked what would happen when the kid died, because he couldn’t imagine anybody surviving like this for the kind of long life the people of Musutafu have.

And that was when Nedzu said it. The thing that made Oboro’s head swim and his skin prickle, the thing that clenched his hands into fists at his sides and closed his throat so he couldn’t scream. When it dies, another will be chosen, he said. Sometimes one must be sacrificed for the good of all.

But it isn’t for the good of all. Oboro sees the storage room, the neglected kid, every time he closes his eyes – but when he opens them and looks around, he sees people he didn’t see before. People Musutafu ignores. People who look different or see things differently, people their perfect city doesn’t have room for. Kids, mostly, in families that look perfect from the outside. Oboro wonders how many of them grow up and walk away forever.

Would this be okay if it actually worked? Would Oboro find it easier to swallow, easier to ignore the way Shouta ignores it, the way Hizashi convinces himself, that Musutafu being the way it is justifies this? No, Oboro thinks as he stands in front of the door and lifts the key off the hook beside it. Even if it worked. If it’s built on something like this, it’s not worth it at all.

As he fits the key into the lock, Oboro wonders if he’s being selfish. He’s wondered that a lot since this idea sunk its claws into his head. If he shouldn’t take his guilt and horror as another sacrifice for the good of all, something he can and should bear so the rest of the city can live in peace. He hates reading, and he’s not as smart as Hizashi, but he went straight to the library and read everything he could find about morality, about ethics, about anything. Almost everything he could find said he was wrong.

There was one thing, though. Something old, something stuffed away at the back of a pile of books. Whoever saves one life saves the world entire. Oboro thinks about that, reminds himself of it. One life versus hundreds of thousands is the wrong way to look at it. It’s one life. One life, and Oboro can save it. He unlocks the door, kneels down so he won’t block out the light, and holds out his open hand.

The ground shakes ever so slightly beneath Oboro’s feet, not an earthquake or a foreshock – just a warning. Stop while you still can. Go no further. Oboro’s skin crawls, and his nose wrinkles at the smell leaking out of the storage room. He leaves his hand extended and speaks. “Hi,” he says. The ground rattles again, harder this time, and an odd, wavery sound drifts out of the darkness. “I’m Oboro. You might not remember me, but I was here before.”

There’s that wavery sound again. Nedzu called it whining, said that it was all that was left of the kid’s ability to speak after years down here, but Oboro doesn’t think that’s right. It sounds like sighing, or sobbing, quiet and plaintive. “I was here before,” Oboro says again. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back. I just – I’m sorry. But I’m here. I’m here to help.”

Nothing moves in the storage room. The smell covers Oboro like a shroud, making his eyes sting. All he can hear is the kid’s breathing, faster and shallower than before. What does help even mean to them? “You never should have wound up in here. Nobody should,” Oboro says. “I’m here to take you away.”

Even when Oboro was standing here last time, asking questions that couldn’t be answered the way he needed them to be, he had this thought in the back of his mind. The thought of coming here, doing this. So he was careful with what he asked, and Principal Nedzu explained in detail about how even if someone was to take the child out of the room and care for them again, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. It had been in there too long, and something had been wrong with it from the start. It would never speak, never function normally. It must have grown used to its surroundings. It’s scared of people, scared of the light. Why would it want to leave? That’s where it belongs.

It isn’t, Oboro said. You put it there. You made it this way.

Indeed, Nedzu says. There was regret on his face, but not guilt. In any case, it’s too late.

Oboro doesn’t buy that. Not for a second. He leaves his hand extended, ignoring the low rumble from below the surface that rattles his bones. “I’m here to take you away,” he says again, and a small hand emerges from the darkness to brush against his.

Maybe the rattling isn’t some warning to Oboro from the universe. Maybe it’s just his own rage, because the hand fumbling awkwardly against his isn’t whole. It’s missing its index and middle fingers. All that’s left are two stumps barely protruding above the knuckles. Whatever they’ve been doing to this kid isn’t bad enough. They had to chop off the kid’s fingers, too. Oboro’s limbs might be humming with fury, but the kid’s hand is shaking like a leaf in the wind, its arm too weak to support it. The kid makes a weak attempt to hold onto Oboro’s hand, but loses their grip.

Oboro catches their hand in both of his. “Okay,” he says, steadying his voice with an effort. “Can you come out? Do you need me to help you?”

The kid doesn’t answer, but the hand caught between Oboro’s goes tense. Another hand emerges from the darkness, this one missing just the index finger, and with Oboro as an anchor, the kid pulls themselves halfway out of the storage room and into the light.

Their hair is long and matted, their eyes squeezed shut. They smell awful. Their skin is scratched raw all over their body, and there are sores on their feet and legs. Oboro feels a surge of disgust and hates himself for it. If the kid is filthy and starving and smells awful and can’t speak, it’s because they were made to be that way. It’s not their fault, and it’s not their fault no one’s helped them. Oboro doesn’t get to be grossed out. If he thinks it’s gross, he can do something about it.

But first he has to get the kid out of this building. “These stairs are kind of tall, so I’m going to carry you up them. Is that okay?” When the kid doesn’t respond, Oboro reaches for them, and when they don’t flinch, he scoops them into his arms. They weigh next to nothing. It feels like Oboro’s carrying a bundle of dry twigs. “Okay. Let’s go.”

There aren’t many lights on in Musutafu at this hour, but Oboro can see them flickering. He wonders if they always do that, or if it’s something new, something that’s only happening because he broke the rule and rescued the kid. But he hasn’t rescued the kid yet. They’re still inside the city. Someone could still stop him. Oboro picks up the pace, but the faster he walks, the more the kid’s arms and legs flop bonelessly, their head jarring with every step. They can’t even hold their head up. That’s how weak they are.

Oboro can fix that, though. He calls up his quirk, shaping the softest cloud he can manage, and settles the kid in the middle of it, bundling them up tight. The kid blinks up at Oboro through their matted hair. Their eyes are crimson, and too large in their hollow face. “That’s better, right?” Oboro asks, trying to keep his voice encouraging. “We’re just going to walk for a little bit. Just until morning, and when we stop, I’ll help you get cleaned up and find you some clothes and some food. How does that sound?”

Blink. Blink. “Okay,” Oboro says. He picks up the pace again. “We’ve got a little ways to go. Let me know if you need anything. If not, just enjoy the ride.”

He sounds confident, like he actually knows what he’s doing or where he’s going once he passes Musutafu’s borders, like there’s not panic scratching at him, growing stronger with every step. Oboro came prepared to help. He has a backpack full of food and medicine and clean clothes for the kid, and he knows how to defend himself as well as anybody. Better than some, maybe, because he’s taller than most people with the strength to match. It’s not about defending himself. It’s about everything else. Not knowing where he’s going. Not knowing what’s out there. Maybe knowing how to take care of someone but not knowing how to heal them. Having to do all of it alone.

Oboro would have brought Hizashi and Shouta with him, if he could. He spent four months trying to explain, trying to get them to go and see, pointing out all the other things he could see now, too. But nothing he said worked. Nothing he said could convince Shouta to look, or get Hizashi to look past his anger long enough to turn it into something to act on. Eventually Oboro had to stop trying to talk to them about it. If he kept talking, they might guess what he was planning. They might try to stop him. Oboro couldn’t let that happen.

But that means they’ll wake up tomorrow in whatever’s left of Musutafu, and Oboro won’t be there. He won’t have a chance to explain, and he’ll never see them again. If there’s anything Oboro knows about the ones who walk away from Musutafu, it’s that they don’t come back.

[dragon-queen21]

Trapped in a dating sim: Regressor Leon Hc's

Just finished book three for this series and decided to be self-indulgent and make some agere headcanons, thus here we are

~~~

~So I had it in my head that Leon would be a caregiver until it hit me that no, he fits the combination of a toddler in dire need of a nap and forever being stuck in his terrible twos. In other words, still causing problems for everyone involved even while regressed.

~For awhile only Luxion knew that Leon regressed, given that the AI is always with him. I think he'd soften up a bit whenever his master is feeling small and probably keep him out of harms way and out of sight to the best of his ability. Either on the Partner, or just in Leon's dorm room.

~ Now I offer you this, Who would win? A robot capable of destroying the world vs 1 sarcastic toddler.

~That one part in the manga where he gets a headband to put on Luxion- that but he keeps trying to do that to the robot whenever he's regressed. Putting small stickers on him, or a small hat, or anything else cute that he can find and manage the AI to wear. Luxion doesn't necessarily like it, but doesn't say no. Like he won't stop Leon from doing anything. Probably finds a way to blackmail him once he's big again let's be honest.

~Leon would probably throw a temper tantrum at the drop of a hat. Literally the most fussiest baby ever. So cranky over anything and everything.

~Upon Olivia and Angie finding out about his regression (which is bound to happen sooner or later) they immediately decided to take up the roles as caregivers for the regressed boy.

~Leon meanwhile is constantly trying to push his caregiver’s buttons.

~Goes to Olivia whenever he’s about to get in trouble. She’s a pushover and can never bring it in herself to get upset at Leon no matter what he does when little. Angie on the other hand has no issues putting the regressor into time out.

~Luxion meanwhile who literally just encourages the baby crimes. He just wants to watch the world burn and to make sure that Leon's happy.

~He’d host so many pretend tea parties ‘inviting’ every single one of his stuffed animals.

~Wants to brew his own tea but only manages to spill boiling water on himself and start crying over it. But then throws a fit if one of the girls tries to make him something to drink because he claims they don't know how to do it right. So instead he just pouts.

~Probably threw a pillow at the girls during a temper tantrum and felt horrible about it afterwards, but still refused to apologize until the next time he was small and the guilt was simply too much for a mentally two year old to handle.

[schwarzgeier]

Testing to see if i get bonked for this lmaoo

Thinking of posting this stuff on Blue sky maybe? I don't know tbh i just don't wanna open Twitter again...

[faceglitchsworld]

My faves interacting with my faves (1/∞)

[deaddove]

hello radiant emperor fandom. i heard you guys like dark historical fantasies about genderqueer warlords and their ruthless pursuit of Revenge and/or The Throne… well let me put you onto something:

need more emo femboys with daddy issues? doomed siblings? lord/vassal dynamics? romantic stabbing? corruption arcs? sexy masochism? you 🫵 should consider reading

Requiem of the Rose King by Aya Kanno

loosely based off Shakespeare's Henry and Richard plays, this manga follows intersex protagonist Richard III (yes he has straight black hair with the bangs covering one eye. yes it’s to hide his heterochromia) through England's War of the Roses.

(he is so cute don't you just want to see him snarling and covered in blood. don't you want to see him slowly abandon his ideals in a desperate bid to be accepted by the world that shunned and demonized him.)

battle, bloodshed, and court politics ensue! also because it's a shoujo manga, Richard becomes the psychosexual obsession of most of the male cast and engages in a toxic doomed relationship or two.

this is not a series for those looking for good queer rep, but perfect for anyone who wants to read about beautiful criminally insane people tearing each other's throats out and being horny about it. it is fun, violent, melodramatic, sexy, and utterly devastating. and although it is tonally very different from TRE, it has so many similar ingredients that i think it deserves to be on your radar. actually it deserves to be on everyone's radar, it's so fucking good and doesn't get anywhere near the attention it deserves...

yea there is an anime that is unforgivably ugly and so heavily censored it's a mystery why they even bothered to adapt it. would not recommend it at all but i guess you can watch it if you want, i am not the police.

actually no i changed my mind. Aya Kanno's work is stunning and deserves to be appreciated. ok case rested.

[immunetoneurotoxin]

“Not a soul assigned to their case at the Bureau could make sense of their existence. There wasn’t a single scientist, parapsychologist, doctor, or specialist with over a dozen PHD’s under the sun that could figure them out. Pyrokinesis in a human? They defy every law of nature, yet they exist amongst humanity regardless. How do you explain that?” “The truth is that there are a lot of unknown things out there in the world that mankind hasn't even begun to scratch the surface of. Everyone flocked to this case trying to find rational answers, but there aren’t any. Look at the files in your hands. By the eyes of science, Pyro should not exist. Don’t you know what happens to things mankind doesn’t understand? The Bureau has done sickening things to them in the name of research.” “That’s why I helped them escape, Conagher.”

Excerpt from the novel INCENDIARY; A TF2 Pyro origin story Read the latest chapter of 'Incendiary' on AO3 here! Artwork created by the incredible @narklos ♡ 

[nightshademyn]

Spring Nap time 💤 🐰

[hypmicdaydreams]

is anyone still in the mood for a hypmic imagines blog these days lol

[seventh-district]

babe wake up a new Venti-coded song just droppped

“I’m as sober as a drunk.

I’m as high as rock bottom.

Free as a man with his hands handcuffed to the bar.”

[walkingstackofbooks]

I really didn't think I was going to get Chapter 19 up on time, but I did and I have!

And MAN the Garashir in this chapter is some of my favourite stuff I've ever written, honestly I'm rereading it and I can't believe I wrote it... Ah man, I'm so hype to share this chapter with youuuuu!

[peachcitt]

it’s about to be june everybody :)

[skrunksthatwunk]

"i'm not disabled" followed immediately by "i've got bad knees and a bad back" is certainly something to read 🤨 you know it doesn't have to be cripling for it to count, right...? it's not normal to be in pain after 15 minutes of standing. ableds can stand for, like, an hour at a time before they need to sit.

i know! i appreciate the concern, but i uh. dunno lol. genuinely i don't know. but i included the afaik ("i'm not disabled afaik" was the original phrase, though i'm not like mad at you for excluding it or anything) because i'm well aware that it's a possibility. it's hard to explain but there's a lot of little things that don't add up to much but are like. noticeable. like i would prefer to do most things sitting, if i could, as a matter of comfort. it would be easier for me. and walking isn't as bad as just standing. i've never been great at taking care of my body, and this has only gotten worse with time. it's hard for me to know what i should read as necessity and what i should read as preference, and how much weight to put on said preferences. like you said, i know it doesn't need to be "if i don't sit down i'm going to collapse" or anything, but where to draw that line between Definitely A Medical Thing That Affects Me More Than Other People and.. not that, i'm not sure. i kinda just thought i was a persistently slightly tired and low energy person, but it doesn't seem bad enough to be chronic fatigue, so...? is it related to the half-diagnosed. idk it's complicated depression (and yes in hindsight i probably should've counted that as disabling but whatever)? idk it's not a rabbit hole i've explored much at all is my point. but i know it's there and uh i guess this was sort of validating in a way anon so.. yeah? yeah👍

[starpros-sunshine]

also i think that after seeing that Something is going out with his eichisama tori should also sneak into town to go and see what's the deal with this wataru guy. and he inevitably gets lost but meets hajime and they have a bonding moment barbie movie-style and him and tomoya help tori meet wataru. and then wataru sees tomoya and goes "oho! interesting child!" which once again leads to eichi unreasonable jealousy against this poor random kid

Okay so I've been thinking on this and I've been trying to get something coherent and bear with me right right.

(this got so long again I just started going into detail and detail and detail and oh god I am so sorry)

So Tori, poor, innocent Tori, has to come to terms with the fact that Eichi is hiding something from him (that "Something" being a tall blue-haired extra of unknown origin) and he knows that, technically, the mature thing would be to leave it alone. Eichi will have his reasons for being a little secretive about it. He has his own life and if he doesn't want to be open about...whatever it is that seems to be going on there.... then he doesn't have to be because the man has a right to privacy.

Tori knows that. But Tori also knows that being mature doesn't matter if, technically, his beloved Eichi-sama could be at risk of giving his heart away to a scoundrel that only wishes to play with him until he's bored and then throws him away, breaking Eichis heart in the process. We couldn't have that! And what if he's a criminal? Can you really trust someone who snoops around on other peoples property without their knowing? No you can't! So really it's only natural Tori wants to know what that guys deal is. Out of a genuine concern for his friend. Of course.

And so obviously it's a completely acceptable and normal and rational decision when he sees that Yuzuru isn't there for a moment to keep watch over him like the guard dog that he is (really Tori isn't a child anymore there's no need to be so overprotective) and the other staff members also don't seem to be around and Eichi is also nowhere to be seen, that he decides to take his coat and pack his little bag with some money (read: more money than just "some" money) and tries to sneak out of the house and down the path across the small meadow and the bit of forest that separates their not-so-humble abode from the small town where the other people live.

His inital plan simple. Go there; ask around a little, maybe try some tailing (after hearing stories from the other aristocrats about how one is able to hire people to follow their spouses around without them noticing - and that apparently being an actual thing people earn their money with - he's decided that it can't be that hard and he should try his luck.) and then leaving as quickly as possible, lest Yuzuru die of a heart attack after finding out Tori dissappeared. It would be quick and easy and nobody would ever find out. That was the original plan. But Tori very soon comes to find that that could prove harder than he thought when he notices he actually really really enjoys the feeling of not having anyone hover over him like some sort of falcon watching their prey.

The little river running by the path through the meadow is still frozen (It is winter after all) and the snow on the ground almost reaches his ankles. The 15 minute walk takes him 30 because he keeps jumping around in the snow (He's made three snow angels by now. For a second he has to think of his sister and of how nice it would be if she were here with him too and how they could make snow angels together were it not for her having to stay with their parents, but he pushes that thought to the back of his head again and decides to move on with his way).

When he eventually arrives at the town - and after just wandering aimlessly through the rather empty streets - there are three major epiphanies.

The first one is that he doesn't have a clear destination. He has no idea where to look for the blue-haired weirdo. The second is that, seeing as it is a forenoon in january, most people probably aren't spending their time outside. And if they are then they are at a different place than where he is. And the third and final one: He is completely and utterly lost.

It should be regarded as an accomplishment really. Getting lost in a town with a population of barely 300 locals living there. Indeed Tori would think it impossible. Yet here he is. If anything he's sure he's at least the only one who can claim this feat for himself. This is fine. He has this under control. If he just keeps walking then he's sure to come out somewhere (No there are no tears in his eyes anyone who says otherwise is just imagining things (he decidedly ignores the little voice in his head that tells him "Who's gonna say otherwise. Look around yourself, have you forgotten that you're all alone here?")). So the big brave boy that he is he marches onward, ignoring the way his fingers have started to feel numb from the cold and his eyes have not stopped watering and the little voice in the back of his head that tells him he should've just listened to Yuzuru (He banishes that one to the deepest depths of his subconscious very quickly. There are blows that his pride can take in these situations and then there's having to agree with "You should've just listened to Yuzuru". If There is one thing that can be said about Tori then it's that he is not one to simply give up. He has come this far and he'll be damed if he backs out now).

Lost in thought and not paying much attention to his surroundings (he has more important things to think about right now), he only manages to register a flash of blue in his peripheral vision. And because this could be what he's come here for in the first place but more importantly because this is a person and that is where the bar is set, Tori immediately tries to follow them. If Lady Luck is especially nice to him this time she lets this person be the mysterious stranger he's been looking for, but what feels like a day of walking through empty streets in the biting cold of a noon in late january have humbled him enough to not push it with his luck.

And when he turns the corner, calling out for the figure to wait, insted of the strange man he was expecting he comes face-to-face with a meekish looking boy with blue hair and big violet eyes and next to him there's a second boy, this one able to be described in all aspects with only one word: average. And for a solid ten seconds they all just stare at each other.

Tori doesn't really know how, he really has no idea, but somehow he ended up following the two home. Or, well, more or less. Following isn't really the right word here. After their almost-staring-competition on the street the meekish looking one with the blue hair asked him if he was alright because "he seemed lost" (he absolutely did not.) which then prompted an entire series of events that ended is Tori sitting in this strangers families home - with an entirely different stranger also there - getting a serving of what he assumes to be radish soup. Tori feels a little sorry for the boy, Tomoya, as he said his name was, who seemed like he was previously engaged in a conversation with the other boy, who later introduced himself as Hajime and who had spent the entire way asking him questions about how he ended up here and what someone like him was doing all alone in a sleepy village neighbourhood like theirs and if he really didn't need a tissue (He hadn't cried while explaining how he was lost. He totally hadn't) and on and on and on as Tomoya had to awkwardly walk behind them.

So now, sitting at this table with these two people who he has only met today and who have given him a bowl of soup to warm himself up with, he has to tell everything about how he ended up in this situation in the first place. At the end of his recollection of this oh so wonderful day he is met with two pitying looks an a laugh - apparently one of Hajimes younger siblings had joined them at their little impromptu gathering (he wonders, distantly, how his own sister is doing right now).

And as he's about to say that he should probably make his way home and resume his mission another time when he has a map, Hajime mentions that he actually knows the guy Tori is talking about and that he lives at the local inn and that that isn't that far from them and that he and Tomoya can walk him there if he wants to. Tori agrees immediately. He is so over trying to be discreet about it at this point he really just wants some sort of success in this kind of ridiculous endeavour he's set out on.

So after the soup is finished and his limbs don't feel like they're about to fall off anymore the trio goes on their merry way and Tori feels a little silly because for all the walking around he did before they reach this inn really pretty quickly... maybe he should've thought to bring a map... The three of them venture further into the inn, and Tori only overhears Hajime talking to an older woman, but he's more occupied with looking around the place. It's father homely and rustic, a completely different atmosphere than at their place. There are noises from the few patrons sitting at the tables and chatting with each other, but it only add to the cozy feeling of the entire place.

When Hajime comes back he leads Tori up a little stairway and down a dimly lit hallway. They stop in front of a door at the very end of it (in my head there's a bit of a terasse thing happening there like. you can look down into the part where the tables are and such right right) and Tori barely has time to mentally prepare for the fact that this really is happening now before Hajime knocks and the sound of muffled steps approaching the door can be heard.

When the door finally opens (it's been a few seconds at best but it feels like an eternity), Tori is greeted by the lovely view of a pair of pale clavicles, barely covered by a black linen blouse. He has to actively look up to look at the face of their owner and when he is met with a pair of sharp, purple eyes he feels like his throat just sew itself shut. Hajime explains to Wataru that Tori was looking for him and suddenly a light seems to go up above Watarus head as a look of recognition flashes over his face and he turns around to Tori again and asks him if he's "the princess that Eichi's been telling him all about". Tori is confused. Hajime decides that this is his cue to leave and he slowly backs away to go back down and collect Tomoya, who's been roped into helping out with the catering by some elder gentleman (Wataru watches Hajime as he collects Tomoya and they leave, intrigued by this strangely average boy, as Tori just stares in horror as the realisation dawns upon him that he is now completely alone with this man whom he didn't even intend on speaking to in the first place).

So now he is here. In this very awkward situation. Sitting on a chair in this strangers room (for the second time today! Did he ever have a day this eventful? Who knows! Tori for sure doesn't.). He wants to talk, but Wataru is faster and asks him what he's doing here. Tori doesn't really know how to reply. How do you talk your way around having to tell someone that you actually got lost on the way to spy on them. That's right. You can't. Well, Eichi could. But Tori is Tori and he never wished for that to change more than he did now.

He looks out of the window and it is at that moment that another three major epiphanies reach him. Firstly that he doesn't know what to do now that he's here, secondly that he's going to get murdered by Yuzuru (and if worst comes to worst also Eichi) once he gets back because he's been gone all day without telling anyone and they're probably all worried sick, and last but not least: it is dark outside. He can't go home like that. He is virtually stuck in this predicament he found himself in.

Wataru seems to have a similar thought, because the immediate follow up question after not really getting a coherent answer from Tori is if anyone knows he's gone. Tori shakes his head. If Tsukasa ever finds out about this mess of a situation he will have to die because he would never let Tori live that down.

He gets ripped out of his incoming spiral by the bird that takes a seat on his head and Watarus over-the-top contemplative sigh and the slight lilt in his voice when he voices the next issue that's in the room. He isn't even speaking to Tori anymore, but to his bird that sits on Toris head, Jeanne, and Tori is starting to get annoyed by the way he jokes about this entire thing, calling Tori a "a little bird that escaped its nest", as if he isn't stuck having to prepare for his untimely demise. And by the way this guy hasn't put down his cryptic smile and teasing voice ever since he entered the room. When he thinks things can't get any more awkward for him Wataru proposes two options. Either he walks him home, or Tori has to stay at the inn for the night and he brings him back in the morning. Tori decides he'd rather go back home sooner than later (he'll have to take the lacture either way and he's probably caused everyone enough worries by now anyways. And also he misses his bed.). So Wataru grabs his coat, quickly goes to tell the inn-keepers he's "bringing retuening the princess to ger people" (Tori doesn't know if he liked the bird comparison better or not).

The way back is still very tense because Tori does not dare to walk next to Wataru (he's sketchy it's not Toris fault it's a normal reaction) and so he just awkwardly walks behind him, He doesn't really watch his surroundings - it is dark and the only nice thing is that it's snowing and there are animal sounds and they are spooky and he needs to watch the way and it's easier to think that way - until suddenly he gets hit by a snowball right in the head. And he is so baffled by this that he just stares at Wataru, and Wataru grins at him with his stupid stupid grin and somehow they end up in a snowball fight on this meadow where the only reason you can see anything is because of the snow and when they finally arrive at the mansion they both have so much snow in their hair and their clothes are wet from the melted snow and when they knock on the door and wait for someone to open Wataru gets some of the snow out of Toris hair and says that that snowball fight can be their little shared secret and Tori grins back at him and agrees and when the door opens and both of them are frantically ushered in by a maid that tells another one to get Yuzuru and Eichi Tori decides that maybe this guy isn'r so bad after all. Maybe he's actually quite nice.

[cherrylight]

hey there <3

im kind of unsure what to post on here, for sure ill post / reblog selfship content thats what this blogs made for but i also just dont have anything to post about it atm

so if theres any ideas yall have so i can still be active pls tell me

be it ocs or just silly lore or whatever please tell me because idk what to do rn