#now how to convert this into a passing days chapter...

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Light's Chapter 467

Brief summary: Mol guides and explains to Cale about the infected. The purification is about to begin.

==========

We learned about the infected. The first known demon with a seed was a fruit vendor. He was at the market at noon when his eyes turned gray, then his entire body as his blood vessels bulged. Within minutes, his body swelled and burst, dyeing the surroundings gray.

Those who were touched by the explosion were infected by the Gray Disease, becoming the secondary infected. Fortunately, Mol had relayed what he heard from Cale about the seeds, so the DK forces were able to move swiftly and isolate the 51 secondary infected demons, and place into quarantine around 150 demons too who were nearby the explosion site.

The secondary infected were unconscious at day, but turn into howling beasts at night. Cale thought they were like zombies. Fortunately, Cale said he could purify them.

That was pretty much the important parts in today's chapter. There was the names of DK's strategist and the 1st Army commander, but they were of little relevance, so pass on that for now.

Mol getting strange looks from the demons when he volunteered to guide Cale because Mol had a slacker reputation... 😂😂😂 DK was also smiling at Mol in amusement... 😂😂😂 But why was Mol's divine item vibrating though? It was strange because there was no water mentioned in the chapter, so was the divine item not related to water?

Ending Remarks It was ironic that the demon with a seed of chaos was a fruit vendor. Next chapter would be the purification ritual. I wonder how many demons would convert to Caleism by then. 😂

[writer-and-artist27]

[Image Description: A screenshot from Fate/Grand Order, showing the "Saint Graph Evolved" screen for Archer Robin Hood. The subtitle says, "Level 120 Reached" in bright gold lettering. End Description.]

...Funny how much time a little over a year can do. From June 22, 2022 to today, December 11, 2023 — that was how long it took to get Big Robin to Level 120. It was a lot, from splitting up grails between him, Art-san, and Achi, dealing with two family deaths in that span of time, and transitioning from one job to another, but if there's one thing I can take from it?

Big Robin is the biggest he can ever be until the next update. And as a girl who grew up with the Disney version and found herself loving the Fate version to no tomorrow, this is the least I can do to show my gratitude.

I love you, Big Robin. I love you so much. Thank you for being you. :)

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton Chapter 4, Part 1

masterpost am still sick. no editing or concrit please. *sad coughing*

Wally had already known that Danny was smart, but watching Danny work with Barry, Victor, and the others put Danny’s intelligence in a whole other category. Danny was science smart.

The swift progress from everyone working together making a way to communicate with Wally using readings from Danny was encouraging. What wasn’t encouraging is how Danny seemed to fade a little more every day.

“—take a break, Danny,” Dick said. He’d taken his role of mother hen seriously, as he always did.

“Yeah, one sec,” Danny mumbled around the screwdriver in his mouth. “Just let me finish these wires. We’re almost ready for another test.”

Dick hummed before agreed, “Okay—after the test—eating and taking a nap.”

“N,” Danny whined.

“Don’t N—,” Dick replied. “Flash wouldn’t—killing yourself to save him.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t!” Wally agreed, even if no one would hear him. Everyone else might still be a little static sounding, but he knew Dick well enough to know what he was saying.

“Already died,” Danny grumbled to himself as he kept working on the wiring.

Dick chose not to respond to the aside, which was probably for the best, and settled back against a wall of the converted bio lab instead. Wally leaned next to him.

“I know that we both know that letting someone stay involved is important for mental health, but you have to be willing to ground Danny when the time comes,” Wally said, just to be able to say it. “I can feel him getting weaker. I’m worried that it’s an exponential thing too, and who knows how much it will worse when the sensors are working.”

Dick sighed next to him. Wally nodded along as if Dick had been agreeing. In the background, Danny, Barry, and Raven were talking.

“I know, he’ll be suborn about it. But you could always point out how he’s the only way to get me back,” Wall shivered as a sudden wave of cold passed over him. “We’ll know that’s not why, but if it works, it works, right?”

“Wally?” Dick asked his name in such an absolutely wrecked way that Wally spun and was reaching out before he remembered that Dick couldn’t see him.

Except that Dick was looking right at him.

Wally could tell, even with the lenses.

“Can—can you see me?”

Dick nodded slowly.

“And—and you can hear me?! You can hear me!” Wally reached for Dick.

His hand went right through him.

Oh.

Small steps.

“It’s hard to hear you,” Barry said, over to Wally’s side in a rush. “It’s like Danny has said, you’re all static. Visually too. It’s like the channel isn’t turned right. But! We can work on refining that until we’ve locked onto the right frequency and then we can work on pulling you out of there! Your aunt is going to strangle you as soon as she can touch you, so be ready for that.”

Wally barked out a teary laugh. “Yeah, she would. I’ll take that. I’ll take being touched just about in any way right now. I mean, just talking to you all! I didn’t know if…”

“Never,” Dick said admittedly. “We’ll always come to get you. And luckily you were smart enough to find Danny.”

“I think that was all luck, nothing smart about it. I’m just glad that—Danny?” Wally looked over to Danny, who was leaning against the equipment, and just knew that things were about to go badly. “Barry! Catch him!”

[theheirofthesharingan]

"Itachi tortured Sasuke for 72 hours in his Tsukuyomi." and "Itachi showed Sasuke his parents' deaths 518400 times in his Tsukuyomi."

It's a cheap attempt to demonize Itachi. A way to say, "Look! He committed these atrocities at his own brother. What a terrible person. No way I'm ever going to like him."

Before I begin, this post is not condoning what Itachi did. And it's not an "Itachi did nothing wrong" post. So if anyone wants to get angry about it, calm down.

What Itachi did was already bad enough without having to inflate the numbers in order to demonize him and his fans as well. It can be proven right away.

First of all, on the "72 hours Tsukuyomi" thing.

Itachi never put Sasuke in the 72 hours Tsukuyomi. We know Sasuke's state after the 24 hrs one. The boy was in a coma afterwards. Let's just take a look at the pages following the massacre.

First of all, Itachi did not show Sasuke the same thing over and over "on a loop" to Sasuke right after the massacre. It was a lot of things. The deaths, the happy moments. He wanted Sasuke to believe he was evil. That the person who took away these happy moments from him was Itachi himself. There's this one panel of his parents being slaughtered in the corner. However, there is also Itachi replaying Sasuke's happier memories.

This moment then continues.

Sasuke wants to escape. Is he in coma yet? No. He's clearly run out of the house. Although Sasuke almost collapses in this, but we know he wouldn't collapse right here yet.

The above flashback continues in the chapter #403 when Sasuke recalls his suppressed memories. He's staggering and nearly collapses. But he actually doesn't fall down here.

The next moment from that page.

And then this.

And finally this.

In all these pages Sasuke is seen running/chasing after Itachi. He throws kunai at Itachi. He does collapse, but it happens after he's awakened his Sharingan and he's exhausted after everything he's experienced. His trauma plays an important role, but it's not immediately afterwards.

I need to be enlightened: How could the 7 year old Sasuke endure a 72 hour Tsukuyomi, chase after Itachi, and even make attempts to attack him, but a 12 years Sasuke went into coma after 24 hours.

Now, where do the specific numbers 518400 really come from? And why do people think it's truth?

Let's do some maths here. To convert 72 hours into seconds, we need to multiply 72 with 3600 (or 60 × 60).

So, seconds in in 72 = 72 × 60 × 60 = 259200 seconds

When you multiply 259,200 with 2, you get — 259200 × 2 = 518400.

What do these numbers really mean?

That Itachi had to put Sasuke in the 72 hours of Tsukuyomi twice and show him their parents dying "on a loop" every single second. Or he had to show their parents' deaths twice every second to make these numbers.

But we know already he never put Sasuke in his Tsukuyomi for that long.

When we take the 24hrs in the inn into account, that demands that Itachi show Sasuke his parents dying 6 times every second. Because the seconds in 24 hours are -

24×60×60 = 86400 seconds

To make these numbers 518400, we need to multiply the above mentioned numbers by 6.

86400 × 6 = 518400

So, by this logic, Itachi was showing their parents dying to Sasuke 6 times every single second. How did people calculate this? Where's the proof? Is there anything other than "Trust me, bro" to this claim? No.

Some people bring up Itachi's novels to justify these numbers.

The time that passed within this genjutsu was one one-hundredth of one one-thousandth of one one-millionth of that of the real world.

But Kishimoto never alluded to these numbers in Manga. The novels were published 7 years after Itachi had died in Manga (in 2015 in Japanese). All throughout those years, Koshimoto never bothered to tell us Itachi's genjutsu had this much detailed ability. The "Itachi had a girlfriend" is a more believable claim than this.

To conclude - Itachi never put Sasuke in Tsukuyomi for 72 hours. There was no torture that "lasted for 6 days/lasted for so many days/lasted for eternity" and all the lies these people have created here.

People are too desperate to demonize this boy. I wish I had vast vocabulary of colourful words I could hurl at these people.

[seashellisinmyheart]

I Never Watch Television: A 31 Minutes Novel

English Translation

Chapter One: Part One

I am splitting the chapters into two parts since the post would be too long otherwise.

Please note that I am not a professional, so I cannot guarantee that there won't be grammatical errors. Enjoy!

Chapter One - Part One

‘This is very, very, very, very, extremely strange.’ Juanin Juan Harry says to himself. 

The small, hairy television producer feels something strange as he pedals quickly on his tricycle through the streets of Titirilquen.

Something is happening, or rather... NOTHING is happening. That's what's strange!

Like every morning, Juanin is on his way to his beloved job at 31 Minutes, the most truthful news program on television. Juanin lives, and works hard for his job. He left last night, after turning off the channel's lights, and he is always the first to arrive the next day!

This morning, however, feels different. He doesn't hear the traditional honking of angry vehicles. Nor the shouts of Freddy Turbina and his fellow cyclists protesting against the angry vehicles. No Huachimingo desperately chasing fluff stirred by the morning wind. There is not even wind or fluff! No accidents, no crying babies, not even a little bird being chased by a cat…

And the most incredible thing: Nobody is talking during that fateful morning hour! Everyone moves forward, like never before, happy with their travels. Smiles are the only thing Juanin sees, amazed.

He arrives at the station. So intrigued that he leaves his tricycle at the entrance and runs up the stairs. In the 31 Minutes press room, the always full screen that shows ‘tragedies, emergencies, and disasters’... does not indicate any activity.

Zero tragedies, zero emergencies,, zero disasters. At that moment, Juanin realizes nothing newsworthy is happening today. There is simply NO NEWS! 

The stagehands, small stick-like beings who officially prepare the broadcast everyday, move energetically through the studio.

Juanin, meanwhile, is spinning around worriedly. Thinking about what to do. What worries him the most is how Tulio Trivino will react to this unprecedented situation. 

Tulio is his beloved and admired boss. The most famous news anchor in Titirilquen. And the only one. Tulio is a somewhat eccentric, ridiculous, slightly ignorant journalist and not exactly a genius. Some even say that he is an egoist who only think about himself. And it is true. But Juanin considers him his friend and will always be grateful for being given his reason for living: his job.

Minutes and hours pass without Tulio arriving, but that is no surprise to Juanin. “He must have fallen asleep again,” he thinks. Tulio sleeps at least sixteen hours a day, as instructed from his personal holistic therapist. He also has a bad habit of turning off his phone, alarm clock and doorbell in his mansion. And of course, he sleeps with earplugs over his earplugs.

As is often the case, Juanin decides to do the most practical thing. Call a helicopter to bring Tulio to the station with his bed and everything, piloted delicately so as to not wake him up until the last minute.

But that is not necessary. Suddenly, through the windows, he hears the powerful roar of his boss's latest model grey convertible. A gift from his personal friend, the Sheikh of Flufistan. The vehicle was sent to Tulio as an unbirthday present via Philippine canoe, along with half a dozen dwarf hippos. 

Tulio parks in his exclusive place by the door, marked by a large star on the floor with the words “reserved only for Tulio with absolute and eternal exclusivity until the end of time. Amen.”

Juanin runs to tell Tulio about the problem with the lack of news. 

“Tulio, Tulio! We have a little problem!”

“Now is not the time, Juanin...”

Tulio is too rushed to listen to his faithful producer. He walks down the long corridor of the channel, while being made up and dressed by his subordinates. 

“But, Tulio…”

“Enough, Juanin. First you forgot to wake me up and now you try to delay me with your blathering! I remind you that I have a newscast to host!” 

The journalist arrives at his desk fully made up and dressed in his custom made ue suit.

Just in time! The music starts, the cameras turn on and Juanin has no choice but to give the signal.

“We're on the air!”

The cameras focus on Tulio Trivino's face. His yellow button eyes shine under the powerful light of the spotlights. All the attention of every television in Tititilquen is, as every day, centered on what news will be presented today.

Tulio Trivino runs his hand through his head, combing his non-existent hair. Then he clears his throat and looks directly at the camera.

“Hello, friends, I'm Tulio Trivino and this is a new edition of 31 Minutes, the most important news program on television. Let's get to the latest news…”

Tulio waits for the information. Everyone on the set does too, but nothing happens. “Cri-cri.” Some crickets chirp. Tulio looks at Juanin, nervous.

“Where is the latest information, Juanin?” he asks, impatiently.

“That's what I wanted to tell you, Tulio.” The producer answers. “Nothing has happened in the last minute.”

“NOTHING??”

“Actually, there has been no news all day…

“No? Oh, but, what do we do, Juanin?!”

Surprisingly, the producer seems very calm. The hours of waiting for Tulio have given him the opportunity to reflect and draw happy conclusions from what is happening.

“Oh, Tulio… I was nervous like you too, but not anymore. Relax.”

“How do you expect me to relax? Don't be ridiculous!”

“But Tulio. Think about it carefully. There has been no theft, no crime, no injustice, no war. Doesn't that make you happy in the depths of your soul?”

“Of course not!”

“No???”

“But Juanin, this is a newscast. I AM A NEWSCASTER! We live off the misfortune of others! We need news, tragedies, disasters, and nonsense, you pacifist! We have been here for years reporting the greatest events in history… Who revealed the torturous route of the poop? Where did we finally manage to interview the elusive Mr. Invisible Mute? Who immortalized the mass photos of naked puppets by Jacob Fotonolowski? We informed the world about the end of the world and also its restart immediately after! We made the world aware of Denis Danis's fast paintings and made the first live coverage of a robbery, reported by my daring niece Patana! And what about the Zapandilla that ravaged the streets of the city? Or the true identity of the tooth mouse? Or the balloon that that poor innocent Carlitos Lechuga lost? Or the serious case of obesity from last year's gloves? We denounced the horrors of the Sea War between Salsacia and Conservia! Without us, nobody would know the exploits of the great superhero Calcetin con Rombos Man, nor the plague of zombies the day before yesterday, nor the crimes of the master of disguise Lulo Serrucho… So many other hot and delicious news!!!! Understand once and for all, Juanin, a newscast without news would leave us without work!”

Hearing this, Juanin begins to tremble. As we know, working is his great passion. And his only one.

“No job? Oh no!”

“Oh, yes!” Tulio replies.

“But then, what do we do???” Now Juanin is the desperate one. 

“Relax, I have a solution, Juanin. I'll tell it live on camera 1.”

Tulio adjusts his tie and looks back at the camera, doing his best influential public figure voice.

“Dear viewers, I'm very sorry, but there's no news today. So, while the producer of this show somehow solves the problem… I'll take the day off. Let the music and the final credits roll! And I'm off to the beach!”

The credits of the show appear on the screen, accompanied by it's characteristic music. Tulio throws the cards with nothing written on them into the air and runs away, happy. Finally, he will be able to test drive his new yacht with a double jet engine, a gift from his personal friend, the Prince Consort of Nadalisburgo!

“But… but… was that your solution?” Juanin shouts confused and alone. 

Juanin freezes, or so it seems. All his years as a producer have not prepared him for this moment. He, who knows perfectly well what to do if a meteorite falls on Earth, or if the bathrooms flood, or if a baby elephant invades the cafeteria. He, who knows by heart the protocol for fires, floods and incendiary floods! The only one who knows how to calm down the interviewee who gets angry because Tulio is a pest, or Tulio if he gets angry because the interviewee is a pest.

But a newscast without any news? Is it time to think about another profession? Just when poor Juanin begins to fear a long vacation, a miracle happens… 

[my-great-big-book-of-fan-fiction]

L x Reader pt. 13: The Billionaire and The Prostitute

This chapter starts with a song playing in the background, I HIGHLY recommend you listen along!

I don't know about anyone else, but I listen to music with every chapter I write (usually romantic goth), I feel like it elevates the experience so much :)

Also sorry this took longer than usual, I didn't realize it's been a while 😭

You turn up the radio. "These Boots Are Made for Walkin'" by Nancy Sinatra.

Your back was supported by the black leather of your brand new, hot pink convertible, classic model of course. It cruised down the long, open road, the slow upward incline hardly impeding your speed.

You keep sayin, you've got somethin' for me.

Something you call love, but confess-

You adjust your grip on the leather steering wheel.

You've been a-messin'

Where you shouldn't have been a-messin'.

You adjust the mirror to look back at all your shopping bags.

and now someone else

Is gettin' all your best.

These Boots are made for walkin'

And that's just what they'll do.

one of these days these boots are gonna

Walk all over

You.

You flip your pink sunglasses down and onto your nosebridge, the Cartier logo on the side glinting in the sunlight as you take a curve.

You keep lyin', when you oughta be truthin'.

You grip the wheel a little tighter.

And you keep losin', when you oughta not bet.

you keep samin', when you oughta be changin'

Your eyes flick once more to the mirror.

now what's right is right, but you ain't been right yet.

Your lip gloss glittered in the light, maybe expensive brands were better than cheap.

these boots are made for walkin'

And that's just what they'll do.

one of these days these boots are gonna

Walk all over

You.

The air blew through your ponytail, across your bare shoulders, your only cover your pink tube top and black slacks, along with your black Louboutin stilettos.

You keep playin' where you shouldn't be playin'

You spot, far in the distance, a red speck meant to be a stop sign.

and you keep thinking

that you'll never get burned (ha!).

I just found me,

A brand new box of matches, yeah.

And what he knows, you ain't have time to learn.

your foot slowly presses the gas pedal.

60.

These boots were made for walkin'

70.

And that's just what they'll do.

80.

One of these days these boots are gonna

90.

Walk all over

100.

You.

you slam on the break, and skid to a complete stop just before the sign.

Are you ready boots?

Start walkin'!

As the song closes out, and your eyes focus on the octogon sign, adrenaline rushes your system. Heart-pumping, blood-rushing, head-dizzying adrenaline.

And it's the best you've felt in weeks.

You turn the radio off, and continue driving in complete silence.

You find yourself in your new driveway, not sure how you got there so fast.

You drove, of course, but you were so zoned out for the rest of the ride that you surprised yourself when you actually reached your destination.

You sigh, and remove the keys from the ignition. The sunset left the sky purple above you, but your beautiful new house was bathed in an orange glow.

L had it built just for you, and surprisingly fast. It only took a few months, which you spent in a deluxe hotel room, on his dime.

He had you oversee each detail, what you wanted and what you didn't, down to the last rose in the garden.

It had classic Victorian architecture, the kind of house you'd gawk at when you pass by. It was characteristic in color and structure, a romantic red-pink shade combined with white detailing in the roof tiles and columns. It matched your vintage car, and while the sight pleased a part of you that craved the aesthetics, stepping inside with all of your shopping bags and new clothes dampened the mood with heavy guilt.

Walking through the professional-grade kitchen didn't fill you with joy so much as remorse. The walk-in closet with the revolving door for shoes and purses brought you a temporary pleasure, and the frequent shopping trips did nothing to fill the void in your chest.

You settled yourself in front of your new vanity, and began to test all your new makeup. Too thick, too light, too red, too yellow.

some things weren't the best, others were exactly what you wanted. You'd give the stuff that didn't suite you to your friends.

You'd give as much as you could away. You thought this guilt might be helped with charity. Any clothes you didn't quite like, any food you had in excess, whatever could be handed off.

Your phone rings, and you looked over at the brand new device. It had a custom design, with glittery pink buttons, and a camera that registers more than 5 pixels. Your ringtone was customized too, Yummy by Ayesha Erotica. You pick it up.

"Yeah?"

"Are you settled?"

Its the calm, smooth voice that activates the sinking feeling in your stomach. You were guilty because you felt you were taking advantage of him.

"I am..." you only moved in a week ago, you haven't seen him since then.

"I'd like to see you tonight." He was so polite about it.

"Alright. for what?"

"For sex."

It's been a while since you've had sex. You could barely hold a real conversation with him after...well. you know. "Ok. I'll see you at..."

"9. Watari will drive you."

"Cool. Bye."

"Goodbye."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

L hangs up, and gently sets the phone on the table in front of him. You've become more reserved lately, more nervous. He knows why, he just doesn't like it. His confession was a surprise to both of you, but you took it in a different way. You seemed to draw back, to hide, to become snippy and defensive on somedays, and remorsefully polite on others. Like a cat he once knew.

He, on the other hand, hasn't felt better. He knows what's wrong with him now: it was thoughtless amor. It was something he could manage, now that he was aware of it. It also meant he could solve some of his endless enui with your presence. You comforted him, even in your frustration. He hoped that one day, you would grow to...tolerate him.

Don't get him wrong, he wasn't holding you captive. Your contract clearly defined that you could withdraw consent for any reason or no reason at all, and keep anything you might have accumulated in his care. It was a safeguard for you. Though...there wasn't much for you to leave to...it was an unfortunate circumstance, what brought you here.

For now, L could only wait for your arrival. He wanted to feel your skin against his, for the first time in quite a while. It would make him feel closer to you, and...he had his own theories on the effects It might have on you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you rode to L's hotel, you concluded two things:

One, you can't bring yourself to have a normal conversation with L.

And two...the only way to avoid a normal conversation was to never give him a chance to conversate. You would do what you know.

You marched into the hotel with a mission. You followed protocol, as always, picking at the skin by your nails the whole way through. Would he be ok with it? Would he allow you to just...

He probably would. You've noticed he likes that sort of thing.

you stride to the penthouse door as soon as the elevator lets out, and try the handle. It opens.

"I'm here," you announce. You can see his hair peeking out from above the back of the couch. Before he can acknowledge you, you're already sliding into the seat beside him.

"Good ev-"

Your lips crash onto his. He stiffens, eyes wider than usual. His curled posture keeps him sturdy against your movement, and your fingers splaying against his cheek hold him to you. What were you doing?

When you finally pull back, he stares wordlessly at you. His expression was enough to say what his mouth didn't. Explain yourself.

"What? You said you wanted sex, right?" Here you were, getting defensive again.

"I did..." he nods.

You rest your hands on his shoulders, and slink into his lap. Despite his confusion, he holds your waist. Were you finally coming around? Was this tolerance?

"Then shut up. Kay?"

His brows shoot up in surprise, but he can't respond with your mouth ravenously attacking his.

He should tell you to calm down, clearly there was something more here, but...what if asking you to stop would deter you? What if you never come to him like this again? this passion you were showing, the way your hands rushed to tug off his shirt...

He lifts his arms, and once the fabric is off he embraces you. His arms wrap around your back, keeping you tight to his chest. His long fingers trace the lines of your dress until he finds the zipper, and carefully tugs it down. You shove the dress off of your shoulders, until it bunches at your middle and you can remove it over your head.

You were wearing the lingerie set he bought you. L gently traces the floral lace pattern, how it curved over the shape of your breast. You reach back and snap the bra off, your impatience impeding his loving gesture.

He leans in, and presses delicate kisses to your chest as you yank at his pants. He shifts to allow the undressing, and before he knows it the both of you are completely naked. When did you take your panties off?

When your mouth finds his again, it's to keep him still as you grip his cock. You pump his half-flaccid member once, twice, three times, until he's nice and hard.

He pulls away to speak, but you find purchase on his neck. The little pecks and nips leave him breathless, he hardly notices how you slide down and onto your knees. "(Y/n)-"

You wrap your lips around his tip. Can't have a conversation if your mouth is full.

He shudders, and drives a hand into your hair. "You're being-" he moans as you lick a stripe up the vein that ran through his cock- "childish..."

Your eyes narrow, and you kiss the base of his cock. You had no words for him, you were busy working. That's all this was to you, a job. And it would stay that way.

He watched with perplexed interest as you lapped the pre off of his dick, before sliding the tip into your mouth once more to lightly suck. He had to admit, you were very good at this. His toes curled into the hotel carpet as you took him deeper, his heavy pants and sighs betraying his necessity to get an answer from you. You were making it difficult to talk, no doubt on purpose. He didn't want to compromise, to fall for this hedonistic bribery into silence...

...but your lowered lashes flicked up, and held his gaze as you lap at his balls while his heavy, twitching dick rested on your forehead. He could see the curve of your ass so nicely from here. Your breasts hung, not held with a bra, and those pretty nipples sloped outward, tantalizing. He wanted them in his mouth. And he wanted your mouth around his cock.

He would allow this. But as his own way of getting back at you, he waited until you were at his tip again, strengthened the grip in your hair, and forced your head down. You gagged, but took a determined breath through your nose, and allowed him to guide you up and down.

It was funny to him. You were clearly trying to avoid conversation, but this was it's own communication. Each flick of your tongue, each sigh in your throat, each narrowing of your gaze- it all spoke. Fuck you, for making it so complicated.

And, in response, he had is own mannerisms. How his thumb slid up and down your forehead, how his chest vibrated in gentle groans, how his hip tentatively bucked upward- I love you, very much.

Fuck you.

I love you.

This is hell.

I love you.

I hate you.

I love you.

He grunted out a reverent moan as his hips lurched off of the couch, ribbons of cum painting the back of your mouth a translucent, syrupy white.

Your throat clamps around him as you swallow, over and over, the sensation enough to send him into another feverish craving for release.

When the tension in his thighs ease, and his panting slows, you pull away from him. You take a gulp of air to calm yourself, and stand. "You probably need water," you mumble, turning to walk to the fridge. "I'll be-"

He grabs your wrist, and tugs you onto the couch. You look at him in much the same way as he looked when you went down on him without warning. "That won't be necessary. I'd like to return the favor, if that's alright with you."

His eyes glint with challenge. If you wanted to be childish, so would he. He loved you, yes, but he wouldn't just sit here and let you squander your time with one-sided pettiness. He would be petty, too.

You frown. "Fine. If that's what you want."

"It is. Lay back, unless you'd like to move to the bed."

"Here's fine," you shrug. You couldn't care less.

L watches as you set your head on the armrest. You spread for him, just as always. One foot anchored on the back of the couch, the other foot settled on the floor. You looked just as sticky and sweet as the first time.

He eases his hands onto your hips, at first to caress the skin, then to hold you secure. He's sure to hold eye contact as he finally brings his mouth to your aching clit, his slow, preliminary licking as analytical as always.

You moan. You squirm. You look so delicious when your hips roll. Before long, he has your hand gripping his hair to hold him in place as he slurps up your juices, tongue prodding and lapping with accute precision to bring you the most pleasure.

Your sounds raise in volume, the steady oohs and ahhs becoming more than idle panting.

Just as you begin to see those stars, he stops.

He pulls back, and leaves you just before the crescendo of your orgasm.

Your legs snap shut in an attempt to supplement the stimulation, but it's too late. "L," you curse. How dare he deprive you? Who was he, to stop in the middle of it all?

"What's the matter," he asks lowly. His gaze is sharp, searching. He was toying with you.

Or worse.

Looking for an answer.

You frown at him. "Don't be an asshole."

"I'd be happy to give you what you need, if you ask for it."

He wanted you to beg? Is that what this was?

You roll your eyes, but...he looks serious.

Well. It was your job.

You pout. You tilt your head. "Please..." you purr, slowly sitting upright. He watches you move, like you were an unpredictable animal. Your hand finds his jaw, and you grip his cheeks with urgency. "I wanna cum on your face."

Somehow, even with you doing the begging, it still felt like he was the one at your mercy.

You can feel him shiver. You've got him wrapped around your finger.

His sharp gaze wavers from your face to your dripping cunt, unable to focus as you lay back once more. His chest drops inward with the release of the breath he didn't realize he was holding, before he dives back in to finish the job.

Past the the sounds of his own groaning, he could hear the satisfaction in your voice, feel the way you tense as his tongue pushes itself inside you. His blunt nails scratch against your skin as he pulls you impossibly closer, like he's trying to taste your cervix.

"Mn...fuck," you whine.

If the fluttering of your walls weren't a tell, that was. His hand snaked around to rub at your clit, which in turn caused your hips to jolt upward. You were so sensitive now that he had teased you like that...so loud, too. He's learned from this.

Teasing was a tool best used for making your scream.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake up in L's bed, warm and naked. You don't want to get up, it's nice here, buried in the comforter, swallowed in relaxation.

What were you thinking?

You shoot upright. You were going home. Home, to your disgustingly expensive car, and your disgustingly expensive mansion, to live a disgustingly expensive life. You weren't here to get comfortable, you were here to earn your lifestyle. It was a trade-off, nothing more.

You stand, but your legs wobble from overuse before you can bolt like you wanted to. Damn L.

Your clothes are in the living room. Do you really want to see L out there, and risk actually talking to him? Maybe you can just walk home naked.

You groan, and trudge to the door. As you reach for the handle, the door swings open. You shriek, and stumble back.

"Fuck," you gasp, realizing the instant you speak that it's just L. Of course.

"Good, you're awake. You've been asleep for quite some time. I worried you were dead."

"Are you being sarcastic? Thats a weird thing to worry about," you grumble.

He doesn't react to your grumpy demeanor. "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah. I need my clothes."

He steps to the side, and you brush past him. As you pull your old things on, he watches with little more than curiosity.

"Do you like sun dresses?"

You shrug as you snap your bra back together. "I do. Why?"

"Nothing of interest to you."

You always hated that answer from him. "Ok...well, I'm headed out, bye."

You wave and walk to the door. He makes no motion. "Goodbye."

"I love you."

you pause, just before you grab the handle. This is what you were scared of.

"I don't," you spit. Like venom, like everything wrong in life was his fault. Like the goo in your chest meant something you don't understand, you refuse to understand.

"I know." He was quiet, and gentle. Just like the first time he said it.

You snatch up the door handle, and storm out.

He's left with the sound of the door slamming shut.

You're left with the heat in your cheeks.

Neither of you can face the reality you're presented.

[sarafinamk]

Fallen Angel (Smiling Critters Space Riders AU Reader Insert) Part 2

Summary: The riders know you're addicted to the red smoke. Certain members thought they could help you during that point of your recovery, but that proves to be more difficult than they anticipated.

(This is the OFFICIAL continuation of Part 1. Please check out the talented @onyxonline for more context. Since this chapter contains a lot of sensitive topics, I will try my hardest to be respectful about this. The next chapter will be a little more light-hearted, I promise.)

TW: Blood, Injury, Near Death, Imprisonment, Trauma, Death mentions, Demon Mentions, Hallucinations, Religious Trauma, Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Religious Cults, Drug Withdrawal, Drug Addiction, Self harm, Accidental Suicide Attempt, Mental Health Issues, Slight cursing

-----------

The next few days after your operation pass in a blur. Everyone has been trying to keep themselves occupied, holding on to what little air of normalcy still hung in the air. None of the riders have been able to fully process what could only be described as the biggest turn of events in their time fighting the war. It’s not the first time a member of the cult has had to undergo treatment. Victims that got converted due to planet invasion and nonconsensual exposure to the red smoke are rescued all the time. It is basic protocol for Space Riders. Sometimes a priest would be rescued. The story of how those members came to be priests varies. Some joined of their own free will, while others fought before the addiction made them lose the will to fight.

But you?

Archangels are infamous for their unwavering loyalty to the Prototype. They are the Prototype’s right-hand man, their council, and their second in command. Archangels eat, sleep, and breathe the Prototype and expect others to do the same. There are only a few known attempts to rescue archangels in history. The stories ended in one of three ways: they go back to the Prototype, (sometimes with a new band of “loyal” followers), they slaughter their rescuers, or they take their own life as a last resort.

Knowing that has made most of the Space Riders tense, Bubba included. The elephant has arguably been the tensest. Not even the sight of you resting in a cell with power mufflers on your wrists is enough to put him slightly at ease. He wasn’t a complete stranger to Aether magic (what others refer to as Divinity powers.) Granted, he only ever got to study this powerful and unique kind of sorcery through the catalogs, a few ancient ruins, and his team’s battles with you. Even then, doubt swarmed him with questions concerning how effective the cell, let alone the power mufflers will be in the long run.

Bubba sighs, pinching the bridge of his trunk as the signs of yet another headache emerge. That was one long argument with the Commander and council he would rather not revisit. Not that there are any that Bubba would like to recall. Dogday, despite all his good intentions, didn’t make it any easier for anyone. The two riders may have convinced the higher-ups, but the elephant knows that this is not the last time they will have this conversation with the Commander and council. The thought of that makes him take a swig from his coffee mug.

Problem number one may have been resolved for now, but now there’s problem number two: your red smoke addiction. With no red smoke to give you, it didn't take long for the symptoms to show up. Your feverish face contorts into a grimace yet again. Bubba glances at the vital charts. Of course, none of the numbers look any better than they did 10 minutes ago. He doesn't know why he hoped for expected anything different. Hopefully, the pain medication will do its job soon.

Bobby rushes back to your bedside with a cold, wet towel placed on your head. It's been a common occurrence with her ever since your operation. The "around the clock" care increased tenfold after the first signs of your red smoke withdrawal emerged. She even has the dark circles and bags under her eyes to prove it. Even when she's running on nothing more than fumes (and a few cups of coffee), she still runs around like she has had a good night's worth of sleep. Bubba can't help but sigh to himself.

The two medics are doing what they can to keep you comfortable and stable, but Bubba knows that the two of them will not be enough to help you right now. Hell, even Catnap's powers, despite helping you settle down and sleep, isn't a miracle cure for stabilizing your vitals in the long run. If Bubba wasn't tied up with diplomatic matters, he would take over more shifts for Bobby so that she could get some rest. Unfortunately, the others don't have the medical training so tasking them with watching over you is out of the question. Bubba insists on taking you to the HQ’s treatment center. Bobby refuses every time the idea is mentioned, insisting that the two of them are able to look after you themselves. That led to a few strong disagreements. Bubba may be miffed but can't say he blames Bobby for being concerned about the possibility of (1) another potential massacre on your end and (2) you being mistreated by those you’ve wronged. Unlike the two riders, however, the people at the center have the resources and training to help you.

----------

*MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING, PROCEED AHEAD WITH CAUTION*

You don't know how long you've been here. You can't remember. You just remember waking up to bright lights and a figure or two... maybe a few... standing over you. But then you went back into the world of darkness. Did you really wake up or was it one nonsensical dream?

You don't know.

You REALLY don't know.

It doesn't matter right now. All you know is that you're stuck in hell, and this is worse than what you grew up hearing about. Your powers stopped working, so you can’t escape. There was nowhere to run where those… things won’t find you and bring you back to your prison and torture you. Sometimes you can see the faces of your enemies before those things morphed into… something sinister. Your stomach was doing summersaults. There was a pounding in your head and chest that just won't stop. A burning tightness spread from your chest to your throat, leading you to choking and gasping at this point. This fire smoldering inside you just won’t die. All you want right now is to drop to the floor, close your eyes, and sleep. Your heavy, aching limbs beg for it, but no matter how hard you try, your head buzzes in protest.  

All you need is some red smoke. Just a whiff. Hell, just a tiny little sniff. You don't care. You just need it coursing through you right now. It'll make all the agony stop. You keep praying, BEGGING, to the Prototype to forgive you, to save you from this damnation.

Yet he never answers…

Why won't he hear you?

You know you failed him, but you didn't mean to. You would never disobey him. Not after everything he did for you. You did everything right your whole life to show your gratitude and love for him and you still ended up here-

A searing sensation from your wrist pulls you away from your thoughts. You turn it over and you see... red...

It’s so bright...

So beautiful...

And it's spreading to the white decorating your arms. Your fingers, looming above your forearm are also decorated with red. For the first time, you deliberately take in slow, deep breaths. You take in the red now seeping through the white. With shaky fingers, you slowly unwrap the soaking red barrier on your forearm. To your joy, the red spread rapidly from your bare forearm all the way down to your fingertips. Your red-stained fingers brush over your forearm, painting it with more red. At that moment, you smile, knowing your prayers had been answered. It doesn’t have that sweet aroma as usual, but it will once you allow more to spread around you. Without hesitation, you got to work on the other parts of you that were wrapped in white. Thankfully, there were plenty. You've been wrapped up in white for so long. It would look SO MUCH BETTER in red. You will do ANYTHING just to see red.

You also did have to rip out some stubborn black stringy parasites from your torso in the process. Once you managed to get every single one out, though, there was so much more red embracing you in a warm hug. It was just like all the other times. It was like the Prototype was with you again. It burned so much at first, but after some time, a cold wave of euphoria washes over your entire body. You breathe out a sigh of relief because for the first time in a long time, you can’t feel any pain. Now that there's red around you, you can finally sleep peacefully.

Much better...

Darkness begins enveloping your vision, before being dragged back by... screaming and something shattering? It's hard to tell. All you can make out are a pair of red paws being wrapped around you and lowering you to the ground. A red figure pulls you close to it, but you didn’t mind. Everything about the red figure is so warm you just want to snuggle next to it for eternity. You close your eyes, taking in that warmth. It feels so good to sleep again.

-----

The Space Riders decided to have dinner at Kissy’s Diner. Unfortunately, nothing on the table looks appealing enough to eat. They either stared blankly or picked at their food and drinks mindlessly. No words were exchanged amongst the seven of them, not even one of Kickin’s and/or Hoppy’s stupid jokes to lighten the mood. But what was there to joke about right now? What was there to even talk about?

Picky sighs, noticing one particular member still missing. She wishes she could say she was surprised, but that doesn’t mean a perfectly good meal should go to waste (even if everyone else’s meals have long since gone cold). The pig stands up, exchanges quick goodbyes with the six present members, asks Kissy for take-out boxes for the entire table, and rushes out of the diner. She makes a beeline the one place their missing member could be considering recent events.

It was just supposed to be a quick trip to your cell to deliver dinner for both you and Bobby. If you were going to stay here, you needed some nourishment to help recover. And Bobby, (bless the kind-hearted bear), has been so busy helping you through your withdrawal that she hasn’t had a lot of time to rest let alone take a break. She can’t remember the last time she saw Bobby leave your side for reasons that didn’t include retrieving medication and other things meant for your comfort. Not even Dogday was able to convince her to rest for a while. (Pretty rich coming from HIM if you ask the pig.)

Bobby only left for a few minutes for some water and more medication. Apparently, you were having a hard time breathing. Picky follows Bobby to your cell and when they got there, there you were with scratch marks and aggravated open wounds. Not only were there now bloody bandages laying sprawled on the floor, but you went as far as to rip out your stitches. The pig shudders remembering all that blood on you while you stand there muttering things like, “More red. Not enough. Need more.”

For as long as she lives, Picky doesn’t think she’ll ever forget that scream from Bobby before she ran to catch you. Not even the shattering of glass and ceramics can drown out the bear’s screams and pleas for you to stay awake. Picky remembers rushing for Bubba which ended up with her alerting the entire team. Dogday raced to the cockpit immediately to notify the Commander about the emergency. The others followed Picky down to your cell. When they reached you two, they find Bobby’s trembling hands pressing a bloody rag against your bleeding torso. Poor girl was barely able to keep the rag steady. Bubba, Picky, and Crafty rush to your unconscious figure while Catnap and Kickin gently lead Bobby out the cell. She protested but couldn’t escape the boys’ grasps. All she could do was watch Bubba bark out orders to the other girls, including Hoppy who oddly had been standing frozen in place, staring the whole time. Picky and Hoppy ran to and fro with whatever Bubba demanded while he and Crafty worked together to keep you alive long enough for Dogday to get you to the station.

After 11 minutes, the crew finally made it to the space station. Dogday leads a team of medics to you and… well the rest is history.

*END OF TRIGGERING PASSAGE*

All the riders quickly exited their spacecraft shortly after the medics took you away. None of them wanted to stay on the ship right now. After some time, Bobby said that she was just going to get some “fresh air.” But just as Picky predicted, Bobby is, instead, sitting outside your blood-stained prison cell, curled in on herself with her head buried in her knees.

“Bobby?” Picky settles down next to her, gently placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Bobby slowly raises her head. Her muzzle is wet and the cascade of tears soaking into her fur isn’t helping.

“It’s all my fault.” Bobby takes a deep, shaky breath. “I shouldn’t have left (Y/n) alone…”

Picky opens her arms and Bobby leans into the pig’s embrace without a second thought. “No, it’s not your fault. No one could have known this would happen.”

That was met with more shaking, hiccupping, and whimpering as the tears began seeping onto Picky’s sleeve. She didn’t mind at all. The pig just whispers more soothing words and assurances while rubbing circles around the other girl’s back. They stayed like that for who knows how long. (Now Picky wishes they’d invested in a clock for the cells). Eventually, Bobby ran out of tears, but she remains curled up in Picky’s arms. She hasn’t bothered moving from her spot, instead opting to stare at the metal floor. Picky can hear her occasionally let out a heavy sigh. How this girl has not fallen asleep yet despite pulling frequent all-nighters for the last few weeks is beyond the pig.

“You know… It’s not forever,” Picky began gently. “It’s just until they get better. We can always contact the facility about their progress. We can even schedule visits with them.” Picky didn’t miss the way Bobby’s frown deepened nor the way her gaze remained hardened on the cold metal floor. “Hey, they’re going to be okay.”

The only response Picky gets is a brief nod. It seems to be the only thing Bobby has the energy to do right now.

-----

Quick note - I can't believe this story got this much attention! Thank you everybody for your support. And again, sorry for the confusion yesterday. I didn't meant to post the draft. I was not paying attention to what I was pressing when I was editing. Sometimes I hate writing on mobile phones. 😆

[cattypurrrnell]

Empire records - open till midnight!

Prologue - "A job like this requires the obedience of a saint... which Lottie Matthews definitely does not possess."

Description: When record store employee, Lottie Matthews, is assigned the task of closing the store one night, she discovers the shop is in danger of being converted into a strict chain business, she decides to try and save her beloved store by stealing 9000 dollars from the shop and attempting to double it at a local casino.

Author note

This is the first fic I've ever actually like posted online, very scary but I do want to share my work so.....

This part is super short bc it's mostly just set up for the main story (Plus I wanna post this now bc it's rex manning day) please ignore any inaccuracies I know literally nothing about gambling

The main ship is Jackienat (which I'll start on next chapter!)

This is heavily inspired by the movie Empire Records, and it's lowk just me fixing the stuff I didn't like about it with yellowjackets because why not

Hope you enjoy! :)

“He’s letting you close..?” Shauna asked, clearly baffled. “That’s a big responsibility.”

“The rules are simple, count the money 3 times and don’t touch any of Ben's stuff, how hard could it be?” Lottie responded.

“Good luck,” Shauna says with a small knowing grin. “See you tomorrow.”

A job like this requires the obedience of a saint …which Lottie Matthews definitely did not possess.

Lottie’s favorite songs blared throughout the store, her head bobbed along to the music as she rummaged through the drawers of her bosses desk. Right as she decided her boss was boring and she wasn’t going to find anything interesting, she spotted something that held her attention. A large photo of Empire Records and a thin transparent sheet of plastic with the Music Town logo right where the empire sign normally is. Lottie’s expression was a mix of shock, confusion, and anger. There's no way Ben was actually going to let them turn Empire into a music town, right? Lottie looked up and noticed the stack of money she had yet to put away, and suddenly, a light bulb went off in her head.

The icy wind burned Lottie’s face but she held the same determined expression the whole way to the casino. She was confident she could make enough money from this to save Empire.

Lottie walked into the casino filled with confidence and determination, as she made her way through the crowded area she passed a group of older looking men, one appeared to be deep in thought. “Go with 6” Lottie said with a wink. She continued on her way, grinning as the table she had just passed erupted into cheers.

“Can I play?” Lottie asks with a wave, coming up on a table with an open spot.

“Sure, what’s your bet?” The dealer responds.

“Nine thousand.” Lottie says casually, placing the money on the table. “I counted it 3 times.”

“Alright then.”

“Sooo.. I just roll a 6 and win?” Lottie asks with a cocky grin. The dealer gives a small nod and gestures for her to roll. Lottie shakes the dice in her hand, and before letting go kisses the back of her hand. She closed her eyes desperately hoping that when she opens her eyes she’ll see a 6. She hears a few shocked gasps on the other side of the table and opens her eyes, her wish had come true. It landed on 6. A pretty lady in a short red dress appears on Lottie’s arm.

“Oh baby, you are gorgeous.” The lady says with a flirty tone.

“Why thank you.” Lottie responds, smiling down at the pretty lady.

“Well then, here's your money.” The dealer says, handed Lottie a large stack of money.

Lottie winks at the lady on her arm before telling the dealer “Y'know what? I wanna go again.” If she was going to save Empire she’d need as much money as she could get, plus she loved the attention.

“Alright then.” The dealer gestures for her to go again. Lottie repeats her routine from earlier this time keeping her eyes open. She hears a bunch of laughs from the other end of the table and suddenly the lady on her arm was missing. Her face dropped, there's no way she lost. She looked at the dice, and her fears were confirmed, it landed on 7.

“Shit.”

[gowerhardcastle]

Bones, Flesh, and Spirit

Forgive me if you've seen me write about this before on the Choice of Games Forum, but it's about my favorite thing to write about when it comes to writing interactive narrative, and I've never talked about it here:

I think about my writing days as "bones" days, "flesh" days, and "spirit" days.

"Bones" are when you are putting together the big mechanical parts--where you route players through paths, work out the stat or variable checks that govern the interactivity, and how the different characters are going to interact with the main character broadly.  I do this using "xxx" for the prose, so that when I am done with the bones, you can actually play through the chapter or the vignette, with all the mechanical parts in play, but no story.

The "flesh" is where I add story.  This is where I transform the "xxx" into story, which is a lot of fun, because the hard work of figuring out how the stats are getting bumped and how the routing goes is done, and all I have to do is write something funny.  So I might sit down and say, all right, I have 12 "xxx" in this part.  I now have to write twelve funny paragraphs about decorating (or failing to) decorate a cake and what Gilberto would have to say about that, for example.  Or I might have to--as I did today, actually--write a description of some cocktails being served at a party and precisely how they are either served or destroyed by your actions.  That's the flesh.  

I used to write the bones and the flesh together, but I'm converted utterly to a first bones, then flesh process.

The "spirit" is the last step.  That's where I do another pass and add a lot of reactivity--even after the bones and flesh are there.  I play through and ask myself what this chapter should look like if you have a character with very low Observe.  Or someone who had previously insulted the servants.  Or someone who has spent time looking good and watching to make a splashy entrance.  Here I add little snippets of prose and stats to recognize your character's small choices or minor qualities.  Here is where I do call backs to previous chapters and games.  Here is where I make you feel like the game is listening to you and not being pushy about the direction of the plot or the character--it's where I work to make you feel like you have some ownership over the main character.  It's the spirit, because this is where the game starts living.

I would recommend this three-stage process to anyone who wants to write a long game.  It is very tempting to ignore the spirit, because the bones and flesh take so long to write, but I want my games to be lingered on, replayed many many times, and have a lot of nods to something the player chose.  The effect of doing that is for the player to be assured that *whatever you choose is right*.  We're telling this story together, and I, the writer, have your back, no matter what.

By the way, if you are interested in seeing the original pitch for Tally Ho, I put it here; there's also a snippet about writing very minor characters here. Both are wholly free--enjoy!

[riaarivic]

HIS - KNJ x F!reader: 1 Into you

💗Pairings idol!NamjoonxReader

💗 Genres idol!AU, Smut, Angst, Romance, Enemies to lovers

💗 Rating 18+ minors DNI

💗 Summary  Four years have passed since the last time you saw Kim Namjoon. But now he was right in front of you, with the same stupid warm smile that made your good judgment (and underwear) disappear without a trace. You haven't seen him for four years. But now here you were working for BTS again. Having to see his insufferably attractive face every day of your life again.

But there's something Namjoon doesn't know. The little girl with almond eyes and dimples in her smile clinging to his ex-girlfriend's hip, not only looked too much like him. But she was… His.

💗  Warnings for the series: Unplanned pregnancy (I KNOW BUT HEAR ME OUT) Unprotected sex, foul language, angst, miscommunications, pinning, SO MUCH PINNING, Hurt/comfort. Will update as the series progress. 💗  Warnings for the chapter: reader has very conflictive emotions about the news of her pregnancy at the begining. This chapter will have some back and forth time skips

💗 A/N: ⚠️ dialogue in BOLD is intended to be in English if not, they are speaking in Korean. ⚠️

Love, Ria

💗 Chapter wordcount 3,4k

💗 Series Index 1 2

His 01: Into you

"And baby even on our worst nights. I'm into you" Into you - Paramore.

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

You have to admit, you've been glued to your computer screen for a solid twenty minutes, utterly motionless.

Hyung-Joon, once your boss and now your business partner, just forwarded an email confirming your company's involvement in BTS's upcoming Permission to Dance on Stage tour. The whole team was buzzing with excitement about the colossal job ahead.

It would be the biggest job in your company.

It really was the opportunity of a lifetime, the pay was enough to take Hana on a Disney cruise vacation.

For a whole year.

Three years in a row.

Heck, you could buy the damn boat.

That's how good it would be.

You should be basking in the joy of this achievement.

Yet, the smallest detail casts a shadow over the happiness—precisely, the leader of the band. The young, talented, millionaire, successful, infuriating asshole Kim Namjoon is your daughter's father.

For the tiniest detail, it must be emphasized that he had no intention of being a part of her life.

Fuck him.

He couldn't even summon the decency to meet your gaze when he sent his mother and manager to deliver an envelope full of money, effectively kicking you and your daughter out of Korea.

The memory of it turned your stomach.

💗💗💗JANUARY 2017💗💗💗

An alien.

That's how all the people saw you when you entered Big Hit as if you came from another planet entirely. An alien who spoke their language perfectly, who had not come as part of a tourist excursion, but to work.

They all regarded you as if you had a second head protruding from your back. The security, while registering your information for your access card; the staff, makeup artists, hair stylists—all whispered things as you walked by.

What the hell were you getting yourself into?

The chance of a lifetime, you reminded yourself. The pay might not be extravagant, but the perks of being part of a K-pop group's staff more than compensated for it.

You were going to travel all over the world, meet new people, eat delicious things and most of all… be as far away geographically as possible from where you came from.

This is the opportunity of a lifetime

After navigating several security checkpoints and maneuvering through what felt like a maze of boxes filled with the group's merchandise, materials, and clothing, you reached the office where they awaited you.

The global press department.

Though the term "department" sounded too grand for the small space—more like a converted broom closet with your boss's desk and yours side by side.

"Oh! Miss… um," you smiled as you saw him struggling with the pronunciation of your full name.

"Call me y/n. You must be Manager Hyung-Joon," the man let out a sigh of relief. Despite his imposing stature, dominating the tiny office, a friendly smile adorned his face.

"Miss y/n, you're just in time. They are about to finish a rehearsal, and we are going to start the first practice interviews for the US tour. Did you bring everything you need?" You nodded, and he motioned for you to follow him.

Probably, nothing you had read about this group could prepare you for what lay ahead. As Manager Hyung-Joon swung open the door, the first thing that struck you was the noise.

That room was pure Chaos.

What you'd expect if you left seven practically teenage men to their own devices. They chatted and laughed, appearing at first glance like a bunch of ordinary kids.

Not like the young men who would become the biggest musical act in history.

"Bangtan, can you please be quiet?" the manager shouted, capturing everyone's attention. "This is y/n; she will be your translator from now on." All seven pairs of eyes turned to you simultaneously, and once again, there it was.

That look that made you feel utterly out of place.

According to what you'd been told, it wasn't common for the company to hire young, let alone single, women to work with BTS. Yet, you excelled at your job, armed with a glowing recommendation letter from one of your college professors.

Fast and precise with translations, you also brought experience as a journalist before accepting this position.

And that you accepted the joke of a salary they offered.

The company deemed you useful enough to overlook the fact that you would be the only woman among these men most of the time.

But your integration into the staff didn't happen before their main manager warned them that any attempt at inappropriate behavior towards you would result in drastic consequences.

Not to mention the uncomfortably awkward conversation you had in the president's office, where terms like contraceptives, confidentiality agreements, and the ominous "If you have any kind of relationship with one of the members, we will sue you for everything you have" echoed.

Though you were sure the suitcase you brought to Korea wouldn't be much help to a music company at the time.

The message was clear:

Mess with one of them.

You're out.

It's not like you were interested in a workplace romance; true, they were all attractive, but you needed this job more than anything else in the world.

At that time, Bangtan was gearing up for their promotions in the United States, and they required someone to assist them in English communication.

So they wouldn't be overly dependent on him.

"Do you even speak Korean?" that was the very first words he spoke to you. He wore an expression somewhere between puzzled and annoyed for a moment before turning to speak to Hyung-Joon as if you weren't there. "Are you sure she's not a stalker?"

"I'm a communications major from Busan National University. I also speak Japanese, French, Spanish, and Portuguese. But my first language is English. I suppose that answers your question," you retorted, meeting his gaze challengingly, and he rolled his eyes as if your response bored him.

At the far end of the room, you heard an amused snort; you recognized him from the dossier—his name was Suga.

"Did that lady just shut up Namjoon-hyung?" the youngest among them stared at you as if you were a unicorn, a mythical creature, the weirdest thing he has ever seen, and the older one nudged him to stop staring.

"Nice to meet you all; my name is y/n. I will be your translator, and I hope you can take care of me." You bowed, and when you straightened, you smiled at everyone. He kept his stare locked at you, irritated and unimpressed by your initial response.

That was the beginning of it all.

💗💗💗DECEMBER 2018💗💗💗

Fool.

A complete fool is how you felt, your heart pounding in your chest as you found yourself on your bathroom floor holding a positive pregnancy test. Four years ago, your heart held a different kind of weight, the weight of a secret growing within you.

Two weeks after he had returned to Seoul.

Exactly two weeks after you had told him to get the fuck out of your life.

No. That's not true.

You know better now. He was already gone before you found the strength to let him go. You just hadn't realized it.

So, here you were sitting on your bathroom floor. The weight of your shared history hanging heavily between you. Looking at the abstract pattern on the tiles feeling like a complete idiot.

Feeling guilty for a child who will grow up without a father.

Because...

You thought you were strong enough to handle it. You believed you could navigate motherhood alone, but...

Should you tell him?

Would it be too selfish to unveil this reality now?

How could you shatter his world, now that his career soared to unprecedented heights?

And the company…

You knew The company would go to great lengths to erase you and this secret from existence if necessary..

Kim Namjoon the leader of BTS.

Korea's pride.

Fathering an unplanned child out of wedlock with a foreigner?

It could dismantle everything he had worked for.

And his group. It will destroy them and he will never forgive you for it.

Besides, did you even have the right to reenter his life?

After what you have said to him? After the wounds you carved upon each other?

You wanted to cry, but the tears remained trapped within your eyes.

Kim Namjoon, the man known as RM, the leader of BTS, was your adversary, your lover, the man who once held your heart, and the one who shattered it into irreparable pieces—

All within a year.

💗💗💗NOVEMBER 2019💗💗💗

This is a terrible idea

It took you too long to work up the courage to tell him that you had had a daughter. But you couldn't tell him by phone call or mail.

You mustered all the courage you had and took a plane from Los Angeles to Korea. You definitely did not imagine how extremely difficult 16 hours on a flight with a one year old baby would be.

You had to bribe Jungkook with buying him 10 cartons of banana milk to get his new number.

Calling him was much harder.

"Hello?" His voice, after a year, stirred emotions you believed buried deep within.

You had no idea what to say.

Hi Namjoon, remember me? I'm y/n, your ex-girlfriend, ex-enemy, ex-translator? Oh, by the way, we have a daughter. I'm in Korea. Sorry for not telling you earlier; I panicked, thinking the company might erase us if they found out. Congratulations on the new album.

Definitely not that.

"Hey, Joonie," you blurted, and somehow felt like worse alternative, "I'm in Korea, and I'd like to talk…"

"Yes," he interrupted, his voice as desperate as yours, "I'm sending a driver for you. Where are you staying?"

Two hours later, a black company van awaited you in front of your hotel. It transported you to a far more luxurious apartment complex than their previous dormitory.

They are doing so well.

That made you proud, they deserved every drop of success they had.

But he wasn't in the apartment.

Waiting for you in the living room was a face you'd only seen once—Namjoon's mother, Mrs. Kim Seolmi. Accompanied by bodyguards and a staff member, her gaze held the same mix of disappointment and anger as the first meeting. Her eyes shifted sourly when they landed on Hana, in your arms.

Hana was the vivid image of her father, every feature, dimples, almond eyes, pouty lips, and even her expressions. Seeing Namjoon in her.

It took Mrs. Kim mere seconds to deduce the baby in your arms was her granddaughter.

"He doesn't want to see you, neither you nor the bastard child you're carrying. Did you think you could pass off just anyone's daughter as my son's?" She pulled an envelope from her bag. You knew it contained money. "Take it and leave. A gold-digger like you, using men for money. How disgusting."

"Madam, I don't need your money. If Namjoon doesn't want to see me, he should tell me himself." You clutched your crying daughter, scared by the woman's shouts.

From a corridor emerged Sejin, BangTan's main manager. He always knew everything about them. And his presence here meant The company was already aware that Namjoon had a daughter.

Shit.

"I'm sorry, Miss y/n, but it's true. He asked us to give this to you," Sejin handed you a sealed letter with your name on it, "and this you must sign. It's the only way to prevent the company from taking legal action against you for involving yourself with a member."

"Ha! As if the half-breed was really my Namjoon's daughter."

Oh you were going to kill that woman.

Before you could unleash your thoughts, Sejin spoke again. "y/n, you know what it means to be in a relationship with an idol, let alone having a daughter out of wedlock. This could destroy him and Bangtan. I'm sure you don't want that." His voice carried pity.

"You don't want to go trough this, and we know you don't want to put your daughter through it." He took a breath and sat in front of you. "The company is willing to compensate you for your silence. It's your only option—"

"I don't want your fucking money, Sejin"

"Miss, if you go against the company, we'll have to fight in court, and you could lose custody of your daughter. I'm sorry, but it's true. He didn't want to come when he found out you were coming with your child."

He didn't want to come

When he found out

That you were coming with a child.

Your child.

That phrase echoed in your mind for years. You could still close your eyes and see Sejin's pitiful face—the same one he wore when informing an employee they could no longer work for them.

Because they spoke a second too long with one of them.

Because they smiled at them a little too much.

Because feelings started to emerge.

All were fired and forced to sign mountains of legal documents preventing them from ever speaking about what transpired.

Some were even offered positions at other agencies.

"You're fortunate Bang PDnim decided to compensate you. But it's your decision," he concluded.

Three hours later, you were repacking to return to Los Angeles, vowing never to set foot in Seoul again.

This should never have happened.

As you wiped away tears, your phone buzzed with several notifications.

Message from unknown number: Doll, it's Yoongi. Jungkook told me you were here and you were staying at a hotel in Myeongdon. Message from unknown number: I'm coming to see you.

Message from Cookie 🍪: Y/n Noona, Yoongi Hyung asked me to give him your number. Thanks for the banana milk, you should stop by the dorm and let's drink soju like old times!!!!

Message from NJ: I am so sorry. I hope you can understand.

The last message made you want to throw up.

The phone started vibrating with an incoming call…..

💗💗💗MARCH 2022💗💗💗

"Are you sure you're okay with this?"

Hyun-Joon regarded you with the same concerned eyes he had five years ago when you first met. He had transitioned from being your boss to your business partner and, eventually, one of your dearest friends. A few months after your departure from Korea, he called to share the news of starting their own management agency with a friend.

The startup funds came from the envelope Sejin handed you as compensation for never disclosing the identity of your daughter's father.

At least something good came from shattering your heart into a thousand pieces.

Today, you were the CEO of a flourishing company offering diverse services to music companies in Korea—translators, managers, staff, security; you had it all, and your agency ranked as the best in the market.

It was only a matter of time before you appeared on HYBE's radar.

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself back in the same room as him.

"Of course, this is the best contract the agency has had since we started. We are professionals, and your CEO is no exception," you reassured yourself more than Hyun-Joon.

He scrutinized you, trying to believe your conviction. "Well, let's get ready; they are about to come in."

The sight before you differed vastly from the first time you saw them in the modest conference room at what was then Big Hit. Through the glass door leading to your meeting room, the bodyguards entered first, followed by the new individual managers.

You knew much had changed since your last encounter. Initially, it was just you and a handful of staff members.

Now, it felt as if the President of the United States or Beyoncé were about to make an entrance.

Scratch that, the president's secret service probably had fewer people.

The room was nearly full, yet they hadn't arrived.

Jungkook walked in first. The last time you saw him, he still wore his school uniform. Now, he appeared as if he had stepped out of a novel, exuding a bad-boy aura with tattoos and all-black attire.

Behind him, Taehyung, the shy boy with the innocent smile, wore a designer suit, exuding timeless elegance like the protagonist of an old Hollywood film. You couldn't help but smile at the sight of him.

Jimin seemed unchanged yet transformed simultaneously—beautiful, elegant, with a hint of mischief in his eyes. When he saw you, he smiled discreetly, as if holding back many unspoken words.

Following him, J-Hope entered. His off-stage personality always intimidated you, yet he remained the kindest and most focused among them. That hadn't changed.

Yoongi walked in behind him, smiling genuinely upon seeing you. Among all of them, he was the only one you still maintained contact with. Nonetheless, seeing him in person brought a sense of relief.

Jin came in almost last, and you couldn't help but be amused. Despite not having seen him in person for four years, he hadn't aged a day. Serene as ever, he entered with a respectful bow.

A chill ran down your spine.

They entered in the official order.

From youngest to oldest.

And last.

Him.

Kim Namjoon, always entering last, responsible for introducing them all. Front and center, as always. His now-blond hair caught your attention first. Even beneath his clothes, you could see that he had grown. His arms filled his shirt just like his chest and legs.

Your mind instinctively wandered into territory you almost slapped yourself for entertaining.

You looked up, and he was looking at you. Whether he was surprised or not, his face revealed nothing. With almost a decade in the business, Kim Namjoon knew how to conceal his emotions.

Assuming he had any.

He obviously doesn't care to see you. And who were you to him?—just some woman he was fucking four years ago.

Just

The mother of his daughter.

Your ears buzzed, and you were so deeply lost in your thoughts that you didn't notice when he began talking.

"...it's a pleasure for us to work again with you and your agency," that damn voice, it could still stir emotions in you. "Miss Y/LN, it's also nice to see you again."

Oh, is he going to call you by your last name?

"It's Lee now," your voice sounded cooler than you thought it would, perfect.

"Congratulations, in that case," he stiffened his jaw, and you smiled at him. Simultaneously, several people in the room tensed up.

Ah yes, that was another detail Kim Namjoon obviously didn't know about you.

Eric Lee was your other business partner and your best friend. You had married three years ago so that he could obtain a visa and stay in the US with you.

Eric gave his last name to Hana and had practically raised her with you.

And also.

Eric was completely, totally, and utterly gay.

Your marriage was only on paper.

But that was a detail you weren't going to explain to Kim Namjoon.

By the way… where the hell was he?

Namjoon cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts. "In that case, I think we can start—"

"Mommy!" a little voice interrupted, entering the room. With so many people there, you could only see the top of her dark brown hair. "Uncle said to play hide and seek; can I hide with you?"

Almond eyes.

Dimples in the smile.

The same pouty lips.

Kim Namjoon who was almost 10 years in the industry and knew perfectly well how to hide his emotions, but he looked at the little girl in front of him as if he had just seen an alien.

His face showed a thousand questions.

How old was that little girl?

Why did she have the same eyes as him?

Why had she called you mom?

Did you have a daughter?

The whole room tensed up.

Oh shit, I knew this was a bad idea.

But things happened so fast.

For the first time in her life, Kim Namjoon looked at his daughter's face.

And you were looking at the consecuence of what once was a stolen kiss behind a closed door.

And then evolved to so much more.

A snarky remark.

An irritated snort after others spoke.

A heated argument in a press room.

A few stolen kisses behind the staff room door.

A night in a hotel room.

And despite your reluctance to admit it,

Despite everything.

You would always be

His.

💗💗💗💗💗💗

I KNOOOOOWWWW! Another fic and I haven't finished translating/editing/rewriting/posting Hate!. But Yes, I had to, I had a writers block and decided to pull this one out of the vault of prompts.

Pregnancy troupe? while I'm writing a dark mafia romance? I KNOW But hear me out with this one, it is A RIDE.

I REALLY wanted to write a short agnsty BUT filled with heart clenching romance and.. other things clenching smuttines.

Yes, I'll continue updating Hate! but i would love you a bit if you give this baby a chance... literal baby. AND KIM NAMJOON AS A GIRL DAD!!?? IM NOT GOING TO DEPRIVE MYSELF OF THAT

Ps. If you want to be on the tag list drop a comment below!! 👩🏼‍💻✨

As always love you guys,

Ria 💗

[c-e-d-dreamer]

The Rest Is History

A/N: Listen, was I supposed to be working on IPB AU? Yes. Did I write this fun drabble instead? Also, yes. I'm surrounded by enablers.... but the fact remains that Cassian is absolutely thinking abou the Roman Empire daily. And he would make a hot history nerd, so here we are. Dedicated to the GC ❤️

“Listen. I get it. It looks cool and all that, but you seriously expect me to believe any general in their right mind is going to use catapults and ballistae in a forest? A forest? Just imagine the poor guys trying to maneuver those into place between the trees. It would take forever and only leaves you exposed and puts you at more of a disadvantage.”

Nesta has to bite her lip around a smile as she listens to Cassian rant in the other room. Even through the closed door, his voice carries down the hall to her.

She had known Cassian was a history buff from their very first date. They’d gone to a bar in the historical part of town, down by the harbor, and as if he simply couldn’t stop himself, Cassian had leaned over after they’d ordered their drinks and explained how the location was notorious for shang-haiing back in the day. How one of the most notorious culprits was actually a woman who would flirt and trick sailors into having drink after drink with her until they passed out and woke up dazed and confused on a ship the next morning while she walked away with her pocket full of coin.

He had apologized almost as soon as he’d finished speaking, clearly embarrassed by the outburst. But Nesta had been so entranced by the way his hazel eyes had lit up when he spoke, the golds and greens of them practically sparking even in the low light of the bar. Entranced by the way his lips had tugged up into an easy, excited smile around the words he spoke. Entranced by his passion and his love even if it was for a topic she didn’t necessarily share in.

It had been enough to want a second date with him.

It had been enough to want a lot of dates with him.

And now, here Nesta is, curled up in the room they converted to her own personal library and office, listening to Cassian rant away to his followers on TikTok. It still leaves her with that same feeling as their first date, that same soft warmth blooming between her ribs. Still has her shaking her head fondly, as she burrows deeper beneath her pile of blankets and returns to the final chapter of her book.

By the time she is finishing the last page and finally closing the book, Nesta is less than impressed. She digs her phone out from where it’s buried between blankets and opens her Notes app, adding to her running list of points to make in her review. The ending? Terrible. Nothing worse than an author who clearly got offered a new book deal so they suddenly decide to add unnecessary plot to the final ten pages to set up another book. She’ll definitely be warning her TikTok followers about that.

To take her mind off the ending, she decides to open up the app in question, to check on what her followers are saying about her last book review, liking and replying to a good chunk of them. With a soft sigh, she sinks deeper against the pillows at her back, navigating to her FYP. Almost all of the videos are a trend sweeping across BookTok, of different creators trying to teach their boyfriends and husbands how to be a good book boyfriend. It has an idea sparking in Nesta’s mind, her eyes dancing toward the closed door to the library.

With a decided nod, she clambers up to her feet, padding out of the room and down the hall. She pauses in the doorway to Cassian’s office, leaning casually against the door jamb and watching him work. He has his ring light set up on the desk, phone poised and recording in the center. His hair is scraped back into a bun, and he’s wearing a loose tee that teases just enough of the dark swirls of ink that splash across his collarbones, that twist down his arms. But it’s his hands that really have Nesta’s attention, the way he waves them about as he passionately speaks to the camera.

“And don’t even get me started on the depiction of Marcus Aurelius. Did they even have a historian in that writer’s room?”

As Cassian continues to rant about the Roman emperor and his character in the movie, it’s clear that he can feel Nesta’s eyes on him. It’s the smile that gives him away first, the slow tug of his lips until the soft, dopey look he fondly calls his ‘Nesta smile’ takes over his face. And then his eyes start glancing toward her, and even with the distance, Nesta can see the way his gaze softens around the edges.

Even still, Cassian continues talking, continues recording as if nothing’s amiss. Nesta rolls her eyes fondly, but that merely has his smile growing. She always teases him when he does this, for the way he won’t re-record any of the videos and posts them regardless. When Nesta had taken a peek at his account and his videos, she’d seen plenty of comments asking what or, more particularly, who he was looking at.

When Cassian finishes, he reaches forward to stop his recording, turning to give Nesta his full attention. “Hey, Nes. Finally finish your book?”

“Yes. The ending was terrible.”

Cassian chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “I’m sure your followers will appreciate your honesty on that.”

Nesta shrugs noncommittally, but she knows he’s right. It’s how she built her following in the first place: completely honest and transparent book reviews. “Speaking of followers. I do need your help with a video, a BookTok trend. We can call it even from when you made me chase after you for that August video.”

“Hey, that Pheidippides joke was hilarious,” Cassian defends, standing up from his chair even as he shakes his head as though fondly remembering the video. “The Persians slipped away like a bottle of wine…”

Nesta snorts at the reminder of the caption he used, turning on her heel and leading the way back to her library. She grabs her phone from where she left it, taking the time to set it up so it has the perfect framing of the door. Once she’s happy with it, she presses record, curling her hand around Cassian’s wrist and tugging him into the shot.

“So the trend is to lean against the door frame like the men in books do.”

“Lean against the door frame?” Cassian asks, shifting until his shoulder presses against the door jamb.

“No, the top frame,” Nesta corrects, grabbing his wrist again and tugging his arm up to demonstrate.

Cassian readjusts his stance, settling his weight forward as he leans against his raised hand, and offers her a winning smile. “Like this, sweetheart?”

“Yes, but you’re not supposed to smile. It’s meant to be sultry,” Nesta explains, frowning at Cassian’s expression. “What is that face?”

“Blue steel.”

“That’s it. You fail,” Nesta laughs softly, turning to walk back toward her phone and stop the recording.

An arm snakes around Nesta’s waist, fingers curling and spinning her back around. She barely comes face to face with Cassian before he’s backing her up against the door jamb, caging her in with his large body. Her breath hitches in her chest at the way his hazel eyes have darkened, and she can’t look away, even when his arm tightens around her waist, arching her back and pulling her flush against him. His hand slides along her jaw, thumb skating across her bottom lip before he leans down and kisses her, Nesta sighing into his mouth.

“How’s that compare to the men in your books?” Cassian whispers when he pulls back.

Nesta is sure that she must be blushing, but she clears her throat and extricates herself from Cassian’s hold. She can practically feel Cassian’s smirk on her back as she walks back over to her phone and stops the recording, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction. Especially when she watches back the way she became flustered and then melted into him in 4k.

“Well, I can’t post this.”

“You should definitely post it,” Cassian murmurs, his voice closer than she expects, but then his arms are curling around her waist as he plasters himself to her back.

And maybe it’s the warmth of Cassian wrapped around her. Maybe it’s the peace and security she’s found in his arms. Maybe it’s the way this history nerd has made her feel happier and more loved than she ever thought possible. Maybe it’s the way his lips pressing a line along her neck is very distracting.

Whatever it is, Nesta finds herself trimming the video to remove the parts at the beginning and end where she started and stopped the recording. Finds herself quickly adding subtitles and typing out an easy caption of, ‘I guess he passes after all… #BookTokChallenge #BookBoyfriend.’ After all, she can always delete the video later if she really wants to.

She presses post and tosses her phone aside, turning around in Cassian’s arms and kissing him properly, more than happy to go stumbling down the hall to their bedroom in a tangle of limbs. And later, while Cassian makes them dinner, Nesta sits atop their kitchen island and decides to open TikTok again, unable to hold in a surprised laugh as she reads the top, most liked comment on her most recent video.

Is that the fucking HistoryTok dude????

—

Updated Taglist (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed): @moodymelanist @nesquik-arccheron @sv0430 @talkfantasytome @bookstantrash @eirini-thaleia @ubigaia @fromthelibraryofemilyj @luivagr-blog @lifeisntafantasy @superspiritfestival @hiimheresworld @marigold-morelli @sweet-pea1 @emeriethevalkyriegirl @pyxxie @dustjacketmusings @hallway5 @dongjunma @glowing-stick-generation @melonsfantasyworld @isterofimias @goddess-aelin @melphss @theladystardust @a-trifling-matter @blueunoias @kookskoocie @wolfnesta @blurredlamplight @hereforthenessian @skaixo @jmoonjones @burningsnowleopard @whyisaravenlike-awritingdesk @ofduskanddreams @rarephloxes @thelovelymadone @books-books-books4ever @tenaciousdiplomatloverprune @that-little-red-head @readergalaxy @thesnugglingduck

[ageofwonderland]

Waiting for a Friend - Chapter 3

I've been writing these at work (it's my slow season) so I'm posting these day by day as I finish it up :) I'd love to know who you think she's going to pick!! (for the 2 of you who read this)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It rained the next day. Not the dramatic, cinematic kind. Just a steady, rhythmic drizzle that softened the world and blurred the edges of things. The band canceled rehearsal, everyone stayed in, playing cards, passing around beers, waiting for the storm to pass. 

Jake found me in our room, curled beneath the motel blanket, watching droplets race down the window like they had somewhere better to be. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat on the edge of the bed and looked at me the way he used to, before the gigs, before the distance, before I started drifting into someone else’s gravity. 

“I miss you,” he said quietly. I blinked, unsure whether he meant the past version of me or the one lying here now. Then he reached for me, not with heat or hunger, but with something far more dangerous. Tenderness. His hand found my wrist gently, fingertips grazing the inside where my pulse betrayed me. “Can I…just lie here?” he asked. I nodded, and he slid under the covers beside me, fully clothed, body warm from the outside. He pulled me close, not possessive, not needy. Just there. Solid. Familiar. 

His face was close to mine, breath slow, eyes tired but open, “You remember that night in Ashville?” he asked, “the tiny room with the broken radiator and that terrible diner next door?” 

I smiled despite myself, “You ordered pancakes at midnight and fell asleep with syrup on your cheek.” He grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners, “You wiped it off, then kissed me like I was the best mistake you’d ever made.” 

I looked down, heart splintering, “You weren’t a mistake.” 

Jake grew quiet, then, “I think I forgot how to hold you without needing something from you. I don’t want to do that anymore.” 

I didn’t know what to say. 

His thumb brushed against my jaw, feather-light, “You still make me nervous,” he said, voice raw, “Like I’m not enough. Like you’re gonna outgrow the mess I am.” 

I wanted to tell him he was enough, that I didn’t want perfect. 

But that wouldn’t have been the whole truth. 

Instead, I let him kiss me, slow and soft, like he was trying to memorize a language he’d once spoken fluently but had forgotten somewhere along the way. And for a moment, I let myself fall into it. Let myself believe that maybe he was really changing. That maybe love didn’t need to be out loud or painful or torn between two people. Maybe it could be this: a rainy day, a shared bed, a kiss that tasted like apologies and almosts. 

Afterward, we lay tangled in silence, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat like it might anchor me back to him. But when he fell asleep, arms still wrapped around me, I stared at the ceiling, heart racing, throat tight. 

Because for the first time, I wasn’t sure who I was cheating on.

Jake…or Sam. 

*** 

It happened two days later, outside of a venue in Pasadena, an old converted church with stained glass windows that caught the sunset like fire. The band had just finished soundcheck. Jake was inside, tuning up alone, humming quietly to himself. The others had scattered. Sam lingered by the van, arms crossed, watching the sky as if he could will it to rain again. I didn’t mean to walk toward him. I didn’t mean to say anything. But sometimes, when something inside you breaks, it finds its way out, whether you let it or not. 

“I kissed him,” I said, “well, he kissed me. But I…I let him,” I was rambling. 

Sam didn’t look surprised. “Jake?” 

I nodded, my voice was barely there. “It was…gentle. Soft. like who we used to be.” Sam’s jaw tightened, but his expression stayed calm. “And did it change anything?” 

“I don’t know,” I took a breath. Maybe. I wanted it to.” Sam turned to face me fully now, his eyes searching mine like he was reading a song he didn’t like the lyrics to: " You were always allowed to go back to him.” 

“I haven’t made a choice.” 

“Yes, you have,” he said, “Every day that you stay, you’re choosing. Even when you say you aren’t.” 

That hit harder than I expected. He looked away, exhaled through his nose, then looked back at me–steady, clear, like always. “I don’t care,” he said. 

I blinked, “What?” 

“I don’t care if you’re still with him. I don’t care if you kiss him again. I want you anyway.” The wind picked up, tugging a strand of hair across my face. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Sam stepped closer to me, careful as always, but this time there was fire in his voice. He cupped his hands under my jaw and made me look up at him, gentle but with purpose. His fingertips made my skin feel on fire. “I’m not asking you to leave him. I’m not asking you to run away with me. I just want you to know that even if he figures it out–even if he becomes everything you hoped for–I still want you. Not the broken version. Not the leftover pieces. You.” 

My throat burned. 

“You deserve someone who sees you, even when you’re not shining. Someone who doesn’t make you question if love should feel like walking on eggshells.” 

Tears slipped down my cheeks before I could stop them, “Sam…” 

He looked me in the eyes like he was looking right into my soul, “I’ll be here. No matter what you decide.” 

And then he turned and walked away, leaving me breathless, wrecked, and more seen than I had ever been in my life. 

***

The thing about Sam was–he never asked for more than I was ready to give. After that night, nothing changed, and somehow, everything did. He didn’t press. He didn’t pull. He simply stayed. Present. Steady. A low hum beneath the chaos. Jake started staying out later again, writing with other musicians, talking more and more about “the record,” about how this one might finally be the one that changes things. I didn’t stop him. I didn’t ask to be included. I just stopped waiting for him to look at me and really see me. 

One morning, about a week later, I found Sam by the vending machine, barefoot, hair a mess, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. “Gummy bears or Doritos?” he asked, holding up a few quarters. I smiled without meaning to, “Doritos, obviously.” 

“Good,” he said, “I hate gummy bears.” We walked back to the van, sharing the bag, fingers brushing every now and then. No sparks. No fireworks. Just warmth. It was…easy. 

Days passed like that, softly, no declarations, no promises. He’d sit next to me during soundchecks, humming harmonies under his breath, letting his knee rest just barely against mine. We’d share playlists in the van, talk about books we never finished, on nights when Jake didn’t come back until morning, Sam would knock on my door, not come in, but to make sure I was okay. And every time he left, I wanted to call him back. But I didn’t. Not yet. 

Then one night, in a sleepy town with one gas station and no cell service, the band stayed in a house borrowed from someone’s cousin. A creaky, beautiful mess of a place with old records on the shelves and mismatched quilts on the beds. After dinner, the others drifted off. Jake passed out on the couch with his guitar still on his chest. I wandered into the screened porch, barefoot, hoodie zipped up to my chin, moonlight painting the floor silver. 

Sam was already there, sitting on the porch swing, waiting like he knew I’d come. He didn’t speak, just held out a hand. And I took it. He pulled me down beside him gently, and we swung in silence for a while. My head eventually found his shoulder; his thumb moved over the back of my hand in soft circles. “Why are you so patient with me?” I asked. His voice was low, “because when you love someone, you don’t rush them into loving you back. You just stay close enough that they can find their way if they want to.” I looked up at him then, heart full of questions, and he met my gaze with the kind of tenderness that made everything else in the world fall away. 

He leaned in. And I let him. 

The kiss was quiet, no fireworks, no desperation. Just a slow, aching certainty. The kind of kiss that asks Can I keep you? Without demanding an answer. When we pulled apart, I didn’t speak. I just rested my forehead against his, breathed him in, and felt, for the first time in a long while, like I wasn’t losing something…but finding something new. 

Maybe even finding myself. 

[tayraedoll]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie

Chapter 2- Champagne and Chocolate

Series Masterlist

You finally make it to Japan, but things don't go according to plan.

TW: Swearing

You could now say you knew EXACTLY how the McCallister’s felt rushing through O’Hare to catch their flight. Leo had emailed you the boarding pass- which Kaiba Corp had somehow already updated to your name. There was also a lengthy contract for you to read and sign while on the 13-hour flight to Japan. The email had assured you that everything was taken care of- all you had to do was get your ass on that plane before it took off.

You made it to your gate with five minutes to spare. You were so grateful that you were going overseas for a job and not to see a lover in a 90-day fiance situation because you had no doubt that you looked atrocious from your airport sprint.

The flight attendant greeted you with a warm smile and asked if she could show you to your seat. You hadn’t even had time to look at your assigned seat while making your mad dash for the gate so you were grateful for her help. When you realized she was leading you to the front of the plane your heart nearly stopped- surely this was a mistake!

There was no mistake- you looked between your ticket and the label above the seat you were currently in no less than ten times just to make sure. You were in FIRST FUCKING CLASS. Damn, Kaiba Corp really does spare no expense! You look around at the grandiose first-class cabin, debating on if you could pull out your phone to take a quick video to remember this moment. Would that alert the others to the homely imposter among them? Would they kick you out if they caught you? Fuck it, you had to at least thank Leo for this opportunity, so you took your phone out and tried to be subtle as you did a quick sweep of your surroundings. 

You sat in a single seat that could fully convert into a bed. There was a privacy wall that separated your space from the aisle, creating a cozy little cocoon for you. A rather large- by airplane standards anyways- television was mounted to the wall in front of you. Poking around on the TV, you found you had free WiFi and an all-encompassing library of movies and shows to choose from. But the best part? You had TWO windows!

Looking towards the front of the plane, there was a private bar shaped like a U with another attendant already busying himself making drinks. Beyond the bar were the first-class bathrooms. Would the bathrooms be as nice as the cabin? You couldn’t wait to find out!

After take-off, just as you were settling in and deciding what movie to entertain yourself with, the man you saw behind the bar leaned around the doorway to your cubby, “Mimosa ma’am?” Oh fuck yea, you could get used to this! You smiled at him and eagerly accepted the drink.

Before you let yourself get too comfortable, however, you had work to do. With a resigned sigh, you pulled out your phone and began to comb through the 15-page contract that you had to sign to work for Kaiba Corp. Most of it was pretty standard- you had to submit to a background check, take a drug test, and verify that all your information was correct lest the contract be null and void. However, there were some things that seemed a bit ludicrous to you- like the stupidly strict dress code (did Kaiba think he was running a monastery?) and the whole ‘the CEO has the final say in all matters’ clause. With a huff, you screenshot that part and type out a message to Leo to send once you land:

Didn’t realize I was selling my soul! I hope my hastily-packed wardrobe will please Dictator Kaiba!

After signing your life away where prompted, you sent the contract back to Kaiba Corp. With that out of the way, you were able to finally relax and enjoy the pleasures of the elite class. Stretching out like a queen, you lounged across your makeshift bed and put your earbuds in, drifting off to your favorite comedy. 

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your pilot speaking. We will now begin our descent into Domino City. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts as we will be landing shortly.”

Your face was glued to the window nearest you. Your stomach was full of butterflies as you watched Domino City get closer and closer; this was really happening, you were actually in Japan for the Battle CIty Reunion! As if reading your thoughts, Kaiba Corporation came into view- the tower’s presence looming over the rest of the city like a damn palace. You never thought you would ever get to see it in person, and here you were about to work for it.

After landing, you shot off your message to Leo and went through an endless barrage of texts and missed calls from your friends and coworkers who were curious about your sudden departure from the States. You noticed that there was one person who left your message notifying him of your job in Japan on read- but there was no time to dwell on that right now. You also had an angry voicemail from Nathen basically saying if you messed this up you’d be fired. Honestly, he’ll probably fire you for taking this job without his permission once you returned to Chicago anyways so you might as well enjoy this while you can.

Getting through customs was a rather smooth process…but that is where things started to get rocky. Once you left the secure section to obtain your luggage, you were greeted by a man in a suit with sunglasses- seriously? another person wearing sunglasses indoors?!- with his hands clasped in front of him. Upon setting his sights on you, he quickly crossed the room to stand in front of you, “Miss L/N?”

“Uh yea, that’s me”, you squeak nervously.

“My name is Isono, I’m with Kaiba Corp. I need you to come with me. I assure you it’s all standard procedure; since you were hired at the last minute, you never took part in our interview process.”

Wait- did this man just say he was Isono?! As in Kaiba’s right-hand man? Shit, you hadn’t even started this job and you were already fucked!

“Oh umm, of course. Let me just grab my bag real quick”, you turn to the carousel, but before you can grab your bag, Isono snatches it and begins walking towards the exit. You follow quickly behind him, stopping at the limo parked out front. He places your bag in the trunk before opening the door and gesturing for you to get in. To your relief, it was just the two of you inside.

“Mr. Kaiba conducted all these interviews himself. However, he is busy preparing for the Battle City Reunion at this time so I will be conducting yours on his behalf”, Isono explained. He removed a copy of your contract from a silver briefcase and began looking it over. “How many years have you been duelcasting?”

“...none Sir”, you looked out the window as his eyes snapped back to you. 

“Apologies Miss, but how many years did you say?”

You slowly turn your head to look at him again, “I’ve never Duelcasted before sir.”

“The Battle City Reunion…will be your first time?”, he asked incredulously.

You nod, “Yes Sir, it will be. Look, I may not be the most experienced person for the job, but I am the best person for the job. I have worked my ass off to get here. I have spent YEARS working in a dead-end reporting job that was only a dead end because of the fucking PRICK that put me there. My career stagnated before it even had the chance to grow. And now that I FINALLY made it, now that I FINALLY got my chance, I am not going to let another pretentious asshole rip it away because of his failure to see my potential!” 

Isono was silent for what felt like an eternity, just staring at you from behind his sunglasses. You were starting to sweat, if you weren’t fucked before you DEFINITELY were now. Did you seriously just call Kaiba a pretentious asshole to his most trusted employee?!

The limo suddenly came to a stop. This was it, you were about to be fired, thrown out, and sent back to Chicago before your first official day as a duelcaster. 

“Your hotel Miss”, Isono said as he opened the door for you. Glancing outside quickly, you saw you were parked outside a rather bodacious hotel. You turned back to Isono with a questioning look. “I will let Mr. Kaiba know that his tournament is in good hands. Here is the itinerary for the tournament- there is a debriefing meeting being held at Kaiba Corp tonight and a ceremonial kick-off dinner to attend tomorrow evening.” He gestured for you to get out of the limo after handing you the documents, the driver had already taken your luggage out of the trunk. Once you were out, he called your name, making you turn back to him, “Good luck”, he smiled at you before closing the door as the limo took off again.

You watched the limo drive away until it was out of sight, letting out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding as it disappeared from view. Well, you weren’t fired so that had to count for something. Turning back to the hotel, you slowly made your way through the revolving doors.

The lobby was all muted tones and low lighting. Soft music that you would normally find in a spa was playing over unseen speakers, blending with the gentle sound of the freakin waterfall in the middle of the building. Curiously, you walked over to the water feature- yup, there were Koi in the small pool beneath the waterfall. Assorted sculptures you were sure cost more than your rent adorned various tables, the whole place looked more like an upscale gallery than a hotel lobby. If this was where all the duelcasters were staying, just how much money did Kaiba Corp spend on this duel tournament? You shuddered at the thought.

Thankfully, checking in was no different than any other hotel you had ever been in and you found your room rather quickly. The room was decorated the same way as the lobby sans water feature and fish. The main feature was definitely the massive bed in the middle of the room, sinking into it felt like laying on a cloud. Opening the blinds, the Kaiba Corp tower stood front and center on the skyline. 

As you were admiring the view, your phone started to ring- Leo- he must’ve gotten tired of waiting for you to call him.

“Hey!”, you answered cheerfully.

“Oh good, so you weren’t abducted! I was starting to wonder…”, he didn’t hide the frost in his voice.

“Yea, sorry about the wait. I was going to call you after hailing a cab to take me to the hotel but…”, you pause, “uhh, so something weird happened at the airport.” 

“What weird thing?”, the ice melted, giving way to concern.

“So you know Kaiba’s main bodyguard Isono? He sort of picked me up from the airport in a limo and drove me to the hotel. He said it was because he needed to conduct my interview, but he only asked me how long I have been duelcasting. He seemed pretty surprised when I told him I’ve never actually duelcasted before. And ummm… I sort of called Kaiba a pretentious asshole to Isono’s face”, you bit your lip and winced as you confessed to your tirade in the limo.

Leo was silent for a long moment before he erupted in unabashed laughter. You grimaced, “Thanks Leo, this is certainly making me feel much better about the situation”, you deadpan into your phone.

“I’m sorry! I’m just imagining Kaiba’s face when Isono tells him how your interview went!” Leo continues to snicker as you groan. “Girl, you are lucky it was Isono who picked you up because I am sure Kaiba would have had your head on a platter. Listen, Kaiba hired duelcasters from every major dueling network in the world. You will be working with the best of the best in the industry, and sadly, you are at a disadvantage due to your lack of experience. You need to be on your A-game; you need to go out there and show not only Kaiba, but the entire damned world why you deserve to be at the Battle City Reunion. I know you can do this! You just can’t let anyone- ESPECIALLY a certain hot-headed CEO- in your head, got it? Nathen can’t do anything to tarnish your career over there, everything is now entirely in your hands.”

You nod, he was right, you had to relax and not let anyone get under your skin. This was your big break and you had to own it like the boss bitch you were. “There’s a debriefing meeting tonight, that’ll give me a chance to scope out who the other duelcasters are. There’s also a dinner tomorrow night to officially begin the festivities.”

“Perfect, both are great opportunities to network. Make sure you talk to as many people as you can- duelcasters, duelists, and Kaiba Corp employees alike. Now isn’t the time to play safe on the sidelines- you’ve done that enough- now is the time to take center stage. Make an impression, make them remember you.”

You looked your reflection over in the mirror for the hundredth time, checking to make sure there was not a hair out of place. Taking Leo’s words to heart, you were aiming to make a statement tonight. Your dress was burgundy red, with a black lace bodice and black trim around the hem. It was a high-low style, not exactly in Kaiba’s ridiculous dress code, but the front of the skirt did meet the length requirements so you weren’t outrightly breaking the rules either. You paired it with your sexiest pair of black heals. For your make-up, you went with a blend of natural and bold, lining your eyes a little heavier to make them pop and using dark red lipstick. 

Finally satisfied with yourself, you grabbed your bag containing your laptop, a notebook, and all your office supplies and made your way out to the cab you had called to take you to Kaiba Corp. The butterflies had returned to your stomach, you could hardly contain your excitement at finally seeing the building you had Googled so many times with your own two eyes. 

Stepping out onto the curb in front of the tower was surreal, you couldn’t help but admire the entire picture- the way the building seemed to climb up forever into the sky and how the two Blue Eyes White Dragon statues on the front lawn acted as a kind of guardian to the fortress. Sure, it was a little ostentatious, but when a company had the reputation that Kaiba Corp had nothing was too grande or over-the-top.

You quickly affixed your badge around your neck as you walked into the lobby and up to the front desk. After showing the woman behind the counter your badge, she directed you to the elevators and told you to go to the 15th floor meeting room. It was half-full by the time you got there, which gave you the perfect opportunity to observe how everyone interacted with each other. You took a seat towards the middle of the long, wooden table; looking around, you immediately noticed two things about the people surrounding you- they were all buried deep in their own laptops and they were all dressed in black business suits regardless of their gender. That means you were the only one in red and in a dress- it seems no one else shared your passion for sabotaging Kaiba’s dress code. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you take your laptop out and try to look busy- what the hell was everyone working on anyways?

The closer the meeting time got, the more people who filtered in, the more you thought you must have missed some memo about business suits and laptops. The room was now filled save for 3 seats at the head of the table. At exactly one minute before the meeting was to begin, the final three attendees finally walked through the door. 

Isono walked in first, dressed in the same suit and sunglasses he had worn earlier in the day, and sat to the right of the table head. A man with dark hair and purple-grey eyes, wearing a lavender suit walked in next- Mokuba Kaiba. The younger of the Kaiba brothers, known for being bubbly and outgoing, flashed the meeting attendees a wide smile before taking a seat to the left side of the head.

The room stilled, as if the world around you had just held its breath, as the last but most important member of the group walked into the room- the infamous Seto Kaiba himself. He wore a royal blue shirt under a dark grey suit, paired with a navy blue tie. His brunet hair was styled impeccably, the sideburns just starting to be peppered with hints of grey. Fucking hell- he was the hottest man you had ever seen. You had seen pictures, maybe had a few magazine cutouts of him from your teenage years, but you hadn’t kept up with news of him recently as you focused on your career. Nothing prepared you for seeing Kaiba in real life- he was the epitome of a DILF even though you were sure he did not have kids.

Kaiba took his seat at the head of the table and stared coldly out at the congregation, his cobalt eyes cutting through the tense atmosphere like a knife. You weren’t sure if you wanted to shrink back in your chair and hide from his gaze or lean in to get a better look. After a heavy moment of silence, Kaiba finally spoke with a voice as rich and deep as honeyed whiskey, “Welcome to the Battle City Reunion. You are all here because you are the best in your respective fields. Do not disappoint me.”

Well, good to know his reputation was honestly earned.

The CEO shifted over to Isono, “I trust that everything is in order”, it was a statement that left no room for any other possibility.

“Yes Sir,” Isono began, “We did have one minor change- the representative from Duelist America.” Before Isono was even finished speaking, Kaiba’s head whipped up to scan the crowd. When his eyes landed on you, all the air left your lungs as if you were punched in the gut. His eyes narrowed and a scowl formed on his face as he looked you over, his facial expression making it clear you failed to meet his expectations. On the inside, you wanted to scream, cry, and run out the door and never look back. But you couldn’t do that- remember what you said to Isono earlier? You were not going to let this jerk under your skin, you would show him you belonged here just like everyone else.

So you squared your shoulders and smiled brightly back into his stupidly handsome but unhappy face.

If Kaiba was surprised by your display of courage he did not show it, deciding to move on with the presentation and looking down at his laptop. He never spared you another glance, not even when your dulecasting partner was announced. You’d be working directly with Kaiba Corp’s own duelcaster Emi- and you would be the first ever all-female duelcasting team. As if this entire venture wasn’t stressful enough, now, you just had to make history too. Go you.

Finally, after nearly two hours, Isono wrapped up the debriefing and the Kaiba’s were out the door before you could even get out of your chair. As you were putting your things back into your bag, a woman with a stylish bob of raven hair approached you. “You must be Emi”, you smiled and stuck your hand out to shake, “it’s nice-”

“I just want you to know that I will not let you bring me down”, her voice was cold as ice.

“I’m sorry?”, you furrowed your brow, not sure what you did that upset your co-star.

“Mr. Kaiba hired only the best, but you were not hired by him. No, you are only here because you got a lucky pass. I’ve been working with Kaiba for years as his duelcaster; if you make me or this tournament look foolish, I will not hesitate to tell him to fire you. I have worked too hard to get this position for someone else to ruin it for me.” She turned on her heel and quickly left the room with you gaping after her. 

You struggled to keep your tears at bay the whole way back to your hotel room. Once you were finally inside, you sank down onto the floor, leaning against the wall for support as the dam finally burst. What were you going to do? It was only day one and your boss AND co-worker already hated you! Maybe you weren’t cut out for this, maybe Nathen had his reasons for keeping you in a reporter role. Maybe everyone was right about you including-

No, you were not going to think that way. These people hadn’t even given you a chance yet. Now wasn’t the time to cower and feel sorry for yourself, now was the time to hold your head high.

You picked yourself up off the floor and headed into the bathroom to wash up at the faucet. As you were drying your face, you stared back at your reflection. If they didn’t see your worth, then you’d show them.

It’s time to show the world what you could do.

[pursuitseternal]

Introducing “In the Monster’s Shadow:” Shadowheart x Ascended Astarion dark!fic… where power, pain, and pleasure go well together

Ascended Astarion x Shadowheart (BloodLoss?) | E | 1.5K chapter

Summary: Shadowheart wakes far from alone, in the belly of the Monster’s lair—that monster he has become since his Ascension. And now, she’s in his clutches.

CW: Biting, blood kink, jealousy, sexual tension, general dark!Ascension behavior (assumes Tav left him), defiant Shadowheart

Read on AO3 | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 1…

🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸🖤🩸

For a dungeon, this was far from the dank and musty one she recalled that day…

Back when he became a monster.

His Ascension.

No, she couldn’t even recognize this place. Warm and soft and bright with torches and a burning brazier. Empty but clean. Of course the thought had crossed her mind during these hours, maybe days of languishing in her binds, that the fire could be used for more torturous activities than heat and light and comfort.

But… regardless, this was a far cry from the mouldering walls of Cazador’s decrepit pit of death. Of sacrifice and death.

Shadowheart had been trying to forget the faces of those spawn, all seven-thousand of them that had died to make her former… friend… into the monster he was now.

It changed him.

Or was it the fact that his true love had abandoned him… abandoned them all really… once the final battle was over. Shadowheart would never forgive Astarion for becoming what he did… that he chose power and ascension over just being him… over keeping that love of his.

Maybe he wouldn’t have become so vile. So evil.

She shook her head, arms beyond numb from the way he had her chained. But that was all she felt. Numb. Such unique chains… somehow the metal seemed softened, enchanted perhaps… but even as her body grew tired, arms reduced to pin pricks above her head, she never once felt the bite of metal into her flesh.

Not that you would mind the edge of pain, Princess…

She could almost hear his voice. Taunting and goading them all. Not towards her in the way it always had been aimed at the one he had loved. He saved all his most lustful comments, his fangs and his body for her.

Not that she had deserved it in the end.

Shadowheart shook her head, clearing the fog that had kept her under. Time passed strangely. There were no guards, no prisoners. No sounds other than the crackle of fire. Not even the chattering of a rat or the stench of neglect. She sighed to herself twisting as she scanned the barred room. Her cell. “For a dungeon, it’s actually rather cozy,” she muttered, meant for no one’s ears but hers.

“One may even mention just how… luxurious… it appears, isn’t that right, little princess?”

That velvet voice. That dripping, seduction, only amplified now with his power—a power that was only magnified in the bowels of his palace.

He crept from the darkest corner, the densest patch of shadows almost materializing into his body.

Just as lean and wiry. Exuding that same flow of limitless power. His face’s lines caught the flickering light, all sharp bone and quirking brows, all glowing crimson eyes and flashing fangs. “I wasn’t expecting your company,” he hissed, eyes narrowing as he closed in on where she dangled. “Imagine my surprise when my thralls and servants found you on my ramparts, crawling around like a vagrant. Come to kill me or convert me, Shadowheart?”

She held her tongue, glaring daggers at him instead.

“I didn’t silence you…” he purred, striding closer slowly, hands clasped behind his back. So unassuming, except for the brilliant red glow of his eyes in the shadows. “I just… relieved you of your magic and charms. Until you find a way to earn them back... or perish in the process.”

“You fucker,” she finally broke, spitting in his direction. “I should have killed you, should have thrown that dagger through Cazador’s dead heart instead of letting you carve that infernal to take his place as Vampire Ascendant.” She strained at her bonds, forcing herself a step in his direction, where he leered at her just out of reach. “How does it feel to be alone, hmm? To have all your friends disown you for the monster you became. Even her…”

There, that’s the monster—the way his eyes flared, his fangs snapping as his hand flew to clench around her throat. “You don’t… get to mention… her… or I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” She swallowed beneath his chokehold, her breath ragged and thin. “Cause me pain? Kill me?” She grinned, craning against the pressure of his hand to shove her face closer into his. “You should know, as well as any of us, I do not mind the pain… I crave it. And if you want to add my soul to your vast inventory, then who am I to stop you, might Vampling? Not even the woman you did love would stop you, and you all but killed her…”

Fingers clawed her chin, jerking her head to the side. His teeth were like ice, chilling and tearing into her skin, but not to kill.

To feed. To drink her blood.

She shuddered. His hands gripped so hard, she had no place to escape. So she laughed. “So this is what all the fuss has been about,” she cackled, not even recognizing her own voice. “I always wondered what it was that Tav craved to let you into her bedroll every night…”

He lifted his mouth, biting down again even harder against the top of her shift. Just where breasts began to peek out.

That made her squeal. “That’s a good little princess,” he purred into her flesh. “I’ll take your cries of agony over your ceaseless, pointless words any day. You don’t get to speak about… her.”

“Why not? she hissed back. “Afraid you’ll have to own up to the way you always kept the corner of your eye on me? Have to admit how you always made sure I heard your nightly activities… made sure I caught you staring at my breasts when I would have to bend over the campfire….”

“Too late for any of that,” he growled into her skin. “Tempting as you may have been, you’ve shown your true colors, princess, sneaking into my palace, intentions unknown, and now…” he lifted his head, his chin covered in her bright red blood, his tongue equally coated as he licked it clean, “…now I get to have you anyway, my enemy, chained so prettily for me to keep here…” His hand swept down her body, touching the skin of her thigh, teasing up the bottom edge of her shift, “…for me to do with as I see fit.”

“And what are you going to do to me, Astarion?” she sneered in reply, totally unphased by the bites in her flesh or the blood that trickled from her wounds. “You going to turn me into a mindless spawn like you wanted to turn her?” She rattled her chains, breasts heaving as she worked herself into a frenzy. Her white shift stained red with her blood, the thin material clinging to her skin as she grew sticky with it and with her sweat.

“Not unless you ask very… very… nicely,” he purred, closing in on her, pressing his body to crush her against the wall, one hand yanking her chains hard enough to make her cry. “Not unless you beg for it, to be mine, little princess of Shar, to serve me as all creatures crave,” his eyes flashed down at how their bodies melded, how her supple curves caved against his hard planes, “in one way or another.”

“You want me?” she spat, “you want what you could have had a lifetime ago, it seems. And what if I don’t? What if I came here to end your miserable existence, to make you pay for the seven-thousand and some souls that made you a monster?”

“Let’s be clear, I don’t want you.” That stung, her face flinching as his voice rang, cold and exacting. “I don’t… want… you. You’re cold and cruel and self-righteous. You care only for pleasing your goddess,” he gave a little disgusted shake of his head. “Why would I want you if you have no interest in pleasing me?”

She held her breath.

“Seems… pointless,” he released her, withdrawing a step. Out of reach again. Close enough for her to smell that scent of him, more powerful and heady than he ever smelled at camp. Undiluted perfume of citrus and brandy and rosemary. He turned on his heel, heading for the gate to her cell.

“You’re going to leave me like this?” Shadowheart screeched.

“Darling, I can leave you however I want,” he gloated, flicking his gaze over his shoulder. “And today, I want to leave you to know the meaning of hunger, a lesson I learned over the course of centuries.”

“Yes that’s right, continue the cycle,” she jeered, cocking her chin in defiance as he turned to face her completely. “Become the next exalted vampiric master in all the ways that made you what you are.”

Crimson eyes steeled over, he raised his fingers to snap loudly. Her chains released, a small table of warm food and clean water appeared before her. Out of thin air.

“You are going to learn hunger, little princess, and I am going to find out why you were creeping around my walls…” he turned to continue, not even needing to unlock the door to the cell to walk straight through it. “There are so many more forms of hunger, Shadowheart. And you’re going to learn them all before we are through…”

And then he vanished into mist.

[oct0whyllow]

All Banned Up: Part 4!

Julian is still passed out, Howard does first aid, and Howard also gets a nightmare. Trigger warning: Homophobia, child abuse, mentions of convertion/shock therapy, body horror. Go on ao3 for the summary in the notes at the end of the chapter if you want to skip the graphics.

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Randy rushed out of the house and into the garage, shaking slightly from the way he was shloomped out of the book. "Howard! Dude! Man! My guy! You know first aid!" His arms were flinging up and down frantically.

"But- but I haven't done any research about people passing out!" Howard was wiping his tears now that he knew his friend was still alive. "Dude you have a McFistPad! Search it up!"

"Oh wait- 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘔𝘤𝘍𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘗𝘢𝘥!" Howard shook his arm, the tablet falling out of the humongous sleeve he wore, his hands slipping, nearly dropping it before he caught it, and searched up how to do first aid for this type of thing on the search engine, fingers typing at the speed of light.

'How to first aid friend pass iung out'

He clicked on the first link, skimmed hrough every word, debated how long twelve inches was, and got to work.

First, he carried Julian off the floor, picking him up gently like he was a little bat. Randy followed him and Howard, who was walking slowly towards the living room, careful not to move him around too fast and hurt him. (This felt so stupidly corny, like he was some dumb knight from one of those really old princess movies. Specially with how he was treating the guy like he was frail, it was making him feel disgusted at himself, both for how this felt oddly... and because he needed to focus on the 𝘥𝘢𝘮𝘯. 𝘵𝘢𝘴𝘬. 𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥.) He lied down Julian on his back, before grabbing a few pillows and propping up the goth's legs so the blood would better flow to his brain. Randy stared down at the pale, tired face of the dark and light haired boy, wondering why he had fainted, and why he acted so much like... 𝘩𝘪𝘮, before doing so.

Howard took a look at his tablet again, he had to remove any tight clothing that Julian could be wearing, and then after that he'd just have to check for breathing and a pulse. The only clothing Julian was visibly wearing was really loose clothing, way closer to being pijamas than street clothes too. "Dang, must be opposite day." Weinerman exclaimed, before pressing his ear against Julian's chest (which just made the disgust and anger he was currently feeling inside worsen by a mile) to make sure his lungs and heart were alright- but there was some 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 tight fabric below his shirt. It confused Howard, and it confused him a whole lot he had to move away from the boy's chest and pause for a moment (which he could do, he was breathing.)

Cunningham, the ever worried boy that he was, confused it for something being wrong (physically). "What's happening? Dude- is he 𝘥𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨? Is he breathin' or- or do I call the ambulance or!-"

"No shut the fuck up!-" He overreacted, he definitely overreacted, and that made him even angrier. Howard clenched his fists, he couldn't fly into one of his rages, not here, 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 not now. "Shut- shut up. He's fine. Just- he's wearing something weird."

Randy flinched a little, his face showing a slight glimpse of fear, before his nails dug into his arms while he rolled his eyes. "Oh my god calm down. Also, what'd green shirts and black pants do to you?"

"It's 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸 the green shirt and black pants." His voice sharpened, rumbling like a volcano about to explode, but this volcano needed to suppress said explosion as much as possible. He sighed, counted from ten to one, trying to calm himself down.

"Wait- 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸?"

"Yeah, 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘸. And it's got a zipper in the middle."

Randy squinted an eye for a moment, he honestly couldn't believe him, why would Julian wear a jacket below his shirt? A short one too! "That's stupid, you've gotta be lying."

That only angered Howard more, even though it 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯'𝘵 have, but he couldn't control how he acted when he was barely holding in the real fire. His neck itched, he felt feathers wanting to come out, and something else too. "I'm not! I'm not lying- let me show you!" Weinerman grabbed his biffers wrist, hearing him yelp at the sudden pulling of it, he moved down a small chunk of Julian's shirt, making sure that from whatever stupidly high angle Randy was looking down at, he could see what Howard was referring to. "I don't know what the hell it is. But I gotta take it off, it's tight as hell and on his chest where his 𝘭𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘴 are." He pulled up Fowler's shirt, hating himself the whole time for what he thought, what he felt, and for how he kept focusing on himself instead of the guy who just fainted. He began pulling the zipper down, but only slightly.

"Ohhh... Oh. Uhhm Howard? Howie?"

Interrupted, he sighed, furrowing his eyebrows. "What." He turned to face his best friend, who was more than sure of him knowing what Howard was about to fly into if pushed too much. "I don't think 𝘺𝘰𝘶 should take it off it's like- it's like a binder... and stuff..."

"Do you take me for an idiot or something? It looks more like a weird bra." A school binder? Really? How would anyone wear something like that, and why would Julian even wear something like this? Maybe he was... 𝘨𝘢𝘺? Howard didn't like thinking about that, and 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 thinking about that possibility was making him more disgusted and angry at himself, but he couldn't make himself be okay with that for some reason. He thought about Heidi, and it felt like his heart was engulfed in flames. "I'm not talking 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 binders, I'm talking 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵 binders. Like- you know the word binding? That's why it's called that."

"...Why would he want to bind his chest? What's there to bind?"

Randy glanced at his unconscious friend, mentally apologizing to him for having this conversation. "Yeah uhm- I'm thinking he's trans. But the girl to boy version."

"Oh. Like if Heidi was a guy." Howard pulled Julian's shirt back up, and sat down in the couch in front of him. He felt less weirded out, but he still felt weird even if now it was for a different cause. "Can you... deal with that? I'm 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵," He hoped. "and I know Julian's a dude... but it feels creepy when I do it." He also didn't want to lash out and drown in nothing but pure rage and hurt his friends, he also didn't want to be so disgusted by something so normal as someone 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦𝘴 queerness.

"Yeah- yeah sure! You can be alone now... and stuff."

That calmed him down a bit, knowing his friend understood how he felt helped him be a little better now. With a more relaxed voice the ginger informed, "Thanks, sorry. Check if he's breathing well and has a good pulse by putting your ears next to his chest and- and stuff." He made sure to apologize for his anger, but still, when he looked back at Julian, and then his best friend of nearly 12 (possibly more) years, there was something trying to come up (like how he was coming up the stairs to take a break in said best friend's room) through his throat, and it wasn't good.

He looked at the bed, the beanbag, the little table, the keyboard, the new photos of recent hangouts, at the 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘵, and all he could feel was opposing forces unable to exist with one another. One of them needed to go. (Could he pick which one?) Howard walked up to the bunk bed's ladder, placing his hands on the steps before pushing himself up to climb it. He wanted to smash everything in the damn room and scream as loudly as he could, for the forever-quickening beating of his heart continuing to fuel the horrible churning in his stomach and the tightening of his knuckles was overflowing him with stress that he needed to get out less he exploded like a balloon at the nearest person.

But this was 𝘙𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘺'𝘴 room, and not even him a month or so ago would've dared to try some shit like that. Sleeping could probably de-stress him, Julian recommended it to him a few days ago. The chubby kid pulled the covers over his body, wrapping them aggressively around himself. Howard closed his eyes, and forced himself to rest.

He rested, but his mind didn't follow.

When sleeping, most dream, some have nightmares, and at first he wasn't sure which one of those he was having during the time he slept.

There was a boy, no, 𝘵𝘸𝘰 boys. They held him, caressed him, hugged him, kissed him, all sorts of junk. Howard begged that his dream self could feel disgust from being made to act as though he could be attracted to guys, but frankly he couldn't be disgusted at that himself. He was disgusted at being queer, specially himself being queer.

Then, came the part that assured him that the 'dream' his stupid subconscious was conjuring up was definitely a nightmare.

He had a 'small discussion' with his mom Roberta about it. What was worse, he wasn't allowed to have a third-person perspective from what he was seeing, he had to dream this up in first-person.

'Howie, I love you. But do you know what I 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 tolerate? Sin.'

'We all sin once in our life ma. You taught me that.'

'No- no- you give into temptation like it's a damn friend, it's not casual. You don't know sin like I do. When you die you're gonna go to Gehinnom for the 𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘺 you're pulling and spend a decade atoning your actions. Do you seriously want to be like your sister? She'll be there for millenia.'

'Being gay isn't even a sin literally where does it say!-'

'𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘦 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘞𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯! God said so himself... You're too young to be doing this.' He saw himself flinch at how his mother snapped at him, he saw his mom clench her fists. 'It's not sexual- stop being so weird about this.'

'It is 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 sexual, it's in the name for God's sake. Homo𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘶𝘢𝘭.' She immediately held her own head tightly, clinging onto the hairs covering every vicinity of her scalp, on the verge of tears, perhaps, feeling ashamed, ashamed of what the little baby she had brought into this world had become.

'Sex isn't holding someone's hand it's much more than that.'

'I don't care, there's so many things wrong with homosexuality. It's pretending to be a woman, and being in a relationship the way a woman would, with a man who goes along with that disgusting facade and eats away at your masculinity like a termite. Your father, he's so clearly an ex-homosexual, but the important thing is he's healing, even when he's still so very- 𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦. You can change.' She said the word 'effiminate' with a sort of disgust that made it seem like she would nearly gag at the very thought of it as if implying a man being feminine was like swallowing every last drop of poison a bottle could offer.

'The only thing feminine about him is that ugly ass shirt he owns...'

'You can't even notice the difference between feminine and masculine...' She covered her face with her hands. 'You're so much worse than your father- where'd I go wrong? I should've forced you to cut your hair off the moment that bird possessed you... Was it your 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴? This isn't the sweet boy I raised.'

The eyes of his dream self widened, the heart of his real self beginning to beat faster. 'N-no. This is me, ma. Nobody forced me to be like this.' A bright red became the lighting illuminating the room through the window next to the two, a dark purple became the shadows in the corners of each wall and in nearly every part of the floor.

'I can't believe you're doing this to me...' Roberta muttered under her breath. 'Dating men, 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯 nonetheless.' Roberta stood up from her chair, tears streaming down from her pale skin in such an unnatural way- it looked like tentacles forming, extra watery limbs, and so they became that. The world felt as if was breaking apart completely, in his chair, Howard's dream self began hyper-ventilating. Roberta's spine broke apart into different sections, towering over the boy like a skycraper. The red light that had once tried bringing a little glow into the room had been covered by the yellow shadow she casted. There was yellow everywhere, on everything. The walls were the color of lemons, the shadows were the hue of a rotten banana spoiling the quality of air around everyone and everything.

She grabbed him with her hand, he was the size of an ant compared to her. The mother leaned closer to her son, eyes glowing, with the shade of a stoplight telling Howard to slow down his breathing, but not to stop it. 'I want what's 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 for you, and if it means forever taking Randy and that Julian boy away from you, so be it. They won't influence you any longer.'

"What- 𝘞𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘰! 𝘔𝘰𝘮 𝘯𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵!" His dream self pleaded, before promptly ripping off his hair to which his scalp bled out, clotting every drop that came out of it, "I'm not- I'm not gay anymore!See?! See?!", showing it to his smother, trying to convince her that it was a phase, that he wasn't feminine any longer, that he was so masculine his voice would scare the strongest bear in the forest. She didn't buy it. Her neck twisted towards her child, her beak pointed at his head like the tip of a pistol. He cowered like a 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘯, and his wings covered his face, trying to hide from the woman, whose hands eventually caged him away from the world. 'I will fix you.', Roberta shot the words at him, the bullet of that sentence piercing his head and exploding it.

That was it, he couldn't sleep at all anymore, immediately Howard pushed himself off the bed, he felt his lungs being clogged and so he tried shoving all the oxygen around into them. There were feathers all over his body, it was like insects in his skin that quickly popped their antannae out of the blood vessel they inhabited, maybe the nerve, maybe the muscles, every feather hurt his muscles and felt like little daggers stabbing into them and trying to fuse into them.

Meanwhile, his eyes and pupils ran around desperately to pick out something to hold or coddle, to feel safe from the claws that encaged him in that dream and to protect his head from that bullet. He chose two pillows, which he squeezed like a stress ball. Now that he knew what he was, he didn't know if he could go home anymore. She would definitely find out, his dad too. He hated his mom but she had all the power in this situation and he didn't want to even think what she could do with it. Heidi had gotten the bad end of the stick when it came to their mom's parenting, but that was only due to her independance, xeir birth gender and her numerous and hundreds of successes overshadowing his few achievements.

That resulted in Heidi being yelled at, occassionally slapped, blamed for many things and made to feel worthless. For things that were generally accepted not as violations (or as sins in his mom's view) of the Torah. Howard 𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 the Torah in his mom's eyes, and also 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘥'𝘴. The guy who cared for Heidi and for him. His mom would kick him out and isolate him. She would try fixing him by sending him to convertion therapy so he could be shocked and electrocuted into never being the disgusting filth he knew himself to be. His dad wouldn't know how to look at him, he would get mad but never yell. He would act nice in a way that made it obvious he was ashamed of him. If convertion therapy didn't work, Roberta would probably take up physical punishments more and start beating him when Mort wasn't around.

He couldn't go back home now that the fear of what he was became part of every single bone and nerve and skin cell and membrane and everything and anything that ever inhabited his body. Howard took his phone out, he couldn't call Heidi, xe would get mad and Howard would get mad and yell and she'd get even angrier and it'd be a whole loop, they both had issues and had just started rekindling with each other. Howard sent her a text to her secret blog account.

'im gay. wontbe coming home in awhiel. tell dad im at cunnignhams'

Meanwhile, Randy put Julian's binder somewhere else.

[bipolarman2022]

**Title: "The Transformation of Miguel"**

**Chapter 1: A Chance Encounter**

Miguel, a young Spaniard from a well-to-do family, had spent his life pursuing knowledge in the cloisters of academia. He had always been curious, seeking answers in books of philosophy and theology, but lately, nothing seemed to satisfy his thirst for understanding. The life he led, filled with Western studies and family traditions, felt incomplete to him, lacking the spiritual depth he yearned for within.

One day, while walking through the bustling streets of Córdoba, Miguel came across a bazaar full of colors and sounds he had never experienced before. There, among the stalls of spices and fabrics, he saw a sign that read: “Classes on the Quran and Islamic Philosophy.” Intrigued by the idea of learning about a culture and religion so foreign to his life, Miguel decided to attend one of these classes, driven by his insatiable curiosity.

**Chapter 2: The Arab Teacher**

The class was held in a small madrasa located in a quiet alley. Upon entering, Miguel was greeted by Ahmed, an Arab teacher with an imposing presence and an air of deep wisdom. Ahmed was known throughout Córdoba not only for his vast knowledge of the Quran but also for his ability to convey the essence of Islam with patience and clarity.

Miguel, with his expression of wonder and naivety, began attending the daily lessons. At first, he didn’t understand much about the Quranic verses or the Muslim customs that Ahmed taught with such passion. But little by little, Ahmed’s enthusiasm and devotion began to awaken in Miguel a genuine interest in understanding Islam beyond its stereotypes.

**Chapter 3: The First Steps in Islam**

Miguel was fascinated by the teachings of the Quran and the wisdom contained in its words. He marveled at how Ahmed explained the importance of inner peace, submission to Allah’s will, and brotherhood among believers. The teacher taught him about the Five Pillars of Islam: Shahada (the profession of faith), Salat (prayer), Zakat (charity), Sawm (fasting during Ramadan), and Hajj (pilgrimage to Mecca). Each lesson drew him deeper into a state of awe and respect for this new way of life.

Miguel, naive in many aspects of Muslim life, would ask questions that seemed obvious to Ahmed. But the teacher, with infinite patience, always answered, not with mockery but with a sincere desire to share his faith. Gradually, Miguel began to participate in prayers, fast during Ramadan, and learn Quranic verses in Arabic, something he never would have imagined doing before.

**Chapter 4: The Growing Fascination**

As the months passed, Miguel felt increasingly drawn to Ahmed, not just because of his wisdom but also for his charisma and deep sense of inner peace. Ahmed spoke to him about the ways of the Prophet Muhammad, explaining how Islam was not just a religion but a way of life that embraced justice, compassion, and equality. Miguel felt he had finally found something that filled the void in his heart.

Ahmed also noticed something special in Miguel. He saw not just a student eager for knowledge but someone with the potential to be a great defender of the faith. He taught Miguel to recite the Quran, interpret its meanings, and live according to the principles of Islam. Each lesson was an open door to a new world, full of meaning and purpose.

**Chapter 5: A New Path**

One day, after an intense study session, Miguel approached Ahmed with a decision he had been contemplating for weeks. "I want to convert to Islam," he declared with determination. "I want to follow the path of Allah and be like you, someone who lives with purpose and inner peace."

Ahmed smiled with a mix of pride and affection. He knew that Miguel was ready to take this important step. He took him to the mosque, where Miguel recited the Shahada with tears in his eyes, surrounded by his new teacher and his new brothers in faith.

**Chapter 6: Leaving Everything Behind**

Miguel, now known as Jamal, decided to leave behind his previous life, his old beliefs, and his family, who never understood his fascination with Islam. He left everything for this new life, for his new brothers, and above all, for Ahmed, who had become more than a teacher to him. Ahmed was now his mentor, his spiritual guide, and the reflection of everything Jamal wanted to be.

Every day, Jamal learned more about Muslim customs. He helped those in need, participated in philosophical debates at the madrasa, and dedicated himself to memorizing the Quran. His transformation was complete; he was no longer the naive young man who had first entered the bazaar in Córdoba but a man with a mission: to live fully in Islam.

**Epilogue: A Devoted Disciple**

Jamal's story became a legend in Córdoba, an example of how faith and devotion can transform even the most skeptical of hearts. Under Ahmed's guidance, Jamal not only found a new purpose but also became a teacher in his own right, teaching others about the beauty of Islam, always with the memory of his own transformation in his heart.

And so, Ahmed's library remained a beacon of light and wisdom in Córdoba, a place where seekers of knowledge, regardless of their origin, could find the path to true peace and understanding.