#so all details are deliberately vague

[cursedxartist]

What Form of Love Do You Embody?

LOVE AS BEING KNOWN

[ Love is KNOWING ALL of someone and LOVING THEM ANYWAY ] when Tim Kreider said "if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known," and when Joe Wright said "the idea that these two people know each other, knew each other when they first saw each other. That they recognized each other from their future," and when Micah Nemerever said "it was a RELIEF and a HORROR to be known so perfectly."

Tagged by: @sekayuki (thank you for tagging me!)  Tagging: @guiltscorched (asmo!) @deprcvities​ (levi!) and uhhh whoever else who hasnt done this yet

[aethersea]

another thing fantasy writers should keep track of is how much of their worldbuilding is aesthetic-based. it's not unlike the sci-fi hardness scale, which measures how closely a story holds to known, real principles of science. The Martian is extremely hard sci-fi, with nearly every detail being grounded in realistic fact as we know it; Star Trek is extremely soft sci-fi, with a vaguely plausible "space travel and no resource scarcity" premise used as a foundation for the wildest ideas the writers' room could come up with. and much as Star Trek fuckin rules, there's nothing wrong with aesthetic-based fantasy worldbuilding!

(sidenote we're not calling this 'soft fantasy' bc there's already a hard/soft divide in fantasy: hard magic follows consistent rules, like "earthbenders can always and only bend earth", and soft magic follows vague rules that often just ~feel right~, like the Force. this frankly kinda maps, but I'm not talking about just the magic, I'm talking about the worldbuilding as a whole.

actually for the purposes of this post we're calling it grounded vs airy fantasy, bc that's succinct and sounds cool.)

a great example of grounded fantasy is Dungeon Meshi: the dungeon ecosystem is meticulously thought out, the plot is driven by the very realistic need to eat well while adventuring, the story touches on both social and psychological effects of the whole 'no one dies forever down here' situation, the list goes on. the worldbuilding wants to be engaged with on a mechanical level and it rewards that engagement.

deliberately airy fantasy is less common, because in a funny way it's much harder to do. people tend to like explanations. it takes skill to pull off "the world is this way because I said so." Narnia manages: these kids fall into a magic world through the back of a wardrobe, befriend talking beavers who drink tea, get weapons from Santa Claus, dance with Bacchus and his maenads, and sail to the edge of the world, without ever breaking suspension of disbelief. it works because every new thing that happens fits the vibes. it's all just vibes! engaging with the worldbuilding on a mechanical level wouldn't just be futile, it'd be missing the point entirely.

the reason I started off calling this aesthetic-based is that an airy story will usually lean hard on an existing aesthetic, ideally one that's widely known by the target audience. Lewis was drawing on fables, fairy tales, myths, children's stories, and the vague idea of ~medieval europe~ that is to this day our most generic fantasy setting. when a prince falls in love with a fallen star, when there are giants who welcome lost children warmly and fatten them up for the feast, it all fits because these are things we'd expect to find in this story. none of this jars against what we've already seen.

and the point of it is to be wondrous and whimsical, to set the tone for the story Lewis wants to tell. and it does a great job! the airy worldbuilding serves the purposes of the story, and it's no less elegant than Ryōko Kui's elaborately grounded dungeon. neither kind of worldbuilding is better than the other.

however.

you do have to know which one you're doing.

the whole reason I'm writing this is that I saw yet another long, entertaining post dragging GRRM for absolute filth. asoiaf is a fun one because on some axes it's pretty grounded (political fuck-around-and-find-out, rumors spread farther than fact, fastest way to lose a war is to let your people starve, etc), but on others it's entirely airy (some people have magic Just Cause, the various peoples are each based on an aesthetic/stereotype/cliché with no real thought to how they influence each other as neighbors, the super-long seasons have no effect on ecology, etc).

and again! none of this is actually bad! (well ok some of those stereotypes are quite bigoted. but other than that this isn't bad.) there's nothing wrong with the season thing being there to highlight how the nobles are focused on short-sighted wars for power instead of storing up resources for the extremely dangerous and inevitable winter, that's a nice allegory, and the looming threat of many harsh years set the narrative tone. and you can always mix and match airy and grounded worldbuilding – everyone does it, frankly it's a necessity, because sooner or later the answer to every worldbuilding question is "because the author wanted it to be that way." the only completely grounded writing is nonfiction.

the problem is when you pretend that your entirely airy worldbuilding is actually super duper grounded. like, for instance, claiming that your vibes-based depiction of Medieval Europe (Gritty Edition) is completely historical, and then never even showing anyone spinning. or sniffing dismissively at Tolkien for not detailing Aragorn's tax policy, and then never addressing how a pre-industrial grain-based agricultural society is going years without harvesting any crops. (stored grain goes bad! you can't even mouse-proof your silos, how are you going to deal with mold?) and the list goes on.

the man went up on national television and invited us to engage with his worldbuilding mechanically, and then if you actually do that, it shatters like spun sugar under the pressure. doesn't he realize that's not the part of the story that's load-bearing! he should've directed our focus to the political machinations and extensive trope deconstruction, not the handwavey bit.

point is, as a fantasy writer there will always be some amount of your worldbuilding that boils down to 'because I said so,' and there's nothing wrong with that. nor is there anything wrong with making that your whole thing – airy worldbuilding can be beautiful and inspiring. but you have to be aware of what you're doing, because if you ask your readers to engage with the worldbuilding in gritty mechanical detail, you had better have some actual mechanics to show them.

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Cherry Red.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader x Yandere!Geto (JJK).

Written in conjunction with this ask from @eevwrites.

Word Count: 1.9k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Implied Stalking, Kidnapping, Obsessive Behavior, Overstimulation, Biting/Marking, and Slight Dehumanization.

Really, your only mistake had been choosing the wrong savoir after Satoru had slipped something into your drink.

Satoru was obviously, visibly, undeniably a creep. That much was obvious from the second he approached you, neon pink cocktail in-hand and that degenerate grin plastered across his lips. He was sketchy, but he was also rich, and fun, and willing to dance with you hours after the rest of your friends had called it a night. Suguru wasn’t a creep – or, he didn’t look like one, at least. When your vision started to darken, when it became harder than it should’ve been to put one foot in front of the other, it was his chest you stumbled into, using what was left of your consciousness to beg an imposing, aloof stranger to get the bartender’s attention and help you. It was what anyone else would’ve done. It was what you would’ve done, if the roles had been reversed.

It wasn’t until you felt his arm wrap around your waist, until you heard him call so lovingly to Satoru, that you realized how badly you’d fucked up.

Still, stumbling halfway across the club and throwing yourself at a total stranger must've attracted some attention. As Suguru gathered you in his arms, the bartender rounded towards you, eyeing your limp form and Suguru's slight smile warily. “Someone had little too much to drink,” he explained, nonchalantly. “It’s fine. Her boyfriend and I are going to take her home and make sure she gets tuck her in.”

‘Your boyfriend’ being Satoru, apparently, judging by the way he clung to Suguru’s side as you were carried out of the club entirely and piled into the backseat of an inconspicuous black car. Suguru drove and Satoru hovered over you – gnawing hickeys and bruises into your throat until you were too far gone to care.

Whatever they’d dosed you with, it was strong. You were strung out for most of the ride, only vaguely aware of passing scenery, Satoru’s keening whines, and Suguru’s gentle reminders to ‘wait, ‘toru’. By the time you felt your body being lifted, you were beyond the point of deliberate movement – your mind hyperactive, eager to latch onto every little sensation and spiraling thought, but unable to do much more than remind you to breath as you were hauled through a shrine courtyard and into a small, dimly lit backroom; the priest’s personal barracks, if you had to guess. Satoru babbled while Suguru lowered you onto a large, plush bed, and despite your best efforts, you caught most of it. “—and that’s when I knew it had to be you.” Suguru spared you an apologetic smile, his nimble hands moving over your body as he carefully removed your dress, then your shoes, then your panties, stripping you bare with all the care and all the tenderness of an avid collector undressing his favorite doll. “I mean, it took a few months, but I wanted it to be romantic, y’know? Suguru doesn’t get it. He thought I’d be happy with just anyone.”

“It took me a while to come around the idea. I might’ve gotten a little jealous.” You could only wish he would’ve stayed that away. “Come here, I need to show you what you’re doing.”

Suguru dragged you into his lap, keeping your upper body propped against his chest while spreading your legs apart in front of him. Satoru took his position eagerly between then, his eyes fixed on your cunt. “This,” he started, using two thick fingers to spread the folds of your labia apart, “is what you’re gonna fall in love with. Make sure you’re always paying attention to her clit – aw, look, it’s already poking out.”

It was humiliatingly clinical – how he touched you while explaining your anatomy in-detail, using the pad of his thumb to show Satoru how to play with your clit, dipping two fingers into your entrance while extrapolating on the importance of proper preparation, gathering your arousal up to make sure Satoru knew what it would look like when he was doing a good job. “Remember to be gentle. She’s going to be a lot more delicate than me,” he said, while curling two fingers inside of you, filling the bedroom with a rhythmic, humiliatingly wet sound. Your couldn't seem to open your mouth, and yet, little whimpers of discomfort and mewls of pleasure escaped your parted lips without resistance, each new noise drawing Satoru that much closer. “You’ll just be using your mouth, for now. We can talk about hands once you’ve shown some restraint.”

And yet, Satoru’s hands still found their way to your thighs, kneading mindlessly while Suguru split you open on his fingers. You tried to shake your head, to squirm against him, to tell him to stop, but the closest you got to anything coherent was a pitchy, keening sound not totally dissimilar to the whines Satoru would let out every now and then as he ground half-consciously into the mattress. You tried not to feel anything, either, but Suguru’s hands were so big, and his chest was so warm against your back, and with Satoru all-but drooling over your pussy, it would’ve been impossible not to come undone the second his palm ground against your clit and he spread his fingers apart inside of you, nursing you through your orgasm while making sure you were on fully-display. “See how she’s clenching down? That means she’s trying to milk your cock – you’ll get what I mean, once your inside of her.”

If only for a moment, your panic overshadowed your paralysis. Thrashing to either side, you did your best to fight against Suguru’s ironclad hold and finally spit something out, even if your voice was still barely stronger than a whimper. “N-No, don’t, you can’t—”

It was Satoru who cut you off, this time, albeit without breaking his nonverbal streak. His mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise, teeth clashing against yours as he shoved his tongue down your throat in less of a kiss and more of a prolonged attempt to choke you to death. It hurt, and you tasted blood, and if you hadn’t known better, than you would’ve thought this was his first—

Oh, god.

As if this couldn’t have gotten any worse.

He didn’t stay focused on your mouth for long. His attention drifted downward – first to your throat, then your collarbone, then your chest, latching onto one of your nipples and sucking harshly. You hadn’t realized how sensitive you were, not until his teeth dug into the plush of your breast and you let out a fractured sob, tears blurring your vision. Suguru’s response was instantaneous. In a fraction of a second, his slick-stained fingers were tangled in Satoru’s hair, prying him off of you entirely. “Gentle,” he repeated, his tone strict, authoritative. “Before I decide you need to be muzzled.”

For what it was worth, Satoru seemed apologetic. After Suguru loosened his hold, he nuzzled into your chest, lapping over his past love bites with the flat of his tongue. “’m sorry, just got excited.” And then, smiling up at you, “You didn’t mind, right? I mean, she definitely doesn’t.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, not until his head dropped to your cunt and he buried his face between your thighs, his attention suddenly solely dedicated to your pussy.

There was no attempt made to use his hands. Despite Suguru’s instructions, he ate you out like a starving animal – his tongue fucking into your cunt as the bridge of his nose ground mindlessly against your clit. Suguru kept his hand in Satoru’s hair, petting gingerly over his scalp as he watched Satoru drool and lap at your cunt. “Use your entire tongue, and don't inhale. She’s not going to be impressed if you manage to drown yourself in pussy.” Suguru tugged lightly, and Satoru let out an unabashed moan, the reverberations going straight to your core. “Don't get distracted, either. Don’t you want to know what she tastes like cumming on your tongue?”

Another moan, another rough buck of Satoru’s hips into the now disheveled sheets. He was terrible, and messy, and loud, and it was humiliating how quickly you lost control of yourself – going stiff against Suguru as Satoru all-but tore your second climax out of you. Suguru grinned against your throat, almost purring with satisfaction. “Good boy. So dedicated, so sweet.” He let go of Satoru’s hair – cupping your face, instead. It was only as his thumb traced over your cheek that you realized you were crying in-earnest, now. “She’s tearing up, ‘toru. That means she wants you to keep going.”

A mix of your arousal and his saliva stained the inside of your thighs, dampening the sheets underneath you, but he didn’t pull away – too caught up in your taste or Suguru’s praise to stop. It might’ve been the overstimulation, or the drugs, or some impossible, nebulous factor you couldn’t so much as begin to guess as, but time seemed to blur together, reality buckling under its own weight as Satoru wrung another orgasm out of you, then another, then another, as Suguru continued to shower him with praise and affection and promises that you liked him, that you wanted this, that you were only crying and thrashing and trying to snap your thighs shut because you felt so good. At some point, you lost the will to keep your eyes open, and minutes later, the harsher edges of your consciousness began to soften. For once, you couldn't be mad at your own body's instinctual submission.

You knew you were going to black out, but you weren't scared. By the time your vision flickered out and everything went black, the only thing you could think to be was grateful that you’d be fortunate enough to miss the main event.

~

You woke up what felt like days later, still lying on the bed you’d blacked out in. Their paralytics had worn off, but trying to make a run for it was out of the question. Every part of your body ached – from your hickey-painted chest to your aching hips to your poor, abused pussy – and even if you’d been able to move, it wouldn’t have done you much good. Familiar bodies caged you in on either side, Suguru’s chest still pressing into your back while Satoru clung to your chest, his arms wrapped around your midriff and his nails embedded in your sides. As if you hadn't already been thoroughly marked.

Suguru stirred first, predictably. It wasn’t hard to tell who was in charge between the two of them. “Our little sleeping beauty,” he muttered into your hair, kissing the top of your head as he sat up and shook Satoru away. “We were starting to get worried – must’ve pushed you too hard last night. You almost missed the most important part.”

Something caught in your throat. “…almost?”

“Yes, princess, almost.” With a groan, Satoru sat up, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Immediately, his gaze fell to you, and just as quickly, he was on top of you – pinning you to the mattress, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “You should be thankful that Satoru had the patience to wait. I wouldn’t have been so nice.”

You felt Satoru’s hands paw at your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist as he aligned his stiff, leaking cock with your entrance. He moved enthusiastically, but mechanically, like a trained dog. Like he was following instructions. Weakly, you tried to push at his chest, to get him away from you, but you gave up quickly.

You’d been wrong to be grateful. It would’ve been better to get this over with last night.

At least, then, you might’ve been out of it enough to miss the twisted, blissful, lovesick grin painted across Satoru’s lips as he buried himself inside of you.

[badbtssmut]

Cult 0T7 fic.

What happens when one’s sin is too big for the highest deity to forgive? Seven individuals who have committed the most hideous crimes, show up at your town; paying the holy leader of the cult heaps of money to have you cleanse them of their sins. Whatever happens in a cult, stays in a cult.

Contains: cult themes, public sex, rough sex, members fighting over who can fuck y/n first, members are driven crazy by lust, double penetration in pussy, triple penetration ass and pussy, double blowjob, attempt at trice blowjob but fails, riding, idk what else

Admin note: I deliberately kept any details and references to any religion as vague as possible.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was the last full moon of the month, a time for celebrating the harvest and honoring the God that you and the people you cherished worshipped religiously, night to day, day to night. A special night, as it was only on this night where mortals were granted forgiveness for sins that wouldn’t be excused by human beings; sins that were too vile for any mortal to overlook, but a sin that a God could forgive, so long as you repented.

So long as you repented…

…and had sexual intercourse on the last full moon of the month, a practice that all of you were willing to participate in. Word got around quick and sex tourists desperately tried to participate, but your town shouldn’t be seen as some sort of sex theme park. No, this was a sacred ritual that you and the other people in the town participated in, to the point where you all saw it as an act of tradition without batting an eye at the freakiness of it all.

The head of the cult would never steer you wrong, he knew what was best for the town.

“Seven individuals have come to partake in our tradition tonight.” The wise man spoke, a smile plastered on his face. “We know that seven is a sacred number, don’t we? This cannot be a coincidence! It is the will of the Gods that this will be done. Our town will prosper, I assure you all of this.” He spoke to the crowd, his eyes gleaming in the light of the candle and fire.

He looked back at you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Are you ready, my child?” He led you to the hot springs. “The Gods will surely be pleased with this outcome, as will we all be once the harvest is bountiful in our town.”

You were more than ready to go through with this, the Gods would bless the town.

You left the man behind as you were welcomed by the two elder sisters who prepared you for the tradition; scrubbing your body, soaping it, and then softening your skin with a blend of almond and coconut oil. Your hair was dried before they wrapped the silk robe around you, a hug and a kiss on the cheek given by one of the two, before you walked off and made your way to where the tradition would take place.

There was an open space in the far back of the town; far enough to scare off tourists but near enough for interested townspeople to come and have a look. It was surrounded by torches and candles, an altar placed at the center of the open area, decorated with roses, lilies, and daisies. A swing hung from a tree, a bed of soft furs and blankets a few feet from the swing, and water flowing nearby.

Seven wooden chairs were lined up in front of the altar, each seat occupied by seven strangers, before you could have a closer look, the leader of the cult spoke up.

“Kim Namjoon, Kim Seokjin, Jung Hoseok, Min Yoongi, Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook, you are all welcome here.” The man glanced over to the crowd before looking back at the men. “May the Gods be gracious to us all, for we are all pure-hearted, and our intentions are true and good, we come together for one goal and one goal only: the will of the Gods!” The audience clapped, some of the older ones praying under their breath.

You sat on the furs, the silk robe still on, and you watched the seven men walk down the path that the people created for them. It wasn’t something you’d normally think about, but you couldn’t help but notice how handsome each of them were, every man holding a unique feature that made you stare.

You laid back on the furs, a pillow under your head, and waited, watching as they undressed themselves and like a pack of wild animals, they pounced on you. Hands roamed all over your body, fingers pinching and twisting your nipples, fingers rubbed your clit, lips sucked at your neck, hands caressed your thighs, tips were pushed at your entrance before you were forcibly pulled back by another member who was eager to fuck you first.

They argued, they bickered, they fought, they shoved each other, your body bounced back and forth as they wrestled and tried to pull you into their arms, Yoongi grabbed hold of you and dragged you across the furs and blankets, before the rest of the men piled on top of you, two cocks pushed into your mouth while another cock rubbed against your face.

You looked up to see that the three cocks belonged to Taehyung, Jungkook and Jimin. In your left hand, you held Namjoon’s cock, while your right hand held Hoseok’s cock. There were so many cocks that you were starting to lose count.

You felt Yoongi’s tip push in before it was abruptly pushed away by Seokjin’s tip, their cocks pushing and rubbing against each other before both slid into your pussy. You let out a gasp, mouth wide open, cocks slipping out, before they were hastily pushed back into your mouth. The two men inside of you fucked you in tandem, their cocks brushing against each other.

You took shaky breaths through your nose, focusing on sucking their cocks, while also focusing on rubbing the cocks that you held in your hands. Seokjin held onto your hips while Yoongi’s fingers dug into your ass, them both pushing you back and forth on their cocks, bouncing you back and forth. Taehyung who was rubbing his cock against your face, felt himself grow impatient, and pushed himself into your mouth, but when he realized it wouldn’t fit, he pulled back out.

The citizens watched, some bursting into tears, others clapping, a few cheering, the majority chanting and praying, but they were all proud of the ritual being carried out so far. They’d make sure to praise you after you’re done, bring you gifts and your favorite treats as a reward for your outstanding work.

You felt Seokjin’s pace turn sloppy and frantic, his moans louder than before, and not even a second later, he came. He filled you up first, panting, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. He stayed inside of you for a while longer, until he finally pulled out.

Yoongi didn’t allow anyone to take Jin’s place, he continued fucking you, his pace fast and hard. You couldn’t help the lewd noises that slipped past your lips, and you didn’t care how loud you were. The only thing on your mind was the cock slamming into your pussy.

Jimin switched places with Taehyung, now his cock in your mouth while Jimin stepped back and enjoyed the show. Jungkook tilted his head back as he pushed his hips further towards your face, digging his cock deeper into your mouth.

Soon after, Yoongi’s seed spilled inside of you, and you clenched around his cock. He groaned, biting down on his lip, pulling out of you. Your pussy was only left alone for a few seconds before Hoseok eagerly took the spot. He sat down next to you before he pulled you onto his lap, earning some annoyed groans and glares from the men as their cocks slipped out of your mouth and hands.

Hoseok lifted you up and down, bouncing you on his cock, and he held a smile on his face at how soaking wet and warm your pussy was. Namjoon took the opportunity to ram his cock into your needy pussy, both him and Hoseok fucking you in tandem, and the pleasure was too much. You screamed and moaned, the cocks stuffed inside of you were making you feel lightheaded. You could feel Hoseok’s tongue drag over your neck as Namjoon kneaded your chest, your breasts filling his large hands.

Your ears rang, your mind went blank, and everything felt blurry, but the men continued to fuck you. Your head tilted back as Namjoon and Hoseok changed the rhythm, Namjoon pounding into your pussy while Hoseok slowly fucked into you. The three of you continued to go on like this, the cocks stuffing you to the brim, until Hoseok and Namjoon both came, their seed filling you up.

One of the sisters on standby, stepped in to offer you a cup of water, before she bowed and stepped back, not wanting to stand in the way of you finishing. You took a minute to breathe and catch your breath, before the three youngest were left.

You were taken away from the blankets and brought to one of the chairs, where Taehyung sat down and pulled you onto his lap. He held you into place as he pushed his errection into your ass, stretching your hole and earning a squeak from you. As he fucked your ass, Jungkook and Jimin stepped over. Jungkook went straight for pushing his cock into your pussy, while Jimin decided to make you suck his cock for a few minutes before he also pushed in his cock into your pussy.

The chair creaked and shifted under the weight and force of the three men fucking you relentlessly, but you couldn’t even hear it, your hearing fuzzy and your sight blurry.

“Oh! Oh!” You gasped, eyes wide and mouth agape, unable to do anything but allow the three men to use your holes however they pleased. It was too much— too much pleasure at the same time, but it was so good, too good. Drool dripped down your chin, your hair a mess, your robe abandoned somewhere on the ground. First Taehyung would thrust, before pulling out, which was when Jimin pushed in, along with Jungkook, before they’d switch their pace and start alternating again.

Taehyung was the first to come, his seed spilling inside of you, and as soon as he pulled out, it was when Jimin and Jungkook came as well, filling you up with their seed.

You were left panting, drool dripping from your mouth and tears in your eyes. The sisters stood by your side and wrapped a warm towel around you. Your legs were shaking, and you felt wobbly so you sat back down, shit, you needed a break after that.

“Now I declare, that all of you have been cleared of your sins…

Jungkook, Battery

Jimin, Extortion

Taehyung, Kidnapping

Seokjin, Murder

Namjoon, Burglary

Yoongi, Cybercrime

Hoseok, Arson…”

[mononijikayu]

love me anyway — fushiguro megumi.

Megumi was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady and thoughtful. Then, he asked quietly, “Do you love me?” The question took you by surprise, but you nodded without hesitation. “Of course, I do. I love you more than anything.” Before you could say more, he cut you off, his voice firm yet tender. “Then love me anyway.” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll love you like that too. But in my way. Okay?”

GENRE: Alternate Universe - Idol AU!

WARNING/s: General Audience, SFW, Fluff, Romance, Mild Angst, Comfort, Care, Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Crying, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Confessions, Mutual Affection, Love, Hugging, Idol! Megumi, Idol! Reader, Someone Love Me Like Megumi Loves Reader;

WORDS: 5k words.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: the kanji translates to 1st bubble - 'love me anyway' and 2nd bubble - 'i'll love you like that too'; i was also supposed to publish this last night, but i was exhausted from the nightmare of trying to get admitted for classes at our unprepared uni. but alas, it is what it is. also, i keep thinking - would people be interested to ask commission me for fiction work??? if so, tell me~ anyway, i love you all!!!

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⋆⑅˚₊. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

IF ANYONE ASKS ABOUT YOU, MEGUMI SAYS NOTHING. When Megumi Fushiguro was asked about his personal life, especially concerning his relationship status, he always took a measured approach. His calm demeanor, coupled with his reluctance to divulge details, created a mystery that intrigued fans and media alike. 

Interviewers would frequently probe with questions about who he might be dating, their curiosity piqued by his silence. Yet Megumi, skilled at deflecting attention, would maintain an air of nonchalance. He would often sidestep the inquiries with practiced ease. "I prefer to keep my personal life private." he’d say with a polite smile, steering the conversation to his latest projects or upcoming performances.

When pressed further, his responses would be deliberately vague. "I’m not seeing anyone special at the moment." he’d offer, though his tone hinted at something more, leaving room for speculation. Occasionally, he’d indulge in playful ambiguity, saying, "That’s a bit of a secret." allowing the press and his fans to indulge in their wild theories.

In truth, his silence was not a mere avoidance of the topic but a carefully crafted shield. The reality was that he was deeply committed to you, his fellow pop singer. To the outside world, he remained an enigma, but those who knew him well understood that his reluctance to discuss his personal life was his way of protecting something precious. 

Away from the spotlight, Megumi cherished the moments he spent with you. In the quiet of your shared spaces, there were no prying eyes, no pressure to perform or maintain a facade. Here, he could be himself—a man deeply in love, unguarded and tender in ways the world never saw.

He would often steal glances at you when you weren’t looking, a soft smile playing on his lips as he marveled at how effortlessly you fit into his life. It was in the little things—the way you brewed his coffee just the way he liked it, the shared laughter over inside jokes, the warmth of your hand in his as you walked through the city late at night, hidden from the world. These were the moments that mattered to him, far more than any public adoration or recognition.

Megumi's commitment to keeping your relationship private wasn’t just about maintaining his image—it was about preserving the sanctity of what you both had built together. The love you shared was too precious, too delicate, to be exposed to the scrutiny and speculation that came with fame. He wanted to protect it, to keep it safe from the prying eyes and intrusive questions that would inevitably come if your relationship became public knowledge.

In those rare instances when the pressure of the media became overwhelming, and the rumors started to swirl, you both found solace in the understanding that this was your choice. The secrecy wasn’t a burden but a conscious decision to prioritize each other over the demands of the world outside.

Megumi knew that one day, when the time was right, he would be ready to share his happiness with the world. But until then, he was content with the quiet, intimate life you shared—one that was filled with love, trust, and the unspoken understanding that you were both in this together, no matter what.

Fushiguro Megumi thought of this bubble as something sacred, a secret he held close, not meant for the public but for himself alone. It was his way of preserving the tenderness and intimacy of what you shared, a private world far removed from the demands and expectations of his public life.

If anyone took a closer look, they might notice the subtle signs—the small but significant traces of you woven into his daily routine. The Polaroids tucked into the inner pocket of his coat when he traveled were a tangible connection to you, a reminder of moments that were too precious to be left behind. These photos, capturing the essence of your time together, were his silent companions on the road, offering comfort and a sense of closeness no matter how far away he was.

Then there was the worn edge of the photo he kept in his wallet, a picture he glimpsed every time he paid for his usual iced Americano. The photo, though small, held a world of memories within its faded colors—a candid shot of you laughing, the kind of smile that made his heart feel lighter even on the toughest days. This simple act of seeing your face, even in passing, grounded him, reminding him of the life you had together beyond the stage and the spotlight.

During his live broadcasts, there was yet another clue—another Polaroid placed on his nightstand, visible only to those who looked closely. To the casual observer, it might seem like just another photo, but to Megumi, it was a piece of home, a visual anchor to the life he cherished with you. This photo was a quiet declaration, a subtle hint at the love that defined his private world, even if he chose not to speak of it aloud.

Each of these small, deliberate choices was Megumi’s way of carrying you with him, of keeping you close even when you were apart. It was a way of acknowledging your presence in his life without exposing it to the world, preserving the purity of what you shared. In this carefully constructed bubble, you were safe, your love shielded from the chaos and noise of the outside world. And for Megumi, that was all that mattered.

To the world, he was enigmatic, but in the quiet moments away from the cameras, Megumi’s heart was unmistakably yours. And he absolutely loved it. He adored having to see these polaroids, the ones only for his eyes and be reminded that you took them for him. Each one had notes behind it — the date it was taken, the place it was taken and unique declarations of love from you. One after the other. Only for him to see. 

It’s not that Megumi wants to keep you a secret—far from it. He dreams of the day when he can hold your hand in public, fingers intertwined without a second thought, and kiss you on the street, feeling the world fade away as his lips meet yours. He imagines looking up during a performance and spotting you in the VIP box, your face beaming with pride as you cheer him on, your presence a source of strength.

But he knows you’re not ready for that step yet. And he gets it, truly he does. Being public together is a huge deal, something that would bring your relationship under the intense scrutiny of fans and the media. The thought of everyone speculating, commenting, dissecting every interaction between the two of you—it overwhelms you. And Megumi loves you too much, loves you too much to ever subject you to something that could hurt you.

So he waits, never pressuring, always patient. He works hard to ensure you know how much he loves you, showing it in the quiet moments, in the little things he does just for you. He’s there for you in ways that matter most, understanding your needs, your boundaries. And you know that, feel that love in every glance, every touch, every word he doesn’t need to say.

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SOMETIMES, YOU THINK THAT YOU AREN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR HIM. You know you really shouldn’t even be thinking that. But It was really hard not to think that. Even little things like this, being able to be together, he’ll make it possible. Just to be with you, he’ll move every schedule he has around. You watched him intently as he prepared for song rehearsals, the familiar rhythm of the venue buzzing around you.

Both of you had been invited to perform at the same song festival—two stars in your own right, each with a dedicated following and a unique presence on stage. Yet, despite the individual paths you had carved in the industry, there was an undeniable connection between you, something that always seemed to draw you closer, even in the vast world of music and fame.

The festival was a high-profile event, a convergence of talent and star power, where each performance was eagerly anticipated by fans and critics alike. You were no exception; your name alone was enough to generate buzz, your performance a highlight on the festival's lineup. But this time, there was something more personal, more intimate at stake.

His stage was scheduled right after yours, a coincidence that felt almost too perfect to be real. It provided you with the perfect opportunity to linger behind after your set, slipping into the shadows to watch him perform without drawing too much attention.

It wasn’t unusual for artists to stay and support their peers, but for you, it was more than just professional courtesy—it was a chance to savor the moments you had together, to see him in his element, knowing that soon, he would be gone, and the time you had now would be all you could hold on to for a while.

Megumi had only decided to attend the festival because he knew you would be there. The invitation had come at a time when his schedule was already packed with album promotions and interviews, and truthfully, he could have declined without anyone questioning his decision.

But the thought of spending even a few hours in the same space as you, of sharing the stage at the same event, was enough to make him rearrange his plans. It was rare for your paths to cross like this, and he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by.

The festival was not just a performance but a brief, precious reprieve from the hectic lives you both led. It was a chance to be together, to share a moment that was yours alone, even if it was in the midst of flashing lights and roaring crowds. The fact that you were both attending had turned what might have been just another event into something special, something you both looked forward to with a mix of excitement and bittersweet anticipation.

Because after the festival, there would be rehearsals, and then he would be off again, flying halfway across the world to promote his album. It was the nature of your lives, always moving, always in demand, but it didn’t make the goodbyes any easier. You knew that once he left, it would be weeks, maybe even months, before you could see each other again. The distance would stretch between you, filled with phone calls and texts, but it wasn’t the same as being together, as feeling his presence beside you.

Megumi was focused, his expression serious as he adjusted his in-ear monitor, the slight furrow in his brow showing his concentration. For a brief moment, his gaze shifted, landing on you. There was a quiet acknowledgment in his eyes, a connection that needed no words. You couldn’t help but smile, the simple act of being there for him filling you with warmth.

He caught the smile, and something softened in his features, though he quickly averted his gaze as the stage director’s voice echoed through the space, calling for attention. Megumi turned his focus back to the task at hand, but you knew that brief exchange had said everything it needed to.

In truth, it weighed on you—the thought that Megumi was always the one making adjustments, bending and reshaping his life around you. You couldn’t help but think it was unfair to him, that relationships were supposed to be a two-way street. Yet, here he was, always the one who seemed to be giving more, doing everything he could to be with you.

When you were upset and didn’t want to talk, he’d still reach out, calling you even in the middle of his hectic workday just to make sure you were okay. When you were sick, no matter how busy his schedule was, Megumi was always the first one by your side, taking care of you with a quiet devotion that left you both comforted and conflicted.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you weren’t doing enough to reciprocate the love he so freely gave. It gnawed at you, a constant reminder that no matter how much you loved him, it felt like you were falling short. And that hurt—hurt because you loved him so much, and the thought of him always giving more than he received felt like a wound you couldn’t heal. You wanted to do better, to be better for him, because he deserved nothing less.

That feeling lingered, a quiet ache that settled deep in your chest every time you thought about how much Megumi gave and how little you felt you were able to return. He never complained, never once made you feel like you were a burden. If anything, he seemed happiest when he was with you, when he could be there for you. But that only made it harder to bear, because it felt like you were taking advantage of his kindness, his patience, his love.

You wanted to be the one to call him during a tough day, to show up unexpectedly and take care of him when he needed it most. You wanted to be the one making the sacrifices, the adjustments, to show him that your love for him was just as strong, just as unwavering. But every time you tried, it felt like your efforts fell short, like you couldn’t quite match the depth of his care.

The guilt was a constant shadow, always reminding you of how much he did for you. And no matter how many times he told you that it was enough just to be with you, that he didn’t need anything more than your presence, the doubt remained. Because deep down, you knew how much he meant to you, how deeply you loved him, and the thought of not being able to show that love in the way he deserved made your heart ache.

You resolved, quietly and firmly, to find a way to show him—to let him know just how much he meant to you. Because loving Megumi was the easiest thing in the world, but making sure he felt loved the way he made you feel was something you were determined to do, no matter how long it took. He deserved nothing less, and you would do everything in your power to make sure he knew it.

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IT WAS UNCOMFORTABLE TO SIT THERE AT THAT MOMENT. The ride home was quiet, the hum of the car engine the only sound filling the space between you and Megumi. The silence was thick, not with anger or resentment, but with the weight of unspoken emotions.

You sat beside him, staring out the window, lost in your thoughts. The city lights blurred as they passed by, each one a fleeting reminder of the moments that had slipped through your fingers—moments where you felt you hadn’t done enough, where you had fallen short as his partner.

The guilt gnawed at you, growing heavier with each passing mile. It was the little things that lingered in your mind, the times when you were too tired to ask about his day, when you were preoccupied with your own worries and missed the subtle signs of his struggles.

You replayed the conversations where you had said the right words but lacked the sincerity behind them, or the moments when you were present physically but your mind was elsewhere, distracted by the pressures of your own life.

You stole a glance at Megumi, hoping for some indication of what he was feeling, but his expression remained unreadable. His hands gripped the steering wheel, his focus seemingly on the road ahead, yet you knew his thoughts were likely miles away. You wondered if he, too, was wrestling with his own thoughts, if he was questioning your connection, or if he noticed the same cracks you did.

The guilt weighed on you like a leaden blanket, stifling the words you wanted to say but couldn’t find the courage to voice. You wanted to apologize, to explain that your distance wasn’t a reflection of your love for him, but rather your own struggles—struggles that had nothing to do with him but had somehow seeped into the space between you. But the words remained trapped in your throat, swallowed by the fear of making things worse.

As the car continued its journey, the silence grew more oppressive, filling the space where once there had been easy conversation and shared laughter. You could feel the distance between you, not just physical but emotional, a chasm that seemed to widen with every unspoken thought, every missed opportunity to connect.

Megumi, ever perceptive, noticed your silence. The way you stared out the window, lost in your thoughts, didn’t escape him. He knew you well enough to recognize when something was weighing on you, even if you didn’t voice it. The quiet between you wasn’t the comfortable silence you usually shared; it was heavy, filled with the unspoken tension that had settled in the car like a third passenger.

He glanced over at you, his eyes softening as he took in your expression—the slight furrow of your brow, the way your lips were pressed into a thin line. He could sense the turmoil swirling inside you, even if he didn’t fully understand its cause. Megumi had always been good at reading between the lines, at noticing the subtle shifts in your mood, and this time was no different. He could tell that something was off, that you were shouldering a burden you hadn’t shared with him.

His voice was gentle as he broke the silence, careful not to startle you from your reverie. “Why don’t you stay the night at my place?” he suggested, his tone laced with a warmth that he hoped would ease some of the tension you were feeling. “I’ll cook for you.”

He offered you a small, reassuring smile, trying to coax you out of your thoughts, to remind you that you didn’t have to carry whatever it was alone. Megumi knew that sometimes, all it took was a simple gesture to bring you back to the present, to help you feel grounded again. And cooking for you, spending time together in the quiet comfort of his home, was something he hoped would do just that.

“And then we could watch a movie,” he added, his smile growing a little wider, a bit more playful as he tried to lighten the mood. “I know you wanted to see a film recently, and I finally bought the CD for it.”

His offer was more than just an invitation to spend the night; it was his way of showing you that he cared, that he was there for you, even when words failed. Megumi knew you well enough to understand that sometimes, the best way to show his support wasn’t through grand gestures or deep conversations, but through the simple act of being there, of sharing a meal, a movie, a quiet evening together.

He hoped that by offering this, he could help ease the guilt he sensed you were feeling. He didn’t want you to think you had fallen short as his partner because, in his eyes, you never had.

Fushiguro Megumi had always valued the quiet, unspoken moments between you—the shared silences, the comfort of your presence, the way you understood each other without needing to say much. And tonight, he wanted to remind you of that, to let you know that no matter what was weighing on your mind, you didn’t have to face it alone.

As he waited for your response, his hand reached out to gently touch yours, a silent promise that he was there for you, no matter what. The warmth of his fingers against your skin was a quiet reassurance, a reminder that in the midst of all your doubts and worries, you had someone who loved you, who would always be by your side, ready to lift the weight of the world off your shoulders, even if just for a little while.

You looked at him, the sincerity in his eyes making the guilt even harder to bear. “I’m sorry, Megumi.” you started, your voice wavering as you spoke.

He furrowed his brow, turning his full attention to you. “Why are you apologizing?” he asked, his tone full of concern. “You don’t need to–”

You hesitated, struggling to find the right words. “I… I’ve been an inadequate partner to you.” you confessed, your voice heavy with emotion. “It’s not fair to you, Megumi. You’ve done so much, and I feel like I haven’t done enough in return.”

Megumi let out a soft sigh, shaking his head as he reached over to take your hand in his. “Don’t think like that, hm?” he said gently, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a soothing gesture. “You’re always worthy of love, of my love. You’ve done well to love me too, you know?”

“But it’s true!” you insisted, your voice cracking as the weight of your feelings pressed down on you. “I feel like I’m always taking, and you’re always giving. It’s not fair to you.”

Megumi was quiet for a moment, his gaze steady and thoughtful. Then, he asked quietly, “Do you love me?”

The question took you by surprise, but you nodded without hesitation. “Of course, I do. I love you more than anything.”

Before you could say more, he cut you off, his voice firm yet tender. “Then love me anyway.” he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll love you like that too. But in my way. Okay?”

The simplicity of his words hit you with unexpected force, the sincerity behind them bringing tears to your eyes. Your Megumi always knows what to do. He knows how to reach you, to calm you down. To love you back to life. He reached up, wiping away the tears that had begun to fall, his touch gentle and full of affection.

“Don’t worry so much about what you think you should be doing.” Megumi continued, his voice soft and reassuring. “Just love me, and let me love you. That’s all that matters.”

His words wrapped around your heart, easing the guilt and replacing it with a deep sense of peace. You leaned into his touch, nodding as you let his words sink in, knowing that with him, it was enough just to be.

You leaned into Megumi's touch, feeling the warmth of his hand against your cheek as he gently wiped away your tears. His presence was soothing, a quiet strength that you could always rely on, and in that moment, the weight of your worries began to lift, even if just a little.

Megumi pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as he held you against him. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a comforting anchor, grounding you in the moment. He didn’t say anything more, allowing the silence to fill with the unspoken understanding between you. 

As the car continued down the quiet streets, Megumi rested his chin on top of your head, his fingers tracing calming patterns on your arm. “You don’t have to be anything more than who you are, okay?” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you for you—not for what you think you should be.”

His words, so simple yet so full of meaning, resonated deep within you. The guilt that had been weighing you down began to fade, replaced by a warmth that spread through your chest. Megumi had always been like this—steady, unwavering in his love, never asking for more than you could give.

You closed your eyes, letting yourself relax into his embrace, feeling the tension leave your body as you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him. “I just want to make you happy, Megumi.” you whispered, your voice tinged with emotion.

“And you already do.” Megumi replied without hesitation, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Just being with you makes me happy.”

His sincerity brought another wave of tears, but this time, they were tears of relief, of gratitude. You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love for the man who held you so tenderly, who accepted you with all your flaws and insecurities.

“Thank you, Megumi.” you whispered, your voice cracking slightly as the emotions overwhelmed you. “Thank you for loving me.”

Megumi’s eyes softened, and he leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. “You don’t need to thank me, you know?” he murmured against your skin. “I love you because it’s you. And nothing will ever change that.”

He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours, filled with an affection that made your heartache in the best way possible. “We’ll figure everything out together, okay?” he said softly. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now. As long as we’re together, that’s all that matters.”

You nodded, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through the tears. “Okay.” you agreed, your voice steadier now. “Together.”

Megumi smiled back at you, a look of pure love and reassurance in his eyes. “Together.” he echoed, pulling you back into his arms, holding you close.

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epilogue

A few weeks had passed since that quiet ride home, and in that time, something had shifted between you and Megumi. The weight of your insecurities had eased, replaced by a growing confidence in the love you shared. You found yourself cherishing the little moments even more—the quiet exchanges, the smiles, the unspoken understanding that connected you both.

One evening, after one of Megumi's performances, you found yourself backstage, watching as he wrapped up his set. The energy in the room was electric, the audience’s cheers still echoing as Megumi made his way off the stage. He spotted you immediately, his eyes lighting up as he walked over. Without a word, you reached for him, pulling him into a kiss, a moment of pure connection amidst the chaos around you. A friend snapped a quick Polaroid of the two of you, capturing the tenderness of the moment.

Later that night, as you looked at the photo, an idea came to you. You carefully positioned the Polaroid against a backdrop of Megumi’s stage gear, the memory of that kiss still fresh in your mind. With a smile, you snapped a picture of the Polaroid and opened your social media, ready to share this piece of your world with him—and everyone else.

The caption came naturally: "Here's more Polaroids for you to hide." It was a playful nod to the many photos Megumi had tucked away over the months, small tokens of your relationship that he kept close even when the world wasn’t looking.

You hesitated for a moment before hitting ‘post,’ but something in you felt ready—ready to share this part of your life, ready to take that next step with him.

It didn’t take long for Megumi to see the post. Almost immediately, he shared his own Instagram story, adding his own words beneath your caption: "Only if you let me love you anyway."

His words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything you both had gone through, every doubt, every moment of reassurance, every bit of love that had brought you to this point.

You smiled as you read his response, feeling a warmth spread through you. It was a promise, a reminder of the love you shared, a love that was strong enough to weather anything.

And as the notifications began to roll in, the world catching a glimpse of the two of you together, you felt at peace. Because you knew, no matter what came next, you had each other. And that was enough.

As soon as you posted the Polaroids on your Instagram, the reaction on social media was immediate. Especially on Twitter. Fans of both you and Megumi began flooding the comments with a mix of excitement, surprise, and overwhelming support.

Fan 1: "Wait, are they… official now? My heart can't take this! 😭❤️"

Fan 2: "These Polaroids are so cute! Megumi must be over the moon!"

Fan 3: "I knew something was going on! They’re perfect together. Look at that smile in the last photo!"

Fan 4: "This is the content we've been waiting for! I can't believe it's finally happening!"

Fan 5: "Only if you let me love you anyway" — Fushiguro Megumi, you romantic! 😍"

As you scrolled through the comments, your phone buzzed with an incoming call from Megumi. You know he must be excited. More than he would let on to show. And you knew only you would know. You answered with a smile, hearing the familiar warmth in his voice.

"You saw the post, huh?" you teased.

"I did, I did." Megumi replied, his voice soft but filled with emotion. "I wasn’t expecting you to share those photos just yet. But I want you to know that I’m really glad you did. I finally get to love you in front of everyone.”

"Yeah, I know." you admitted, your heart fluttering. "I just… I wanted to take that step with you. I’m ready, Megumi. Don’t worry. Just let me love you the way you deserve, okay?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and you could almost picture the gentle smile on Megumi's face. "You already do love me. But let’s keep taking polaroids for me to hide, okay? I still want some things that are just for me, from you.”

You laughed, feeling a wave of affection for him. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

“I love you.” He whispers on the other side of the line.

You smile, feeling butterflies. “I love you too.”

[venomous-qwille]

A NOTE REGARDING WIKIS AND LORE DOCS

I've mentioned this in Misutamojis before, but just realised there was nothing about it here so:

Please don't create public lore docs or wikis for GITM.

I totally understand that the story is already sprawling and there are a lot of characters to keep track of, but here is my reasoning behind this request:

GITM is still in its very early stages, there is so little that you concretely know about any of the characters/story that it is likely that any character bios people write will be fundamentally incorrect. Same goes for lore about the worldbuilding and the Sight. It's much easier to spread misinfo than fact, and certain stuff in fic is kept deliberately misleading/vague for fun story purposes.

GITM is not a TV show and I am not a showrunner. I am just another DCA fan on the internet who wants to chat about their OCs, I should be allowed to do that without having my every word indexed. To be clear, as I have said many many many many times in the past: people quoting what I say in discord, analysing my casual art/magmas/drabbles, or screencapping casual convos and jokes to pull them apart to dissect details from it makes me really really uncomfortable. If people started screencapping what I say to stick it on a doc for proof of XYZ thing about a character you guys haven't even met yet... I would probably stop interacting on this server point blank. Please imagine how you would feel if people were screenshotting your desktop background to read your filenames so they could theorycraft. That has happened in this server. More than once. Please stop. Your FOMO is not more important than my boundaries.

The intended reading experience for GITM is... reading GITM. Yes sometimes I share my personal headcanons and tidbits for characters, but I promise that all of this stuff will be discovered in fic. I don't want people to learn about Fool's favourite songs from a google doc. I want you to learn about it from GITM. That is why I am writing GITM: to tell you about these characters.

I would like the opportunity to make a GITM wiki myself at some point in the future.

I understand this might be frustrating, I know the lore is overwhelming as it stands. As always, if you have questions about the characters, you are welcome to ask in one of the discussion channels- I don't mind people @ ing me for that- I love talking about GITM! I am always happy to answer new FAQs at length.

[mapofthemazeinthemirror]

𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬

Noble reader x Prince beomgyu

author's note: This isn't very fleshed out because it's not something that I had planned on writing — there’s a lot of telling not showing — and I have other things that I want to work on that this idea interrupted! I also kept a lot of details vague to allow readers to imagine your own interests. I hope this doesn't read like it was rushed (it took me about a month) and that I caught all the errors. This is inspired by Violet aka @blackhairedjjun and her fic Flowers of Every Colour. Her persona of Prince Yeonjun and vivid scenes live in my mind and I recommend you read it if you haven't yet!

word count: 6k

The prince often feels overwhelmed. Sometimes it seems as if everyone in the castle is looking for him at all times. Officials come to find him during his lessons, upsetting his tutors. His tutors come searching for him when council runs late and cuts into lesson time. No matter where he is or what duty he’s busy with, he receives notes from staff or delegates. He feels as though he’s in a constant game of tug-of-war, with his attention being the thing that’s fought over.

After a long lesson that had been rescheduled to a late evening hour to allow time for an urgent discussion with his advisors in the afternoon, Beomgyu could feel a headache coming on. As he departed from the study where tutoring was held, he felt heavy with exhaustion, a pressure pain behind his eyelids. He was so on edge that his head whipped toward every creak of the old floors, every distant sound of a door opening or closing, anxious that it was somebody seeking him out for yet another task that only he could see to or decision only he could approve. He just needed a minute – one minute at least – to himself. Every waking hour was spent in the presence of others, so much filling his days that his mind played it all back as he lay in bed at night trying to chase some much needed rest. Since becoming his parents’ consort, it felt as though he hardly had time to hear his own thoughts.

There was one place he knew nobody would look for him. Wearily he carried himself across the long open hall, past the top of the grand marble staircase he usually took to his rooms. He felt a little paranoid with the way he kept glancing around and over his shoulder as if he might be attacked at any moment by a “there you are, your highness.” If his father saw him now, he’d be scolded for looking like a thief in his own castle.

On reaching his destination, he breathed a sigh of relief. The library was quite large, with wall to wall mahogany shelves, beautifully covered atlases and historical volumes as far as the eye could see. Unlike the rest of the castle with its overbearing chandeliers, the library was lit with the soft glow of sconces. Finding a desk tucked away in a corner, Beomgyu sank into a chair. This was an area of the castle he hadn’t visited more than a handful of times, and never of his own will. He hadn’t been keen on reading growing up as his older female cousins had, always requiring a book to occupy them during the duration of their stay when they visited. The young prince had always preferred to spend his time outside whenever he could, and he'd found the silence of the library was stifling. It was bliss to him now. He only wished the buzzing of noise in his head would stop if he soaked in the silence long enough.

The place was empty, nobody to protest his posture as he leant his elbows on the hardwood desk and pressed his face into his hands. Closing his eyes, he willed his mind to quiet. He focused on his breathing. In, out. In, out. In…

It was no use. His head was still swimming with facts from his lesson. With things he had to remember for tomorrow’s conference and the names of politicians he’d met yesterday, their faces all blurred together in his mind. With his advisors calling for him, the head of house calling for him, everything needing his deliberation–

He dropped his head onto his arm on the desk. Even the silence couldn’t help him, it seemed. Was this to be his life? A mind full of endless chatter?

Beomgyu’s tired eyes wandered over the spines of the books he could see on the far wall. Their rich colours, greens and reds, whites and browns, many with delicate gold foiling of titles he couldn’t make out. His eyes traced up the aged ladder leaning against the shelves, the one he was always given a telling off by his chaperone for playing on whenever he was dragged up here. The corner of his mouth turned up at the thought of those simpler days. His cousins had married and had children, far too busy to visit except for special occasions – usually only those of a ceremonial nature. The last time he’d seen them, the children hadn’t remembered him at all, it had been so long.

Sighing unconsciously, his gaze drifted to the decorated ceiling, not even making the effort of lifting his head from his arm. The elegant painting that adorned the library ceiling had been done with a skilled hand. Beomgyu couldn’t even begin to imagine how many hours something so beautiful and detailed would have taken. It was a dazzling scene of the night sky, with clouds and stars that seemed to swirl around each other in a silent dance. He could see every fine stroke that had gone into creating the layering hues that made up the deep night sky, that brought texture to the clouds and made them look as though a gentle breeze could move them, and stars that seemed so meticulously placed. He’d never looked so attentively at the art before, but he found a new appreciation for the work as he discovered his thoughts had grown quiet. Maybe this was why people spent so much money on paintings, he pondered, before his eyes drooped to a close.

The prince had almost completely dozed off when a soft gasp pulled him from the edge of sleep. Eyes blinking open, he realized that he’d gotten far too comfortable. He felt slightly groggy as he lifted his head from his arm, which had gone dead with the weight, and wondered at how long he’d been sitting there. Thumbing at his lip, he found a wet spot had begun to grow at the corner.

“I’m sorry,” came a voice, the source of the gasp that had brought him back. Would he have spent the entire night here if he’d not been woken? His dazed eyes looked up and found you, shrouded in dim light. He caught sight of recognition dawning on your face before you dipped into a respectful bow.

“I’m so sorry, your highness, I didn’t mean to disturb you,” you said hurriedly, as if the words couldn’t get out fast enough. Did you think he was going to scold you for being here at the same time he was? “I was just leaving…”

Fighting off the lingering drowsiness, Beomgyu waved a hand, feeling sheepish at being caught in this position. “Please, there’s no need.”

You seemed to relax a little at that; the way your shoulders lowered as if you'd been tensed didn’t go unnoticed by the prince’s eyes. He had become skilled in recognizing stress, whether it was because he grew up in a somewhat high-stakes environment or he was sensitive to it now as a stressed adult himself, he was unsure. The book you were cradling in one arm caught his attention now that you weren’t clutching it so tight. Beomgyu didn’t recognize you, and he knew everyone who worked in the castle. It bewildered him a bit that you knew him but he didn’t know you, despite that being the case with almost every person he met. Suddenly he felt a touch embarrassed. Not only had you caught him in an unmannerly state, but he didn’t know your name, and he couldn't think of a single thing to say.

“I really was leaving,” you caught him out again by speaking first. Your eyes met for a long silent moment, and Beomgyu thought the silence had never been less stifling. Then you seemed to remember yourself, eyes dropping to the book in your arms. “I just need to put this back.”

Beomgyu stared at the back cover of that book as if it could help him, too occupied with scrambling inside his head for something to say to notice the way you nervously brushed the hair away from your face and stole shy glances at him.

“What is it?” he blurted. Internally he cursed himself for the way it sounded. He’d only wanted to say something before you walked away. There was an overwhelming feeling he couldn’t name. A longing for you to stay. A feeling of stupidity for not being his usual collected self.

As someone with an official title, meeting new people was always planned, always with a purpose, an end goal. He knew each time what was expected and required of him; how to act, questions to ask and answers to give. This was the first time he could remember meeting someone by accident, and it didn’t seem to Beomgyu that he was very good at it. Taking a breath, he attempted to reign in his panic and try again. “What are you reading?”

You had to look down and check. Turning it over in your hands, you revealed the cover to him with a shy smile. With just one glimpse at the title, Beomgyu knew it would be of no use to him in trying to make conversation. It was a topic he knew nothing about.

“Oh,” he said aloud. He hadn’t meant to. Hoping you hadn’t heard the disappointment in his voice, he rushed to cover himself. “Is it… good?”

Your small laugh surprised him. The sound of it lessened the knots in his stomach, even as he wondered if he had made a fool of himself.

“It’s useful,” you answered, looking him in the eye again. He tried to concentrate as you spoke, to hold on to the words and not get too distracted by your smile or your eyes. “I’m doing research for a scholarship and only the royal library has the books I need. That’s why I’m here,”

“The scholarship?” Beomgyu’s eyes had gone wide. “The scholarship that only one person is picked for every five years?”

Your eyes lowered as you began to blush. “Yes, that one.”

“Wow,” Beomgyu subconsciously sank into his chair in awe. “Your family must be very proud.”

You laughed once more, unaware of how the prince’s eyes lit up each time you did. “Well, I haven't got it yet.”

His mouth caught your contagious smile. “But to even be considered is a great accomplishment.”

Your eyes were the ones to light up this time. Clutching the book close to your chest again, you leaned forward, your fingers curling over the back of the empty chair in front of you. “This is the most impressive library I’ve ever seen.”

Beomgyu sat up taller in his chair. “It is, isn’t it?” He couldn’t help the proud grin that took over his face as he looked around.

“When I come here I lose track of time,” you went on. You were unmistakably animated with enthusiasm, and he was completely taken with you. “The first day I came here, I lost a whole two hours just reading all the spines. Even the ones that aren’t required reading.” Lowering your voice as if to share a secret, you confided, “If I lived here I’d probably never leave the library!”

Beomgyu suddenly felt guilty. He’d never thought about the knowledge that could only be found in this library, and that very few were permitted to the books that contained it.

“If only I had the time to read for pleasure here,” you went on.

“Well, why don't you take some home to read?"

"I'm not permitted to take books out of the library," you said sadly, your attention on the book in your hand as your finger traced the spine.

Beomgyu thought back to the summers he'd shared with his cousins; days he'd spent running around the courtyard in the sunshine while they lazed under a tree with their noses between book pages. "I am," he supplied. His voice came out surprisingly excited. "I could read them for you."

You looked around at him as he stood up from his chair. "Read them for me?"

The prince felt as though his smile was plastered on now. He couldn't hide it if he tried. "I could read them and tell you about them."

He felt your eyes go warm, glowing on him like the sun as you brought out your own smile. "I'm sure you have more important things to do, your highness."

Beomgyu shrugged.

***

That was the reason that Beomgyu started his days by going to the library. He read while he ate his breakfast, which luckily didn't have a set time to be finished by, as it took him a little longer to eat this way. He found himself getting so engrossed in the book that he would forget to eat at the same time, averaging a mouthful to every three paragraphs, his meal cold by the time he finished it.

Then he would read in his room at night. He found that it was an effective way to turn off the noise in his head left over from the day, helping him to sleep better. Many times he would nod off in his chair before waking up and getting into bed. He would take notes sometimes, to better remember the things he wanted to tell you about.

He looked forward to the closing of the day. Once his schedule was complete and it was almost time for dinner, he would slip up to the library in hopes of catching you and relaying all the things he'd read about so far. Excitedly and enthusiastically he'd tell you interesting facts and historical stories from his current book. He had much more energy at the end of the day than he'd had before now that he was sleeping better.

The library had become a sort of safe haven to him now. His tutors complimented his new interest in his learning during lessons, retaining and remembering with a sudden ease, and many of the staff had noted that he had become a lot less tense. The serving staff who saw him with his face behind a book each morning were amused, often surprised as he rattled off facts to them as they laid out and cleared away his breakfast. None of them knew the reason.

On his rare day of rest, he came to find you straight after lunch. He'd confirmed you'd be in the castle today the last time he'd seen you, and he'd been so excited last night that it had taken more than just one hour of reading to send him off to sleep. The day was sunny, and with some persuading Beomgyu convinced you to take a small break from your studies to sit in the garden. You were a little anxious about being caught taking advantage of your privilege to be at the palace by being seen with the prince, but he assured you that he would take care of it.

Deep in the garden, the two of you wandered up the stone path that divided the lawns, chatting casually. The gardens were magnificent. You'd only seen them from a window in the castle, but the further you walked the more beauty there was to see that couldn't be viewed from a distance. The path led to a beautiful paved area with a grand gazebo. Beomgyu ushered you to sit on the ornate bench, forgoing the custom that he should be the one to sit first and taking a seat once you had. Your heart was pounding despite the relief you felt that you'd not run into any trouble on your way out of the castle, and you were sure you felt it leap each time Beomgyu laughed.

He had produced a book when you looked back from admiring the scenery, from somewhere you could not determine. Your face lit up as you took in the familiar cover; it was the one book in the royal library that you'd longed to read most. Beomgyu beamed at your excited reaction as he held it out for your taking. You had to fight the urge to glance around and make sure that nobody was seeing as you took it from his hands.

You read it aloud, with Beomgyu listening intently to every word. In the back of your mind, you wondered how you ended up in this position. When you'd started coming to the castle to study, you had never imagined you'd catch sight of the prince let alone talk to him, and yet you had been in his presence more than anyone else inside the palace. Now, as you read, you took every opportunity to look from the page up at him, finding his eyes on you, his undivided and eager attention completely yours. You were quite comfortable being at his side by now, but sometimes when he looked at you, you could feel the prickling of heat beneath the surface of your cheeks.

You hadn’t thought he would follow through on his offer, but each time you saw him enter the library it made your whole day complete. Truth be told, it had begun to take your mind off studying a little. One moment you’d be reading about a lost dynasty, and the next you’d realise you had stopped taking in any information and your mind had turned to Beomgyu. It also happened that you would dawdle while reshelving the books you’d been studying, delaying your leaving in case the prince showed up, which he always did.

Time seemed to fall away around you as you read. Minutes were marked by each turn of a page and seconds by the now steady beat of your heart, until you were so enthralled by the text that you could have almost forgotten the scene you were truly in.

Beomgyu chuckled lightly and you paused your reading. Your eyes readjusted to the glow of sunlight on the backdrop of bright white flowers beyond the gazebo as you took in his smiling face once more.“You’re really enjoying this one.” His eyes flicked down to the page where you were marking the place you’d stopped with your finger. “You haven’t looked up for the last five pages.”

“I’m sorry,” you couldn’t help but laugh too. You felt almost giddishly content in this moment; in a breathtaking garden with a good book and someone you felt was becoming dear to you.

“No, it’s wonderful,” he assured you. “Is it as good as you imagined?”

“No,” you answered in one breath. “It’s better.” Beomgyu beamed, and it made you feel so warm you might’ve been sitting directly in the sun and not under the shade. But just then, a sudden cloud passed through your mind. “I’ll be sitting the scholarship exam soon.”

Looking out over the garden, you couldn’t help but feel sad as you thought of how much more you would miss your visits to the palace now that you had fond memories and someone you could call a friend here.

“Are you nervous?”

You shook your head softly. It wasn’t the answer to his question. He hadn’t caught your meaning. “My studies will be finished then.”

The prince’s eyes brightened even more. “Then you can read whatever you like, whenever you like.”

“Yes,” you agreed distractedly. In your mind you were going over the future possibilities. If you were awarded the scholarship, you’d be going off to attend university. If it was not granted to you but to someone else, your life would go back to the way it had always been.

Beomgyu seemed to catch the somber look in your eye as you looked to the distance. His expression faltered. “Oh.” He shifted on the bench beside you. “Oh, you mean…”

“I won’t be coming to the castle any more,” you affirmed.

His eyes lost their sparkle only for a moment as he thought through this information. Then he seemed to perk up again. “Well, I can invite you to visit. To visit the library. I’m sure there’s still so much to learn here.”

Your heart swelled with the idea that he wanted to see you more, even if you knew that it wasn’t a probable conclusion. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the prince’s word, only that you knew that he was a busy man with tight schedules, that you were the eldest child of a noble family with a future to be decided and forged ahead. You returned his smile and tried to ignore the thought that you wished he’d come to the library months ago, that you’d met sooner so you could have had more time together.

“Would you like me to keep reading?” you asked as you reminded yourself that he was a prince and that was all he would ever be to you. It was a fortunate happenstance to have met him at all, you reminded yourself as he nodded eagerly and propped his chin into his hand to listen contentedly as you began to read again.

It didn’t stop you from clinging to every moment and trying to engrave every detail into your memory.

***

During the last few days you visited the castle library, you tried your best to think about Beomgyu as little as possible and focus solely on study. It was a hard task. Passing the grand portrait of the royal family in the hallway without looking was like trying not to glance around when feeling the presence of someone you know. It felt as if the library was haunted now. Almost each corner held a memory of the prince finding you and bumbling eagerly through a tale, helping you carry books back to their shelves, or asking you to come and sit in the garden.

You had seriously considered leaving early, removing yourself from the castle before the hour he usually made his way to the library. But you weren’t sure which would hurt more — knowingly missing out on seeing him in the last few chances you had, or having more encounters in which to grow more attached. The thought of both made something inside of you ache.

Just when you’d convinced yourself you had made up your mind to leave, you passed a window and spotted a carriage pull up at the entrance gates below. The door swung before the footman could rush to open it and there he was. You didn’t know he hadn’t been here in the castle. The heart that had sat heavy in your chest felt leagues lighter just at this distant glimpse of him. As you tried to gauge whether you were relieved you hadn’t gotten away without seeing the prince, you saw him rush inside. He disappeared from view of the window and you looked up into the purple hued sky of the fast oncoming dusk. Maybe you were safe after all. He was clearly on his way to tend to a matter of importance. Feeling assured you could slip away unnoticed, you slid the last volume back onto its shelf and made for the door.

The sound of hurried footsteps on marble gave you pause. Unconsciously you backed away a few steps frin the open double doors, ready to wait out the staff who must have been ascending the staircase on some urgent errand. But the huff of exertion you heard was familiar. Heart pulsing suddenly and in a mind of suspense and disbelief, you waited with bated breath.

When Beomgyu stepped through the doors, you felt an overwhelming gratitude that you hadn’t succeeded in your departure. Even after a mere day without seeing each other, seeing those warm eyes and the smile that broke across his face when he found you felt akin to finding a well of water after a month without rain.

“I’m so glad I found you here,” he said in his usual way, and it sparked your smile just as it always did. You were so occupied with trying to memorize this feeling, to make sure you remembered this moment, that you didn’t reply. Beomgyu was preoccupied himself and didn’t seem to notice. “I got you something.” His grin turned a tiny bit shy.

You blinked in surprise as the words sank in. “You got–? Your Highness–”

Beomgyu chuckled. “Come on, none of that.” Your eyes didn’t leave his as he reached for the hand at your side. His other retrieved something tucked under his arm. Gently he turned your hand upwards, and you hardly had time to process anything before an object was placed into it.

You looked down to see the very book you had been reading in the garden, only it wasn’t the same copy. This seemed to be a newer edition, with a beautiful blue velvet cover. It felt quite luxurious as you turned it over in your hands. A gasp emitted from you as the glint of the gold page edges caught the light. It was the most special and thoughtful gift you’d ever received, and, you thought, far more precious than any of the books that surrounded you in the royal library. You found yourself so touched that you wanted to cry, but you fought back the tears as you looked up at your friend.

The prince looked twice as happy as you felt. His eyes sparkled despite the soft lighting, and his cheeks had taken on a slightly bashful pink. “So you can finish it,” he told you softly. “And read it over and over again, any time you want.”

You were still speechless, and you could feel the hot prickle of tears threatening to build. Before you knew it, you had thrown your arms around his neck, his arms closing around your back. Never did you imagine anything like this. You were stretched up on your toes, and you were sure he was leaning down to hug you, but you were too wrapped up in the moment to think about any of it. It felt like you were holding on to each other a long time before you finally parted. The urge to kiss his cheek filled you as you brushed away from him, but you thought better of it. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel as though you were jumping to conclusions that were presumptuous.

“I don’t have anything to give you,” you fretted. The weight of the book in your hands made you feel unexpectedly empty-handed.

Beomgyu chuckled. “It’s a ‘good luck’ present. Except I know you won’t need luck.”

“Thank you, Beomgyu.” His smile somehow grew at your use of his name. You knew you had his smile etched into your memory already.

“You’ll have to tell me how it ends,” he said as the two of you made your way slowly down the stairs. It was the first time he’d walked you out, and you were too intent on borrowing more time with him to worry much about being seen together when you reached the grand hall.

“No, I won’t,” you retorted with a laugh, looking up at him as you both dragged out each next step as subtly as possible. “You have your own copy here,”

Beomgyu pondered this for a moment, lips pursing, before formulating his reply. His eyes were determined as they met yours again. “Well, we’ll have to discuss our opinions on the ending.”

Neither of you took notice of the way the heads turned and followed the two of you as you crossed the hall. It was mostly palace staff at this time of evening. With the book clutched to your chest, they could only gather that this was the spark that had ignited Prince Beomgyu’s sudden penchant for reading. Many silent smiles were exchanged across the room as you passed.

“You will come if I invite you, won’t you?” Bromgyu asked on the front steps. His face was earnest, maybe the most you’d ever seen. “When you have time out from school?”

“Of course,” you replied, meaning it with all the hope in your heart. “But I haven’t gotten the scholarship yet.” You felt cause to keep reminding him.

“As well as I know how often you could come to visit if you didn’t get it, I know you will. I have no doubt.”

You looked up to see the genuine look in his eyes, sincerity doing little to conceal the sadness. “We’ll see each other again.” The words felt like truth as you spoke them. “And in the meantime, we can write.” Beomgyu nodded eagerly.

Disappointment tugged at you when you spotted your family’s carriage roll up through the gates. With a small bow and one last smile, you stepped into the vehicle, still clutching Beomgyu’s gift. You kept your eyes on him as the horses walked on, watched him wave until he was out of sight. There was a renewed heaviness about you as you sat back and settled in for the journey home. Even the first stars beginning to emerge from the darkening sky couldn’t comfort you as you gazed out of the window solemnly.

***

Prince Beomgyu tried his best, rather unsuccessfully, to stifle yet another yawn. He’d stayed up too late reading, and now he was sitting in the grand hall trying to go over his upcoming speech with bleary eyes. He hadn’t intended to go to bed quite so late, but each time he’d told himself he’d close the book at the end of the chapter, he hadn’t been able to. The closer he’d gotten to the end of the story, the more gripped by it he’d become and the faster his eyes seemed capable of taking in the words. He’d read until he’d finished the book, then sat in stunned silence. He couldn’t help but wonder if you’d finished the book yourself, and he’d had the strong urge to start a letter. Instead, his good sense had taken him to bed, where he’d remembered the speech he should have spent the night memorising. The book had been a satisfying distraction. Without it he likely would have tossed and turned the whole night in anticipation of giving his speech.

Beomgyu was still new to public speaking and was not fond of it. As the hour grew closer, he found himself stumbling over his words as he practised. He could feel his heart rate increase, seemingly with each tick of the loud ornate clock across from him and every sound that carried into the hall from the room full of people he was to address.

Getting to his feet, he began to move about the room in an effort to soothe himself. His thoughts attempted to reassure him. He knew what was expected of him. He knew, for the most part, what he was to say. But then the image of hundreds of pairs of eyes all fixed on him crept into his mind, sending a chill down his back. As he passed the clock, he felt it was taunting him — it seemed the minutes were passing faster than they should. He could almost feel the second hand’s torturous chanting inside his chest from this proximity. With a shaky sigh he turned to cross the room away from it again, fiddling with the golden buttons on his jacket cuff which he had already fastened and unfastened more times than he could count in his nervous state.

Through the open doors across the hall he could hear the familiar sound of a carriage arriving out front. Beomgyu allowed himself to imagine it had come to rescue him. He had the urge to go and greet it, just to give him a brief distraction, but the clock stared him down, boasting a mere five minutes remaining until he must speak in front of the crowd. Reaching for the small paper in his pocket, he made to sit once more and make himself concentrate on revising the words, until a voice called his title. He jumped back to his feet in panic, fearing they had come to usher him in early, but as he turned to the door beside him that led to the luncheon, he found no one. Instantly some of the tension in his raised shoulders fell away.

“Beomgyu!”

His heart skipped over one beat as he spun toward the entrance and saw a figure in a half mannerly run. Disbelief flickered in his mind at the sight of you, the first in weeks, but his body suddenly felt lighter than it had all day. You were rushing toward him, an unmistakable grin on your face, footsteps muffled by the thick ancient rug that carpeted the tiled floors.

Beomgyu stepped away from his seat with only seconds to spare, his face still one of bewilderment as you threw your arms around him, almost knocking the prince off his feet. His heart was thudding rapidly in his chest, but now it had nothing to do with nerves. His arms went around you instinctively as you met chest to chest, and in his excitement he brought you up onto your toes with his hug. Your laugh in his ear was like a familiar tune from a yesterday he’d longed to return to.

You pulled back to see his face, speaking first as you saw a question forming in his mind. “I got it! The scholarship – I got it!” you exclaimed.

The sun seemed to dawn on Beomgyu’s face, along with something that looked proud. “Of course you did! What did I tell you?”

His arms had relaxed around you to let you draw back, and now you glanced down at the placement of your hands on his shoulders, looking a touch shy in your realisation. His smile grew at this.

“You worked so hard.” He spoke more softly than a moment ago. His heart didn’t seem to settle as the two of you untangled from each other. He had half a thought to check on the time before another thought replaced it. “I finished the book last night.”

Your smile turned fond. He’d missed you more than he’d thought he had, which was hard to imagine. “I finished it the night you gave it to me,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Did you like how the story ends?”

Beomgyu reached a hand out toward yours in a small movement, his skin tingling at the feel of your warm fingers as you allowed your own to close around his. It was the second time he’d touched your hand, and this time he could hold it longer. “Yes,” he replied as he felt his smile widen. Your eyes met his again with a new shine. “I liked the ending very much.”

The clock chimed across the hall, announcing the hour and reminding him of his impending task. The door opened and his advisor appeared. If he was surprised to find the prince with company, he didn’t show it. The man simply smiled and nodded his head respectfully. “They’re ready for you, Your Highness.” Then he disappeared back inside.

Beomgyu took a deep breath. He found that he wasn’t as anxious as he had been before. There was still a lingering nervousness, but it had been softened by another feeling. Even the wall of sound that was just beyond the door seemed to have dulled at the back of his mind. He looked at you and you nodded towards the open door.

“My parents are inside. I used them as my excuse to come here.” He caught your clever smile, then felt your hand on his shoulder, and before he knew it you’d raised up onto your toes and your lips brushed his cheek. It was the kiss you’d held back before. “Good luck. But I know you won’t need it,” you said, slipping away through the door before he could react to the tingle on his face.

The prince’s mind was pleasantly blank as he faced the door and the duty ahead of him. It seemed his nerves had been replaced by a buzzing sensation that felt rather like courage, matching the tingling trace of your kiss on his face. Equipped with a smile, he stepped into the room feeling like he was about to give his best speech yet.

[tossyouforedinburgh]

I wrote something and it didn't really seem long enough to post on ao3 but like... vaguely adult content I guess? I've still not figured how that works (or doesn't) on Tumblr. so have it under the cut. short ineffable phonecall about wall slams

"are you on your way?" Aziraphale asked cheerfully down the phone by way of hello. 

"oh. er. Angel, look, I've had a really shitty day, I think I'm going to stay in my flat and watch shitty TV until I fall into a shitty sleep. I think there's a new series of Love Island on." 

Aziraphale had no idea what that was but he didn't think it sounded like particularly good viewing. "if you're going to wallow and sulk, you can do it at mine. I've got wine, and you can tell me about your awful day and I can make very sympathetic noises." 

"no. I would be extremely poor company." Crowley made a point of switching on the TV and turning it up loud enough it could be heard through the phone. 

"oh I've been tolerating your moods for thousands of years," Aziraphale replied airily. 

"Angel." Crowley gritted his teeth. "I am trying. to tell you. that I don't WANT. to take my bad mood out. on you." 

the pause that followed was unreasonably long. Crowley felt his layers of irritation grow; he was trying to do a considerate thing, trying to grow as a person. if Aziraphale didn't appreciate his efforts he could go stick it. and if he didn't stop being so difficult he was going to find out exactly where in some graphic detail.

"but..." Aziraphale began awkwardly. "I rather think the angelic thing to do would be to absorb your bad mood for you. if you let it fester out into the world, that would be terrible, wouldn't it? but I, well I am a creature of, of love and such like, you couldn't harm me by being grumpy." 

this was utter bullshit and it made Crowley's teeth itch. what the fuck was he doing now? was he actually angling for Crowley to snap at him? 

"I don't mind. I could leave all the doors ajar so you could slam them. I... I'll stand near the wall so you can pin me up against it." 

there was another intense silence, but this time it was Crowley's doing. oh, he was. he was deliberately goading him into this. why would the angel want to be roughed up? completely unwanted, a voice whispered into Crowley's brain: maybe he's into that. angels aren't into that sort of thing, Crowley hissed back in his thoughts. and definitely, absolutely, neither am I. 

"I think it would make you feel better," Aziraphale added very quietly. 

Crowley remembered the last time he had done that very thing; in Tadfield, in an ex Satanic nunnery. he'd pressed his hips up against Aziraphale, just to hold him in place of course, and he'd briefly thought, and then thought it was ridiculous, that the angel might just have had an erection at the time. angels definitely don't get erections from being roughed up in Satanic nunneries. 

"just to be clear," Crowley said, and he'd already switched off the TV and picked up his car keys, "are you doing this to be self sacrificing or because you're... you're..." oh Jesus Christ, Mary, Joseph and a stable full of donkeys, he was actually going to say this out loud because if he didn't say it out loud he was going to spontaneously discorporate. "because you're... getting off on it?" 

there was a very guilty silence. eventually, Aziraphale replied, "are you judging me?" 

"yes. massively. hugely." 

"only I did rather think that time in Tadfield that you definitely got hard holding me against that wall." 

the sound of the Bentley roaring to life rattled out of Aziraphale's old rotary telephone. Freddie Mercury launched into Tie Your Mother Down. "Angel, I'll see you in five minutes. think of something incredibly irritating to say to me as a greeting." and with that Crowley hung up the phone and put his foot down.

[manicpixiefelix]

This is going to sound so pretentious to say, but I think that one of the most incredible things Emerald Fennell did with Saltburn was give it's audience both everything and nothing all at once. But which I mean that every moment we see on screen is so carefully chosen and wonderfully detailed. Every second of the story that Oliver chooses to tell us is perfectly crafted to give us the exact story he wants to create, nothing more and nothing less. Saltburn's narrative lives and dies in Oliver's obsessive recollection, his confessional. Its why these characters who are so clearly and wonderfully rich below the surface can, at a glance, come off as shallow. Oliver didn't care!! And the one he did care about, he gatekept so jealously (I saw someone else's meta discussing this and I absolutely agree) to the point where we as an audience barely know who Felix was. We don't even know who Oliver was, at the end of the day; he was manipulative and ambitious and obsessive and - I could not tell you a single thing he genuinely liked that wasn't Felix. Because that's it, isn't it. That's the story of Saltburn. Everything revolved around Felix, and Felix was everything, and so Oliver's story only focuses on the absolute tragedy of having everything and then losing everything in that one Summer.

And nothing else.

Emerald gave us the gift of Oliver's everything, and the vague, nebulous nothing that he cares about just behind it. The hints of more, jumping off points of intrigue and imagination, things we can extrapolate from and speculate about. There is so much room in this world around it's implications and offhand remarks for us to all build upon. We don't even know if Venetia is Felix's older or younger sister???? There is limitless space to play in this world, both before the events of the film, but also between the few moments Oliver chooses to show us. We see twenty minutes of Oliver's Full First Year at Oxford before he goes to Saltburn, so much of how he falls for Felix and becomes his friend goes so unsaid and unseen, little more than a montage, and Barry and Jacobs's phenomenal chemistry selling their closeness, so we don't have to know each detail.

But that's the thing, that's just bliss; the falling in love is a given in this story, he opens with that. These moments would simply be nothing on the road to everything.

Its like Emerald Fennell is kissing me directly on the forehead and giving her blessing to fill in the blanks. She knew we would; she literally said she knew Saltburn would be a hit on Tumblr, she knew what she was doing. This film was made for those of us who like to over analyse media and also create vivid and intricate headcanons and sometimes both at the same time.

Tumblr, and creatives especially, love Saltburn because it deliberately lets us play in its world, in that sweet spot between everything and nothing, all at once.

[ohara-n-brown]

Hey everyone,

'The New ThoughtCrime' is an anti-trans community detransitioner essay

Just wanted to give a heads up to the FTM community on here that a user named @mewthoughtcrime is trying to repost the 'New ThoughtCrime' think piece from 2017 - tagging it with this such as 'trans man', 'nonbinary' and 'transandrophobia'.

However this blog fails to mention that the main author of said piece is a lesbian who considers herself a detransitioner. While there is nothing at all wrong with that -

the problem more comes from the fact that said author also believes the trans community is a cult.

This quote comes from the author's interview with Genspec - an organization that pretends to be trans supportive, while also believing trans kids are a myth, trans men are just confused teen girls, and pushing the book Irreversible Damage.

The author also believe in the idea of 'cotton-cieling' - a terf dog whistle that implies trans women intend to force lesbians to sleep with 'males who identify as lesbians'.

The think piece is NOT at all about trans men or transandrophobia.

It's about detransitioning from a woman who believes the trans community engages in 'thought reform' - in a way akin to cults.

The piece reads largely inspired by 'Irreversible Damage' - an anti-FTM shred-piece. This is basically J.K Rowling ideology.

They're in their right to repost whatever they want, especially if that piece of writing specifically spoke to them and other detransitioning folk.

However I do think it's incredibly disingenuous and sneaky to not include this information - or the true nature and intention of the work - in the Tumblr post, as the original author was very clear in stating so.

To post such a piece without tagging the detrans community is a disservice to them and a deliberate choice towards us.

The piece is not at all about transandrophobia - the OP is simply mistagging it to target particular groups - mainly, actively transitioning FTM who are looking for community.

This isn't to say you can't read and enjoy the piece, or connect to it. You absolutely can, it's about someones valid personal experience (well - some parts.) that's eloquently written.

What I do not support however is posting such material, purposely and vaguely mistagging it, while not explaining the contents, the context, and the intent of the author clearly.

I believe readers should always be informed about the source and intention of the writers of the information they received.

People should be allowed to make informed choices about what they read and involve themselves in - whether that be trans politics, or reading think pieces online.

That's why I am making this post.

'The New ThoughtCrime' is an Anti-Trans Community think-piece that targets trans men and lesbians by supporting TERF ideology.

Read with that information in mind. With the situation going on now with staff, I think it's important to be on high alert for indoctrination or misleading literature like this.

By all means, read if you like. I was just not at all impressed with the lack of transparency from @mewthoughtcrime when it comes to detailing the actual contents and source of that information.

It's one thing to call the trans community a cult - before turning around and releasing anonymous faceless think-pieces that you spread around without sources or actively informing others of its contents, in order to purposely get a demographic of people who do not wish to interact with you to unwillingly engage in your rhetoric.

As a essay that calls for 'transparency in the trans community' we can first start by lending some transparency to THIS essay.

Stay safe and stay informed y'all ✌🏾

[godbirdart]

Hey there. Ive been admiring your work a long time and I was hoping I could get some advice from a more experienced artist.

How do you go about deciding which commission submissions will proceed forward? If you decide to decline a request how do you go about it? I recently started accepting commissions and get nervous when certain requests are too vague, too difficult or the requester isn't fully answering my questions and I dont know how to go about justifying a decline. Is it okay to decline a commission submission?

aAA thank you for enjoying my work!!

i could talk for Days about commissions and how I handle my own work, but I'm going to try to keep this short and simple for ease of reading:

i use a Google Form in combination with a number generator for my commission openings

reasons why i use a Google Form and number generator: - to avoid favoritism / client bias - to push my comfort zone with a variety of projects - to ensure i'm not taking on more work that i can handle

The Google form will automatically assign a number to each form, making it easy for me to pull up a website and ask it to generate a number between [insert number] and [insert number]. That said, I will still manually go through each form. Occasionally I'll pick up a project if I notice someone's reapplied a couple times who wasn't selected during previous openings, or if a project especially appeals to me, or isn't something i'd usually draw!

declining a commission / project:

yes, it is always okay to decline a project! you are not obligated to accept every submission that comes into your inbox / form / etc. there are many valid reasons to decline a project, from a conflict with your Terms of Service, to making sure you don't take on more work than you can reasonably handle.

if the project doesn't inspire you or spark that creative passion, it may result in frustration, exhaustion, and you might wind up handing the client a subpar art piece that you're not at all proud of. it's much more honorable to be upfront about it than to subject yourself to such grief as you waste your time and energy and your client's time and money.

ways to decline: it's always important to be polite. depending on your reasoning, you could say "Thank you for considering me for this project, but, ...." - "... This is not a project I'd be comfortable taking on." "... This project conflicts with my Terms of Service and I cannot accept it." "... I cannot accept it at this time." "... but I would not be able to fulfill your request to the detail / complexity you are expecting for this piece."

there's no shame in saying "i would not be a good fit for this project". i've had clients ask me for hyper-realistic work, which is quite far from my art style. while i could do it, i'd rather not put both myself and the client through months of frustration and waiting for a project i am not completely confident in executing.

if a client is being too vague, not answering questions:

it happens! not every client will communicate thoroughly. some clients will over-communicate, and for others there may be a language barrier so their difficultness may be entirely unintended.

you can't do the job if you don't know what you're supposed to be doing. never be afraid to ask your client for clarification on their request. phases you can use would be: - "I do not have enough information to begin work on this, could you clarify these details: [insert questions about details you need elaboration about]" - "I cannot proceed without knowing more about [insert thing], can you tell me more about [thing you need clarification on]". if your client being deliberately obtuse and refusing to supply the necessary information, you can be more firm with them such as: - "I will not proceed any further with this project if I do not receive [insert details]."

on clients being too difficult:

"difficult" is a bit subjective here. what may be considered difficult for one artist may be a walk in the park for another. this said, i'm going to use some very generic common examples here.

too many irrelevant notes, or randomly forwarding details / requests instead of condensing their ideas into one message:

"Thank you for these additional notes, however: ..." - "... please only supply notes that are directly related to the project at hand." [such as notes on the expression, environment, pose, etc - things that you need to know for the artwork you are working on] - "... please condense them into one message instead of sending multiple messages. I want to stay organized / do not want to lose track of your notes."

frequent requests for updates, or changes to the WIP / final art:

note: you should always be communicative and receptive to a client's request for updates, but here i am referring specifically to excessive requests such as numerous requests sent multiple times a day. additionally, what is considered "excessive" will vary depending on an artist's average turnaround time. "Thank you for reaching out, ..." - "... but I do not yet have an update for you at this time. I will reach out when I have an update ready for you, thank you for your patience." - "... but these requests are too frequent. Please allow more time to pass between requests for updates." You could also ask your client if they have concerns about the turnaround time, if they need the work by a specific date for a birthday / event, etc. It is important to consider that some clients may have been scammed by an artist in the past and their insistence on updates could be a result from that. if a client keeps requesting edits on the concept / sketch or final piece, you're within your right to say enough is enough. this will also vary depending on the artist's individual work process. if the changes are getting excessive, you could say: - "As we've undergone numerous edits to this, I will permit one final request for editing after which I will -" [move on to the next stage, cease work on this project, issue a partial refund, start asking fees for edits, etc; insert next step of your preference]

ignoring work hours / terms of service / communication channels

as an artist, you should set a firm boundary of what is a working day and what is not. you are not in a profession that is "on-call" 24/7. you can save some headache by having your schedule posted on your website / social media or wherever your queue is publicly posted. anywhere that is readily accessible for a client to easy find. - something you could say is: "My work days are [insert days], I answer work-related messages, work on art, and send out updates [if applicable] on those days. Thank you for your patience." if you prefer to have your work messages confined to one social media account or email, it's okay to enforce that! but be sure to have it posted in easily noticeable spots like pinned posts. - something to say here would be: "If you need to reach me, please do so via [insert platform / email etc]. I will not respond to [comments / DMs on other social media, etc]." terms of service, same as above, should be in an easy-to-find location and should be easy to read. if a client's prompt or action conflicts with your ToS, you could address it with: "As mentioned in my Terms of Service, [address thing that conflicts with your T&C."

language barriers

sometimes you may have a client with a language barrier. we live in a vast world, after all! be patient with them, and depending on their fluency, do your best to simplify your questions for them. if you know your client is using an online translator, try and avoid using jargon. we've come a long way with online translators, but they're not going to spit out the right translation if you ask "are they supposed to be super shredded and beefy" and the translator tells your client "should they be shredded meat".

dropping a client

this is an absolute most extreme last resort, but i bring this up since we're on the topic of difficult clients and this particular stage isn't spoken about often. no artist wants to up and drop a client, but sometimes it's better for all parties involved instead of dragging out a bad experience. dropping a client could result from a variety of factors, including: the artist is retiring from art, something has come up in the artist's life and they are unable to continue, a client has become abusive, or an agreement cannot be made on a project or the project has caused a conflict of interest between the artist and the client. if you must drop a client, you could say: - "I apologize, but for [insert reason] I cannot continue with this project. I will be [refunding / partially refunding] this project." If it's for medical reasons, you can say "due to a medical complication, I am unable to continue" - and leave it at that. Your client does not need elaboration on your private medical information. The same goes for private family matter or other personal issue. artists shouldn't let guilt eat at them if they are physically incapable of completing a project due to personal reasons. things happen, life happens. the vast majority of your clients will be understanding and appreciate that you reached out to them to address the situation instead of leaving them in limbo. If you have to drop a client because they're being genuinely abusive and hostile and not respecting you, your time, or your work, you can say the same thing as above. There's zero need to retaliate or be hostile back. The situation will likely make you feel awful, sure, but firmly staying professional is the best thing you can do. When issuing a refund, always specify when the client should expect their refund to arrive. "A refund has been issued and will be processed through [insert payment method] shortly." or "A refund will be issued on [insert date]."

This wound up long anyway despite my effort to shorten it, but ah well.

If you'd like more elaboration on something, don't hesitate to ask! Some sections did get pruned down in my futile effort to keep it short, so things might've ended up a bit vague or convoluted [my apologies].

[mysaintkitten]

Stranger | Neil Lewis x fem!reader

prompt: you and neil make your own pornos (NSFW!! NO MINORS!!)

WARNINGS: NONCON ROLE PLAY, filming sex lol, unprotected penetrative sex (p in v), home invader/stranger role play, a bit of knife play, harsh/violent threats, degradation, slight dumbification, creampie

word count: 2.1k

neil, like most men, liked porn. but since getting into a relationship with you, his preferences towards porn had started to shift. prior to your relationship, he’d see you regularly roaming around gumshoe video, and when you handed in an application to work there his knees almost gave out from beneath him. pretty girl? that likes movies? who i’ll see daily? working for me? he had never felt so lucky. for a few months leading up to him building up the courage to ask you out, he’d deliberately search for pornstars that had similar features to you. it started off as kind of vague, but it developed into to him getting incredibly specific with the details. hair colour, eye colour, body type, any feature you can imagine, he was including it in his searches. it was almost a wake up call for him that maybe he should just bite the bullet and tell you how he feels before he loses his mind.

and to his surprise, he got you.

after getting to hold you, and touch you, and fuck you, he knew that he just couldn’t settle for any old porn anymore. when you were away and he was horny, he’d resort to jerking off to a picture of your just face, or sometimes he’d ask for you to call just so you can tell him about your day while he sneakily tries to get himself off to your voice without you knowing. but he eventually got bored, he wanted something different.

then he got the idea, why not make our own porno?

he mentioned the idea to you, and you were not as onboard with it as he was.

“neil .. i don’t know .. what if it gets leaked somehow?” you question, “i know, i know, it’s a bit scary, but i swear i’ll keep the camera locked and hidden away. no one will have access to it besides you and me. and if someday you want to destroy the camera and all the tapes, i’ll be more than happy to pass it over to you.” he replies softly, grabbing your arm gently.

you sigh, “alright, fine, i’ll try it.”, moments after those words leave your mouth neil is visibly excited. giving you a quick peck on the lips before scrounging around to find his camcorder.

you film your first tape that night, it’s soft, vanilla. it’s neil shakily recording himself fucking into you in missionary, occasionally bringing the camera up to your chest to show him gripping your tit or he would show your face while whispering small praises, some shit about how gorgeous you are or how pretty you look taking his cock.

filming those sweet little couple-like tapes are fun, but after you guys get a bit more comfortable with being on camera, you begin to indulge in a bit of role play. neil had the costumes, and he loved the idea of almost making a movie out of it, so when he heard you were into it he felt himself nearly getting hard at all the possibilities.

it starts off tame, neil pretending to be your boss (which, ironically, he technically is) and you being an employee that has to put in some special “work” for a raise, you dressed maid, bumping and grinding on neil while you scold him for being dirty, things like that. but tonight, you went into unmarked territory. at least for the two of you.

the camera is on a tripod beside the bed, showing you in bed “asleep”, with the bedroom door in clear frame behind you. as you sleep, a man dressed in all black with a ski mask creeps into your bedroom, a prop knife in hand. he sneaks over to you carefully before placing his hand over your mouth and bringing the prop knife to your neck, your eyes shoot open and your body jerks to sit up.

“scream and i’ll fucking kill you.” neil growls, gripping your face harshly. out of character he would’ve never handled you like this, he asked for your consent numerous times before you started filming and he wanted to be sure you were absolutely comfortable with everything he was going to say and do, and you gave him the clear.

you nod, eyes still wide, as you stare at him anxiously, he slowly pulls his hand away.

“sir, please, don’t hurt me, my boyfriend will be home any minute now.” you plead, he just laughs, “take what you want, just please don’t hurt me.” you add, putting on your best scared performance. he cups your face, running his thumb along your cheek, “oh, i’ll take what i want, sweetheart. your boyfriend can watch, too.” he groans, placing a firm smack across your cheek.

you quickly get up to try and run, but he grabs you and shoves you back onto the bed.

“please, sir, don’t hurt me!” you beg, slowly shifting backwards away from him on the bed, he just crawls on top of you and pins you down, bringing the prop knife back up to your neck.

“shut the fuck up.” he spat, using his free hand to aggressively tear away at your shirt, prior to filming you two had trial tested various shirts based off their ripping ability, and eventually you settled on one that tore apart like nothing. he releases a low chuckle at your bare tits, gripping them roughly with his cold hand. you whine, enjoying the feeling, but you play it off as fear, “stop, sir, please!”

you wriggle slightly beneath him, but he doesn’t budge, “pretty tits, huh .. what else on you is pretty, sweetheart?” he murmurs, moving himself down slightly so he’s sitting on your shins. he rips down your loose-fitting pyjama shorts, immediately exposing your pussy. he chuckles lowly again, bringing his thumb and index finger down to spread your lips apart. you continue to shift beneath him, but he’s ultimately unfazed.

“please, sir, stop!” you continue to beg, he just shakes his head and tosses the knife beside him, “if you want me to stop so badly .. why are you so wet then?” he taunts, slipping his middle finger between your folds, sliding your slick around before bringing the glistening digit back out. he brings it to his mouth and sucks off the wetness, groaning lowly at the taste.

“fuck .. tastes nice, sweetheart, be good for me and let me use that pretty little pussy of yours, yeah?” he purrs, sliding the ski mask off while palming himself, revealing a flushed neil with messy hair. all you can think about is how good he looks, but you continue to play your part.

you try and push him away, using minimal effort, “no, please! please don’t, sir!”

he drops the “nice” act and pins your arms down, “stay still and i’ll be gentle, keep fucking moving and i’ll abuse all your holes for as long as i fucking want.” he growls through gritted teeth.

your body freezes, terrified beneath him, he lets go of your arms, “my boyfriend .. he’ll be home very soon ..” you mumble, “you already said that, hun, are you stupid or something?” he laughs in your face, unbuttoning his pants and tugging them down,

“no, no, no!” you whine, attempting to push him off of you, “sh, sh. let him see. let him see what a dumb little whore you are, letting just anyone come in here and use this pussy as they please, poor little thing just needs some cock, hm?” he cooed, using such a sweet tone to say such dirty words.

he crawls off your legs and forcefully spreads them apart, sighing at the sight of your slick pussy, that was the real neil coming to the surface for a moment. with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, he drags his middle and index finger along your folds, “pretty, pretty pussy ..” he mumbles, only loud enough for you to hear.

you smirk slightly, yeah it’s not professional, but you’re not planning to sell this tape. so who cares?

he grabs your thighs and drags you harshly so his hips align with your pussy.

“can you use a condom at least? please, sir?” you whine, trying to close your legs.

neil doesn’t allow that, he pries them back apart and scoffs, “sluts like you get fucked raw.”

before you can even respond, he violently thrusts himself inside of you. the sudden fullness making you help, but your dripping arousal allowed for him to slide inside of you with ease.

“fuck .. nice ‘n warm, sweetheart ..” he groans, digging his nails into your hips as he fucks into you. you moan loudly, the combination of his relentless thrusts and the pure eroticism of this role play had you both so worked up.

he glances down at your pussy, using his thumb to get a better view, “look at that cunt, stretching around my cock so nicely.” he moans, his mouth hanging agape. “please, sir, hm!” you whine, crossing your arm over your face, “please sir, what, sweetheart? please sir, touch me? please sir, come inside me?” he purrs, forcefully nudging your arm away from your face.

your eyes go wide, the thought of neil coming inside you was hot, you knew how much it riled him up so you’d often times tease him with it and dangle it in his face like some sort of potential reward he could get if he behaved. but with him in control, he has the say.

“no! no, sir! please!” you beg, knowing deep down how badly you actually want it, “sir, please don’t!”

he exhales a shaky breath, “you keep saying no .. but you’re absolutely soaking my cock .. i think you like the idea of me coming inside you. claiming you.” he sneaks a hand down between your legs and rubs harsh circles on your clit with his thumb, making you whine and writhe him. “stop! please!” you huff, you and neil had discussed prior safe words, and you made it clear that stop didn’t mean stop for the time being and that if you actually wanted him to stop all you’d have to say was kiwi. so he persisted, continuing to pound into you at rough pace.

you start to feel yourself becoming close, the adrenaline rush of it all had your mind foggy and body sensitive, each of his touches was sending shockwaves down your spine. he groans, “god, you’re so wet, it’s pathetic. boyfriend doesn’t fuck you right, does he? poor baby, just waiting for someone to come in here and fuck her right ..”

he’s right. it is pathetic how wet you are. but you can’t help it, he’s fucking you like he never has before, and he himself looks fucked out with flushed cheeks and still messy hair, while still remaining this dominant demeanour.

neil’s close too, you can feel him twitching inside of you. after a few more harsh pumps, you come on his cock. your body twitching and legs swinging shut, your cunt gripping around him as your orgasm crashes through you. he moans at the sight, tutting before bringing his thumb off your clit, returning to grip your hip tightly.

“dirty, dirty girl. coming all over a strangers cock. does your boyfriend know what an easy whore you are?” he spat, his harsh words making you whine beneath him, “gonna come inside that little pussy, let your boyfriend know how quickly you give it up ..” he huffs, his thrusts becoming weak. after a couple more pumps, he holds your hips directly against his pelvis, shooting his hot load deep inside of you, gasping loudly at the release.

you moan, feeling him spill into you.

he slowly slides out his softening cock, spreading your pussy apart to watch as his come slowly started to seep out.

he groans, “look at that .. jesus ..”, before slipping his middle and index finger inside of you, stuffing the spilling come back inside you. you whimper, your opening feeling immensely sensitive after his relentless usage. he slides them back out, bringing the wet digits up to your mouth. watching intensely as you suck off the mixture of his come, your come, and your slick off his fingers. his eyes flutter slightly at the gesture, you can tell by now he’s dropped his intruder act.

he shakily gets up and shuts the camera off, quickly shuffling back to bed to lay down with you.

“was that good?” he asks, a bit breathlessly, “did i hurt you at all?” he brushes some of your hair out of your face. you smile weakly at him, “it was great, baby. you didn’t hurt me, at least, not in a bad way.” you hum, absolutely exhausted. neil can tell you’re tired, so he just kisses your forehead and holds you close, bringing the blanket out from beneath the two of you and covers your bodies with it while holding you tightly in his arms. he places small kisses on your head as you drift off to sleep, you’re both still messy and sweaty, but you can deal with that when you’ve recovered.

—-

this came to my mind before going to sleep, i had sweet dreams to say the least!

[yuri-is-online]

There's Mud in Your Eye (Leona and Deuce x Yuu)

"Oh can I help you? You seem to be lost." You attempt to cheerfully ask the vaguely familiar looking person in front of you. As if he is deliberately trying to rub salt in your wounds, Crowley ignored your request to leave campus for NRC parents day and is instead making you and Grim run errands. The person in front of you, blissfully ignorant to your inner turmoil perks up at your attention.

"Forgive me for asking, but are you the magicless prefect?" You and Grim exchange a confused glance. "You've got to be right?" They're practically glowing with how happy they are to see you. " Oh I'm sorry, I've just heard so much about you!" Wait, what?

notes: they/them pronouns used for Yuu, i am out of creative ways to describe these: it's Cheka and Mamma Spade. Slight references to the White Rabbit event. If you liked this please check out the previous parts on my master list here.

Leona

A very confused, very important looking little lion is standing in front of you, attempting to mimic Leona's judgey thinking face. Five year olds lack the smarmy bitterness required to truly pull off the look, but you have to admit, it is pretty cute.

"Um, do you think he ran away from his guards again?" Grim whispers, painfully loud and without nearly enough concern. "Do you think we'll get in trouble if we can't get him back to his retainers?" The scenario feels completely unreal, but then again so does standing in front of royalty. Who are you again anyway? Just some weirdo who is going to have to apologize to their loved ones for taking so long to come home because you couldn't sneeze in another world without bumping into royalty. While you are busy considering whether or not it would be considered child neglect to sprint away from the little guy, Cheka finally finishes his thought process, letting out a contented "hmmm" as he points decisively at you.

"You," he says with all the authority of an extra on a children's tv show "are not Unca."

Well.

That was not what you were expecting. Your mind draws a lengthy blank as Cheka grins up at you in a surprisingly catlike manner seemingly very pleased with himself.

"How did it take ya so long to figure that out?" It has to be a truly stupid question to get Grim's voice to crack.

"Well I decided I was gonna sneak up on Unca." A terrible idea really but who are you to refute royalty. "So instead of running around and askin I decided to just focus on his scent! But I found two places he could be so I just decided to go to the closer one."

"Whatdya mean?" Grim takes a deep breath and interrupts his train of thought with a hard gag you really hope is dramatic. "Oh wow he ain't wrong, you really smell like that lazy bi-" You manage to muzzle him before he can teach Checka too many bad words. You wonder if it would be rude to sniff yourself in front of a literal prince, Cheka's pleased little tail swish doesn't help.

"Can you please take me to Unca?" he asks, so very sweetly looking up at you like you're the shiniest star in the night sky. It hurts to disappoint him.

"Uh I'd love to little guy but I'm not too sure where he is..." you really hope Cheka can't tell just how nervous you are. Crowley did give you a schedule, but it wasn't super detailed, just a vague set of notes about the various events going on.

"Then I'll just stay here with you!" He says, with a surprising degree of authority. "Unca's scent is really strong so I'm sure he'll show up soon!"

''I don't think that's a good idea little guy." You just called the Crown Prince of the Sunset Savannah a little guy. Which he is but you are pretty sure there's a time period where that would have gotten you executed, and you can only pray it's not now. The intense look of what you assume are Cheka's guards running up the main street is not helping with that.

"Your highness! Please don't run off like that." The man seems wary of scolding the prince, but he has no qualms about staring you down. "You! What is your name and who do you think you are to be speaking so casually to-" He cuts himself off, bluster fading as he takes a deep breath and starts staggering away from you. Well not you per se, you realize as you turn around and see an extremely intense looking Leona behind you.

"Stop blamin' your inability to do your job on other people." Leona's voice is slow, authoritative enough that you almost forget he's supposed to be the second prince. The guards do too, until Cheka jumps away from them onto Leona's shoulders and shatters the illusion just a bit.

"Unca! Unca! You're gonna show me the spelldive fields right?" Cheka nuzzles his Uncle's cheek while Leona tries his best to get away.

"I thought you were gonna stay with Prefect." He grumbles.

"We can come with." You say before you fully realize what you're saying surprised at how ok you are with the offer. Cheka lights up, jumping away from his Uncle to nuzzle up to you. Leona's gaze softens ever so slightly, even if he immediately breaks eye contact and starts walking away from you.

"You're welcome to come if you can keep up." You try to convince yourself you follow him just to get away from the guards, but there's a spring in both your steps no one is brave enough to act like they notice.

Deuce

"Yuu! And Grim too! Lucky me I thought I was going to be stuck looking for my kids for at least another hour." Dilla Spade cheerfully says, her decision to refer to you as her child momentarily distracting you from the fact Deuce is nowhere to be seen. She seems to have been granted a day off from work, her usual delivery uniform ditched in favor of a very mom like set of old sweatpants and an old athletic jacket with a logo you assumed belonged to Deuce's middle school.

"Mama Spade!" Strange feelings aside you are extremely happy to see Dilla, and happier still when she perks up just a bit at your calling her mom. "Did Deuce forget to text you again?"

"Not exactly," she says with an affectionate sigh "I caught up with him a bit earlier but he ran off to find his Housewarden. He really wanted to introduce us but said it might be a bit difficult to make that happen."

"Yeah..." Grim says as you exchange a look "Riddle's a really busy guy."

"Well never mind then." She says with a shrug. "What's up with you? Deucey tells me all sorts of things, but it's never the full truth." You shouldn't be surprised Dilla knows something is up. Honestly it's a wonder any of the students with a half way decent relationship with their parents hasn't been yanked out of this school already.

"Nothing too bad I hope?" You say, hopeful that Dilla will give you something to work with so you don't confess to something too wild. She laughs.

"I'm a mom, worrying's part of the territory." You breathe a sigh of relief, though you can't help but wonder just what Dilla's reaction would be to knowing Deuce had fought four overblot phantoms. Would she be proud? You hope so, he deserves it. "I keep telling Deuce to invite you to spend summer with us but he's really hung up on doing things the 'honorable way.'" You try your best not to fluster.

"What's that even mean?" Whines Grim, probably thinking more about the donuts you had while visiting Clock Town more than the implications kicking around in your mind. "offerin' to help me and my hench human out is honorable enough!"

"It really is," you try not to come off as too eager, it would be really nice to spend the Summer somewhere that wasn't Ramshackle, even if it would hurt the ghost's feelin-

"Is Deuce waitin' till he can afford a ring or somethin'?" Grim says, crossing his little paws and sticking your words in your throat. Dilla winking at the little monster with a conspiratorial grin makes you choke. "He is isn't he! Hmph, figures. Well he knows he won't get the Great Grim's permission!"

"Grim!" You squeak.

"Well you are a bit young," Dilla says "but you have my blessing prefect."

"I- I think there's been a bit of a misunderstanding-" you don't want to get anyone's hopes up, you aren't even dating Deuce, you want to say that you don't like him that way, but the lie dies on your lips as a familiar duo comes into view just behind Dilla.

"MOM! oh and PREFECT!!!" The overwhelming joy in Deuce's eyes contrasting with the smug amusement of Ace makes you feel just a bit more at home, despite the awkwardness of the situation. You can almost convince yourself that he's running up the road on the double just to see you.

"Think of it this way," whispers Dilla, firmly placing a hand on your shoulder in a comforting and not forceful way "you're family, and you always will be no matter what label gets slapped on things. Though I am pretty sure you can guess Deuce's preference."

You can, or at least you can hope.

[utilitycaster]

You have been watching CR so much longer than me, and I'm curious to know your take on TV Show Canon interfering with or replacing Live Play Canon? On the latest 4sd, Sam mentioned that they're sort of in a schrödinger's Canon, where in one instance the show and campaign have two opposing cannons and they get through it by not directly addressing one or the other. The example he gave was Highbearer Vord, who was an old man in campaign 1 and a woman in the show, whom Matt referred to by name or as 'they' in campaign 3.

Personally, I've never been precious about adaptations changing or ommitting things, and I didn't care about the change from the campaign to the show, but for some reason, the show changing the campaign gives me pause. I also personally love the show! Campaign one was my favorite, especially the chroma conclave arc, and I love the tv show just as much, so I don't know why I would be precious about one over the other? I think maybe I'm worried about changes retroactively impacting the campaign because I already saw and loved the campaign as it was and I don't want it to change, whereas the show is currently being created and so any changes or adaptations just feel like their own thing that I get to see unfold.

The change I mentioned is very small and doesn't really impact much, I'm just wondering what your preference would be for this practice in general! I think that the cast mentioned that some changes will be made to the beginning of the Mighty Nein's story for the upcoming show. In a hypithetical future campaign, if someone mentioned the M9, would you prefer it to be in line with the campaign or the tv show, would you prefer if it was vague like Vord, or is it dependent on what the changes are?

For me it would be dependent on the scale of the change and what it is. Honestly, for Vord I don't even find it in conflict in the present campaign (ie, in 843 PD); while obviously Vord's gender is different between the canon of Campaign 1 vs. the Legend of Vox Machina and those are taking place as two versions of the story in the same time, I just assumed that in 843 PD Vord was figuring some shit out re: gender and pronouns. (I'd also add that Vord's description during Campaign 1 itself varied wildly; Matt's changed character pronouns before in the past and I don't know if it's been deliberate or if he forgot but it's not a big deal).

I think if we're talking about scenes that were not visible in the campaign and were expanded upon in TLOVM (eg: getting to see more of the Briarwoods or the Chroma Conclave plotting without Vox Machina present), treating them as canon within Campaign 3 is fine; honestly those probably were canon in Matt's notes anyway, just unseen. Small things that aren't plot critical - changing a character's gender or appearance, for example - are also fine by me.

The issue arises if we get into actual plot conflicts - for example, the party splitting during the Feywild and Westruun arcs in TLOVM vs. Scanlan and Grog being present in the Feywild in canon. In that case, resolving the two is not possible and I don't care for attempts to make it so. I don't generally care for attempts to justify a cast mistake or canon contradiction and make it all lay flat when the answer sometimes is just "this is improv and they forgot", and this feels similar. Like...if Kamaljiori were to show up in Campaign 3, that would be valid, because he doesn't die in Campaign 1 and does in TLOVM, and when we're watching the streaming campaigns we should defer to campaign canon. I don't think it's fair to Campaign 3 to try to play it with an eye to animated adaptation, so any ripples from that can be addressed if an when they come up. But for stuff like Vord's gender, as long as you get the presence and the vibe right, details can be altered. The same, presumably, will be true for mentions of the Mighty Nein if there is an Exandrian-set Campaign 4.

For what it's worth, that is what I expect when the cast mentions changes to the adaptation as well. Like...look, if I'm wrong about this there will be other discussions to be had, but I think the idea that Molly won't die in the Mighty Nein adaptation is a rather desperate and unrealistic one since that sort of derails the entire rest of the campaign both plot-wise and thematically. Fine for AU fanfic, though I'm personally uninterested, but a poor adaptational choice. But changes like splitting the party between the Feywild and Westruun, or Grog becoming weakened, or Vax communing with the Raven Queen a little earlier and at a smaller temple, or Vex facing Saundor alone, all maintain the core vibes and themes while dealing with time constraints and letting Pike be more present. If someone were to ask Vex point-blank "was Scanlan there when you fought the guy who had that cool bow you're carrying" in Campaign 3 I think the answer should be "yes"; but that's not actually important. What's important is that Vex faced a guy who had been consumed by bitterness and grudges for a weapon that she ultimately carved the word for "forgiveness" into as a personal reminder. An adaptation should retain what's actually important to the story, but changing what hangs on the same fundamental fixed skeleton is fine.

[wrestletotheground]

you get me closer to god - matty healy x reader (part one)

boss!matty

cw: ! minors dni ! smut, age gap (20/34), power imbalance, cheating, f!reader, dom/sub, male masturbation, spit, cumplay, voyeurism, semi-public, office work affair, general filth and nasty behaviour

wc: 2.1k

8:30am

you're sat on the sofa across from matty in his office, basking in the slanted rays of sunlight that peep through the blinds. the office is warm, the air filled with a faint musky scent that's recently become a comfort to you.

he called you in early supposedly to discuss your 'behaviour in the workplace', but so far it's just been him making small talk about work and typing away, deliberately acting oblivious towards the tension in the room. he throws you the occasional glance over his computer screen, but they never linger long enough to satisfy you. you're practically twiddling your thumbs in conversation, vying for his attention any way you can by throwing in little jokes and references or tapping your fingers on the chair, but he won't budge.

his breaking point is when you clear your throat obnoxiously loudly, spreading your legs and crossing them again in your skimpy little skirt just to taunt him. and oh, it works. this time it's more than a short glance. his jaw clenches as he watches you, knuckles turning white as he balls his hands into fists. it takes everything in him not to pounce on you, as if you'd mind. you smile sweetly, a glint in your eyes as you relax into the chair.

he mutters something under his breath before shutting off his laptop and clearing away the stacks of papers that litter the space in front of him. a few pens clatter to the floor as he carelessly throws everything aside. all the while you can't stop staring at him, trying to figure out the almost unreadable expression on his face.

he taps the desk in front of him twice, gesturing with his head and looking at you expectantly. the fiery look in his eyes tells you you're in for it today. he stares intently, hungrily, as you stand up and walk around as slowly as possible, just to push his buttons. before you have the chance to get up onto the desk, he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into him, making your entire face heat up.

'you know exactly what you're doing, don't you? been walking around all week in these little skirts,' he says, giving it a tug to emphasise his point. you bite the tip of your crimson painted nail and shake your head, acting naive and failing miserably. 'they leave nothing to the imagination baby, we can't be having that. nono,' he tuts, shaking his head and looking up at you disapprovingly. 'all those filthy boys in the office gawking at my girl, save it for the real man, the boss, yeah?' you feel yourself flush at his words, and all you can do is mumble out a vague 'yes' sound as your gaze wanders from his eyes to his lips and back again, almost like you're trying to memorise every detail in case he disappears.

'be good for me, darling,' he whispers, staring up at you like you're the messiah. 'mm, whatever you want,' you reply, tilting your head back as he starts running his hands up and down your body, squeezing your hips. you feel so small under his touch, acutely aware of how easy and effortless it is for him to hold so much power over you. he pulls at the fabric around your waist and you help him out by shoving the flimsy skirt down and kicking it off to the side somewhere, making his breath hitch in his throat.

without another word he lifts you up onto the desk. the cool wood touching your thighs sends a shiver up your spine, quickly being replaced by the warmth of his hands on your knees, spreading them apart without breaking eye contact. he's standing now, towering above your face and making you feel smaller than ever. 'you gonna help me out angel?'

you nod quickly, heart hammering in your chest and heat pulsing elsewhere. your thighs clamp around him, hips pushing towards the obvious bulge in his suit trousers. a condescending laugh echoes through the room. 'oh already? haven't even touched you yet and already you're fucking desperate for me,' he says, pulling your knees out from his waist. 'no, please, im just-' he cuts you off by grabbing the collar of your shirt and pushing his lips onto yours, unable to refrain from the way your voice wavers as you fall into subspace for him yet again.

the faint taste of your cherry lip balm makes him impossibly more turned on and his tongue presses into your mouth like he could just swallow you whole.

he unzips his trousers and you immediately reach out to touch him, desperate to help him, to feel him, regain some of that power, but as soon as your fingertips graze his stomach he swats your hand away and steps backwards. 'did I say you could touch me?' your head shakes of its own accord, and you whine in protest when he sits back down onto the office chair, leaving you exposed and helpless.

'you don't get to touch me or yourself. eyes on me, legs apart and keep them pretty hands behind your back unless I say, okay?' you sigh and breathe out a shaky 'okay', your head swimming at the thought of being there solely for his pleasure.

he grabs at his dick through the tight trousers and grunts at the relief. your eyes are trained on his hand, the way the veins push out as his fingers tighten around the clear outline. the way the silver band on his ring finger shines in the morning light.

you notice how his face is directly facing your cunt, drops of arousal spilling out and seeping into the baby pink cotton the longer he stares. it's getting harder and harder not to touch yourself, or him for that matter. especially when he lifts his hips and pulls down his trousers, letting them pool around his ankles. especially when he strokes along his length tantalisingly slowly, teasing the both of you. you're utterly fixated on the mouth-watering shape under the fabric, straining to be released.

he pushes his thumb under the waistband, momentarily denting the perfect shape of his rose tattoo. he moves them down, but only enough to free his cock. it's leaking already, red and angry and desperate and he groans at the feeling of the air hitting it.

'fuck, look what you do to me, love,' he says as he finally lets his hand wrap around his erection. your thighs twitch at his words.

he starts off slowly as usual. long, languid strokes as he drinks in your body in front of him, especially enraptured by the wet patch between your legs. you want nothing more than to wrap your mouth, your hand even, around him, help him feel good, but you're not in the mood of being punished today. instead you just let the coil in your stomach tighten with every little movement and sound that comes from him; let him render you an embarrassingly wet mess in front of his eyes.

you try your hardest not to squirm, not to give in and have him watch you disappointedly as you fuck yourself with your fingers selfishly, but good girls don't do that. you need to be everything he wants.

'lift up your shirt,' he huffs, teeth baring for a second as he pumps himself desperately. you oblige, gently hiking up the hem of your perfectly ironed white shirt and turning it into a vulgar sight as it touches your neck, revealing your chest to him, framed in pretty black lace that you always wear just for him.

'shit, my pretty little girl, fucking love those tits, all for me, aren't they?'

'all for you, no one else,' you reply, pushing them together and rubbing your fingers over your nipples in an attempt to ease some of the pressure inside you. you're so worked up that the simple action sends a jolt of electricity through you, making your back arch.

'what did I fucking say, leave your shirt up there, hands behind your back,' he spits. you inadvertently whimper as you obey him once again, catching the shirt under your armpits to keep it up above your tits as you place your hands back onto the hard wood behind you.

waves of humiliation crash over you at how bare you feel before him, and you have to look away for a second to regain composure.

your eyes flick to the gold rimmed photo on the wall and you can't help but wonder how long he's needed this. his appetite for you is seemingly insatiable at all times, despite the woman in white pictured next to him outside the chapel.

you're snapped out of your thoughts as a strangled groan leaves his chest. you look down and see his thumb swiping precum over the head of his cock. his hips start to buck upwards and he continues stroking up and down, faster now. you make a show of grinding up into the air as he stares at you with eyes clouded in lust. your pussy is throbbing, begging for anything, even a gust of wind, to soothe the ache that's worsening and worsening the longer you watch him getting himself off.

suddenly he stands up and comes towards you, eyebrows scrunched up in desire. he taps your jaw with one hand, the other continuing his unrelenting pace. you know the signal by now, and you open your mouth obligingly and let out a theatrical moan as he spits onto your tongue. seeing you swallow and grin devilishly up at him is what tips him over the edge.

'fuck- baby- come here,' a series of grunts falls from his lips as his chest heaves, fucking his fist hard and fast. he hooks a finger under the waistband of your underwear and pulls it outward, leaning forward so his tip is practically touching your abdomen. 'what...' you trail off, catching on to his plan as soon as spurts of cum start to dribble into your underwear, soaking and mixing into your slick.

'fucking hell,' he moans through shaky breaths. your breath catches in your throat, releasing a groan of pleasure as some of the warmth drips down and lands on your burning skin. he whimpers, eyes focused on your core and then rolling back into his head as he milks the last few drops out.

you can't help how quickly your hand goes to your aching bundle of nerves, desperate for more, hard contact, but he grabs a hold of your wrist before you get the chance. the glare he gives you makes you retract instantly, remembering his earlier orders. you lean back on your hands again reluctantly like a good girl, to please him.

he gives a satisfactory hum before gripping your neck, making you gasp and splutter with the force. even though he's a bit dazed and out of breath, the only thing that falters is his voice as he orders you around like his little plaything. 'you're gonna walk around with this pretty little cunt covered in me all day, right? come back to me at the end of the day and if you've been good I'll reward you,' as he speaks, he lets the elastic snap back against your hot skin and palms at your core through the soaked fabric. you nod and whine at the feeling of the warmth being pushed against you, the sticky mess spreading and mixing in an obscene concoction of lust, your head rolling back in ecstasy. it's wrong - so wrong - but you can't get enough.

'thank you sir,' you reply, your face burning up at the shame gnawing at the back of your mind. he rolls his eyes at how needy you look, not even 9am and you're already grinding against his hand, begging for anything he's willing to give you. 'pathetic,' he whispers, giving your cunt a light slap and dragging another sound from your lips. he slides his middle finger up his slit, collecting the milky remainder and shoves it in your mouth. he watches you moan in contentment as you lap it up, relishing in the salty taste and eventually releasing it with a pop.

without warning, all contact is lost and he's ordering you down off his desk to go back out to yours. you look up at the clock. fuck. 8:51. you scramble to get your skirt back on and fix yourself up as he pulls up his jeans with a smug look plastered on his face, throwing you a wink as he does up the zipper.

'enjoy your day sweetheart,' he smirks, grabbing your ass and pushing you out the door just before the first of your coworkers start to file into their respective cubicles. you check your reflection in a nearby computer screen to make sure you don't look as flustered as you feel, before sitting down. it's going to be a long day.

~

[deluxewhump]

Gameday

Early/middle-ish timeline Z2. Zee is taken to a football game and left out in extreme heat.

CW: BBU, deliberate neglect, collared, tied, overheating, heat exhaustion, alcohol, complicit caretaker

It wasn’t until Sunday that Alex would learn all the details of what happened the previous afternoon. He’d been with Claire all day on Saturday, until he left to go to the game. It was August— the start of football season. Fall classes started Monday, and he’d had Claire on his mind lately. He hadn’t seen much of her over the summer, but she seemed as eager to meet back up as he was.

Later, he told himself that was why Zee hadn’t been on his mind at all that day. It didn’t make him feel better.

He didn’t notice that Zee wasn’t there when he stopped off for a change of clothes at the house. He decided to leave his car and Uber, giving him free rein to drink.

He got to the stadium twenty minutes before the game was set to start, the Panthers versus New Sovereignty. It was nearing ninety eight degrees without so much as a gentle breeze to alleviate the oppressive heat. The sun beat down on his head the moment he stepped out of the car, and he could feel a sheen of sweat on his face only a few steps later.

Outside the stadium was a large fountain that was dyed green every St Patrick’s day. Around it, grassy squares were sectioned off with sidewalks. Despite kickoff approaching, there were still throngs of people walking towards the entrance, in line for the various food trucks, and tailgating near their vehicles or under canopy tents.

Paul had texted him that they’d be under one such tent until gametime, and gave him vague directions to find it. He almost walked right by it, but recognized Tyler’s matching set of hot pink camping chairs that usually sat outside on the back porch. It looked like everyone had already cleared out for the game, except some guy he didn’t recognize who was sitting directly next to a bluetooth speaker, beer in hand. He looked wasted, sunglasses askew on his head and his face red from the inescapable heat of the afternoon.

“They head in?” Alex asked him, gesturing to the stadium. 

The guy nodded along to the music, but more exaggeratedly so, as a yes to his question. He wouldn’t have seen Zee at all if he hadn’t stopped to open one of the coolers and grab a beer. When he did, he dropped it right back into the cooler. That it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been was only due to the fact that he’d arrived when he had. Another hour or two and it would have been much worse.

“Shit,” he muttered, stepping outside the canopied shade and into the direct heat again. He bent to his knees beside Zee.

Zee flinched away.

“Hey,” Alex said. “It’s me. It’s just me.”

Recognition filled not only Zee’s eyes but his entire posture. He was sitting on the ground, in the sun, wearing long pants, a thick jersey, and a football helmet of all things. Alex pried it off, noticing how his hair was as drenched as if he’d just stepped out of a shower and how red his face was. He had on his thick collar, and a slim cord of climbing rope was tied from the ring to a stake in the ground.

He tried to pull the stake but it didn’t budge. He gave that up quickly, going instead for the knots around the collar. They were tight, and his fingers were slick from the drink he’d taken out of the cooler. He wiped them on his pants and tried again, leaning in and using his teeth to start loosening the knot. He was beginning to wonder if by some miracle he’d find a knife anywhere when it came loose, and he was able to untie it. The rope fell from the collar and he stood up, dragging Zee backwards under his arms into the shade of the tent. 

“What the hell is this?” he asked over his shoulder. The only other occupant of the tent was still drinking, still oblivious to everything but his music. He looked their way and shrugged innocently. 

Zee lay on his back as Alex reached into the cooler and pulled out a handful of ice. He opened Zee’s right hand and placed it inside, bringing it to his face for him. Zee got the idea and held it against his forehead, his cheeks, his neck. His whimper of relief made Alex’s stomach lurch with useless anger. He rummaged in the cooler for water, but found none. He opened a second one and dug through the ice with the same results. 

“Is there nothing but Coors goddam lite in here?” he asked the straggler, who leaned forward and pointed at a third cooler underneath a folding table. He opened it to the blessed sight of bottled water. After pulling Zee back to a sitting position he held it to his mouth to let him drink. Zee dropped the ice and grabbed at the bottle, squeezing it inelegantly so water went not only into his mouth but down his chin and the front of his shirt. Alex peeled the thick polyester jersey from his ribs and up over his head. Zee seemed glad to be rid of it, and leaned back against one of the coolers, half naked and breathing deep deliberate breaths.

"I couldn't get that knot untied," he said. "It was too tight."

He knew better than to ask Zee any questions. He’d likely not get much of an answer. After his first few admissions regarding Cam, he learned quickly that sharing details among the brothers resulted in arguments, and that discord always returned to him eventually, with him painted as some sort of snitch. 

“You’re okay,” he said instead. “You’re good now, Zee. It’s okay.”

Inside the stadium, the band began to play. The words of the announcers were too far to make out, but they echoed across the hot air. He picked an icecube off the grass and circled it over Zee’s face. Zee closed his eyes. 

“I guess it’s a good thing you’re still sweating,” he said, and Zee nodded as he took another swig of water. He let Alex feel his pulse with untrained fingers, unsure exactly what to look for but compelled to do it anyway. It felt fast. He got up and cast a glance around the tent. The remaining guy was probably too drunk for the game, and volunteered to stay behind with Zee and everyone’s belongings. Zee wasn’t much of a guard on his own if he was tethered to the grass outside the tent like a dog. Except if it was a dog, he thought bitterly, some passerby probably would’ve noticed and helped it by now. 

“Hey!” the would-be guard frowned as Alex began rummaging through belongings. 

“Shut the fuck up,” returned Alex.

After searching two bags of items that were no use to him, he pulled a handheld mechanical fan from a third. He returned to Zee and held it in front of his face, the tiny blades whirring and blowing his sweat-drenched hair with cool air. For the first time since he’d found him, Zee looked at him directly. A mixture of relief and something else was in his eyes. What that other thing was, Alex wasn’t sure. It might have been where were you? Or perhaps I told you so. Maybe he imagined it entirely, because with his next breath Zee thanked him so earnestly he found himself shushing him and getting a new piece of ice to run over his skin.

“There’s an ambulance by the entrance,” he said, and no sooner were the words out of his mouth than Zee was shaking his head weakly. Alex held the ice midair.

“I can ask them to look at you,” he insisted. “You don’t have to go anywhere with them.”

Still Zee shook his head. “M’okay,” he whispered. He took another swig of water. After second thought, he dumped the rest over the top of his head and closed his eyes. Alex kept the fan on him. 

“Do you feel sick?”

“Not now. Just hot.”

When Alex took out his phone to call another Uber, he noticed two missed calls from Paul, probably asking where he was. He had no doubt Paul was one of the ones in the tent who abandoned their boxboy in the heat to go inside. He ignored them, and chose the soonest available pickup. He couldn’t bring himself to put Zee back in the thick jersey he’d found him in, and told him to wait while he walked to a nearby vendors tent and bought him a cotton tshirt. He didn’t think Zee would appreciate being paraded through a crowded event shirtless with that thick collar locked around his neck, even just to get to the curb for the driver. He couldn’t say he would relish the attention, either.

In a crisp New Sovereigns tee, he walked dutifully beside Alex to meet their car. Alex opened the door and let him climb inside first before going into the backseat after him. Zee sat in the middle and slumped over into the far seat, his head pressing against the door. 

“Hey,” Alex muttered automatically to the driver. To his dismay, the driver looked in the rearview and turned around, beaming. 

“Alex!”

He recognized Alexander Katz from biology lab and forced his mouth into a friendly smile. In that class, Alex was Clair and Alexander was Katz. “You’re missing the game,” Alex said, automatically making casual conversation. It made the entire situation feel worse, somehow.

“Ah, I need a few extra bucks,” answered Alexander. “You’re gonna miss it too, though, by the looks of it.”

Yeah, boxboy duty. My friends left him tied to a stake in record-breaking heat. “My buddy’s drunk,” he lied. “I volunteered to take him back to the house.”

Alexander rolled his eyes knowingly. “Heard that,” he said, and consulted his side mirror before pulling out into the street. He had to stop for a throng of polo-wearing boys and their cowboy-booted counterparts to cross, headed for the stadium. Alex took the opportunity to check on Zee like one might check on an egregiously drunk friend. He was awake and breathing normally now, and Alex noticed he had pulled his new shirt up to hide his collar.

After fifteen minutes of slow gameday traffic and painful smalltalk with Alexander, the car arrived on their residential street near campus, only a mile and a half from the stadium.

Alexander reached back for a fistbump and offered a helping hand with his drunk buddy. Alex declined, saying he was still good enough to walk, just blacked out. Zee played his part, keeping his shirt lifted to hide the collar and looking like a wasted college student might as he stumbled out into Alex’s arm and let him guide him to the front steps. He dropped the shirt the moment Alexander was out of the driveway and stood up straighter, decidedly less drunk-looking. Alex felt more shame than gratitude that he’d played the part he was assigned so willingly. Even in the state he was in, after what he’d just been through. Just to save him some hypocritical sense of embarrassment.

The house was cool. The airconditioning was on, and fans spun lazily in the high ceilings. Zee headed straight for the shower, but Alex asked him to wait. He did so, staring stone faced at the floor as Alex took the stairs two at a time. He returned with his copy of the key he’d negotiated from Cameron, and unlocked the collar so it fell away from Zee’s sweaty neck. He rubbed at the indentation it left, but said nothing. 

“Go,” Alex nudged. With his permission, Zee continued to the downstairs bath and turned on the shower. 

He sat on the couch for a full five minutes with his elbows on his knees, staring at the muted television. The game they’d just left was on. He couldn’t help but watch for Dominic. 

Zee came out of the shower and sat on the sofa, on the opposite end, as far as he could have possibly sat from him. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Alex asked gently. 

“You saw it,” he said blamelessly. 

“Who tied you out like that?”

He was reluctant. “…Does it matter?”

Alex couldn’t look at him. If he pushed, Zee would tell him. But he was right. It didn’t matter who specifically. It was a group effort. He watched the Panther’s coach spat on the ground and make a frustrated hand gesture in the direction of the field. Not one quarter in and the home team was pulling far ahead, just as Alexander had predicted in the car. 

“I guess not. Where is Cameron?”

Zee shrugged. With both Alex and Dominic gone, Cameron was Zee’s last line of defense, as dubious as that was. It seemed to be working lately, as much as Alex hated to admit it. 

“You can catch most of the game if you go now.”

He forced himself to look at their boxie. He looked better now, if tired and a little sunburned on his forearms. At least that heavy jersey they’d had him in had protected him from more of that. “I’m not going to the game.”

“I’m fine now. Thank you.”

“I’m staying here, Zee. I don’t care about the game.”

They watched in silence as the camera panned the crowd. 

“Do you want to come with me tonight? I’m going to Claire’s house.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yeah. That’s why I asked.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t.”

“I don’t need to be babysat. Cam will be back soon.”

“That’s not why I offered. Claire likes you. I thought you might want a change of scenery tonight. I’d like you to come with me.”

Zee laid sideways on the sofa, much like he had in the back of the Uber. “Okay.”

Alex stood up. “You need some gatorade, or a snack or something.”

Since it wasn’t a question, Zee offered no reply. And as always when it came to Alex, no resistance.