#please the search function is betraying me

[headslikekites]

does anyone have that one post that's like "these two men would have gay sex by standing across a room from one another fully-clothed playing 4d chess with their minds"

[neixins]

u know what i’d love to see on this fine gijaeha gtuesday? a high res version of the happy hungry bunch poster from the feb 20 issue of hana to yume. kusanagi if u can hear me……….

[nottswitch]

Ahhhh thank you sm for the follow and congrats on 1k, sweets!🖤 Can I do number 30 with Theo and make it smuuuuutttty as fuck🥵🥵🥵

Smut slut til the end of time

thank you babe, and yesss, we’re moots now 💘 you ask for smut and i shall deliver pure filth! also a smut slut thank you very much

30. "oh, fuck me."

warnings: 18+ mdni, oral (f receiving), pussy slapping, overstimulation, degradation/praise, begging, restraining, cursing

⟡ navigation ; m.lists ; theo m.list ; prompts (closed)

you didn’t know how much time had passed – maybe minutes, maybe hours. all you knew was the fact that your pussy was practically on fire, throbbing and aching with need as theo’s face was buried between your thighs, bringing you to yet another edge that evening. it was a wonder theo was holding out himself, considering that his cock was practically bursting out of his boxers and staining them with precum. he was enjoying every second of it, though.

your mewls grew in volume and intensity when you felt the peak approaching for probably the tenth time in the last hour. theo felt your legs starting to tremble and your thighs clenching around his face, which prompted him to remove his mouth from your cunt, giving you a bite on your inner thigh in the process.

"theo, please," you sobbed, your hands desperately gripping his green and silver tie restraining your wrists against the headboard of his bed. he chuckled, looking at you with a condescending gaze, his hungry eyes flicking between your flushed and sweaty face and your glistening center.

"please?" he drawled, the tip of his tongue sticking out to drag along your pussy, spreading your folds slightly, but not reaching the clit. "please what, tesoro?" he asked, his voice almost tender, betrayed by his cocky smirk at the sight of your shaking thighs.

"cum…" you muttered, your speech slurred after minutes upon minutes of moaning and whimpering for him. "wanna cum, theo, please…" you tugged at the tie again, your hips desperately jerking up to try meeting his mouth, his hands, anything at all.

"you wanna cum, bambina?" theo’s voice was mockingly surprised, as if you hadn’t been begging him to let you cum for ages now. "and how would you like to cum, hm? my mouth? my fingers? my cock?" he added thoughtfully, as if your decision actually mattered. not that it didn’t – he just knew that at this point, you’d be happy to cum humping his shoe if he allowed it.

"anything, teddy, anything…" you whined, your hips thrashing along the sheets and leaving wrinkled traces behind them. theo gave them a firm squeeze, pinning your body against the bed to prevent you from getting the forbidden friction even accidentally.

his hands hooked around your inner thighs, his thumbs moving up and down your outer folds and clasping around your clit through them. you sobbed again, feeling little needles of pleasure numbing your legs and lower stomach, but not giving anything more – just like theo wanted. he stared intently at the wetness dripping out of you and spread your folds out, opening up your entrance to his eyes as well. a quiet chuckle left his lips once he saw your hole, tightening and loosening around thin air in search of something to clench around.

"greedy little cunt," he drawled, raising his eyebrow at you, as if to make you answer for your neediness. as if he wasn’t the one edging you for at least an hour straight. you mewled in response, your mind already too out of it to properly think of something to say. your cheeks and neck were properly hot right now as you felt embarrassment creeping somewhere into your barely functioning consciousness at being exposed like that. but you didn’t really care, not when he was so close to where you absolutely ached for him.

"such a slutty little thing for me, principessa." a light slap right on your cunt brought you back to physical world, but barely. it wasn’t hard enough to cause any substantial pain, but just the right amount to remind you of your place, of the way you were theo’s needy slut through and through. his thumbs returned to massaging your clit through your folds, slipping and sliding around due to your pussy being completely drenched. "you want my cock, tesoro? want me to fill this pretty little pussy up?"

"oh, fuck me," you somehow managed to moan out, the pitch of your voice heightening. "please, theo, please please please… need your cock…" you mumbled, your lips barely able to move from the mind-numbing, teasing lack of proper pleasure applied to your throbbing clit by theo’s fingers. you felt drool trickling down your cheek from the corner of your mouth and creating a wet spot on the satin pillowcase under your head, but you couldn’t really wipe it away due to your hands still tightly constricted by the slytherin tie on the headboard.

theo shook his head, as if scolding a petulant child. your state, fucked out without actually having been fucked, amused and aroused him, and he felt his own need twitching between his legs. as much as he loved making you lose your mind from how horny he was rendering you, he thought he (and you) had had enough. he gave your pussy another light slap before starting to slowly crawl up your body, his lips leaving a sloppy trail over your stomach, chest, collarbones… he knew he wouldn’t let you go anytime soon.

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 27 - Specter

“ How long does it take for a security cam’s battery to die? “ Raph whispered to his brother as if the camera itself was trying to listen in on their conversation. 

Maybe it was.

“ Six months give or take. Therefore the camera shouldn’t be our focus right now. “ Don whispered back, motioning his head to the box of tools on the bench. He tried to move his feet, gauging how far he would need to stretch in order to reach the tools. Unfortunately the metallic ring of chains sounded harshly in his ears, as his movements were halted by their iron grip on his ankles. 

Ok.. that won’t work.

As Don ran simulations in his brain like a living calculator, Raph was attempting to escape with his own plan: PULL. REALLY. HARD. Don felt his brother’s shell twist and yank accompanied by the sounds of the chains being pulled taut. Raph let out a frustrated growl as his efforts proved to be in vain; No matter how much he yanked or tensed, the metal cuffs remained cemented to his wrists. 

Ok, cross brute force off the list.

Don tried to search for more options.

 Perhaps there’s a stray nail or screw on the floor. I could try picking my cuffs’ lock..

 He winced his eyes forcing his sight to clear as much as it could, peering down to the cold ground below. He targeted his gaze on anything that reflected light. Normally most screws and nails are made of galvanized steel, which is somewhat of a reflective metal. Therefore the thin rays of light peeking through the windows of their cell would cause those particular metals to faintly glow. Unfortunately, after a minute or so of staring at the pixelated ground, and not seeing any reflections of steel, Don gave up on that plan. 

Raph continued to struggle despite the obvious. His fists clenched tighter and tighter as he continued to pull. His shoulders rose with each tug and yank. His movements began as concentrated and calculated, but now they were unpredictable and panicked.

Don leaned back and rested the back of his head on his brother’s.

“ Ochitsuke, Raph. “ he whispered.

The horrible taunts of the ringing chains finally ceased as Raph nodded and dropped his arms to his sides.

“.. Don, I don’t.. I don’t know what to do.. How the shell are we going to get out of here? “ 

Don hated how his older brother’s voice teetered with insecurity. It didn’t help that he, too, was at a loss for words.. And PLANS apparently.

“ It’s fine.. As long as we are alive our brains can function. And as long as our brains can function, then we’ll think of a solution. “

Please believe me.

Don could feel his brother’s soft nod to his words as Raph let out a stress-filled sigh. 

You’re the smart one. Think, Interi. THINK.

If Don could, he would be slamming his forehead into his palm, trying to force ideas into his less-than-efficient-under-stress brain. When given time to think things through, he would normally have an answer to a difficult problem rather quickly. But when stress and a time crunch are involved, his brain betrays him, leaving him scrambling to remember the simplest of knowledge. It was pathetic.

Don and Raph both yanked their heads up harshly at the sound of a door opening nearby. Thankfully, without Don’s vision being at full capacity, his hearing sensitivity heightened to make up for it. 

Yay. I can at least HEAR the psycho who’s gonna kill me.

Now he could hear the haunting sound of those same heavy-duty boots coming closer and closer.

Don turned his face to Raph and whispered, “ NOT. A. WORD. “

A broad- shouldered man with rounded glasses and a tar-like coat entered quietly into Don and Raph’s cell carrying a briefcase. The light of the hallway behind him created a distorted silhouette bordering his form, making Don wince from the brightness. Both his and his brother’s body straightened like warriors preparing for battle. 

The Man politely closed the door, closely followed by a subtle click of the lock behind him as he walked up to his captives. With the light of the hallway now closed off, shadows consumed the Man’s form as he strolled closer to the brothers. The slim rays weaseling through the windows reflected in his glasses, masking the Man’s eyes in a bright white. He pulled out a small stool hidden behind the bench, and calmly sat down, placing his briefcase at his side.

“ You must have many questions as to why my team apprehended you. After all, normally in this fair city, the street scraps are left to fend for themselves. Picked off.. one by one.. by the many gangs wandering the alleys. “ 

The Man began caressing his briefcase with long, bony fingers.

“.. So, what, you may ask yourselves, makes you.. so .. special? What gives you the opportunity to be in the presence of ones with such intelligence, such as myself? “

Don and Raph gave an unamused glance to each other. Both had a whole lineup of insults to throw at this narcissist, but their mouths remained shut. 

The Man stands up with a thin growing smile and walks over to Don, covering the mutant in his towering shadow. Raph allowed a single low growl to escape his lips instead of the slew of crude nicknames piling up one by one in his head. 

“ Oh come now, I won’t harm you..

.. yet. “

In one terrifyingly quick motion, the Man shot out his hand, gripping Don’s face with his skeleton-like fingers. Raph’s growl grew louder. 

Don watched in silent horror as his face was studied by his captor like an organism under a microscope, lifting his chin painfully to scan over every corner and crevice. The chill of the Man’s fingers sent an involuntary shiver down his spine, like an evil spirit had phased through his body. 

“ With such specimens as yourselves, it would be quite foolish to take you apart in a dusty garage without my.. tools. No, no, the real fun will begin once I take you to my laboratory. “

Don didn’t like the sound of that one bit. And judging by the ferocious crescendoing snarl of his brother, Raph felt the same. 

The Man let go of Don’s face and eerily shifted towards Raph. The red-clad brother replaced his snarls with a glare so concentrated it would make milk curdle.

I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

“ Oooh, “ the Man taunted, pointing at the furious mutant, “ did I make the red one angry? “

Raph targeted all the rage and intimidation he could salvage into his piercing glare. Despite his attempts, the Man continued on as if nothing happened.

“ Well, going by your pitiful attempt at intimidating me, I will assume this must be someone you care about.” The Man gestured to Don, “ Perhaps your brother based on the ridiculous matching masks? ..Am I close? “

Raph and Don kept their mouths in a thin but planted line.

“ Hmm, “ the Man shrugged, “ Alright, not very talkative. Very well. “

The Man proceeded to return to his stool retrieving his briefcase, and placing it on his lap. With a few button clicks, it opened with a slight hiss, releasing a puff of cold air.

Don ran through all possibilities in his brain of items that would need to be kept in air tight containers and under cold temperatures.

..Sedatives..

Judging by the growing smile creeping up the Man’s face, Don knew he was right. 

WE HAVE TO ACT NOW.

Now it was Don’s turn to begin pulling and yanking on his chains. He knew it wouldn’t do anything. He KNEW. But despite the logic trying to take control of his brain, his panicked heart remained in control.

The Man rose up off his stool and began walking towards Don. The purple clad turtle’s vision morphed the Man’s form into that of a faceless specter, slowly wrapping his towering shadow over the mutant’s body. The panicked sounds of pulled chains became louder, melding with the calculated footsteps drawing closer and closer.

WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE NOW!!

For the second time today, a gun was held to Don’s head. 

“ This is just something to help you sleep.. Nothing more than a concentrated sedative, so no need to panic. “ The Man’s words whispered compassion, but his voice screeched with threat. 

Don’s heart began to pummel at his chest as the gun-like contraption the Man was holding was pointed at the mutant’s thigh. 

NO! 

With a pull of the trigger, Don felt a horrible sting spread throughout his leg. The needle in the device penetrated his skin almost like his epipen back at home. But unlike his medication, the solution being forced into his body was unknown. That fear alone made the sting hurt so much worse. He hated himself for allowing the man to see him flinch under the discomfort.

As for Raph..

.. The word ‘ hate ’ wouldn’t even begin to explain the fury raging through his brother’s body. Raph was now baring his fangs in all their sharp glory, as the Man pulled away the device , leaving a small dot of blood on Don’s leg. 

The freckled brother subtly began to sway, feeling whatever drugs running through his bloodstream beginning to activate. His head began to ring with a high pitched hum as it was becoming more and more difficult to keep his eyes open. 

STAY AWAKE. DON’T GO TO SLEEP. STAY AWAKE.

The Man walked up to Raph as he waved the device tauntingly at the slowly-growing-feral mutant. Raph had given him plenty of warnings. And there’s always a point with Don’s fiery brother when his patience snaps like a thin twig under the crackles of a flame. 

This is that point.

As the Man began positioning the device to Raph’s thigh, the flame consuming the mutant’s protective heart burst as he lunged his knee up, making the man’s hand jolt upward.

Right in front of Raph’s mouth.

With a harsh *SCRUNCH* Raph's fangs plunged deep into the Man’s hand that was holding the device. For once, their captor actually reacted, giving an annoyed grunt as he jolted from the pain burning his hand where Raph’s fangs remained planted. But despite the discomfort of the angry mutant’s teeth, the Man continued to stand tall, pushing aside Raph’s attack as a minor inconvenience.

“ Aww. It thinks it can escape. Well, what’s your plan then, mutant? Hold me down as your brother here goes for the keys that I don’t have? How much of a fool do you think I am? “

Despite the Man’s hand still being wedged into Raph’s teeth, the mutant began to smile menacingly.

“ Wrong answer, freak. “

Just like with Don, the man moved with quick and precise movements, trading off the device from the hand in Raph’s mouth to his other. He pulled the trigger. Raph was given more reason to bite down harder as the sharp sting penetrated his leg. 

The Man removed the device from Raph’s thigh and threw it to the side, and then reached deep into his black, robe-like coat. He pulled out what was definitely an actual gun, pointing it at Don’s head.

“ This will cause far more harm than the injector, I assure you. “ The Man’s voice didn’t waver the slightest, staying calm and to the point, as Raph’s bite continued to sink deeper. 

“ Now. Drop it, boy. Drop it like a good little dog. “

Raphael’s shoulders rose in hostility as his brain ran through the situation.

Does he WANT his hand to get bitten off??? 

With another growl, and a slight gag, Raphael released the Man’s bony fingers from his mouth. Don hazily watched as his brother proceeded to spit the Man’s own blood into his face. 

Everything was becoming so slow.. The Man’s form continued to alter and blur as Don’s vision slowly faded into darkness.

NO. NOT NOW! WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE!! STAY AWAKE!!

Don didn’t even realize his eyes were closed now. His body slowly slumped against his will. The ghostly voice of the Man began to echo in his brain as he fought with all his might to keep his eyes open. He could feel Raph’s body beginning to fade too..

STAY AWAKE!!!!!!!

Don continued to fight against the sedative as best he could, trying to keep his body constantly in motion. He yanked at his chains and turned his head to keep an eye on his fading brother, who was trying to do the same. But as the minutes ticked by, their movements grew more sluggish; their heads slowly lowered with their eyelids.

Stay……awakeee…

“ That’s it. Go to sleep. Dream of your family. Your friends, if you have any. Relive all those wonderful memories.. “ The Man whispered into Don’s ear as he finally lost his fight with the consuming shadows, 

“.. For when you wake,

 your true nightmare will begin. “

That's it for this chapter. :) MAN ALIVE- I have been EXCITED to show you guys this one!! This is the first time I've written for a chapter with the physical appearance of a villain.. And I think, ( and hope ) that you were left with a sense of dread for poor Don and Raph.. And- yeah, you'll be feeling that for a while with the chapters I have planned. ;)

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

[explodingsilver]

Book review: Nightbane by Alex Aster

Lightlark…2!

I’ve already made my thoughts on the first book quite clear (read that review first if you haven’t already; I don’t feel like rehashing all the context), and were I a bit more sensible, I would have stayed away from its sequel. I am, however, somewhat of a literary masochist, so of course I borrowed this from Hoopla the day it was released (November 7th, not too long ago). Very pleased that I was able to write this review much faster than the first one, though this review is shorter, at only 2,100 words long. Was the experience worth it? I don’t know, you tell me.

(There are spoilers ahead, on the off chance that you care)

The plot and style

After the events of the first book, Isla is trying to learn her several powers as well as get a hold of this “leading two different realms” thing while trying to move on from getting betrayed by four different people she used to love. At a celebration for a Wildling holiday (in which no Wildlings other than herself are in attendance), Grim magically crashes the party from afar and announces that the Nightshade army will destroy Lightlark in thirty days. The other realms start preparing for the invasion, and Isla tries to recover all her lost memories of being with Grim in hope that they will reveal what his goal is and how to stop him, especially after receiving a prophetic vision of him standing in the ruins of a village he destroyed with his powers.

Put simply, if the plot of the first book is split between “Isla and Celeste search for a MacGuffin” and “Isla and Oro search for a different MacGuffin”, this book is split between “Isla and Oro do basic defense building stuff” and “Isla remembers the time she and Grim searched for a third MacGuffin”. There’s also a subplot about a rebel group trying to capture Isla, but this is inconsequential and could’ve been dropped entirely.

It feels like there was an attempt to address some of the criticism of the first book, but not nearly enough of an attempt. On the one hand, metaphor usage has improved to the point where it actually feels like it was written by a human being and not a neural network (no throbbing and raw glaciers this time around), the book acknowledges that no longer having a power no one else had in the first place is less bad than having a maximum lifespan of 25, and Isla realizes that Grim let her win the duel in the first book and that she did not win against a 500+ year old army general on the strength of her own skill. On the other hand, it does not address questions like “how does Starling society even function if none of them ever live to 26?” or “if Oro always knows when someone is lying, why didn’t he call bullshit the moment Celeste said ‘Hi, my name is Celeste’?”

Speaking of that last thing: I didn’t mention it in my review of the first book because it didn’t really feel relevant to anything, but each ruler has a ‘flair’, a special power that is unique to them. Oro’s is that he can always tell when someone is lying. Grim’s is that he can teleport. This book reveals that Isla’s is that she is immune to curses. Glad to finally have an answer to one of my biggest questions of the first book (checks notes) 75% of the way through the second one, when this explanation should’ve been given the moment we learned the original stated reason does not apply.

Wildling elixir and its (lack of) consequences

Much of this book centers around the presence of the Wildling elixir from the first book, a potion that is super effective at healing wounds. As you might imagine, this kills a lot of the tension. Used in conjunction with Isla’s magical teleportation device, “teleport away, use Wildling elixir, teleport back” becomes an easy way to recover when the characters get their flesh ripped apart. And indeed, they do this all the time! The book tries to nerf this strategy by stating that the elixir is rare due to the flower used to make it being rare, but 1) this is at odds with Isla’s very liberal use of it, and 2) aren’t the Wildlings the “make flowers grow instantly” people? Why can’t they just use those powers on it like they do for every other plant?

There was a bit of potential for an interesting theme with these flowers: Isla eventually learns that while the Wildlings use them to make the healing elixir, the Nightshades use those exact same flowers to make the titular nightbane, which is basically fantasy heroin. I was intrigued by this motif (I like it when things have a dual nature like that), but unfortunately this doesn’t really go anywhere, other than some vague gesturing at “wow, just like Isla”. Speaking of Isla…

Isla

This time around, Isla is clearly traumatized by the events of the last book, trusts very few people, and is aware that she is in over her head with leading two realms full of subjects she barely knows while also being the king’s unofficial consort. Not a bad start for a character arc, but in effect, she has gone from naive and impulsive to naive, impulsive, and guilty about those things while making little effort to amend them. It feels like her attitude towards leadership is basically “I’m allowed to call myself a bad leader but nobody is allowed to agree with me on that.”

Much of Isla’s internal conflict in this book is based around her Nightshade heritage on her father's side. She is convinced that there is an inherently evil part of her because her father was from the Inherently Evil Realm. This may not come as a surprise, but I do not like when stories have such a thing as an Inherently Evil Realm. Not only does Nightshade fill this role, but the book never even gestures at pushing back against Isla’s conviction that her heritage taints her, and in fact ends up affirming it.

This book really told me to my face that Isla is the first person in millennia to have both Wildling and Nightshade powers. I do not buy that even for a moment. Maybe my disbelief is because the series discarded the “only one realm’s power set per person, even if their parents are from different realms” thing in the same book it was introduced, and I would expect there to be Wildling/Nightshade couples way more often than once per few millennia. But no, that highly plausible thing can’t happen because then Isla won’t be the most special person currently alive!

The other characters

Sadly, the rest of the cast did not improve, and in some instances, got worse.

Oro going from "world weary, distant king" to "official love interest" has unfortunately sanded down all his interesting aspects, and everything I liked about his character in the first book now takes a backseat to being overly protective of Isla and making stock Love Interests threats to kill anyone who hurts her. I swear, he turned so generic that some of his lines were indistinguishable from something Grim would say. But hey, if nothing else, he at least didn’t get character assassinated like I was sure he would!

While Grim actually does stuff in this book, he still has no personality traits other than what's included in the Sexy Villain Starter Pack. Like, it actually upsets me that he's such an absolute nothing of a character. Everything about him begins and ends with “what if the villain…was sexy?”, and there are about a morbillion stories out there that provide more interesting answers to this question. You’d think focusing on him this much would be the perfect opportunity to give him any unique traits at all, but Aster certainly did not take that opportunity, nor did she ever answer the question of why he likes Isla, despite the sheer number of pages dedicated to their relationship.

As for everyone else? Azul, our beloved token gay black man who runs his realm like a democracy, still receives woefully little page time. Cleo, the bitchy ruler who hates Isla for no reason, receives even less, but at least we get to hear about her dead son, I guess. Ella, Isla's Starling assistant, is mentioned so rarely I wonder if Aster forgot she exists. There are also several new average citizen characters introduced, but none of them are remotely interesting. They're all defined solely by whether or not they're on Isla's side. It says something when the best new character is Isla's new animal companion (a panther named Lynx, who rules because he does not give a shit about Isla).

The chili pepper emoji, as the TikTokers call it

Because I must do as the book did and address the topic of sex before I get to the final important bits.

This book is much hornier than the first one, but in a way that makes large parts of it feel like one of those dreams where you're trying to have sex with someone but your attempts keep getting interrupted. I regret that I did not count the number of times Isla was about to fuck someone and then got denied for some reason or another.

There are three times she actually succeeds, and luckily these scenes do not read like they were written by Sarah J. Maas, despite her obvious influence on everything else. This doesn't seem like much of a compliment, but this series needs all the W’s it can get. That's not to say everything is fine, though. There's one scene that's obviously using all the "first time" stuff for characterization, and I can't help but feel this would be more effective had they not already slept together a few short chapters beforehand? Like c’mon, all you had to do was switch the order of those two scenes.

The ending

Shortly before the Nightshade army is set to storm the island and destroy it, Isla learns Grim’s (and Cleo’s) real motivation for doing so: there’s a portal on the island leading to another world, one in which the original founders of Lightlark came from before making Lightlark in the image of the world they left. Grim and Cleo want to open that portal and reach the other world, which will just so happen to destroy the island. They’re not actually trying to kill everyone for the evulz. Isla, in her naivety, accidentally opens it for them before they even arrive.

During the final battle, while trying to steal Grim's powers so she can kill him and save Lightlark, Isla finally remembers the last two important memories: 1) she and Grim actually got married right before he memory-wiped her, and 2) what she thought was a prophetic vision of him killing an entire village was actually a memory of her doing so. Convinced that she'll accidentally kill Oro if she stays with him, she agrees to go with Grim, whom she just realized she is still in love with, in exchange for a promise that he'll withdraw the attack.

I cannot remember the last time I had this strong of an "are you fucking kidding me" reaction to the end of a book. But after some thinking, I decided that it actually makes for some great tragedy material. “Traumatized woman with a supportive partner becomes convinced that she’s too horrible to be with him and goes back to her terrible husband��� would make for a good story if this was a more grounded book written by anyone else. Alas, this concept just had to be tackled here.

I also naively thought that because the deal was for two books, that means this would be a duology. But it feels like there will be a third book, and I'm hoping there is, not out of any desire for more (unsure how much more I can take), but because it would be straight-up authorial malpractice to end the series on that note.

Conclusion

This honestly wasn’t quite as bad as the first book, but the problems that persisted outweighed the ones that got fixed, and the severe case of Middle Book Syndrome certainly did not help its case. It’s a very small improvement stylistically, but when the nicest things I can say about it are “there were some concepts that could’ve made for an interesting story in the hands of a better author” and “the sex scenes aren’t atrocious” and “the cat is kinda cool”, then I feel justified in calling it terrible overall. It’s a good thing that Lightlark…3! is presumably a long ways away, because I will need all that time to recover from having read this.

[merryfortune]

full spectre event finale thoughts thread

i genuinely cried during the finale

spoilers abound under the cut

Tiny tot Spectre!!!!!! He is so precious!!!!!! A cutie patootie a babbu

But Spectre being able to return to where he belongs, even briefly, made me so happy, I'm so happy for him!!!!!

Ok a little heart-breaking, I remember you, I care about you but I know I don't count since there's no player avatar in duel links but please remember cross duel, you were my biggest weakness!!! But ok cool recapping what we know about how memories criss-cross with ressurection and stuff like that in duel links

WE LOVE A KING WITH SELF CONFIDENCE AND HIGH SELF ESTEEM

This was so moe of Spectre................................. i love him, life may not be a fairy tale for him but consider. it is and he is cinderella.

But, more importantly, this is confirmation that he is still searching for Earth. He is *wishing* for Earth. I am over the moon but in a bittersweet way.

I can finally forgive Duel Links for SB stealing Playmaker's spotlight as Spectre's narrative foil but this is to enhance and create a parallel to them both with Ai and Flame with their partnerships. He is so envious of them in that regard my word.

I've seen speculation from Japanese players that this could also be referring to a possible Dr Kogami ressurection and honestly? since it'll piss off a lot of western fans, I am on their side. A Dr kogami appearance would slap. But even aside from that interpretation more Ignis speculation my beloved.

the one soulburner screenshot lmao but here is what had me crying. I have had this exact sentiment yelled at me as a teen and its a contributing factor to why I latched onto Spectre so hard. Seeing a character who is so joyfully against the grain, is a freak, it means so much to me. I genuinely felt so *seen* by this line but I am worried that I am assuming malice here other people are not. like everyone wants to coddle sb and that's fine/understandable but spectre deserves to have his spotlight and to air his feelings on the trauma he's experienced. like i don't want to pull the bad victim/good victim dichotomy card here but its tempting

Oops I didn't grab screenshots of Revolver's dramatic entrance. Loved it by the way! I think its very funny that he gave Spectre a solemm scoleding for going too far and that Spectre genuinely knocks it off afterwards. It gives us a hint to whether or not Spectre knows if Revolver was the whistleblower, how they function interpersonally despite their diametrically opposing views on the incident. Excellent stuff.

boyfriends..................... the master and servant dynamic...... foaming at the mouth I froth....................... their conflicting feelings o the ignis. i hope we get earth so bad

thread end

this finale was 99.9% perfect for me, the remaining 0.01% would have been if Earth had been name dropped. Let's see where the story picks up next year with Akira. Looking forward to 100%'ing the rerun event too

Edit: crying again because I thought too hard about how Spectre would never betray Revolver and how ryoken gave him a home 😭

[x-reader-theater]

Hey angst demons, it's me ya boy.

So! Once again i come asking for heartbreaking fanfics bc i have lost the ability to feel happiness.

I was thinking of a COD Ghost x male reader, where they both have feelongs for each other but haven't confessed yet and while on a mission together they get separated and reader gets shot and ghost can't get to him in time.

Only if you want to / are comfortable with writing it!

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Gender Neutral!Reader

word count: 1086

warnings: main character death, Ghost might be OOC, Ghost pov.

a/n: i have also lost the ability to feel happiness so you're not alone. sorry for how late this is going up, because i have lost the ability to feel happiness, i have also lost the motivation to write. i still want to write though so please keep requesting stuff. it kinda forces me to do it because i live off validation and other people's expectations. also, very sorry for making this gender neutral instead of male. i didn't know how to make it a male reader with what i wanted to write. i'm sure if i wrote more it would have been easier. my requests are open and you can find my request rules here. i'm running out of ghost gifs on the tumblr gif search function, so if anyone knows anyone who has a lot of ghost gifs, please let me know and I may start using their gifs if they give permission.

You’re sitting across from Ghost in the Heli as you approach your destination. Your leg is bouncing, and Ghost reaches a leg out to steady your knee. You look up at him, smiling, and you look away. You look flustered to him, embarrassed, and his heart stutters in his chest. He can’t imagine you being anywhere else but by your side. He knows his face doesn’t betray it, but he loves you.

He has to tell you.

“Simon,” you shout over to him over the sound of the chopper. “I have to tell you something.”

Ghost’s heart starts beating harder, faster, and he shouts back. “I have something to tell you too.” He sees your face light up, but interrupts what you were going to say by shouting, “After this mission. You can tell me then.”

You nod, giving a, “Of course, lieutenant.”

Ghost nods back, and the two of you shoot glances at each other as you approach your destination.

When you finally have feet on the ground, Ghost decides you’re to split up, you taking the base from the north, him from the south, and you would pinch in.

“Breaching now,” you tell Ghost over comms. He affirms back as he does the same, getting through the fence and slipping into the compound. There’s as many guards as he assumed there would be in the brief, which is almost none. Ghost takes out a few of the men and moves further in when your voice whispers over the comms, “Moving into the first building now. Met minimal resistance.”

“Affirmative. Stay sharp, [L/N].”

You chuckle over the comms. “Will do, lieutenant.”

Ghost moves into a building, quickly and quietly taking out all the guards that are in there, and logs onto one of the computers there with a bypass key, downloading all the information he can on that flash drive.

“Shit,” Ghost hears over the comms. He stops what he’s doing and looks around, making sure no one is sneaking up on him as he downloads. “Shit, shit, shit!”

“[L/N], what’s wrong?” Ghost asks, unable to move from his position right now with the file downloading.

“It was a trap!” you shout, and Ghost hears the gunfire through the comms trying to drown out your voice. “I’m pinned!”

“Hold tight!” Ghost shouts, and he looks over his shoulder at the flash drive. It only has a few more seconds on it, but the gunfire is getting louder and louder through the comms.

The computer pings and Ghost rips the drive out of the computer without ejecting it properly, uncaring if any of the files become corrupted by the violent ejection. He sprints out of the building he’s in, any semblance of stealth he was trying to go for before flies out the window and into the mud as he rushes towards your last known location, and the direction of the gunshots.

“Simon!” you shout and Ghost’s head whips toward you, seeing you leaning back against a dark green Jeep, a hand holding your side. Simon crouches down behind a different Jeep and nods at you, poking out and firing at anyone who even tries to get a look.

With two people firing, it’s much easier to overwhelm the mass of soldiers with two people than one, and soon enough, Ghost stands, making sure everyone else is dead, before moving over to you. He feels it before he sees it. It’s dark against the black pavement. A puddle of something thick and black. At first, Ghost thinks it’s oil, but when he runs his thumb along the bottom of his boot, his thumb comes back bright red.

All the blood rushes from his face, and he throws himself down into the puddle, pain radiating through his knees as he hovers over you.

“No, no, shit!” he exclaims, and you cough. A trickle of blood spills from your mouth. The bullet is in your lung.

“Got me point-blank underneath the vest,” you say, a wheeze escaping you as a lung most likely collapses.

“No, please,” Simon begs, reaching out with his hands but not touching you. He doesn't want to cause you more pain than you're already in. You, however, reach out toward him, which breaks him from his hesitancy. He places his hands on the sides of your face.

You lean your face into his hand. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, your eyes starting to utter closed.

Simon slaps your face, trying to keep you awake, saying, “No, no I’m sorry! I should have been there for you, I should have had your back! It’s my fucking fault!” Simon has never been this distraught in his life, his life hardening him into the emotionless soldier everyone knows. But not for you.

You reach a hand up and place it on his cheek, wincing as your arm raises above your lungs. In response, Simon leans in closer, so you don't have to raise your arm as high. “It's not your fault. We knew the risks when we joined the military,” you whisper, eyes closed now.

Simon reaches up and yanks off his mask. “Please, please, you can’t leave me!” he screams, his voice cracking on the last syllable.

Your eyes flutter open and Simon's heart flutters in his chest. You give a small smile as you say, “You’re so handsome… I’m… glad I got to see you…”

“You’ll see it again, I promise!” Simon begs, lying to himself and you.

You smile.

“Okay,” you mutter, “I would like that.”

All Simon can do is nod.

“Simon I…”

Simon can feel it when your last breath leaves your body. It’s like you needed two breaths to say what you wanted to say, but your body could only give you one. Your body goes limp in his grasp slowly, deflating as your lungs collapse and blood starts to trickle from your mouth. Your eyes are open, staring at the clear blue sky, tears already haven fallen.

And for the first time since before Simon was in the military, he begins to sob.

He clutches your body as delicately as he can to his chest, not wanting to hurt you, even if you can't feel anything any more.

Simon holds you until he gets a call in his radio that extraction is coming. It comes out of your radio, too, and he turns it off before wiping his eyes with the back of a gloved hand.

He carries your body to the helicopter, unable to leave it behind, no matter what he was told to do.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Fourth Chapter - Clandestine

Please see the full AO3 work for disclaimers and the first chapter :)

Thanks to @rohza-is-a-bit-gay, @kwiwrites, @finnslay, @reggie-the-inferi and everyone else who sent me motivation!

CW: Lots of internalized transphobia, dysphoria, fear and paranoia, incorrect binding. Very vague descriptions of bodily functions of a minor, but not in a sexual way at all.

He’d known, long before starting Hogwarts, that he and Sirius would not be in the same house. They were too opposite, too fundamentally different. Sirius was loud and talkative and exuberant. He was quiet and reserved and standoffish. He’d prepared himself for the moment the Sorting Hat would yell out a different house name.

But it still gave him a jolt when it did.

He vaguely saw Sirius cheering for him from the Gryffindor table, and stumbled his way to the other end of the Hall, where the Slytherins sat. His housemates, clad in green, clapped for him. Paranoid, he looked to a few of their faces, searching for confusion or suspicion or even disgust, but he only saw polite smiles or vacant expressions of boredom. He gave an internal sigh of relief, realizing that nobody suspected a thing.

He also was extremely thankful that the last of his cousins, Narcissa, had graduated the previous year. He knew there were children of friends of his family, but nobody he had ever gotten to know closely before, and nobody he’d seen in years. For once, the arrogant elitism of his parents had been beneficial- they’d always gone on about how nobody outside of the family was good enough to befriend their children.

He put on his most neutral and aloof-looking expression, trying not to betray any sense of fear or nervousness, so scared they might be able to sense the secret on him. He reminded himself that as long as he didn’t get too close to anyone, nobody would know. People couldn’t accuse him of being anything if they hardly knew him.

When the Sorting concluded and the feast began, Regulus turned to the other first-years and found himself frozen. Students eagerly ate around him, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He’d always been pushed to associate with the girls. Should he do what he was used to and strike up a conversation with the sour-looking girl next to him, or try to engage with the tall, black-haired boy across the table? Would the boy know, as soon as he opened his mouth? He should probably just stay quiet.

He swallowed nervously, pulling his lips together, gazing down at the food in front of him. Suddenly, he felt nauseous.

“Mate, you look green,” the boy across from him said around a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Trying to match with the house? You know they give us ties for that, right?”

“Crouch, don’t be a jerk,” a fair-haired boy next to the tall one admonished with an eye roll, elbowing his counterpart. Regulus recognized both of them from the boats- the tall one had tried to push the blonde one overboard. “I’m Evan Rosier,” he continued. “That prat is Barty Crouch, but his full name is Bartemius and you should definitely use it against him.”

Regulus snorted at this, his stomach easing slightly. They didn’t seem to suspect. “Regulus Black,” he murmured, unsmiling. He looked Barty up and down, spotting the food he had spilled on himself. “Are you planning on eating your food or just decorating your uniform with it?”

He pulled his lips together in immediate regret, a bit nervous that this was going too far. His instinct was to defend, to be the one to hurt and throw punches, so as to not be the one left blindsided.

But Barty let out a laugh and said, “I’m saving it for later, Reg. Don’t wake me up in the middle of the night when you’re hungry.”

Regulus gave a shocked chuckle, and realized with a start that these would be the boys he would be sharing a dorm with. He found that the thought eased his anxiety a little more.

-

“Mister Black, a word?”

The voice of Professor McGonagall rang clearly across the line of Slytherin first years, all readying themselves to follow the Prefect to their dormitories.

Regulus didn’t turn right away.

He was used to Sirius being Mister Black, or even his father.

So it took Evan’s helpful elbow to the ribs to remind him that he was also Mister Black.

“Ow—oh! Erm, yes, Professor?” he turned, reddening a bit.

“A word, Mister Black,” the professor repeated sternly.

He had a feeling he knew what the topic of conversation would be, but he still felt defensive, as if he was already in trouble. Barty’s whisper of, “Reg, how’d you already get in trouble?” Didn’t help.

He followed McGonagall, trying to keep his stoic expression from earlier.

She tried to make conversation as they walked, but his anxiety about possibly being in trouble, the anticipation and nerves surrounding sharing a room with Evan and Barty, and the tight itchiness of the bandages around his chest all made him feel a bit irritable. When McGonagall asked him how he found Hogwarts, all he could manage was, “Fine, thank you,” trying to fight the urge to pull at one particular part of the bandage that was practically digging into his rib.

When they arrived at what he figured was McGonagall’s office, he wasn’t shocked to see Sirius waiting there.

“Alright, Reggie?” he asked with a smile.

He couldn’t help but relax a bit, seeing Sirius there. He was like a safe harbor in a huge ocean of newness and possible threats.

“Alright,” he murmured, meeting Sirius’s eyes. He almost wished he had been sorted into Gryffindor, so he could join his brother in their shared Common Room, perhaps play a game of Exploding Snap. He always relished in beating Sirius at anything.

“Alright, boys,” McGonagall said, gesturing for Regulus to sit down as she sat at her desk. “As Deputy Headmistress, I wanted to check in with you, Regulus, about your needs here at Hogwarts. We know you have a unique situation, and we want to make sure you are comfortable. Normally we would have this meeting alone, but Sirius, here, has been quite insistent and proactive about making sure you are taken care of, so I invited him here to sit in, if that is alright with you?”

Regulus nodded, sorting through his emotions. He started with the most basic question. “Erm..you know?”

“Yes, Mister Black,” McGonagall said simply. “Headmaster Dumbledore, Professor Slughorn- the Slytherin Head of House, and Madame Pomphrey- the matron at the Hospital Wing, all know, as they are directly responsible for your care.”

Regulus digested this information. McGonagall was old, and he knew from Sirius that she was very strict, with high expectations. Was she similar to his parents? What must she be thinking of him right now? Would it affect his grades? He’d been hoping that, since his letter had been addressed to Mister R. Black, they all just assumed he was, well, a normal boy, and he could hide it from everyone. He felt his stomach turn to lead again.

McGonagall seemed to correctly interpret his silence. “Let me assure you, Mister Black, that all of the adults here that are aware of your situation are here to make you feel safe and comfortable. However that might be.” Her voice was far softer than before.

Sirius gave a noise of satisfaction from the chair next to him.

“Thank you,” Regulus murmured, relief flooding through him, finally meeting her eyes.

-

Sharing a room and bathroom with Barty and Evan wasn’t so bad at first. For the first few weeks, all of the boys changed in the bathroom, slept in pajama pants and shirts, and were generally shy around each other when it came to bodies.

However, as the days went on and they became more comfortable around each other, Barty and Evan both eased up a bit. It became normal for Barty to sleep without a shirt on, and Evan frequently just changed in front of his wardrobe, too tired and grumpy in the mornings to walk to the bathroom.

Regulus felt the paranoia again set in when Barty commented on it one day, when the fire was going in their room and Barty and Evan had long ago stripped off their shirts while Regulus sat resolutely with both his shirt and sweater on. “Wassamatter, Reg? Don’t want to show us the goods?” Barty had said lazily, hanging his head upside-down on his bed.

But Regulus had just snarked back, “I’d hate for you to die of jealousy, Crouch,” before pulling shut his curtains.

Thankfully, Barty and Evan both took Regulus’s anxiety-provoked mood swings in stride, and found his biting sarcasm funny. Evan’s laugh at that particular comment, muffled but still distinct, sounded through the thick curtains of Regulus’s bed.

They seemed to accept that Regulus was just shy, and for that, he was grateful.

-

He befriended two girls as well, and at first, he found himself almost more nervous to be around them. Would they be able to sense, innately, someone who was…built like them? But Dorcas Meadowes and Pandora Rosier seemed to accept him shockingly quickly.

Dorcas was a year older, and had befriended them one day during breakfast when she’d made a snarky comment at someone in her year for being a “bigoted arse.” Barty and Evan had both snorted out their tea and invited her to sit with them. Soon, Dorcas was an integral part of their little group- all fiery confidence and witty comebacks, but with equal levels of loyalty and warmth for the people she considered herself close to.

Pandora, Evan’s twin in Ravenclaw, also joined their group, becoming an ‘honorary Slytherin,’ according to Dorcas. More often than not, she ate meals at the Slytherin table, spent her evenings in the Slytherin Common Room, and even slept on the floor in the boys’ dorm. Unlike any of the others, she was much softer and inherently selfless, and lacked the crass sense of humor and sarcastic nature the others had in abundance. However, when ganged up on, she’d still come up with a few clever retorts that had left Regulus almost smiling, which was a difficult thing to do. Pandora was also the person out of the group that somehow both felt the safest and the most risky, because she was the most likely to give affection and compliments, but also the one who seemed to know secrets about the others before they even knew themselves. It was a bit unsettling.

But before long, he felt himself growing comfortable. Comfortable in a way he had never been in his family home. At Hogwarts, he was referred to as Regulus, was not scoffed at for his short hair or pants. He could use the boys bathroom without a second glance, and even started to get used to responding to his name, to Professors who would admonish himself, Barty, and Evan for whispering in the back of class with a “Boys! Pay attention!” He found he loved his studies, much to the amusement of his dorm mates, and excelled in many of his classes. He had always been intelligent, and now that he was not distracted by stomach aches and nausea, he could really focus on learning. The nauseous feelings he used to get when looking at his old self in the mirror seemed more like memories than reality. He was living.

-

He’d been sore lately, both in his chest and a little in his lower stomach. He’d been avoiding saying anything, instead trying to ignore the problem, just wanting to just enjoy his lessons.

However, sometimes, it was too much. Sometimes he could hardly breathe, his chest hurt so bad, and the only relief came from removing his bandages. He considered doing this during the day, but he had been developing more, lately, and he felt sick just thinking about it.

That morning, he had pulled the bandages even tighter than usual, fighting to flatten his body, ignoring the aching pain. But it became too much, and by lunch, he was gasping when he moved the wrong way, clutching at his front.

Sirius noticed.

They hadn’t been spending a ton of time together- Sirius had his friends, his homework, and far too many detentions for things Regulus couldn’t even keep track of. Regulus had his own friends, and his own schoolwork to manage. Regulus found that, though Sirius’s friends were nice enough and welcoming, he preferred to spend time with his own friends- they were more like him (sarcastic and quiet) and he felt more comfortable. Plus, he always got all weird and sweaty around Potter, and it was easier to just ignore him, even though Barty remarked that Regulus stared a bit too often at the Gryffindor.

So he and Sirius had gotten into the habit of meeting at least once a week for a fly around the Quidditch Pitch. One of the only things they’d always had in common was their shared love of flying. Though Sirius had never expressed an interest in actually playing Quidditch on the school team (he would probably rather die than get up early for practice), they both enjoyed the feeling of being up in the air, the freedom that went with it. Regulus, of course, did want to be on the Quidditch Team, though he doubted he’d ever have the confidence to try out.

Their flights were like the times (it felt so long ago now, like in another lifetime) where he used to sneak into Sirius’s room at night, and after trying on Sirius’s clothes they would hide together under the covers and whisper gossip and secrets and things they were afraid to say in the daylight.

Except now, Regulus felt safe enough to talk in the open, albeit a hundred feet off the ground, as he updated Sirius on his life and Sirius did the same. He told Sirius about Barty and Evan and Pandora and Dorcas and how Bary and Ev walked around with no shirts on and how it made him nervous because he couldn’t do the same. And Sirius reminded him that Barty and Evan were idiots and had no idea what was going on, and then complained about how Peter never picked up his shoes off the floor and he was always tripping in the middle of the night.

So that day, as Regulus winced while trying to mount his broom, Sirius must have felt comfortable saying to Regulus, “Reggie, you look like you’ve been punched. Nobody– nobody did anything to you? Because I’ll–”

He interrupted, “No! No, I just…sometimes the bandages hurt, that’s all.”

Sirius looked at him with pity in his eyes. “Reg…we can talk to somebody. I could ask Gideon, or even Madame Pomfrey, if there’s something else–”

“No!” he interrupted again, looking down. “No, I don’t want anyone to know.”

And Sirius sighed. “I don’t want you hurting.”

“Better to be hurting on the outside than the inside,” Regulus murmured, taking off into the air before Sirius could respond.

-

He asked Sirius, on one of their flights, if any of his friends knew. He’d shot up in bed one night, realizing that it was probable that Sirius had come to Hogwarts and mentioned his sister. What had he told them?

“Erm, yeah, I mentioned you,” Sirius said, shrugging. “Talked about you more than once. But…I mostly referred to you as Reggie. And I probably only used the word 'sister' once or twice. So when I came back from the holidays last year, I just made sure to…y’know…say brother and he and him. James and Pete aren’t the best listeners, so I think they thought they’d just misheard the first time.”

Regulus let out a breath at that. For some reason, James Potter knowing his secret made him even more uncomfortable than the idea of Barty or Evan or, really, anyone else in the whole entire castle. “And Lupin?”

Sirius moved on his broom uncomfortably. “He’s…a bit more observant. He gave me a weird look, but he didn’t say anything out loud. Reg, he’s good at keeping secrets, trust me. If he knows, he’s not saying anything.”

The way Sirius spoke was so genuine that Regulus believed him.

-

He saw people looking at him, sometimes.

It was difficult to not quickly assume that it was because they knew.

He tried to convince himself that he was being paranoid.

Older students would stare, and he would remind himself that he was related to Sirius. Sirius was popular and obnoxious and impossible to ignore. He was just…stared at by association.

But there was one that looked at him more than most.

Pandora sometimes gave him looks like she knew he was hiding something. He’d do or say something, something he swore was nonchalant, but Pandora would look at him like she was seeingthrough him.

It was scary, to know that she might know. Because one word from her, and everything he’d built over the past three months would come crumbling down.

-

It actually turned out to be incredibly lucky that she knew, though.

Because one day in early December, the pain Regulus had been feeling in his abdomen returned. Lower, now, almost centralized to around four inches below his belly button. He awoke with a gasp, as it felt like a small knife was stabbing into him, and his whole lower stomach clenched.

He sat through breakfast, pale-faced and not eating, ignoring the urging from Dorcas to go to the Hospital Wing. What would he say? Oh, I’m having pains in a place that I like to pretend doesn’t exist...? No. Just give me a pain potion, please don’t examine me, I can’t bear to even have a Mediwitch see that, it would make me sick...?

And Pandora just quietly looked at him, her eyes full of both concern and understanding, as if there was something she knew that she wasn’t saying to him.

When they got up for Transfiguration, she pulled Regulus to the side. “Walk with me,” she whispered.

A small ask, but a difficult feat, as it currently hurt to stand up straight. But he nodded and allowed her to pull him away from the others. She guided him all the way to a hidden alcove, dropping his hand and picking up her bag. She fished around in it for a minute before holding out a small, vibrantly-wrapped flat square. His stomach turned to lead.

“Reg, you need this,” she whispered, placing the item in his hand, wrapping both of her hands around his.

His mouth went dry. His stomach lurched. He knew what the object was, and what it implied. He wanted to protest, to run, to scream, but he couldn’t find the words. “No,” he whispered instead.

“You look terrible. You’re cramping, right?” Pandora asked softly, not allowing him to deny what she already seemed to know.

He tried anyways, of course, attempting a scoff and a frown, but instead just stuttering, “N–No, I–”

“I always hurt the worst on the first day. Like someone shoved a cactus in me,” she said bluntly.

But the description was accurate, and Regulus almost teared up at it, but he held his composure. Instead, he did nothing.

“Is it the first time, Reg?” Pandora continued, her voice soothing and kind.

Well, fucking shit, never mind about the composure.

Why was this happening? Why did this have to happen now? To him? After he'd finally made friends and a new start! Why couldn't he just have a body that didn't betray him? And for it to be happening in front of one of his new friends, one of the few people who had only known him as Regulus, who had accepted him as a boy...it was devastating.

He took a shuddering breath and one single tear spilled from his eye as he nodded, terrified about how Pandora would react.

But she only grabbed his hand more firmly. Her hand felt so comforting around his.

“C’mon then,” Pandora urged with a kind smile, pulling him along.

And ten minutes later, sitting in his empty dorm room while Pandora patiently explained how to use the things she gave him, he finally found his voice. He asked, more defensively than he meant to, “You don’t hate me? Find me disgusting? Want to tell the whole school?”

She gave him an incredulous look. “For what? Getting your per-”

“For…for this!” He exclaimed gesturing first at the colorfully wrapped things on his bed, then at himself.

And Pandora uncharacteristically rolled her eyes. “Wow, I guess boys get dramatic during their time of the month, too, huh?”

And Regulus actually laughed out loud at that.

Read the work in progress here! VVV

[therealcocoshady]

You know when I read this line in chapter 27 I actually wanted to ask you what Marshall means because I‘ve got suspicious…

This line about his groupies and he‘s saying: „None of them matter, he chuckled. You are everything, right now.“

The right now confused me a little bit but it makes perfect sense now. I would be butt hurt and pissed that a) he was/is in a sexual relationship with his assistant and he doesn’t want to tell her about it b) Paul wants her to sign a NDA benefitting only Marshall and Tracy is a part of his team c) seeing her everytime or worrying about anything happening between them while he is away at work 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

I feel like he betrayed her trust in a sense because she told him how depressed she was, she didn’t eat because of him, basically nobody was in the picture and he’s just … a man with needs I guess 😀

It just shows how women sacrifice so much for men and they would never return the favor. He doesn’t want to get married and have kids -> in order for them to be together she has to give up her dreams. She misses him so much and is suffering -> he tries to get over her by getting under someone else. It’s not just like that in your story, that’s just how men function in our society. Most men would never sacrifice things for us women. We have to adapt to their lifestyle to make it work.

-

Anyway, the chapter was amazing. I’m absolutely mesmerized how you incorporate ideas from your readers on Tumblr. Most times I want to ask something or send something in, which I don’t, and it’s in here … - amazing!!!

I‘m expecting a lot of fighting and drama 🥰😈 Can you please get rid of her thooo no T. in his orbit. Paul has to search for somebody else for this shady camp

I was amazed by your comment ! The fact that you would take the time to post such an extensive comment... ❤️

Your analysis is SPOT ON. It is ALWAYS the woman making sacrifices for the relationship. And I feel like, in this one, there is a clear power dynamic, whether the protagonists want to acknowledge it or not 👀.

But yeah, to be fair, in reader's place, I would be butt hurt too !

[enfate03]

Secondhand

Prologue ♡ Just a Little Bit

wc: 0.6k

cw: discrimination, manipulation

Masterlist | Next

If you lay on your back long enough, unblinkingly watching the ceiling fan put up a futile fight against the dizzying summer heat, your thoughts will start to wander to a different reality. In this other reality the emptiness on your skin, save for the blooming of freckles and scratches of memories, is not so condemning as it is freeing. With the leash around your neck cut with a single snip, nobody would care to stare or tie the handle around a telephone pole.

To the people that mattered, it didn’t used to be so constrictive. Civilizations thrived even as world leaders sought to marry their children off before they reached the age of independence, hoping to beat the universe by forcing their child into a loveless and politically fortunate marriage. In fact, the royal and rich strived to create baseborns, children that would accept the reality of their broken fate and reach for success rather than romance.

If you let the seconds tick into hours, maybe you can hallucinate your world into that society of blue bloods. Quantum-leaping into a different reality where passionate one-night stands leading to conception are just a mistake, not blasphemy. Away from the society that embraces soulmates more than ever before, that considers babies made by coloring outside the lines as broken. Worthless. Baseborn.

If you hadn’t been adopted, you almost certainly would have wasted away within the system. You were taught that the soulmark was a gift given to humans for their attainment of reason and superior intellect. No other animals have been discovered with similar markings, even those with behaviors for lifelong mating. For someone to betray this gift of the universe in such an obvious way would be a crime, and although you could not control it, there were many with the belief that children like you didn’t deserve to exist in the first place.

It is this thought process that you fear, one that would turn friends and strangers against you. Your adoptive father had been one to take pity on you, not wanting to blame the sins of the parents on the innocent child. But even still, he had brought you into his lap one day to explain the circumstances of your birth and the dangers that would follow you for the rest of your life. You learned from him the importance of keeping your distance and how to ignore the loneliness that could swallow you up.

“Is there something wrong with me?” You had asked him the night he dispelled your innocence, clutching a stuffed rabbit close to your chest.

“My dear, it is not your fault,” he had replied. But he did not dispute it either.

The idea that a baseborn could search for love had been one that you had batted around your mind like a kitten for the longest time. But despite the long family lines of historical monarchies that could be traced throughout time, those without functioning soulmarks were discouraged from reproducing. Even your father had warned you against it. He had rescued you in the hopes of allowing you to make the best of a life you weren’t supposed to have in the first place, but the best you have ever been allowed to strive for is a successful, comfortable life. Alone.

“Even if you came across someone like me, who lost their soulmate at a young age, you could never be loved as they loved their other half. You would always be second best, my dear.”

Sometimes you think you could settle for second best. You don’t need all the love in someone’s heart. Maybe just a little bit could sustain you.

Author's note: hi, hello. Nice to meet everyone. I've been on tumblr for a long time, and I've been a writer for just as long if not longer, but I recently decided to make a writing-specific blog for k-pop. This is a work that I've had in the drafts for years, and I'm hoping that by posting it, I'll finally be motivated to finish it. I hope you like it (and if not, please be kind). I know it's not very exciting and a bit vague, but hopefully, it's a good introduction to the world I'm trying to build. I'm excited to post the first chapter, cause that's where Heeseung shows up, and I also have another story set in the same universe that I'm working on, so if you're interested, stay tuned. <3 Brew

[daytura]

OP nails the analysis. I skim-binged Homestuck in 2016, just around the time it ended, and even with all the fanfiction I've read there's still little I remember about it. But I constantly come back to alt!Calliope's quotes and dialogues. The Calliopes to me embody the balance between idealism and utility, the subjective and the ideal, and the way fiction and reality switch places and flow into each other.

See also: Hyperstition, joking about outcomes you want, meme magic, and multiversal views on language models

What's interesting to me structurally is that Calliope is fandom self-insert and represents tendencies, traits, and patterns we find in transformative fandom. John may be the audience, but Calliope are the fans. Calliope theorizes, stays on the outside, conducts hyperstition, waiting for someone to bootstrap her into reality. She is the one in the ivory tower, the one with Pinterest boards. She is the outsider. We've all been Calliope three times over.

Hussie created a character [...] for who inaction is the ultimate action. /r/Homestuck

CALLIOPE: how can i go in search of myself if i am blown to smithereens the moment i set foot oUtside? / pg. 6672

The second interesting thing to me is that alternate versions of characters, like Davesprite and the Aradiabots, operate as derivations of an ideal. Canonically, yes, Davesprite and the Aradiabots "occur first" in the sense that these events must happen in order to reflexively correct the main course of events. But functionally, as structural elements, they're derivations. alt!Calliope derives from Calliope; the archetype of alt!Calliope, then, is someone who has transcended fandom, filed off the serial numbers, and "won". alt!Calliope is life after fandom, or life without fandom outright. A writer publishing without ever reading fanfiction. They don't transform and derive, they invent. They are the outsider with utility.

Tangent — utility seems to be a theme running across the space players. Kanaya and the matriorb, Jade and the Yellow Yard.

JADESPRITE: but i dont know whats right JADE: yes you do! JADE: even though you dont want to be, youre here now, and there are still people who need you JADE: there is still something worth fighting for! / pg. 3244

Grandma English and the Condesce.

The blackness warped like it was laughing or shaking its head. "I can't do that, Jade. Please stop crying, it's just awful and awkward for both of us. Ugh, please! If you keep going like this, I'm going to cry, too." "And why should I stop? Why couldn't you stop this?" Jade clutched Dave tighter. "What does any of it matter if they all die?" The blackness flared. "Shoosh!" it commanded, and she shushed, blinking tears. It continued to roil itself, collapsing like a dwarf about to go nova, like an atomic warhead before the blast. It took form before her, growing limbs, weaving starlight into its hair. Jade's thirteen-year-old self stared back at her over Dave's corpse, lip bitten defiantly, eyes sparking. She bared too many teeth. "There is still something worth fighting for!" / Hold the Line, dashery.

But utility is not enough. From the Homestuck Epilogues, Meat!Rose:

ROSE: I observed more power and emotion in the single ragged notebook [the one she wrote] than the full span of the bestselling series. [the one her post-scratch self wrote] ROSE: It’s more raw. It betrays considerably more sincerity than my young self was surely ever aware of stitching into the prose. ROSE: It meant something.

At the moment alt!Calliope de-masks Calliope's trollsona, all abstractions collapse, the character evaporates, and the real-life actor remains. The ultimate story has always been the one you live now.

I'd like to end this rambly reblog with David Foster Wallace's response to metafictional and ironic literary (and to an extent, personal) trends in "E Unibus Pluram: Television and U.S. Fiction":

The next real literary "rebels" in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre principles. Who treat of plain old untrendy human troubles and emotions in U.S. life with reverence and conviction. Who eschew self-consciousness and hip fatigue. These anti-rebels would be outdated, of course, before they even started. Dead on the page. Too sincere. Clearly repressed. Backward, quaint, naive, anachronistic. Maybe that'll be the point. [...] The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the "Oh how banal". To risk accusations of sentimentality, melodrama. Of overcredulity. Of softness. Of willingness to be suckered by a world of lurkers and starers who fear gaze and ridicule above imprisonment without law. Who knows.

Perhaps the antidote to our counterfactual tragedies were already here.

ok but the conversation between calliope and alt!calliope is was and remains one of the most touching moments of the entire comic both in how it deals with themes of depression and survival. 

alt!calliope is technically more “successful” than calliope. she’s stronger, smarter, less vulnerable. she dominates caliborn and takes his blood color, instead of the other way around; she’s a fully realized god tier, and in the end, she’s in large part responsible for the success of the session. she creates the new world. she saves everybody. and yet she clearly isn’t happy. she is calliope without any of calliope’s self-consciousness issues, the calliope that calliope wishes she was, but that isn’t enough. it’s chilling: no matter how “useful” or technically capable calliope is, the feelings of emptiness and despair remain. maybe she’ll always feel that way. 

even more brutally, alt!calliope literally tells her that she doesn’t serve any purpose except to prompt others to be helpful. she says flat-out that calliope isn’t “relevant” anymore.

that’s got to be incredibly hard for callie to hear, given how desperate she’s always been to help others. being trapped in a state of passivity for most of her life, not even always in control of her own body, calliope clings dearly to the hope of someday reclaiming agency, and helping others. that hope probably resonated with a lot of the audience, too. to hear a more confident, more successful, more competent version of herself tell her that she isn’t useful at all is a brutal move. for someone with depression, especially, that could be a devastating thing to hear.

except here’s where the conversation shifts. instead of using this to insult calliope, alt!calliope turns this into something else, something uplifting: she says that not only is calliope’s irrelevance not a mark of her character, but that it gives her a unique and incredible opportunity. 

alt!calliope’s speech rejects the idea of an existence defined by one’s utility to others, and says instead that regardless of how useful calliope is, regardless of whether she realizes her full potential, and regardless of how much she contributes to some epic scheme, her life still has worth. the very fact of her existence gives her infinite opportunities to take chances and do things that alt!calliope, for all her competence, never could. 

it speaks to a very deeply rooted fear in a lot of people, i think: that somewhere out there is an alternate version of yourself that’s done everything right, and done everything better than you, and anything you do is fruitless because it’ll never be as good as it could be. that sentiment generates a lot of despair and self-loathing, and can make it hard to get motivated to do things you love. alt!calliope is that person, for callie, but this conversation says that it doesn’t matter. this conversation says that the one crucial difference between you and that theoretical person is this: you exist. you have the chance and the choice to do whatever you want. even if it isn’t perfect, even if it isn’t grandiose, even if you never change the world. your life is enough. you are enough.

[inevitable-destruction]

Sherlock Holmes, The Missing Years: Timbuktu by Murthy Vasudev (excerpt)

Sheer rock rose vertically on both sides of the narrow entrance, blocking out sunlight. It was a few minutes before the path widened and the rocks vanished behind us. As we turned a corner, we saw a small grassland—an oasis and a valley spreading out for some distance. It looked like any other place.

We stopped and took in the sight.

And then, from behind us came an unfamiliar, grating voice.

“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I presume.”

We spun around as a group, with the soldiers drawing their weapons instinctively.

Facing us, with rifles drawn, were six men spread over the surrounding hills. They had been camouflaged, it appeared. It was a perfect trap.

The man who spoke was rather old and lean. His hair was white; he was balding too. He was seated on a large flat rock. There was something cadaverous about him, something rather sinister. I was reminded of a vulture.

“I would really suggest the immediate application of logic, Mr. Holmes,” he said, in a thin querulous voice, sounding weary.

Holmes’ reaction was surprising.

He smiled.

He spoke out in Arabic to the guards. “Please drop your weapons. There are too many of them.”

The men did so, looking confused.

“As expected, Professor Moriarty.” Holmes bowed briefly.

“Oh, I knew that you knew I would come.”

“I would have been disappointed if not. We finally meet. A rare sojourn away from Paris?”

“Yes. Important enough, would you not agree?”

“Of course. But I am disappointed. Surely what you desire is illogical.”

“On the contrary. Your lack of desire is illogical.”

“About Rome—well done.”

“You took a long time to realize that. I was most disappointed. Yes, by all means, do have a smoke.”

The soldiers had come forward and snatched away the weapons of the Sudanese soldiers, who were asked to sit down on their haunches. I noticed that they were Europeans.

“Grazie,” said Holmes pleasantly to one of the soldiers who took away his personal effects. He had settled on a rock and was busy cleaning his pipe and searching for his tobacco pouch. I was utterly bewildered by his behaviour.

He finally lit his pipe. “And where is your man in the Vatican?” asked Holmes, evidently delighted by this meeting.

“Coincidentally, a well-timed question. Our tents are pitched a quartermile away. He has been summoned from his siesta. Here he is.”

We saw a small man walking across to us from a distance.

“Ah, Father Ciasca, we meet again! Quite some distance from Rome.

A pleasure.” Holmes was most cordial.

The curator of the Vatican Secret Archives came up, catching his breath. “Ah, Mr. Holmes. The pleasure is mine,” he beamed.

“The weather is most challenging,” he complained, his voice betraying some weakness. He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Do sit. Perhaps one of your soldiers will bring you some water.”

Holmes was most solicitous, despite being constrained in his movements because of several rifles pointed at him.

“Grazie, grazie,” said Father Ciasca, as someone brought a simple functional chair from somewhere.

I could make nothing of this strange conversation.

“I see that your friend, the lugubrious Watson, appears confused by this conversation. Quite right on your part to not discuss this matter with him, quite right.” Professor Moriarty chuckled malevolently.

“He is smarter than you give him credit for,” Holmes responded, pulling at his pipe.

“Indeed, his mind is superior to mine, though his humility forces him not to acknowledge it. A wonderful trait, humility.”

“If you insist. Let us not waste time. Please hand over the complete manuscript.”

“But tell me,” said Holmes, ignoring the request. “Tell me for my own edification—when did you come and why the soldiers?”

“We were here a few days ago and found the valley through some sensible triangulation,” said Professor Moriarty. “Your copy of the map sent from Timbuktu helped. I was quite sure you would try to mislead Father Ciasca, but you disappointed and sent him the precise copy— perhaps a mistake. Only of the map. Not of the completed chant. Quite shrewd, quite shrewd.

“The Pope wants to safeguard the manuscript. But we have other plans. Ciasca obtained permission from the Pope to take along these guards and bring us here and obtain the secret. But of course, we have no intention of giving it to him.”

Holmes replied, “Of course, that is understood. But I really wish to know how it would help you. Do you really believe this rubbish?”

“Rubbish, Holmes? Rubbish? I have seen enough to never discount the outrageous. We were involved in the case of the shamans of the Sumatran head-hunters, were we not, Holmes? Have you forgotten the zombies? You may never admit that I got the better of you then. But let me not digress.

“As far as this is concerned, the probability of this being true is enough reason to acquire it. My plan is simple. The finest and the best of men must have access to time. If they are constrained by the fear of death, their minds will be distracted. The weak, sick, and unproductive are not required beyond their normal lifespan.”

“You wish to play God?” Holmes pulled at his pipe.

“I am disappointed again, Holmes. How can a man of your intelligence believe in or talk of God? Utter nonsense. Surely a musician, a scientist, a leader of men, an artist—surely they need more than a mere lifetime to truly excel! True brilliance in any field emerges after the age of seventy, at which point ambition has diminished as have other faculties! What a genius needs then are extra years! As many as he wants! Can you imagine? Do you realize what power means? To determine who should live and who should not—and not a drop of blood spilt! I—yes, I — will decide who those persons should be! I shall decide who is not worth living.

“However, I do not wish to debate since I am quite aware you have considered precisely these matters. So let us come to the point. Where is it?” Professor Moriarty waved his cane impatiently.

“I do not have it.” Holmes tapped his pipe gently against a nearby rock.

Moriarty sighed. “Did I overestimate you then, Holmes? My interest in coming here from Paris was really to meet you and examine your frontal lobes at close quarters. I have always appreciated your reasonably logical mind and from time to time considered you a worthy adversary. But you never fail to disappoint.” He clucked disapprovingly, glaring at Holmes.

“I can only repeat what I said. I do not have the document. You are wasting your time.”

“I see. And where is it?”

“Of that I have no idea. I appear to have lost it.”

“How remarkably convenient. And yet you have travelled all this way based purely on your memory of the map.”

“Yes. As have you.”

“And why would you bother coming all the way to this valley if you had no purpose?”

“Sightseeing.”

Professor Moriarty glowered at Holmes.

“I see. You delight in mocking me. Well, you will certainly have more than enough time to enjoy the attractions of this valley. Perhaps eternity.”

He gestured to Father Ciasca, who in turn spoke to the Italian soldiers. A few of them systematically searched the persons of the khalifa’s soldiers, and then of Holmes and me. They took out whatever they found and placed it on a stone ledge. They then emptied our bags in the same way.

Father Ciasca and Professor Moriarty went through the material on the ledge for some time. Meanwhile, Holmes continued smoking his pipe, and looked at me with expressionless eyes. My head was swimming. I could make nothing of this; it made no sense, least of all the conversations and the presence of these men.

Presently, the two men returned and sat down.

“I know you have not lost it. You are best advised to hand it over. I find violence quite repelling. But when necessary, I do know what to do.”

Professor Moriarty’s voice was freezing.

“Yes, I too dislike torture. It is the mind that is the toughest to crack, as I know you will agree. I have read your remarkable monograph on psychological torture in The Annals of Historical Research.”

“Flattering. I knew you would see through my identity as professor of history at Grenoble.”

“I noticed your adverse remarks about the Chinese method of a thousand cuts. I am not sure I completely agree with some of your views, but they do have merit.”

The academic digression was perplexing.

“As I said, bloodletting as a means to extract information and damage a person’s sense of self-worth is primitive and entirely unnecessary. The battles to be won must be in the mind. A man must willingly hand over secrets. I would be surprised if you disagreed.”

“Quite so. Nevertheless, the fact is that I really do not have what you seek. The rest is up to you. And these men, these Italian soldiers—a quaint but practical choice.”

Moriarty waved his cane in the air dismissively. “Tch, tch! Not from the official Italian army, Holmes, but a secret group charged with protecting the Pope. No, not the Swiss Guards. So obviously, given the importance of the task, quite necessary.”

Sherlock Holmes refilled his pipe and lit it. “How long has Father Ciasca been working for you?”

“For longer than he realizes.”

“I had my suspicions. An ill-formed image. But he played his part very well.”

“I choose only the best. You might have been useful. But you have a distorted sense of right and wrong. Much too late to do anything about it.” Moriarty glowered.

“Every capital, every government. I congratulate you.” Holmes’ effusive admiration was puzzling.

“Only you know. But we digress.”

“Do we? Are you sure you have thought of all possibilities? I still do not understand the logic of what you wish to do. This is delicate, but given your age and condition, what is the use?” Holmes looked positively concerned.

“That is the difference between you and me, Holmes. I am as aware as you are of mortality. If you think I am driven by a selfish need to keep myself alive forever, you are quite wrong. It is the need to keep only the right persons alive. That is immortality, Holmes, not just endless shallow breathing. The others can live out their pathetic lives like fireflies. Bah!”

Professor Moriarty spat out his contempt for the men and women who had no distinctive characteristic. Unaccountably, I felt a chill down my spine. There was no doubt that this man represented lethal evil.

“Father Ciasca, why?” Holmes turned toward the representative of the Holy See.

“You know, my dear friend. You know.” Father Ciasca smiled wanly.

“Just to be used. Hmm. I am not pleased with myself, no, not at all. But thanks to Watson, that realization did come to me. The letter I wrote to you from Timbuktu—do you think it was a gross error in judgment? Or perhaps just a way to draw you out?”

“There is no harm in accepting that we—Professor Moriarty and I—lack your physical strength and social abilities. In any case, this was the assigned mission. You were to return to Rome via Tangier. But instead, you disappeared. We were alarmed when you did not send us a copy of the complete manuscript from Timbuktu. Perhaps a desire to double-cross us and take possession of the secret yourself.”

Holmes laughed. “Do you really believe the secret is simply sitting here waiting to be discovered and used?”

Professor Moriarty interjected. “I am not in a hurry. Let us carry on inside. We arrived only yesterday. Let us move further down to where we have camped. There are signs of habitation a few miles further we are told.”

The Italian soldiers pulled up the Sudanese guards and made them walk single file, with us walking behind. The day was hot and we felt uncomfortable. I had not comprehended the staccato conversation full of strange allusions. I wanted to speak urgently with Holmes but there was no immediate opportunity. We reached the camp, from which we had a clear view further on. Already, there were hints of the dusk. A few birds were announcing their plans to return to their nests.

“Do you observe a few settlements there, Holmes?” Professor Moriarty asked, pointing.

We could see a thin wisp of smoke at a distance.

“Yes. Clearly. About five miles away, I should think.”

“Now, who might live there, given that this is a prohibited area?”

“But of course.”

“Which means you know what I am thinking.”

“Yes.”

Was it my imagination or were Professor Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes the best of friends?

The Italians led us to a clearing where they had started up a few fires to cook dinner. The cuisine was excellent, as could be expected. Over pasta and wine, Professor Moriarty and Holmes discussed various unrelated matters with an odd bonhomie. Trigonometry, the Pole Star, the Bay of Biscay, Pondicherry, pyrites, the murder of a French notable’s wife, and so on. They did not touch upon the problem at hand.

After dinner, Moriarty stood in front of Holmes.

“Sleep over it. Tomorrow we conclude our mission. It is best to cooperate,” he said.

“You make a convincing argument. Regrettably, I have nothing new to add,” Holmes replied.

Moriarty turned on his heels and left. We were escorted to our primitive tents, guarded by the Italians.

***

“I can say with absolute certainty that I know what is to happen soon.” Holmes was lying on his back, making a rude pillow of his hands, and smoking a cigarette.

“What, Holmes?”

“I do not mean to keep you on tenterhooks. But even these open tents have ears. Professor Moriarty and Father Ciasca are making a mistake.”

“What is happening here, Holmes?” I cried. “How is Father Ciasca here? Was he not the same person who sent you to Morocco and then to Timbuktu?”

“Yes, Watson. You are right. It was this that I anticipated when you made that remark at Abalessa. I simply did not guess till that point that Father Ciasca was involved. It was an extraordinarily perfect cover. In my mind it was one of those things you take for granted, like the air we breathe without thinking of. A senior Vatican official working for Professor Moriarty? But I am prepared. And you get every credit, my dear fellow, for deflating my ego and removing the blinders from my eyes at the right time.

“But what these men do not understand,” Holmes whispered in my ear, “is that—”

At that point, there was a loud shouting as the sounds of a large number of galloping horses swept the camp. Holmes and I stared at each other and jumped out of the tent.

Hasso Ag Akotey and the Tuaregs had moved in silently behind the Italians and in a swift manoeuvre, seized the guns, and taken over the camp without a shot being fired. The Italians had relaxed their guard and had not realized that we had left the Tuaregs behind.

The tables had turned in minutes. Our captors were now our prisoners.

The Sudanese and Tuaregs were now in charge.

Hasso walked quickly up to us with a beaming smile. Holmes and he hugged each other.

“Father, we followed after two hours, as you said. We watched everything from the rocks over there.”

“The ever-reliable Hasso! I knew you were close by. That is what I was telling Watson here. I was not the least bit concerned.” Holmes clapped Hasso’s shoulders.

Professor Moriarty, Father Ciasca, and the Italian guards were herded together by the Tuaregs and the Sudanese soldiers—who were certainly agitated and not keen to be calm and forgiving—in the center of a clearing, with a long rope tying them all together. They were then forced to sit down on the ground. The bonfires from the evening meal gave us light as did the moon. The hills added to a rather picturesque sight. We walked across to them.

Professor Moriarty glowered, his hands tied behind him. Father Ciasca was silent as well, but more out of fear.

“I am surprised this never occurred to you,” observed Holmes with the hint of a smile.

There was no reply.

[meli-r]

Redemption v2.4

New conversation between Touma and an OC.

*****

Walking around the huge academy for quite some time, Yashiro finally entered an empty classroom and her eyes fell on Touma, who was sitting behind his desk with legs slightly apart, engrossed in solving a Rubik's cube. His nimble fingers turned the colorful pieces with precision, while his expression showed solemn concentration, and he only paused to look at her for a second after Yashiro closed the door. She thought of the image one has of aristocracy. A calmness devoid of all guilt.

"Why did you do that?" Yashiro turned around with a frown and her voice louder than before. "Did you think I'd agree with you?"

Touma raised an eyebrow and stretched out in the chair, resting his elbows on the armrests.

"I realized that people cultivate a peculiar blend of characteristics that render them highly susceptible to manipulation. Functionally, they struggle to entertain multiple concepts concurrently. Our most effective course of action is to present alternatives. By presenting a variety of choices, they become so entangled in the act of choosing that they remain oblivious to the fact that none of the options align with their original desires. Their underlying flaw lies in their pride. They'd opt for defeat, embrace suffering, rather than concede," Touma commented without looking at her in a quiet tone.

"It's my fault. I made a mistake letting this happen to me. I should've been expelled long ago," Yashiro sighed, sitting in a chair at the end of his desk, facing the blackboard, with one leg over the other and one arm on the desk.

Touma stopped the movement of his hands and looked at her with narrowed eyes and a serious expression, tilting his head to one side.

“Yashiro, I never thought I’d enjoy seeing this so much,” he shook his head, lowering it and letting out a soft, short laugh, until he looked her up and down and broadened his smirk for a few seconds, showing white teeth. “It must be hard for you, not being in control. Makes it even harder for me to resist a chess pun at this moment.”

"I've been thinking about men like the principal and the principle behind them for a while now… particularly these days when I was climbing on the rooftops of buildings to see the city."

“What principle?” Touma focused on his Rubik's cube.

“Altruism. We've discussed it before. That's what I never understood about people. They have no ego. They live through others. I've watched how they move, how they make decisions. Their thoughts and actions are shaped by the expectations of others. Their sense of worth comes from the approval of others. But in their constant quest to please others, they have lost their true selves. They sacrifice their individuality for the sake of conformity. They deny themselves the opportunity to be masters of their destiny.”

"Fear of loneliness and lack of self-confidence leads them to depend on others for their own sense of worth. They don't trust their own decisions, their own worldviews. They want to fit into the image that others have created for them. And in that process, they betray themselves. You realize that, don't you?" Touma held up his Rubik's cube with one hand, his tone calm and his eyes relaxed.

"I see how they struggle to fit in, to keep their psycho pass under control, but in doing so, they fade into a sea of conformity and give up their own essence. They are willing to sacrifice their desires and aspirations in search of external approval, as if their worth depends solely on others. It's like they're willing to deny their true selves in order to fit the idealized image that has been imposed on them. They become mere shadows of themselves, craving the approval of others rather than finding their own inner satisfaction. They cling desperately to the convictions instilled in them and feel lost when faced with the possibility of deciding for themselves. Their quest for good behavior and conformity leads them to question their own actions, to doubt their intentions, to wonder if they have committed any crime by established standards. And in the process, they lose sight of their own inner voice, their genuine desire for expression and creation. Instead of being architects of their own lives, they become mere constructors of what society expects of them. So in what act or in what thought have they been themselves? What was their real purpose in the midst of this constant game of satisfying the expectations of others? What is their real motivation? What drives them? The quest for greatness, in the eyes of others. The need for fame, admiration and recognition, all of which comes from others. They cling to convictions that are imposed on them, for they have none. They are content for others to believe that they are true to those convictions. Their prime mover is what others think and want. They don't aspire to be great in their own right, but to be seen as such by others. Borrowing prestige and approval to impress. Isn't that true altruism? Betraying yourself by giving your soul to the rest."

“Exactly!” Touma's voice echoed in the classroom, as he frowned and raised his head. “That's the root of what I despise most in this world. Lack of ego. People who give up their own identity and allow others to decide for them. Those who are aware of their own dishonesty, but live through the illusion created by others that they are honest. It's an insidious way of deceiving themselves and surrendering their own integrity to public opinion. The desire to acquire renown for someone else's achievements, the obsessive pursuit of wealth and luxury to impress others, all such empty behaviors are a reflection of unwillingness. Then they're labeled as selfish for wanting to stand out and be admired. But always at the expense of their own self-esteem, placing others above themselves, as altruists demand. Someone truly egotistical wouldn't seek approval in the first place. It's easy to turn to others, so hard to rely on oneself. You can feign virtue in front of the public, never in front of a mirror. We are our own strictest judges. That's why they run from themselves. They pursue the approval of others, worrying more about what others believe to be true than what really is true. They repeat without questioning, exhibit without creating. Their achievements are based on relationships and connections rather than skills and merit. They act, but lack real source, scattered in the perceptions of others. They cannot be reasoned with, they are deaf to logic. Irresponsible beings who dared to live without conscience. And then they come to you with this hypocritical sentimentality without wanting to recognize what they do... how I dislike it! This mentality, this weakness of character, leads people to look for leaders, to look for someone to tell them what to do, what to think, how to live. And they deserve it. They deserve to be ruled by those who understand the true essence of independence and will. Do you see what I'm looking for?”

"Yes," Yashiro's tone was lower.

"What is it?" Touma asked in a gentle tone, looking at her and then at her clenched fist on the desk.

“I'm not an altruist, Touma.”

“No. You weren’t born to be one. You'd be incapable of even pretending. But I knew that when I met you. What are you thinking about?”

"Sorry. I can't help but remember your conversation with Rikako. I overheard it when I was looking for her. How do you reconcile the art of plastination with power? Isn't it a way to leave a lasting impression, to control how others perceive you even after you're gone?"

A shadow passed over Touma's features for a few seconds, until they relaxed again.

"Plastination is a fascinating process, don't you think? Gives a detailed view of human anatomy."

"I read that a polymer is used to replace fluids and fats in the body prior to that process," frowned Yashiro.

“I see you've been doing some research on the subject. How do you know about plastination?” Touma raised an eyebrow.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Yashiro turned to him.

“Well, mine's more of a hobby. I've been fascinated by anatomy ever since I was a kid. What's your excuse?”

“What?”

“Your reason.”

“My father,” Yashiro looked away, her tone lower than before.

“Do you still have bad dreams and trouble sleeping?” Touma stopped moving his Rubik's cube and fixed his gaze on the desk.

"Yes."

“You're not his daughter anymore,” Touma rested the black Rubik's cube on the desk near her, looking into her eyes.

“I could never make myself quite sure of that,” Yashiro sighed.

“Your bad dreams. Tell me about them.”

“I see fragments, pieces of memories, flashes of faces, people who've crossed my path, their eyes piercing into me. Sometimes I hear voices… accusing, questioning,” she lowered her voice, looking down. “I fear what they whisper is true.”

“And when you’re awake?”

“I wonder how I can live with myself. But part of me has grown accustomed, even numb to it. Does that make me a psychopath?” Yashiro turned to him.

“No. Is that what they called you? You know, my mother's death led to a storm of judgment and whispers because my hue remained unaffected. I think they called me… a deviant,” his lips curved into a wry smile, with a hint of irony dancing in his eyes.

“You didn't answer my question,” Yashiro pressed, her tone steady but laced with curiosity.

“It seems you have a talent for peeling back the layers,” Touma's smile deepened, his expression a blend of teasing amusement. Then the lines of his face softened, revealing a vulnerability beneath the veneer of confidence. “I don't want to believe that when this body dies, it'll all be… gone."

"If life only comes once, won't you make the most of it? If I don't enjoy this life, I have an unlimited number of lives ahead of me, so I can waste mine."

“I don’t want to waste a second of this. Well, I do waste a few seconds and I bet you do too.”

“The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time,” Yashiro smiled for a moment.

"Creative waste, then. Have you ever wondered why people write? Because words will remain. Nearly forever. Throughout history, mankind has been obsessed with eternity. Tell me... wouldn't you live forever? Even if we don't believe in that nonsense about souls, heaven and hell, I still like to think about eternity, that we're not just corpses and graves when we die," Touma looked down.

“But we aren't. When this life is over, we won't be there to see our graves, if we have any. At that time, we will no longer have to worry. It's a shame the world is ending, but I've had my time," Yashiro shrugged.

“You don’t fear death, do you?” Touma asked.

“Yes… but not my own.”

“Such an interesting contradiction. You've always struck me as someone who holds on tightly to life. It’s unusual to see an egoist concerned about someone else's welfare. Almost poetic… how quickly you form an attachment to someone who doesn’t even exist,” Touma smiled with narrowed eyes, studying her carefully.

“Why are you assuming it doesn’t?” Yashiro frowned.

“You've never loved anyone.”

“Why do you think that?” Yashiro took her hand off the desk to rest it on her thigh.

"You're an accident of nature who loves the impossible, what doesn't exist in this city: integrity. You want to see a work of art in human form. I've never had integrity."

"I never thought… you'd say that about yourself."

"Don't worry about me. I was never like those who actually believe what the public says,” Touma's voice dripped with a mixture of disdain and detachment. His eyes narrowed slightly as he continued, his words punctuated by a calculated intensity. “I despise the public. I don't mind slugs like the principal, but the mere thought of meeting a man of higher greatness… makes me want to crush him, to turn him into such a deplorable being that he can't stand his own existence… as an individualist who becomes a glorifier of masses. I must do it."

“Why?” her voice echoed.

"I don't know,” he raised an eyebrow. “It gives me satisfaction just thinking about it. To know that there is no man I can't influence to do anything. A man you cannot corrupt or buy, you must destroy. I hate the unattainable ideal that you love so passionately, Yashiro. It would amuse me to prove the futility of your quest."

"Why do you care?"

"Because that slug was right about one thing: your desire to complicate your life. Your quest is only going to bring you suffering. What you lack in conformity, you make up for in innocent tenacity that can be exploited by others."

"Why are you telling me all this, you think you're going to make me think like you?" Yashiro's voice sharpened, and her eyes, once contemplative, now bore into Touma's with an intense and challenging glare.

"No. I'm telling you this because I want to be honest with me and with you. I know you see me as the symbol of your contempt for people. I’m an element of your own destruction."

"I never thought… you’d understand."

"And I accept that. Just... it's rare to see this kind of expression in a girl," he raised an eyebrow with genuine amusement.

"What expression?"

"Men express their contempt in different ways, sometimes even through sexual acts. I once knew a married man who indulged in such behavior. Hard to believe, isn't it?" Touma's voice carried a tinge of exasperation as he recounted the anecdote. His brows furrowed, and his gaze shifted to Yashiro, his expression softening with a hint of curiosity. "Being here is a way of expressing your contempt for me."

"No, Touma. For myself,” Yashiro's response was accompanied by a faint frown, her lips tightening as she spoke.

"Most people strive to convince themselves of their own worth and to prove to others that they have it," Touma's arms relaxed slightly, and he regarded her with an analytical gaze, as if probing her thoughts.

"Yes."

“And the constant search for your own worth is a clear sign that you lack it,” Touma's words carried a weight of observation, his tone almost clinical in its assessment.

"That's true."

"Can you see what this pursuit of your own contempt means?” his eyes narrowed as he studied her. “That you will always be in a cycle of self-rejection and self-destruction. No matter how hard you try to despise yourself, you will never truly achieve it."

“I wish I could force myself to believe that," Yashiro sighed and shook her head.

“Even with all your self-reliance, you find it challenging to embrace the one person you should truly know… yourself,” he let out a faint smile, making her frown. 

Yashiro's gaze remained locked with Touma's. Outside the classroom, the distant hum of students returning from break grew louder. Suddenly, the peaceful solitude of the classroom was shattered as the door swung open, and a group of students burst inside, their laughter and chatter filling the space. Yashiro's attention shifted from Touma to them.

Touma's expression remained unchanged, but he turned his attention to the students, watching them file into the classroom with a practiced ease. As Yashiro stood up from her seat, he rose as well, his gaze meeting hers in silence.

As Yashiro moved towards the door, Touma fell into step beside her, the transition seamless as they navigated the ebb and flow of students. The hallway pulsed with activity, a snapshot of the academic world in motion. Just before she crossed the threshold of the classroom, Touma paused, his eyes narrowing as he lowered his head to address her.

"No more climbing buildings," he stated, his tone carrying a firmness that was tempered by a hint of concern.

Yashiro's brows furrowed slightly, and she met his gaze without flinching. She did not offer an immediate response, her eyes holding a mixture of determination and contemplation. The corner of Touma's mouth twitched upward, and he nodded towards the exit, a subtle encouragement for her to go. 

With a final look, Yashiro turned and walked away, her steps carrying her towards the bustling student body. Touma watched her go, his gaze lingering for a moment before he turned back to the classroom, ready to fulfill his role as an educator once more.

As he stepped into the classroom, a subtle transformation overcame Touma's countenance. His features shifted imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth curling upward in a controlled yet inviting smile. His eyes, once focused and penetrating, softened slightly as he surveyed the students. With a confident stride, he moved to the front of the room, his presence commanding attention.

[twstedstoryshop]

i spent a few moments trying to figure out where the ask button is cause i'm on pc until i remembered i could just add /ask on the url of your blog hahaha... well anyway, seeing that you're open for request, may i ask for headcanons with an mc who is just as yandere for the yandere octavinelle trio (separate). the soft kind of yandere. thank you!

@kayden-rma

WARNING! The following contains unhealthy character behavior and horror themes. If this disturbs you, please DO NOT READ.

Yandere Octavinelle Dorm With A Yandere S/O

All aboard the one way train to Codependency City. That’s what Azul and you are like as a yandere couple. There’s not a moment where you and him are not heavily involved in each other’s lives. Be it spending time in his office while you both work or helping each other with schoolwork.

You two cannot keep your hands off each other for one second. As in you always are hanging off Azul’s arm or Azul has his arm lightly wrapped around your waist. If there are times where you are separated, both of you get fidgety and quickly try to find each other to be together.

Azul depends on you for emotional comfort, wanting to be validated, reassured, and have a safety net that he will never, ever be alone. Likewise, you depend on Azul for maybe the feeling of being wanted by him or you may depend on him for protection as he is still a strong mage in his own right. Either way, you are two lonely souls that desperately search for comfort in one another.

It’s a given that with any of the boys that you feel yandere over, you’re easily transferred over to stay at the dorm. You do have a room for yourself, but honestly, you barely use it as you’ve basically moved into Azul’s room.

You both are insanely protective over the other. If anyone tries to dig up dirt on Azul like his past, you’re quick to snuff it out with violence that rivals the twins combined. Same with Azul. That man treasures you too much and if anyone tries to hurt you or take you away from him, Seven help them because their life, their career, and their social standing would be dragged through the mud because of Azul’s scheming.

Now this would be interesting. See, you two as a yandere couple would be so subtle and so high-functioning, people have to really squint to see something is very wrong under the surface.

For starters, Jade is quite the gentleman, you could say. He’s always there to escort you and pick you up from your classes or clubs you attend. Always greets you with a kiss to your hand and a very, wide pleased grin on his lips. Other students didn’t think too much about it until they realized, he’s just– always there.

A sudden shift in your day, an unexpected dilemma, or even someone pulling you off to the side to voice their concern over your relationship, Jade is suddenly there. It’s like he knows everything that’s happening to you moment by moment, but you don’t mind! You just smile and greet him like a pleasant surprise. “Hi, honey! You’re right on time!”

You have– very odd ways of showing your affection to one another. Of course, you still do the typical couple things of hugging and kissing, but the affectionate banter? It’s horrifying.

“My dear, you do know that if you ever betrayed me… I would drown you and lay your bones at my bedside." “How charming, Jade. If you ever betrayed me, I’d keep you alive and force you to watch your own eel tail be served as my best meal."

But you both smile at one another, lovesick beyond compare because the horrors you would commit for one another is just a show of how you love each other very much.

The epitome of a fickle couple. Your romance is a maelstrom. Not because anything bad happens between you and Floyd, no, it’s more of a storm for anyone else who happens to be in your guys’ way.

There’s not a dull moment in your relationship as every week or so, something big happens. Be it you both of you are feeling super affectionate one day or you guys just had another explosive lover’s quarrel.

The quarrels don’t last even a day though because within a few hours or so, you and Floyd rush back to each other to cry your apologies. You can’t stay mad at one another for too long and the thought of your relationship going sour causes major anxiety for both of you.

You two are so in-sync with each other’s emotions, it’s uncanny. If Floyd is having a low, you’re having a low. If you’re feeling super happy, Floyd is suddenly feeling energetic too.

It goes without saying that Floyd can’t stand to not have you within arms’ reach. He wants to have his dear Shrimpy close and squeeze them with all his might. If you’re not sharing a class together, expect for him to be in a horrible mood or try to skip his class in order to sneak into yours.

It really comes to a point where neither of you can be without the other. You’re a couple that adores each other so much that people can’t really differentiate your personalities anymore. It’s like you’re two halves of one person and maybe for the likes of you and Floyd, that’s a testament to how deep your love is for one another.

[immobiliter]

       What must he think of her? That was the question, wasn't it. What did he think of her? Furina had been so quick to go on the defensive at the accusation he levelled in her direction that she had perhaps not yet noticed that it was no accusation at all. She had lied to him, yes, but if she looked more closely she may have realised that Neuvillette did not seem angry, or upset, or betrayed. Such emotions were often difficult for the Iudex to express anyway, but a lie of this magnitude, for so many years... if she'd had the courage to look closer, search his gaze for a reaction, she might have realised that this was no continuation of her trial at all. This was instead something else.

       It was only her curiosity to understand what she might have missed in that courtroom, commotion that she might have been more aware of had she not been resigned to her fate and her failure, crying on her throne as the prophecy foretold, that kept her feet planted to the floor. And she was so glad that, this time, she did not run.

       It was as if she'd released a breath that she had been holding for the past four hundred years. I met her, Furina. Her blue eyes widened, her shoulders fell, the tension draining from her body. I met her. I know everything. The feeling of relief was a rushing flood from a well that she had kept contained inside of her for too long. Neuvillette had met her. Mirror-Me. Focalors. The God of Justice in the mirror who had given her this role to play with no guidance, no interference, no encouragement. Sometimes the silence from Focalors had been deafening. Was she on the right course? Was she playing her part well? Was Mirror-Me even real? But no, Neuvillette had seen her too. He'd spoken to her. Learned the truth from her.

       Furina's heart was racing, but as Neuvillette's words continued to repeat themselves inside of her head, over and over, her brow furrowed. “ Focalors was... inside of the Oratrice the whole time? ” It was funny that, after four hundred years of sitting on high in the Opera Epiclese, overseeing every trial to pass through its doors, Furina had never once suspected Focalors of hiding in the very machine whose function it was to pass objective judgement on proceedings. She had of course known how important it and its Indemnitium was to the day-to-day functioning of Fontaine, had sensed power from it even if she did not fully understand it... but to know that Focalors had been so close by during those long, lonely years? It still came as a shock.

       Suitcases and belongings had long since been forgotten about, strewn on the floor and tables around her. As Neuvillette stepped forward, Furina wrung her hands together nervously. This, once again, felt like a test, and she, the scolded, immature Archon. “ I remember the trial, I remember the Oratrice's verdict being read out... ” There had been commotion afterwards, she recalled, but she hadn't paid it any mind. What had it mattered, after all, if she had failed and the prophecy would come to pass regardless? But then Furina paused, going over the Iudex's words again, slowly. “ Does this mean Focalors is...? ” Dead? She was hoping Neuvillette would recognise the word left unspoken between them. Her eyes flitted around the room, the realisation hitting her deep in the chest.

       Thank you, Furina. From this moment on, please live happily as a human, just as I wished we could.

       It had been a goodbye. The judgement of the Oratrice had been death... to Focalors, the true Hydro Archon. Death for her predecessor's sin of creating a new race of humans. Death in order to save all of the people of Fontaine. All at once, it seemed impossibly sad.

       Yet there was still a piece of the puzzle missing. Why involve Neuvillette, the Iudex, the Hydro Sovereign, who she had invited to the Court of Fontaine four hundred years ago? Furina needed to hear confirmation fall from his own lips first, but for now, she felt compelled to speak. “ When you confronted me before the trial about those stone slates, I was telling the truth. Focalors didn't tell me how the prophecy would unfold... only that I was to play her part, that the more the people believed in me as their Archon, the greater the chance was of averting it. She said it would end in one last, dramatic trial, but the more I saw the people in the courtroom lose faith in me, especially after what had happened in Poisson, the more I thought I'd... failed them. ”

Oh but she did. She did, for four hundred years -- four hundred years of fabrications and stories, of awkward silences and hastily made up excuses when his questions would prove a little too pointed, four hundred years of what he had thought to be eccentricities on her part. Fontaine's Archon, Focalors, Lady Furina, diva extraordinaire more concerned with the theatricality of the court than the justice she was meant to uphold. And what a performance she had put on. For four hundred years, he had sighed out his frustration; for four hundred years, he had sometimes hushed his grievances, sometimes confronted her with them, only to be knocked back down from his station with a dry 'don't forget you're my subordinate, chief justice!'. A god reminding a dragon how far he and his kin have fallen. A usurper shoving a status quo in his face, desperate to silence him and his questions.

Four hundred years, and he had never caught on, nor once detected the silent plea in her eyes (please don't ask, please let me play my part). Four hundred years, and she had him fooled more than anyone else.

As he stands in the open doorway, Neuvillette takes in the sorry sight before him. Open suitcase, open drawers, possessions eagerly and hurriedly shoved together as the guilty (guilty of what? he, for one, would be quite unable to charge her with any crime at all) seeks to flee the scene. Their eyes meet as he stands there, and all he sees is the agony of a liar who knows she has been caught. Neuvillette's lips part, hand reaching towards her as he goes to speak, but - Furina turns away, offering nothing but her back and a strangled sob. Oh.

Neuvillette's hand falls back at his side. The masquerade has already reached its conclusion, and the audience has already left the room, but the curtain has yet to fall on the final two protagonists. Of this final act, no one shall bear witness, but the two characters who did not know they were playing out a script.

"No, the, uh..." Neuvillette clears his throat, as he steps into the room (stunned as he is, still, at the myriad of new feelings submerging him since regaining his full authority, Furina's sudden absence of dark, divine aura, is the most striking one. Skies and stars above, she really is just a human). "The prophecy did play out as Celestia had prophesised, but..." Neuvillette stops in his steps, his throat closing and eyes briefly squeezing shut as her voice rings in the confines of his mind, carried by the waves of hydro (never to be forgotten, not for as long as the hydro dragon shall carry this burden with him). He opens them again; and at last, wills his voice steady, and ignore the slight wavering that still ripples through it.

"I met her, Furina." He says, draconic eyes fixed between her shoulder blades. "She summoned me when the Oratrice Mécanique d'Analyse Cardinale delivered its final judgement against the Hydro Archon and carried out its sentence. I know Focalors hid inside her creation for the past five hundred years, cursed you with immortality, and entrusted you with the part of the Hydro Archon. All as part of her ploy to save Fontaine from the wrath of the heavens. I know everything." But does she? She asked what happened in the courtroom. Even in those final, terrible moments, even at the curtain call, does she still not know? About him, the prophecy, Focalors's demise? " ... Focalors did say she kept you in the dark... that all this time, you played your part, without knowing how the play would end. But I need to hear it from you, Furina." He takes one more step towards her; a plea in the marine depths of his eyes. "Do you truly not know what happened in the courtroom today?"

[sugurizz]

The house is yours

Pairing : Zeke yeager x reader

Rating : explicit

Word count : 2,5k words

Summary : as a broke student, finding an apartment is not easy. But the cute owner decides to help you with it, in a way that you both get to benefit.

Warnings : soft dom! Zeke x sub!fem! reader, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, nipple play, slight spit play, vaginal sex, slight breeding kink, daddy kink

(Credits to the owner. I don't own the fanart)

After months of looking through ads, websites and even newspapers. finding a decent, comfortable and cosy appartment near the university was a dream coming true. After calling the owner and fixing a date to meet toghether and check the place, your roommate wasn't able to make it to the appointment so you had to go there on my own.

Being already anxious for the meeting, you put a pair of black jeans, a grey t-shirt, a hoodie and your white sneakers before taking your backbag and going there.

After ten minutes or so, you were at the spot you agreed to meet at. You couldn't see anyone particular so you got your phone out of your pocket, ready to call the owner again in order to spot him.

It was then when you saw a tall, broad and handsome man- probably in his late twenties- picking his ringing phone from the pocket of his elegant beige trench coat.

A black turtleneck hugging his visibly muscular chest and arms left your mouth nearly open. That's definitely him - you thought to yourself - feeling your face already heating up, you swallowed hardly, prayed that you weren't really blushing,  took your courage and crossed the road walking towards the little coffee shop he was standing next to.

Standing directly in front of him didn't help at all. You were so overwehlmed by him. and to be frank, you didn't really know where to look. His whole presence was doing things to you, is it His charming glance? his icy grey eyes, ornamented with a set of thick blonde lashes shinig softly in the feeble sunlight? Or is it those silky soft blonde locks, joined in a nice haircut making his enchanting appearence even more perfect and complete?

"Hello, I assume you're the new renter. Very nice to meet you. I'm zeke yeager ."

"Likewise, pleased to meet you mr yeager. I'm y/n ".

You tried your best to keep calm and professional by greeting him. But the trembling handshake you gave him was showing the complete opposite.

"Shall we go see the appartment ? This way please."

Were you too infatuated by such grace? Or is he really such a sweet, soft and courteous gentleman? You couldn't really tell.

You took a quick glance at his gorgeous profile side. And you completely wished you could take a screenshot with your eyes. His prominent cheekbones added to his manly features. And his fine silver glasses gave him that elegant intellectual aura.

The silence was broken by a deep, gentle :" so.. you're both students.. right?"

" yes. good thing the house is around 10 minutes from the university. That should save us plenty of time ."

" glad to hear that, I actually studied there for more than 6 years, that was before I finally graduated and decided to move to (city name) ."

" I see. May I ask.. why did you move? " you demanded.

" haha don't worry. It hasn't to do with the apartment. It's just that.. You can say I'm an adventurous man." He answered with a bright smile.

" right. I guess it's always tempting to move and see something new..."

You never thought a conversation with a total stranger could be this smooth, warm and relaxing. It unexpectedly didn't feel like a forced out, awkward smalltalk at all. But more like a nice and slow getting to know each other.

"We're finally here." He opened the building's door, Letting you inside and pressed the elevator button.

" I see you like the place already.." He affirmed, a soft smile graced his features, leaving you bewitched.

"Y-yes .. it's pretty welcoming." You added.

Getting out of the elevator, the cute owner took the apartement keys out, opening the door and letting you in.

After checking all the house's functionalities and facilities and discussing the period of your rent. You were ready to pay the first month of the stay until you got surprised by the deposit price. You were so shocked that you had to pay around two thousand five hundrend dollars along with the actual rent.

" I'm not sure we can actually afford that.. " I said, feeling somehow disappointed and lost.

" I know, a lot of people complain about the deposit price. I wish I could make an exeption but the price is fixed by the building's owner. He has the majority of control over that."

" and.. I guess it can't be payed in installments. can it ?"

" i'm afraid not." He retorted, quite concerned by your defeated aura.

" that's really infortunate. I was looking forward to settle here. But anyway, it was good getting to know you mr Yeager."

Hiding your frustration, you were ready to leave when his calm, reassuring voice stopped you . " maybe , we can help each other out after all..."

You turned back, looking for a further explanation when he carried on :" I can get to pay the deposit for you. And you'll have to give me a service in return.."

"okay.. and the service is ...? " you asked, being both curious and excited.

The blonde walked to the door and locked it, his silver eyes never leaving yours.

"Mr yeager..."

" Oh can we stop with the formalities now little one. If we finally agree to make a deal we should get more familiar to each other. Shouldn't we ?" He let out in a deep virile voice, causing your heart to throb numerous times.

Walking closer towards you, he stood and leaned over, whispering in your ear : " If I said I'm feeling sad and lonely today, Would you agree to entertain me ?"

He was so close you could barely register his request. Close enough to notice his irises fixed on yours, staring at your soul and then travelling a little downwards, presumably staring at your lips. You were ready to explode when his big hand landed on your chin, long slender fingers carressing it and driving you so crazy you started babbling some nearly inaudible nonsense.

" i mean.. I.I could ... I don't know.. I-"

" shh, no need to get confused, I'm here with you". a calloused thumb landed on your lips, caressing them with a gentle yet insisting motion.

Your mind shut down, leaving you comptelely blank. God, you got lost in his eyes again. You kept staring like an idiot, letting his thumb make its way through your lips and next thing you knew you were feeling his finger on your sensitive tongue. You never did this before. But why did it feel so natural with him ? Why didn't you resist at all ? How did you agree to this ?  Questions kept bringing on other questions inside your crushed mind. The betraying heat kept rising to your cheeks by the minute, and you couldn't control your intense breathing anymore.

You felt like a fragile leaf caught in a storm. Your consciousness stopped reacting when his face started closing up to yours.

" I believe we got ourselves a deal then? "

" i.. I mean-"

The blonde's delicious lips crushed on yours in a swift motion, his huge hands left to pull you closer pushing you against his large warm chest and making you feel so small and helpless.

It didn't take long for you to feel his soft warm tongue playing with yours. His refreshing minty breath was mixed with a faint hint of cigarette. You couldn't help but enlace your arms around his neck, trying to regain some balance. The sloppy wet kiss  you shared ended with your mouths parting in a wet noise, a glistening string of saliva connecting his dark red tongue to yours, Leaving you breathless.

"You're rather shy and blushy princess... I like it." Zeke leaned close to your sensitive neck, started peppering kisses from your cheeks down your neck and all around your clavicle . His warm breath on your exposed chest made you shiver, feeling your wetness already pooling between your legs. You started rubbing your thighs toghether in a search for some relief. The sudden thought of the rent crossed your mind again.

" Zeke .."

" yes sweetheart, say my name "

" what about the rent ... what should I do now ?"

"little pumpkin is still afraid." You trembled when he leaned over to lick your earlobe before carrying " consider this house yours, princess " .

You couldn't hide your relief after hearing his words. You looked back at him, the perfect pale skin of his cheeks turned into a lovely shade of pink. His cute ears were so red you thought they were about to blow off. His glasses were threatening to fall off the cute tip of his sharp nose. And you felt so proud seeing the mess you left at his golden strands. Some of them falling sexily on his eyes.

" I need this off" he tugged at your shirt , raising your arms gently and sliding it up your shivering body. It was so embarrassing you instantly hid your face. Letting out some insatisfied whines.

"gorgeous" he lets out, eyes contemplating your breasts, still hidden behind your bra. Still closing your eyes, you felt yourself being lifted in a bridal style. Zeke's strong arms placed you on the comfy couch of the living room. He stood up and took of his coat, throwing it away. His black pullover was next, revealing his toned chest, shredded abs and prominent V line . You wished you could keep this addictive view in yout mind forever. His godly body hovered around you like a shield. You leaned back , staring at the enchanting male before you, unbuckling his belt.

You were probabely too distracted by his beauty to notice the huge tent that was forming in his pants. His hand reached beneath his boxers, freeing his massive cock from it's confinements.

" like what you see ?" He winked at you, leaving you speaking gibberish again.

" zeke...it- it's not gonna .."

He cut you out, taking off your jeans in a quick move, leaving you in your black laced panties. " already soaked aren't we? What kind of a slut gets her pussy that wet just from a damn kiss?"

He rubbed his fingers against your clothed cunt before swiping your panties to the side. your clit was swollen and flushed, desperate for attention. The handsome male leaned until he faced your pussy. He spread your legs even wider, adding to your growing embarassment.

" goshh, look at how much slick is between your pussy lips,..filthy.." he slid his fingers between them.

Never leaving your innocent eyes, he puckered his lips, opened his mouth and spat on your naked pussy. You nearly passed out when he started french kissing it. Looking at it with such hunger and lust, he slid his longue tongue in your fluttering hole, driving his index and middle fingers in the process. His thick and now wet beard felt so good stinging your plush thighs.

" zeke ahhh, wait... omg zeke it feels.. Ahhhh " your moans started getting louder and louder. 

"Whine for me baby.."

His experienced fingers massaged your spongey insides, hitting spots you never knew your pussy had. You were drooling like a dumb baby, eyes rolling to the back of your head and breath hitching in your breast.

"Zeeeeke.. uh- i'm ahh i'm gonna cum, it feels so good... so good i'm cumming .."

"Yes baby, cream on my fucking tongue."

It wasn't long until you released all over his hand, his tongue was painted with cum. He shamelessly swallowed it, licking his fingers passionately as if he was tasting an elixir. He leaned to kiss you again, cum and drool still running down his messy beard. Its cute hairs tickling your cheeks and chin made you chuckle.

He took your dripping panties away, threw them somewhere across the room and slid his hands below your back, unclasping your bra.

" I need to take it off, but I really do like the cute ribbons though..." he complimented your cute bra.

" t-thank youu.." the shyness creeped inside you again. But it was replaced with surprise when he buried his head deep between your breasts like a starving baby. growling and grunting, the vibrations sent shivers down your spine. He kept lapping at them, looking at you with burning lust, taking a nipple between his teeth and flicking the other under his fingerpads.

"Are you ready, sweet pie? Wanna take my cock for me ?"

"Y-yes"

"Yes who ?"

"Yes daddy ."

"It's daddy from now on, little one"

Feeling yourself , yu bent over for him, giving him a perfect view of your bare cunt.

" hurry daddy, I can't wait anymore..."

"As you wish, princess"

Within seconds, you felt his hands settling on your hips, his firm cock sliding slowly past your hungry hole.

" it hurtss, daddy .. it hurts..."

" shh, it's ok princess, you're too tense.. relax for daddy.."

The pain suddenly turned into a pure bliss as he bottomed down, making you moan his name like a lullaby.

"I'm going to move baby.." he said, cupping your cheek in his soft palms. 

His cock was ramming inside you so deliciously you felt your drool dribbling again, his strong silhouette leaning on you, hugging you with one arm and caressing your stomach with the other. Seeing his bulge through your tummy, you felt so full and loved by him.

" look baby, look how deep i'm inside you"

" please cum inside me daddy, I want it pumping in my stomach ."

your words sent him to the edge; hitched breath, loud growls and harsh slaps landing on your ass. It felt so good your tears started gushing along your face.

" hnnghhh wanna take ... fuck ahhh .. take daddy's seed inside you ? Tell me slut " he squeezed your face between his large fingers, earning a whine from you.

" mmhmmm ... ahhhh"

" use your words when you talk to me"

" I want your cum deep inside me, daddy"

His thrusts became hysteric, making you shake. both of you moaning loudly, not caring about anybody hearing.

"Ahhhnghhh shiiiit , fuck yeaaah" the golden daddy came in thick white strings inside you. Shoving it all up your womb. You give up, letting your orgasm wash over you in a shameless moan. All your juices mixed with his sticky huge load, starting to spill from your greedy cunt.

Unable to move anymore, you collapsed on the couch. Trembling and breathing heavily. Zeke doing the same, he went to catch his neglected coat and wrapped it around your naked body, along with his strong arms around you, nuzzling his head in your neck.

" I guess having an expensive rent has its perks after all". He teased, laying a soft gentle kiss on your forehead.

" yup, you get to have a daddy for free". You whispered.

Note : I would really appreciate the feedback on my work so feel free to comment down.