#so its more of a self indulgent drawing frenzy of these guys more than an au-

[bear-cubs-art-things]

"TOO FUCKING MAMY TO COUNT"

I counted and you have 6 aus

thats too many aus for one person with half a braincell to have-

and most of those aus are merely concepts that have been forgotten about WHEEEzEEE-

[lupinmoonlight]

No thoughts. Just Remus.

Masterlist AO3

Summary - You and Remus can't get enough of each other. Obviously, he ends up bending you over his desk in his quarters, incidentally taking your virginity. As Remus walks you back to your common room, you walk into Professor McGonagall, who seems to know too much, but decides to ignore it for her own sanity. Back in his quarters, Remus makes a mortifying discovery when a familiar someone pops up in his fireplace (2,341 words). Warnings - teacher/student relationship, desk sex, getting caught, marking, my grammar, loss of virginity, smut, not proof-read, english isn't my first language. Notes - Hey guys, it's me from the depths of academia. I am traveling for a conference tomorrow. I have to drive 3h, yet here I am writing smut. I just really had to get this silly little scenario out of my head. I don't even know what this is. I just had to write it. I love the idea of Remus wearing a bathrobe with his initials on it lol.

A soft flurry of wings caught your attention as you sat in the Great Hall, desperately trying to focus on that stupid Potions essay, and tiny owl swooped down, a small rolled parchment clutched in its talon. The note was short and to the point: "My quarters. Now."

The elegant handwriting that you recognized as Remus' sent a delicious shiver down your spine. It was unlike your usual, careful exchanges. This didn't feel like just another stolen moment; this was him throwing caution to the wind, and you were more than happy to indulge.

You looked around, making sure no one noticed, and then bolted up from your seat. Professor Lupin's quarters. Now.

Reaching his door, you barely rapped your knuckles against it before the door flew open, revealing a tense Remus. He grabbed your wrist, pulling you inside with surprising force. He slammed the door shut with his foot and warded it with a quick flick of his wand.

"Remus-" you began, but before you could finish, you were lifted from the floor, Remus' lips crashing against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss. He carried you over to his desk, parchment and quills scattering to the floor as he set you down, never breaking the kiss. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back as your body arched instinctively into his.

Remus groaned into the kiss as your legs hooked around his waist. He pulled away slightly, both of you out of breath, and whispered against your lips, "I can't get enough of you."

His lips trailed down your neck, nipping at the soft skin there. You let out a needy whimper, a sound that undid him completely. He felt a primal, possessive need to make you his. The urgency of his movements surprised you. He was always so reverent, only allowing a few pecks here and there, a lingering touch. But now, he was devouring you, and it was all you wanted. No thoughts. Just Remus.

"Remus," you whispered.

"Y/N," he responded, his voice deep and husky. "I need you. Now"

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the hard ridge of his length pressing against you through your clothes.

"Please, Remus. Please," you pleaded in a shaky breath. "Please."

That plea shattered any self-control Remus had been clinging to. With a ragged breath, he pulled back and spun you around, pressing you against the wooden surface of the desk. He fumbled with your clothes, desperate and impatient, his hands undoing just enough of your clothing to give you what you both craved. He positioned himself, and with a deep breath, he entered you, drawing a gasping moan from both of you.

You pushed back against him, your fingers digging into the desk. "Remus…"

His name on your lips sent him into a frenzy. He moved with a desperate intensity, every thrust forcing you to raise yourself on your tiptoes, to try and keep up with him. His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements, and he leaned over you, burying his face in the crook of your neck to stifle a moan.

"You feel so good," he groaned. "I can't… I can't hold back."

"Don't," you gasped. "Please, Remus. Don't stop."

He growled low in his throat, his movements becoming even more urgent. The desk creaked under your combined weight, but neither of you cared. All that mattered was the overwhelming need to be as close to each other as possible.

His grip on your hips tightened, his movements growing more forceful. You cried out as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with the force of your climax. Remus followed moments later, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he spilled himself inside you, holding you tightly against him.

He stayed like that for a moment, breathing heavily. Slowly, he pulled back, helping you off the desk and turning you around to face him. He kissed you gently this time, the urgency replaced by tenderness.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours.

You nodded, a blissful smile on your lips. "More than alright."

Remus tried to regain his composure slightly, though both of you were sweaty and disheveled. He made a futile attempt to adjust your clothes, but there was no use. They were ruined and you both knew it. His gaze drifted downwards, noticing the result of your encounter trickling down to the floor from you.

"Looks like I made a bit of a mess there," he mumbled, a sheepish blush creeping up his neck.

"Well, Professor, who would have thought such a composed man could be so… messy?"

A genuine laugh escaped him. "The blame, my dear, falls squarely on you. You're impossible to resist."

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a lingering kiss, and with a gentle hand on your back, guided you towards the bathroom.

Once there, you started peeling off the clothes that had survived your encounter, but Remus stopped you with a soft touch. "Let me," he murmured.

He took his time, his touch tender and reverent as he cleaned you up. His fingers traced the love bites and flushed skin that marked his claim on you. He placed soft kisses on them, as if sealing his love into you.

When he finished, he wrapped you into his large dressing gown. It engulfed you in his scent, a comforting mix of cinnamon, wood polish, and something distinctly him. You perched on a small stool, stealing glances at him as he cleaned himself with a quiet efficiency.

After drying himself off, Remus offered his hand to help you up. "Come on, let's get you comfortable."

You took his hand, and he led you back to the main room. He fetched a blanket and laid it out on the couch, guiding you to sit down. "Rest here for a bit, you don't have to go back just now," he said, tucking the blanket around you and pulling you back against him.

As you settled into a comfortable silence, a memory jolted Remus. "Accio," he murmured, and a small vial materialized in his hand. "Contraceptive," the label read.

"Here," he said, offering it to you. "It's best to be safe."

You looked up at him, taken aback. "Where did you get this? Not Professor Snape-"

Remus gave a nervous laugh, a flicker of worry crossing his features. "Sirius," he admitted. "He sent it with a rather cryptic message about 'precautions.'"

Your face turned crimson with mortification. "Oh God. He did?"

Remus nodded, trying to hide his amusement. "Yes. But it's important. Please, drink it."

The thought of your uncle anticipating your secret encounter was almost too much to bear. You downed the potion in one go, shuddering and grimacing at the bitter taste.

"Good girl," Remus murmured, placing a gentle kiss on the crown of your head.

"Uncle Sirius knows, then? About…" you trailed off.

Remus hesitated for a moment before nodding. "He know there's something between us. He's not blind," he explained, referring to the summer you had spent together at Grimmauld Place, stealing glances at each other like a bunch of teenagers.

You groaned, burying your face in his chest. "This is so embarrassing. Please, promise me you won't tell him about what just happened."

Remus chuckled, stroking your hair reassuringly. "I promise. Your safety, and Sirius' sanity, are worth more than anything."

You lifted your head slightly, your gaze flickering up at him. "Was that your first time?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. Despite the lingering blush on your cheeks, there was a playfulness in your eyes that sent a jolt through Remus.

He let out a surprised chuckle. The question, though somewhat innocent, was unexpected. "Merlin, Y/N," he said, a touch of amusement in his voice. "No, it wasn't. I'm rather ancient, you see."

You feigned offense with a playful shrug. "Well, excuse me Professor," you teased. "Just trying to gauge the competition."

Taking a deep breath, you confessed, "Actually, that was my first time."

Remus' smile faltered, replaced by a wave of guilt that washed over him. "You should have told me," he said, his voice low and serious. The image of your hurried encounter flashed before his eyes, and a pang of regret stabbed at him.

"Why?" you countered, tilting your head in genuine confusion.

"Because," he began, "your first time shouldn't have been… like that. Bent over a desk, rushed, with barely a moment to breathe."

Your response surprised him. A soft giggle escaped your lips. "Actually, Remus," you admitted, "that's always been a bit of a fantasy of mine. A little forbidden, a little…messy."

A blush crept up Remus' neck at your words, a nervous chuckle escaping him.

"And perhaps," you continued, "next time you can show me properly."

Remus' breath caught at your suggestion, and he tried to remain casual and unaffected but failed miserably. "I, uh, well… yes, of course," he stammered. "Whenever you're ready."

You giggled again, enjoying the sight of his flustered state.

A sudden jolt of panic shot through Remus as he glanced at the clock. It was well past curfew. "Merlin's beard," he muttered, "I need to walk you back to your common room before anyone notices you're missing."

You nodded, reluctantly getting up. You were still clad in Remus' dressing gown, your clothes crumpled in a ball clutched in your hands. The large "R.J.L" embroidered letters on the chest were impossible to miss.

You stepped out of Remus' quarters, trying to appear as casual as possible, only to turn a corner and find yourselves face-to-face with Professor McGonagall.

You froze, your smile vanishing faster than a puff of smoke. your eyes wide with shock. McGonagall's sharp gaze swept over you both, taking in the sight of you in Remus' robe, your hair damp and slightly mussed, and landing finally on Remus himself.

The silence stretched, and you braced yourself for McGonagall scathing reprimand.

"Miss Black," McGonagall began, her tone questioning but laced with the knowledge of what was clearly going on. "What are you doing out of your common room so late, and why are you wearing Professor Lupin's robe?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, Remus stepped in, a charming, albeit slightly panicked smile plastered on his face.

"Professor, I was just on my way to accompany Miss Black back to her common room," he said smoothly. "She had a bit of an accident in the Potions classroom earlier and got some ingredients on her clothes. She came to my office for help cleaning up, and I lent her my robe to wear in the meantime."

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but unable to challenge the story outright without more proof.

“I see. Well, Professor Lupin, I trust you will ensure Miss Black returns safely to her common room?”

“Absolutely, Minerva,” Remus replied, his voice steady. “I was just about to do that.”

McGonagall studied you both for a moment longer, then sighed. "Very well. But in the future, Miss Black, do try to avoid such mishaps so close to curfew. And Remus, please ensure that students return to their dormitories in a timely manner."

"Of course, Minverva," Remus said with a respectful nod.

With that, McGonagall swept past you. Remus took a deep breath, the tension visibly draining from his body.

"Well played, Professor," you teased.

Remus chuckled. "Just another day at Hogwarts," he quipped.

Reaching the entrance to your common room, you turned to face him and whispered, "Goodnight, Remus."

"Goodnight, love," he replied, then leaned in and gave you a quick, soft kiss on the lips. You slipped through the entrance of your common room, giving him one last smile.

Remus watched you go for a moment, and made his way back to his quarters.

He sank back onto the couch, his gaze trailing across the room and settling on the now-innocent desk. His mind, however, was reeling with what had just transpired. The feel of your skin, the warmth of your body pressed against his. He closed his eyes, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, and let himself slip back into the memory.

A sudden crackle from the fireplace jolted him back to reality. Sirius' grinning face filled the flames. Remus nearly jumped out of his skin, a strangled scream escaping his lips.

"Merlin's beard, Sirius! What- what are you doing here?"

Sirius' laughter echoed in the room. "Fire-called you earlier, Moony," he said, "but it seemed you were…busy."

Remus choked, absolutely mortified. His mind raced, wondering if Sirius had truly witness what he thought he had. "I… uh, what do you mean?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "That poor desk looks like it's barely standing after this."

Remus' face fell, his mind going blank. He stammered, "S-Sirius, I-"

"Don't worry, Moony," Sirius said, his grin softening. "Just wanted to check on my niece. Seems she's well taken care of, though."

Remus could only manage a weak nod, his voice still lost somewhere in his throat.

"Did you use the little potion I sent over?" Sirius asked casually.

Remus croaked out a confirmation, his cheeks burning hotter than the fireplace ever could. A satisfied smirk spread across Sirius' face.

"Just looking out for you both, mate. You weren't exactly discreet over the summer," he continued, a wink following his words. "Besides, wouldn't want any little surprises popping up in a few months, would we?"

Remus was so mortified he could hardly speak. "Sirius, I… I didn't mean for you to-"

Sirius laughed, shaking his head. "Relax, Moony. I trust you. Just remember, she's precious to me. But from what I can see, you're doing a decent job."

With that, Sirius' face disappeared from the fire. Remus slumped back further into the couch, burying his face in his hands. Relief mingled with worry. Sirius knew. Definitely. Yet he seemed… accepting. The thought offered a sliver of comfort, but he knew he wasn't going to tell you anytime soon.

[nametakensff]

Dusty Paperwork (g/olden k/amuy, K/oito x T/sukishima)

Hey guys, I have decided after a long time of lurking snzblr to actually make a blog and start sharing content here - especially given how dead the forum has been in recent years 😅

@kawaii-kushami inspired this fic with all of their amazing g/olden k/amuy posting and gorgeous art and I basically typed this out in a maddened frenzy LOL

PLEASE go and give their blog some love - they've also drawn AMAZING art of this fic here and here 😭❤️

Please note: this is an extremely NSFW fetish fic - very self-indulgent and very horny - please do not interact if you are under 18! And if you stumble across this as a poor soul without this strange kink, my condolences lmao but please don't reblog to a non-fetish blog

Fellow snzfuckers, I truly hope you enjoy! ❤️ You can also read this over on the forum

~~~~~~~~~~~

Content:

K/oito and T/sukishima are working through some boring paperwork in a dusty archive room when T/sukishima's allergies prove too much for K/oito to bear

M/M, dust allergies, snzing during sex, verbal teasing, humiliation, implied exhibitionism, masturbation, stifling, not really MESSY messy but lots of spray

3.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~

If there was one thing that may have deterred Koito even slightly once he’d decided to take up a position in the army, it had to be this. All of the damned paperwork. Stacks and stacks of it. He let out an indignant huff as he leafed through the nearest pile, cross-legged on the archive room floor. It was pathetic, he thought, given his rank and talent that he should be so very condescended towards. But unfortunately, it had been quiet the past week and there really was very little to do otherwise. Besides, Lieutenant Tsurumi had requested it personally – he couldn’t very well say no to him. He supposed it could be worse – after all, he hated above all else being idle – even more than this DAMN PAPERWORK. He childishly batted at the stack to his left, not caring that he would have to painstakingly gather together each sheet as they scattered across the floor. That alone would be less mind-numbing than skimming the documents for vital information on nearby Ainu settlements.

As he reached forward to grab the nearest sheet, he heard a small sound from over his shoulder. And another…and another? He peered behind him and over at Sergeant Tsukishima – also banished to the same tedious task as Koito, though he had almost completely forgotten the shorter man was there. He was quiet and stern, which had unnerved Koito upon first meeting him, but had become over time somewhat comforting to him.

Said man in question now knelt rigidly, a curious expression overtaking his otherwise permanent scowl. Koito watched as Tsukishima raised a forefinger and pressed it under his diminutive nose, moving it gently back and forth. Moments later, his expression cringed, brows drawing up and eyes closing tight. His mouth fell open, pink tongue slightly sticking outwards, and pulled in a silent breath, every muscle in his body drawing tight before –

“nngtxsh!!”

Ahhh, Koito thought. Sneezes. Those little sounds had been sneezes. The realisation spread through his body and filled him with a giddiness he couldn’t quite control, limbs almost tingling. A grin split his face as he watched Tsukishima unwind from the full body contraction the powerfully suppressed sneeze had forced him into. He seemed all at once to feel eyes upon him and turned to face Koito, his regular, somewhat placid frown replacing the desperate contortion of his features from moments earlier. Koito was delighted to see that he had not yet removed his finger from its position under his nostrils, which continued to flare gently.

“What is it, Second Lieutenant Koito?”

His voice had taken on a somewhat husky resonance, congestion evident. Koito felt the warmth steadily gathering below his belt. He cleared his throat.

“Something bothering you, Sergeant Tsukishima?” His voice sounded thick with arousal even to his own ears – no doubt Tsukishima could hear it himself. As he suspected, Tsukishima raised an eyebrow and let his eyes settle on the growing bulge at the front of Koito’s trousers. He smiled devilishly, peering back upwards to meet his younger companion’s gaze, and Koito felt his face heat in response.

“I’m allergic to dust, Second Lieutenant. Apologies for the interruption.” As he spoke, his index finger sawed back and forth under his ever-pinkening nose, his eyes never leaving their intense mutual stare.

Koito swallowed, head swimming with sudden overstimulation. He had been obsessed with sneezing for as long as he could remember, and brought himself to orgasm thinking about it more often than he would care to admit. He really didn’t discriminate between men and women when it came to a good sneeze, and he would simultaneously long for and dread spring so that he might be driven mad listening to as much sneezing as he could take. He was lucky that there were several men he worked with amongst the 7th Division that had the most wretched hayfever, especially lucky that some of them had very pleasing sneezes. He was conflicted sometimes by this peculiar interest – particularly when it came to the likes of Usami, a man that absolutely repulsed him but had the most toe-curling, desperate sneezes Koito had ever heard. It didn’t help that he unabashedly relished in the release, which filled Koito with an overpowering combination of disgust and desire. He supposed he wasn’t too conflicted when on warm spring nights he coaxed himself to trembling orgasms replaying the sound and sight of that vile man over and over in his mind.

So Koito was accustomed to hearing many of his fellow soldiers suffering through the cherry blossoms blooming, and couldn’t particularly say that he was deprived of the pleasure his secret enjoyment brought him. But, to his immense disappointment, he had never heard Sergeant Tsukishima sneeze. Not once. Not when they had just been colleagues introduced to each other by Tsurumi, not when they had suddenly and abruptly become lovers, and never since. Koito had even initiated sex up against a cherry tree just in the hope that the air heavy with that tickly substance would coax a few sneezes out of the quiet man, but with no such luck.

(Incidentally, it had made Koito himself sneeze several times, which to his pleasure Tsukishima had blessed politely even as he panted and moaned under Koito’s ministrations).

He had all but given up hope that the Sergeant would EVER sneeze in his presence, and sometimes wondered to himself if the man’s small, stubbed nose was even capable of such a thing. Ridiculous, of course, but he had never so much as seen the man sniffle. He felt guilty about wishing Tsukishima to come down with a cold, but he could see no other way that he could finally see that which almost kept him up at night in feverish longing. To his chagrin, Tsukishima’s immune system appeared as sturdy and stalwart as the rest of his short, muscular self, and he was yet to catch a cold in their time together.

And so, Koito had buried his disappointment and jumped headfirst into enjoying Tsukishima in every other way. Their sex, when they were able to find time and privacy to engage in it, was so entirely satisfying in itself that he no longer entertained the thought of Tsukishima sneezing for him. It simply never happened, and so he had never brought up his interest to the Sergeant. It was totally and utterly okay that he go without.

Or so he had thought. Until this present moment, when the room’s temperature seemed to skyrocket as he watched Tsukishima gear up for another delicious paroxysm, all the while fighting to keep their eye contact unbroken. It quickly became too much for the allergic man, and his eyes squeezed shut under the pressure of another stifled sneeze.

“nnngxt!!”

It overpowered him entirely, his shoulders curling forward and his finger pressed up against those wildly flaring nostrils. He stubbornly clamped his mouth shut and swallowed down the sound as much as he could – which seemed to Koito to be almost hardly at all. The shorter man let out a shaky exhale and blinked owlishly as he recovered. Biting down on this most recent sneeze seemed to have sapped him of all of his energy, and he appeared to wilt slightly. Koito could only imagine how powerful the sneeze would have been if it hadn’t so forcefully been stifled into submission.

Regarding his lover’s charmingly pink nose and utter exhaustion under the power of his sneezes that seemed to belong to a man twice his size, Koito felt his previously quashed desires overwhelm him. Fuck it. He HAD to have more, and he had to embrace Tsukishima right now.

Stumbling to his feet with less grace than he would have liked, Koito strode towards the door, feeling Tsukishima’s gaze follow him across the room. Securing the lock with a resounding click of confirmation, he made his way over to kneel beside his lover, who was otherwise preoccupied with rubbing his itchy nose an even deeper shade of pink and blinking back allergic tears. Shaking with anxious excitement, he wrapped his arms around the Sergeant in an all-encompassing hug – finally allowing himself to relax when he felt the small man twist in his arms and return his embrace, resting his forehead against the younger’s broad shoulder.

“Damned dust is really getting to me. I’ll need to have a word with the men about neglecting their cleaning duties.” He all but sighs into Koito’s frame, eliciting a tiny shiver from him as he rubbed his irritated nose against the fabric of his jacket.

“You poor thing.” Koito crooned against the side of his buzz cut. “I suppose I’ll have to look after you.” He licked the shell of Tsukishima’s ear, returning the shiver of pleasure inflicted upon him.

He would have been surprised by the sudden lurch of Tsukishima pushing him onto his back as the shorter man captured his lips in a kiss, had he not become well accustomed with the voracious appetite for sex that simmered under the Sergeant’s somewhat stony composure. It was Tsukishima who had been the first to approach him and push him up against the wall of an empty corridor and make Koito come with his name on his lips. He had gone along with him so readily and with such ease that it had felt natural that he should take Tsukishima’s cock into his mouth the next day behind the Izakaya, as the other men filtered drunkenly back to their quarters.

He returned the kiss passionately, feeling his cock jump in his pants as Tsukishima’s own erection pushed against him, even moreso when he felt the congestion from his companion’s stuffy nose begin to run out onto his cheek. He pulled back from the kiss to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a pristine white handkerchief. He held it up for the other man but was met with a blank stare. It seemed he had no intention of cleaning himself up. The younger man scoffed, before reaching up with a handkerchief-clad hand to gently wipe away the pooling mess himself, his heart skipping a beat as the Sergeant rubbed the small appendage into his palm and sniffled slightly.

With a final swipe under those pink nostrils, Koito replaced the kerchief in his pocket and pulled himself up on his elbows, scanning the room for a more comfortable location to continue. He could feel pages of overturned paper stacks crinkling under him, and as much as he would love to desecrate the boring, antiquated documents, it wouldn’t make for the most enjoyable fuck. His eyes locked onto a chaise longue set beside a distant bookcase, and he pulled himself and Tsukishima to their feet, pacing frantically over to the lone piece of furniture. He reached out to touch the dull, ancient looking fabric, and to his utter delight saw a sudden cloud of dust particles shimmering in the air. Yes, this would do nicely.

He settled himself against the cushions and encouraged the shorter man to straddle his lap. It wasn’t long before both men had rid themselves of their jackets and shirts and were working their way down to their trousers. The movement, however, had caused more and more dust to be disturbed, and as it settled around them in small clouds, Tsukishima’s eyes grew watery and red-rimmed, his nostrils flaring wide in anticipation. Paralysed by the mounting sensation of the building tickle, he could do nothing more than gasp gently and wait in agonising limbo for those inhales to usher in the sneeze to come. Koito took in the sight of the helpless man hovering above him and just about growled, working his hands into Tsukishima’s trousers and pulling his stiff cock out of his fundoshi. The shorter man’s gasps reached their peak with a sharp inhale, and-

“ih-nggxt! Nggxt!! HEH-NGGXT!!”

Koito watched through unblinking eyes as his lover trembled above him, impressed that he had managed to hold back his sneezes without the help of his finger, instead curling forward with his hands on Koito’s shoulders and biting down with sheer willpower alone. Watching the Sergeant’s expression twist into a mask of ticklish desperation was painfully arousing, leaving Koito almost panting. Those must have ticked unbearably.

He lunged upwards and sucked along the exposed column of the older man’s neck, humming in appreciation as he took in the reciprocating gasp his ministrations earned him. Emboldened, he decided he would at last in words let the other man know just how much he was enjoying his allergies. Tsukishima wasn’t a fool – Koito was sure he had known the second he caught him staring him down with a tent in his pants all but 10 minutes ago, but it would be better to establish out loud his proclivity for what he hoped would be many more indulgences to come.

“You know, Tsukishima, in all the time I’ve known you, this is the first time I’ve heard you sneeze?” He kissed a trail from the shorter man’s neck up and over his strong jaw.

“Mm. You liked it, did you?” Koito continued kissing along the Sergeant’s cheek, feeling the skin shift under his lips at the smile forming on Tsukishima’s own.

“Very, very much.” He guided one of Tsukishima’s hands from his shoulder to his throbbing erection. “This much, in fact.”

Tsukishima began to squeeze and pull at him almost immediately, a stuttering moan catching in Koito’s throat at the attention. Tsukishima was just so fucking good, good at everything, knew just how to get him off. Letting his eyes roll back into his head, he honestly couldn’t imagine heaven could be sweeter.

“HEH-NGGXT-shooh!”

The sudden sneeze had him bucking uncontrollably in Tsukishima’s grip, which had tightened almost painfully in tandem with contraction. This time, the Sergeant hadn’t been able to maintain control, and a small burst of spray had showered Koito’s chest in a fittish explosion. The younger man’s eyes flew open and he moaned anew. His lover had the audacity to snicker at him, and finally pulled Koito’s cock free from his trousers and fundoshi.

“Sorry about that.” Tsukishima continued pumping his cock, evidently not sorry in the slightest.

Fairly embarrassed by his own responsivity, Koito occupied himself in ridding them both of their remaining clothes before pushing Tsukishima down against the dusty cushions, taking over his position above him.  He reached down and gently grasped the shorter man by the chin, coaxing him to look up at him. Tsukishima merely grinned and settled his left hand on Koito’s muscular thigh, returning his right hand to the task of teasingly massaging Koito’s length.

“Mm….bless you many times over.” Koito murmured. “But surely…you’d feel much better if you let them out?”

“Hm? I’m not quite sure what you mean, Second Lieutenant Koito.” Tsukishima feigned innocence, not once faltering in his pulling at Koito with deep, long strokes. The sensation of that strong grip on his sensitive cock was maddening, and  it took all of Koito’s willpower to hold back from coming right then and there.

“Y-you know – hah! – exactly what I mean, Sergeant Tsukishima.” With that said, Koito batted at the cushion right next to the shorter man’s face, uprooting even more dust in a small grey puff of particles. Tsukishima must have gotten a fair face full of it as he coughed suddenly. Koito almost panicked but was relieved to see that after a few gentle coughs, Tsukishima’s nostrils flared wide and his mouth dropped open in a preparatory grimace. He lifted the hand that was occupying Koito’s thigh to his face, fully intending to push his extended index finger against his itchy appendage, but Koito would have none of it. He quickly grasped his arm by the wrist and lowered it back to his thigh.

“No, Tsukishima. You mustn’t suppress them like that.” Tsukishima gasped in response, tongue pushing down against the bottom row of his teeth as all remaining ability to hold the sneeze back vanished in an instant. His chest expanded as his lungs filled to capacity with a shaking inhale, and –

“HEH-EIIIISHHHHHHhhoooh!”

Koito gasped with a heady combination of shock and arousal as the sneeze hit him full force against his face and neck, forcing his eyes to reflexively shut momentarily. It was an intense sensation, that rush of air and the accompanying spray; the feeling of Tsukishima clenching and bucking forward and upwards between his thighs. But more than anything, he couldn’t believe how loud the sneeze had been, practically echoing in his ears. It was a desperate, vocally rich sound that betrayed just how irritated Tsukishima’s nose had become, how much his body urgently wanted to rid him of the tickle of all that pesky dust taking residence in the depth of his twitching sinuses. And god, it was so wet. In all, it was everything Koito could have asked for. His cock jumped in Tsukishima’s grasp, dripping precum down his fist.

He was so close to coming now – Tsukishima’s unrelenting attention had made sure of that - and he only needed a few more sneezes to send him over the edge of what he was sure would be an earth-shattering orgasm.

“Ohh, fuck…Bless you, Tsukishima!” Koito sighed, reaching up to wipe at some of the mess Tsukishima’s most impressive sneeze had left on his love’s top lip. He didn’t stop there, instead worrying at the edge of the Sergeant’s pinkened right nostril and watching in delight as it twitched and flared uncontrollably. He gripped the side of the chaise longue firmly with his left hand, feeling his thighs begin to twitch as the man beneath him jerked him at an increasing speed, all the while building to another ticklish explosion.

“Ahh, S-sehhcond Lieutenant Khh-oito, I need t-to-!“ Tsukishima gasped, his voice unsteady and rising in pitch. Koito felt himself become increasingly hotter, if that was even possible, as the older man hitched and moaned beneath him.

“Need to sneeze, Sergeant? Shall I help you hold it back? We certainly don’t want any soldiers passing by to hear you losing control of your tickly little nose and come in to investigate, now, do we?”

He knew Tsukishima would probably be mortified if such an event were to transpire in reality, but he also knew very well that the thing that made the shorter man harder than he had ever seen him before was the suggestion that they would be discovered in their sexual antics. They had once been fucking up against an office door when the very sound of passing footsteps outside the room had Tsukishima shooting feverishly against the polished surface, pulling Koito over the edge with him as he contracted rhythmically around him. That such an uptight, composed man could come so wonderfully undone at the thought of his own exhibitionistic humiliation had lit a fire in Koito to make sure he could bring his lover to that point as often as he possibly could.

As he predicted, Tsukishima’s neglected cock twitched against his stomach, and pearlescent liquid gathered at the tip. To Koito’s further pleasure, he then took in a ragged gasp and sneezed most violently, as if inviting the scenario of discovery even closer.

“HEEEEIIISHHHH’oooh!!”

Unbelievably, it was even louder than before and so, so wet as it sprayed up over Koito’s face, neck and exposed chest, even fanning down his stomach, peaking his nipples and leaving goosebumps in its wake. And it was evident that Tsukishima was gearing up for even more, chest heaving. Koito shuddered, his entire body breaking out in a sweat, and prepared himself for the rest of the fit, which came quickly and just as violently as the initial explosion.

“HEH-EEEIISHHH!! EEEEEISHHH’oooh!! Heh-HEH-EEEEEISHHH’OOOH!!!”

And with that last, monstrous explosion, thoroughly drenched and completely at his limit, Koito’s orgasm engulfed him, spreading from his throbbing penis in waves throughout his extremities, so strong at first that he silently shuddered, eyes squeezing shut and mouth agape in the throes of paralytic euphoria. He found his voice at last, whimpering Tsukishima’s name over and over as he felt the grip on his cock slowly and expertly guide him through the final tremors of his pleasure, until he felt it loosen and release him. Feeling himself twitch helplessly a few more times into the empty air, completely gratified, he opened his eyes to take in the sight beneath him.

His passion had erupted in long ropes all over Tsukishima’s torso, even up to the shorter man’s right cheek, which the man in question now swiped at with already sticky fingers and sucked off, knowing Koito was watching. His own cock lay stiff and heavy over his stomach, flushed an angry shade of red looking all the more pronounced against the smattering of Koito’s semen from base to tip. He looked incredibly pleased with himself, throbbing erection aside, glancing up at Koito with a mix of arousal and smug satisfaction.

“Why, Second Lieutenant Koito, if I’d known something as simple as my sneezing at dust was enough to ruin you so thoroughly in half the time I’m usually able to, I would have suggested we fuck on this absolute dust trap a long time ago.”

His voice was now heavily congested, and Koito felt a twinge of endearment at the pitiful nature of it. Taking a grounding breath and revelling in the afterglow that flowed through his limbs, he leaned forward and pressed their bodies together, not caring about the semen that lay sticky between their skin. He kissed Tsukishima gently until the older man had to break away to take a breath, completely unable to inhale through his stuffy nose. Koito tutted in slight concern and pulled back, bringing Tsukishima to a seated position as he knelt down on the floor in front of him. He reached over to his jacket and retrieved his handkerchief, handing it to the Sergeant, who took it without hesitation this time and relieved his sinuses with a long, crackling blow.

“Thank you for indulging me, Sergeant. Really. That was just…incredible. Are you feeling alright?” Koito rubbed his thigh tenderly. Tsukishima chuckled softly behind the dampening fabric, before suddenly gasping and muffling a sneeze from the lingering allergic tickle into the folds.

“heHH-EMMPSHH!!-ooh…Ah…I’ll feel much better once you touch me, Koito. Please. I need you.”

Koito didn’t need to be told twice. Replaying the sound of his love’s sneezes in his head over and over, he took his needy cock into his mouth and worked him for all he was worth, hardly able to come to terms with the fact that his sexual prayers had been answered by some (not so) divine god of perversion. Tsukishima was everything he never even knew he wanted or needed, and as he felt the older man finally jerk in his mouth and come all over his tongue, he let his mind run wild with all the ways he would make this momentous occasion up to him, and all the ways he would beg Tsukishima to make him come – hopefully many, many times – in the future.

[juletheghoul]

Sub Terra

So in honour of the upcoming milestone of 300 (still shocked tbh) I am posting this completely self-indulgent Dio (the one and only goth king) fic. It's short and I always keep these things open-ended because you never know. I'm dedicating this to my fellow -former-goth/emo teen @mouthymandalorian

Literally talked about how both of us would have been ALL OVER Dio as teens and because of this we are fucking kindred lol.

Dio x F!Reader

Pairing: Dio x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: Language, Smut 18+ dirty talk, Oral-female receiving (dio begging you)

-------------------------------

It wasn't the classiest of establishments, but the music was loud, and the drinks were cheap.

It was a busy night and you kept to yourself - it wasn’t hard having perfected the death glare in case anyone got too close.

You noticed a small group of girls crowding a tall lean guy across the bar. Even though the music drowned out everything around you, you could almost hear the pretentious tone he was speaking with.

Dio.

You knew him, everyone knew him. The only person living life at the ‘next level’, in his opinion of course. It’s almost annoying how attracted you are to him, tall and lean - that neck. Rings and earrings adorning his golden skin, reflecting brightly when hit with a light. Annoyingly drawing your eye to him each time.

Even with all of the black clothing, all of the accessories, the long black jacket, the circles under his eyes - you wanted him. You saw him talking to a group of eager women, looking almost bored. You could see him - taking note of each of them, deciding which one was worth his time, none of them ever were.

His dark eyes flash up to you then and he smirks, expecting you to turn away shyly like all the other girls do. His gaze was intense and it shamed you slightly to admit that it sent a bolt of arousal straight through you but you didn’t show it. You held his gaze, your face the very picture of boredom. You raise an eyebrow at him in challenge when he didn’t look away and you knew then you had him. He smiled slyly, looking back to the girls vying for his attention. You turned, giving him your back, smiling at the face he'd surely make to realize your disinterest in him.

Girls were a game to him, a hunt - he was the same to you. It all comes back around.

You felt him slide in next to you as you watched the crowd- could feel his eyes burning into you from your periphery. With you sitting on the stool - he towered over you, taking up so much space.

You ignored him - keeping your eyes focused on the crowd and your drink.

“What’s your name?” He said it directly into your ear, much closer than necessary. You told him - without turning to face him. You could feel the electricity coming off him in waves, trying to get you to look at him. You resisted - you wanted to see if he would get tired of it and leave. He didn’t.

“I’m Dio, what are you drinking? Let me get you another.” You felt him turn to get the bartender's attention.

You finally turned to him, he was swimming in his jacket and you wanted to crawl into it with him. He smelled like cigarettes and a spicy cologne, hairspray and liquor, not too strong but strangely appealing. You finished the rest of your drink in a large swallow and put your empty glass on the counter.

You could see him looking down at your cleavage, licking his lips at the gap between the dress and the lacy bra you wore. He saw you looking and it didn’t deter him. He drank what you thought was absinthe as he continued to look you up and down - you had to fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course he’d be drinking absinthe.

You kept your face neutral and let him drink his fill, not failing to notice the girls at the other end of the bar staring daggers at you.

“I don’t think your friends like me.” You looked up at him, subtly gesturing to the girls watching your conversation with an acute intensity.

“Oh they’re not my friends, they just want my attention.” His smugness would normally have turned you off, but you couldn’t help but be attracted.

“And what do you want?” You swirled your drink as you licked your lip, mirroring his earlier gesture back at him.

“I want your attention.” He leaned in and you pulled back smiling.

“Did you think I would just give it to you?” You laughed as you drank your drink in a couple of gulps, the burning in your throat grounding you. You walked away - knowing in your heart he’d follow you. He did not disappoint.

You felt him grab your hand as he caught up to you and pull you towards him, crowding you, curling his body to surround you as he spoke into your ear.

“I like the chase, and I can make it worth your while. Let me taste you.” he placed an open-mouthed kiss at your pulse point. You let him work himself up against your skin before pushing him away with a laugh.

“I’m not convinced - you gotta make me believe you really want it.” you pulled back enough to see his expression, his eyes were dark. He was enjoying this.

“Believe me, I want it - I want to make you cum on my tongue.” He made to kiss you again and you once again pulled away. You briefly looked to the girls at the bar and if looks could kill, you’d be a bloody heap on the floor.

“Why don’t you go ask one of them - I’m sure any one of them would let you do whatever you want.” you kept your hand on his chest - keeping him at bay. He looked back briefly, before turning his attention back to you.

“I’m not interested in them, I want you.” His hands were at your waist - pulling you close to him, it was so tempting to let him kiss you but you were enjoying his desperation.

“Who says I want you?” you laughed in his ear - biting it to get him really riled up. He groaned and lowered his hands to roughly grab your ass through your skirt.

“I think you do - I think you’re intrigued and curious, and I think you’re going to let me lick - what I have no doubt - is a very pretty pussy.” You let him get close but quickly grabbed his jaw - holding him a hair's breadth away from your mouth.

“It is very pretty - but it’s not for you.” You licked his lip before shoving him firmly away from you. You had a bold idea - quickly making sure no one was really paying attention you swiftly reached under your dress to pull your panties off. His eyes widened as he watched you quickly shimmy out of them. You threw them into his face and you saw him shudder.

“That’s as close as you’re going to get.” you walked away from him to head up to the mezzanine of the club you were in. He didn’t follow you right away - standing there clutching your - very noticeably wet - panties to his face. He was rapturous and it took him a couple of minutes to reign in his excitement.

You kept an eye on him as you made your way up, after a few minutes he stalked his way up the stairs two at a time to reach you. The look on his face was dangerous in its intensity. When his eyes locked on you, it was like butterflies burst in your stomach. How far were you going to push him?

As far as you could.

You looked over the balcony at the crowd dancing below. The second bar up there was closed off, leaving it empty.

He pressed himself against your back, the proof of his excitement straining against his dark jeans and the curve of your ass. His arms resting on either side of you - blocking you in.

“You can’t tell me you’re not excited- your panties are soaked, let me lick it.” He bit at your neck as you surveyed the crowd.

“Beg. Beg to lick my pussy.” You turned to look up at him, head tilted playfully although your tone was anything but. His pupils were blown wide, enjoying this way more than he’d care to admit.

“Please baby, please - let me lick it. Let me kiss your cunt. I want it so badly - look how bad I want it…” he guided your hand to press it against his cock. It took everything in you not to gasp.

“Fine, kneel.” His eyes widened and you swore you felt his cock twitch under your palm. He quickly got down onto his knees and kissed your belly through the dress.

“You want me to do it right here?” He was smiling up at you, asking the question even as he lifted your dress and brought your leg up to rest on his shoulder. You nodded, smiling.

“You said you wanted it, you even begged like a good boy. Let’s see how fast you can make me cum.” You grabbed his hair and pushed it towards your aching cunt, spreading your lips open for him with the other hand. He moaned at the sight.

His tongue was heaven.

His hands grabbed at your ass to get closer to you, sucking your clit into his mouth. You moaned at his enthusiasm, you almost hoped he wouldn’t be good at it but he was. You ran your fingers through his hair, holding him in place as you ground yourself onto his tongue.

“Oh god right there-“ you moaned, you were close already. The fact that anyone could come up was exciting you even more. You felt filthy and powerful as you looked down at him, his dark eyes locked on you.

You felt him slide a finger into you and you threw your head back with a whimper. The wet glide of his tongue, steadily sliding over- again and again. The rhythm of it driving you into a frenzy.

Your grip on his hair tightened and he moaned onto your skin, the vibration throwing you over the edge. You came with a moan, clenching around his finger. Drenching him in your arousal.

He licked you until you pulled him away from over-stimulation. His face was that of the cat who ate the canary. All smiles and bravado as you pulled your dress down.

“Was it everything you wanted?” You let out a sigh as he got back on his feet, adjusting himself in his pants.

“Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” You let him kiss you then, tasting yourself on his tongue. His hands grabbing at your ass again. You pushed him away and his eyes were unfocused, he was ravenous.

You said nothing as you dragged him out of the bar by the collar, his shirt bunched in your hand.

He followed you like a puppy and you smiled the whole time.

-----------------

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[windstormwielding]

{ ooc } Can I just say “thank you guys” for all the positive feedback I got from you all on Yumiko there-? Because seeing some of you getting smitten with her so fast got me feeling all warm and fuzzy in my inside parts.

As thanks, how about a not so teensy bit of trivia behind my creation process for her? Because guess what I am not done rambling about Kōta’s feral but doting mom. Dropping it all under the cut for length!

Goroawase! The Japanese language has an entire pun system dedicated to matching certain numbers together to create phrases, and you can find them in everything from phone numbers and advertisements to dates on the calendar. For Yumiko’s birthday, June 26 was not chosen at random, because with a minor tweak, the date itself can be read as “rotenburo-no-hi.” Translation? Open-air bath day. What was her zanpakutō’s special ability again? Steam!  

Yūgiri! The zanpakutō shares its name with a few Japanese warships down to the Kanji, but relevantly I named it after a Fire Emblem Fates character. Hailing from Hoshido, Reina is a Kinshi Knight who serves Queen Mikoto. She is a bloodthirsty warrior who’s eager to indulge in the morbid pleasures of the battlefield, but in sharp contrast to her sadistic side, she also happens to be quite the motherly sort towards her allies! Reina was her English-localized name, but in the original Japanese release? It’s Yūgiri.  

Steam! Reading Yūgiri as “Evening Mist,” I figured it would be fun if Yumiko had a zanpakutō power that leaned on the meaning, so I went hard with the steam concept since I don’t think there’s a Bleach character that works with such a power to an explicit extent? As for her ultimate attack, Jyōki Bakusatsu (蒸汽爆炸), the Chinese characters are pulled from the mythical Steam Pokémon Volcanion’s signature move “Steam Eruption” – while it works serviceably enough as Kanji, turns out Pokémon moves tend to use Katakana more over Kanji or Hiragana for their naming, in this case reading as “Steam Burst.” Who knew! I wonder if her own Pokémon team would consist of Fire and Water types...  

Sukeban! I’m quite fond of delinquent/boss girl-type characters and realized Bleach had a distinct lack of exactly that sort of archetype amidst its cast of badass ladies, and the only real “delinquent” presence in the series were all the nameless banchō bullies Ichigo put up with. From there, my brain turned to the 11th Division and its own distinct lack of ladies; aside from Yachiru Kusajishi who is too adorable for words, and Retsu/Yachiru Unohana as Division founder and first Kenpachi, it’s a bit of a sausage fest. Isn’t that the kind of squad where a delinquent girl would be a perfect fit though? So, looking at Kōtarō’s mom who raised him a dangerous place like Kusajishi and taught him how to fight with a sword, I thought “Hey, but what if...” until I settled on Yumiko’s physical appearance!  

Bleach itself! Regardless of however one may feel about some elements of the novels, I just plain love world-building (because it’s not like we’ve got much else to gush or theorize about since the series proper ended). I welcome further attempts to bring in elements from anime filler and other media into the main canon with Kubo’s seal of approval, because god damn I love me some added cohesion towards a bigger and more developed world. I’ve actually got full-on written notes with my own ideas at doing the same; including the premise of the Sealed Sword Frenzy OVA (plus elements of Spirits Are Always With You) as part of Yumiko’s own backstory, and headcanoning the OVA’s villain Baishin as a former Captain and Kenpachi, is just the tippy top of the iceberg of expanded concepts I jotted down for my own personal pleasure and use!  

Undertale! To add to the above, one of my big inspirations in creating her was Undyne the Undying, the boss fight from the game’s Genocide route, hence Yumiko’s character theme being “Battle Against a True Hero.” Just as the Determination-fuelled Undyne defied her own death to take on the murder-happy player character in order to protect the world, leading to the hardest boss battle in Undertale shy of Sans himself, I like to play out a similar battle in my head between Yumiko and Baishin after he turned into a crazed shinigami-zanpakutō fusion. She would’ve been 64th to his kill count of seated officers, but—at the cost of her own powers—she would be the one to succeed in pushing him back and forcing him to flee to the world of the living. Yumiko doesn’t just got it going on; she’s a genuine, fiercely determined badass, and a true hero... though she’s one of Kōta’s biggest heroes above all else. Sidenote, I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I listened to BAaTH on loop for the past week, from the original to remixes and covers with lyrics, just to get a proper feel for Yumiko’s past self-  

Kōtarō himself! I wanted to expand his own backstory a bit and really build on the woman who raised him, but going full ham in drawing more parallels between him and Yumiko than I initially counted on was so much fun. Similar doting and goofy personas towards those they care about! Parallels in their zanpakutō elements! Her teaching him how to fight like she used to! Wholesomeness just warms my heart so friggin’ much.

[thanksjro]

Eugenesis, Part Six Scene Five: Siren Was Wrong, Somehow

Optimus Prime greets Frenzy and Thundercracker at the door. Thundercracker, clearly and understandably confused, asks what’s going on.

Oh man, that’s my favorite Tame Impala song.

Optimus calls for Soundwave to be sent up and holy shit I can’t believe he’s still fucking alive.  

Optimus, this would be a whole lot more poignant of you if you actually knew what happened to Thundercracker. Come to think of it, how do you know what happened in 1986? You haven’t been to 1986 yet. This was your idea, how did you come up with it?

Over at Delphi, the Sharkticons are trying to break down the door, and Ratchet’s wondering just what’s taking Soundwave so long.

I dunno, Soundwave, I think killing Sharkticons with your tits out would have been a real power move on your part.

I’m not drawing Soundwave with his tits out, by the way.

(Not for free, anyhow.)

The doors burst open and Sharkticons flood in, followed by the Quintessential Flying Fucks- yes, all three of them. Looks like Sevax didn’t run after all. Which is good, because while they’re busy punching Ratchet, Fulcrum and Soundwave- dunno why they’re using their fists, but okay- someone recognizes them.

One day, Sevax. One day, I promise you we will get your lore.

Soundwave is intercepted by Optimus and pulled to safety, meeting up with Thundercracker.

Once again, lying about the future has awarded no points and is swiftly corrected by the rest of the world. You’d think Optimus would have learned from the time he screamed at Nightbeat.

Optimus has a plan, and it’s very loud. Frenzy will be firing off decibel charges, while Thundercracker pairs them off with sonic booms until- well, until. Soundwave is here to let everyone on their side know to shut off their auditory processing with the power of telepathy.

Y’know, you could have probably not have had to pull Thundercracker out of the time stream if you’d just kept Siren at Delphi. Being loud is kind of his thing. Just a thought, Optimus.

Soundwave sounds off the message, and everyone gets it. Everyone including the Quintessential Flying Fucks.

Frenzy and Thundercracker do their thing, and it’s pretty effective at shutting the enemy down.

Anyone who didn’t turn their hearing off has their head explode. It’s gross. And awesome. I guess Optimus didn’t need to really know about 1986 to know that this would work, and the whole “ultimate Autobot” thing looks like it was actually a ploy to get Thundercracker to the future anyway. That tracks. Still wish he’d thought of Siren beforehand though.

It takes over an hour for the sound to die down enough that folks can undeafen themselves without bleeding from their eyes.

This is about the time that Quantax wakes up from a noise-induced blackout.

Always with the lubricant in this novel, I swear. There are other fluids!

Quantax, who actually knows when to quit unlike some people, sees the writing on the wall and decides it’s time to leave. But where to go?  

He loads up into a ship and hightails it to the wormhole. As he leaves, the Quintessential Flying Fucks take notice, and decide to see what he’s up to.

Optimus finally boots his auditory suite up to the melodious sound of Nightbeat screaming at him through his communicator. It’s time for Optimus and Thundercracker to head back to their own time, because that wormhole ain’t sticking around for much longer. Optimus tries to take control of the situation, but Nightbeat’s not having it. Optimus and Thundercracker need to get here NOW, before they both get stuck thirty years in the future and cause time-shenanigans to happen.

And we all know that the sequel is almost always worse than the original.

Back on Aquaria, Ultra Magnus and Galvatron are a little lost.

I don’t know how they survived, but good on them.

Gang’s all back together, and they’ve even got the Matrix. Good job, guys! Death’s Head leads the rest of the team to a line of Tridents, because he’s luckily been here before and actually paid attention to what was where.

As they climb down a ladder, a warp gate pops into existence on the far side of the hangar. It’s Xenon, because we’ve only seen the first stage of his boss fight.

Siren, you are just having a day, aren’t you buddy?

Everyone else fires back at Xenon, who starts screaming that he is the alpha and the omega, and will outlive the stars as HE carries the Lifecode and therefore is immortal, even if his plan to repopulate didn’t go over so hot. He sinks back into the warp, presumably to begin brainstorming on another nefarious plot.

Or maybe not. Sucks to suck, Xenon.

Our ragtag team of giant robots load into a Trident, but not before we get some truly, deliciously, completely self-indulgent fanwank.

Oh, so tasty. This is retribution for Galvatron ripping Death’s Head’s arm off in the Fire on High! storyline in the Marvel UK comics.

Well, that’s ominous.

But enough wanking, it’s time to go. Everyone loads into a Trident and they’re off. The planet is cracking apart around them, and Ultra Magnus is trying to fly a ship he doesn’t understand with one hand. Also, his head feels funny, like it did when he came online for the first time. But I’m sure that’s nothing to be worried about. The base crumbles into ruin behind them, and God is surely destroyed now, if it wasn’t already.

I can’t believe killing god is a Roberts’ writing staple. What the fuck.

The boys escape orbit just in time, as the planet crumples under its own weight. Siren- yeah, he’s alive, don’t worry about it- notes that he doesn’t see Death’s Head’s Trident anywhere. That’s when they see the Thermopylae being eaten alive by Scraplets. It’s gruesome, about on par with what was left of First Aid when Prowl found him.

It’s been a long holiday season for Magnus, if you couldn’t tell.

You know, the last time a giant robot regrew his arm without so much as thinking about it, we found out he was a creator god. Considering we’ve already seen the death of a higher power, I’m wondering just where the hell this will be going.

Magnus, lets Siren take over with the driving, as he sinks into the backseat and fugue-states out while holding the Matrix like a security blanket. Aquaria explodes in the background, because Roberts likes to make things explode.

Jumping back in time a few minutes, we see what’s happened to Death’s Head; his Trident’s engine decided to bow out while he was still somewhere in the stratosphere. Thinking quickly, he pulled out his handy-dandy MacGuffan- a time-trigger.

You see, back when he was working for Rodimus Prime to off Galvatron, Death’s Head stole this little doohickey from Wreck-Gar, who had stolen it from Galvatron, who honestly kind of needed to have it taken away because he has a bit of a time-travel problem. All he has to do is press the button, and he’ll be safe and sound in the year of 2007.

Yeah, that didn’t really work out so hot.

[mogagarin]

Interpol (self-titled): 'Success' and 'Memory Serves'

Album: Interpol (self-titled), 2010

(bouncing back to Matador, from Capitol's Our Love to Admire release in 2007)

I'm starting with this album because I think it gets very unfairly overlooked.  As far as I can see, critics (and perhaps many fans?), listened to it way too quick, and didn't let it sink it.  Mea culpa: I was a fan who initially 'didn't get it' in the first few listens.  I think I was expecting OLTA II.  I'm pretty astounded at my past self, because now Interpol ranks up at either second equal (on a good day) or a healthy third favourite out of all their albums, and so therefore I'm out to punt for it, bigtime.

Since I'm starting with this album, there's gonna be a lot of context as I build my methodology, and get my keywords straight.  Other entries are gonna rely upon a bunch o'stuff I say here, but I'll try to cross-reference when it's helpful to illustrate a point.

'Success'

Instrumentation: there's a deceptively gentle, building start to this song.  Mind you, against gentleness is the fact that the kick drum is so subsonic, and I kid myself to think it's mimicking an irregular heartbeat (sort of fits the theme of the lyrics).  Piano notes in the left channel, and guitar notes pick out the peaks and strung-along troughs of this ECG.  Kick drum moves from gorgeously subsonic low tone (on vinyl, SO GOOD) to a more detailed high tone, the slap of the beater hitting the drum skin now defined, matching the high-tone brightness of the guitar (single notes in left channel, strum in right).  Still, there's a lot of space - Sam's in first gear, Daniel's coaxing, taking his time - everything is languid, and Paul's vocals lilt, until "good eye”: these promising words undercut by a slightly sinister confessional-style delivery.

But the song reveals its true self at the 1:09 mark – there's a subtle, urgent and restrained fury to the way the chaps start to play at from this point: a lot of great 'attack' in where the beats land, where the strums shred.  Bass and drums are particularly well locked-in to each other (an Interpol calling card), and for the most part sit on the front of the 'one' beat (first, second and fourth are up-front, but third lags behind, calling you to dance).  The momentum and attitude of the instruments isn't frenzied, but it's no longer languid, and feels on the verge of violence, threat, or despair.  The contrast between the start versus the way the song unfolds has always struck me like the feeling of walking up to the edge of a cliff - view, view, view, vista, vista, vista THREAT!

There are terrifically attractive exceptions to that front of the 'one' beat though – bass (lovely high tone, some tube growl) syncopates in the verse, and the contrast of this dancing against front of the beat draws attention to both aspects.  Same goes for some of the lead guitar – where DK is putting the plucks is nicely counterpointed against the main driving rhythm.  Interpol are so skilled at this – it means you kinda get two or more rhythms for the price of one – you have the main beat, all monumental and driving and inescapable, but underneath you have eddies that pick out a double-beat alongside the main, or syncopate against it.  I think it's my favourite quality of theirs.  Even Paul is going all Sinatra on the vocal phrasing and placement – he croons, and then leans towards a staccato delivery at times, picking up on that shudder-flutter the rest of the band flirt with.  Rhythm guitar and lead guitar interweave, both alternating between the languid note-to-note slide heard in the initial opening guitar, and the staccato that matches that initial kick drum rhythm.  Sam mostly stays on the main driving beat, but adds a gorgeous flutter on high-hats and subtle double and triple hits (almost a shuffle, but with sticks instead of brushes) on the snare.  Where he places them is terrific – contrast his restrained, almost agonized beats in the verse against the straight-ahead release of the chorus.  YUM.  I'm sure I can detect some real subtle hand-claps in the last third (pretty much maelstrom outro) section, but that might just be my imagination :D

Arrangement/structure: Interpol is an album that features a lot of really simple, don't-fuck-with-it ideas – generally the arrangement/structure is one main riff, all the way through, which develops and mutates and evolves, gets more intense, but the band have sagely decided NOT to throw in an arbitrary bridge or startlingly different chorus for the sake of change.  Feels to me as if the songs are leading, or at least the musicians are thinking with their hearts and guts, rather than thinking with their heads and over-intellectualizing it.  The Interpol album songs tend to be organic: the songs feed upon themselves and grow, and the humans stay the fuck out of the way.  Interpol do both modes well, but I prefer the "one riff run into the ground" organic approach that appears in 'Success'.  However, there is a delicate difference between verse and chorus here – just a subtle note change, but nothing as distracting as a key change.  This minor difference between the sections of the song echo the gorgeous counterpoint in beat/momentum, surge and shuffle, monoslab drive and syncopative flutter.  Ah, I love you guys.  There's also a sweet sweet attempt at a late bridge in that gorgeous waterfall guitar transition, around 3 min 5 sec (mostly left channel) - it's gorgeously transcendent, and runs the song out into a sort of negative space for me.

Lyrical content: I love the confessional tone to content/delivery of the vocals.  That initial promise of "good eye" is empty, even if meant with good intentions, and that reneged claim is backed up later with other half-truths, confessions, and appeals for help: "somebody make me say 'no, no, no'".  Paul (in interview, apparently with The Sun on September 10, 2010 - but I've been unable to track this down) talked about basing his lyrics on the topic of people "cracking up and losing the plot”, thanks to a "narcissistic impulse” (ie celebrities, believing their own hype, to the point of destroying themselves as they get more and more disengaged from reality and meaningful connection with others).

Overall context - vinyl version: holy shit the vinyl version of this will blow your speakers, if you have it over a certain volume (and well, it's Interpol, so of course you have it UP LOUD), and I can't think of a better way for speakers to go.  Great full-spectrum sound, from the crystalline trebles, through to lush mids, all the way through to those initial subsonic Sam beats in the opening.  Terrific vinyl transfer (for the whole album).

Overall context, feel/tone: a little risky to put something so dark and doomed right at the front of the album, but then again, it's fricken catchy AF - you want to dance, despite the doom.      I must admit, I almost always listen to albums on shuffle (on my beloved 160GB black iPod, all tracks 320+ bitrate!), when I'm not listening to vinyl, but whenever 'Success' comes along, it does a great job at telling me, "Hey.  I'm the first track.  Take me or leave me."  And I'm like, "OK, then.  BTW, I love you.”       Additionally, the monumental inescapable drive of the song makes me feel as though I'm in the head of someone who's spaced out, who feels stuck on one nihilistic track, a persona feeling divorced from reality.  Of course, I don't refer in any way, shape or form to Mr Paul Banks, which is why I say 'persona' – if you can't tell the difference between vocalist and the words, go read up on the literary device of a narrative persona.

'Memory Serves'

Instrumentation: This is gonna be a long, indulgent, rave of deep love :D  Bear with ...      Gorgeous textured reverb on the opening guitar (mainly right channel), play style leaning towards Dick Dale tremolo picking.  Interestingly enough, this is very slightly heralded in 'Success' - there's tremolo (in play style, not just pedal effect) guitar in the background (see 1 min 25 secs onwards, of mostly left-channel tremolo-played guitar of 'Success').  Back to 'Memory Serves': you might just be able to hear vocals panned over to the left channel - Paul picking out the notes, not pushing his voice beyond talking into singing - nicely spooky (and there are other vocal artefacts throughout this album too, pointing towards quite a "live" recording environment.  I adore how the band often decides to leave these "proofs of life" in the track, especially when it comes to pedal jack noise, or the sound of dirty pots [ie the switches and dials of a beloved pedal, as much a part of the character of sound produced as the main function of a pedal]).

But wow, when the vocals croak in - Paul's deliberately keeping his throat part-closed (vocal fry!), especially on the open vowels at the start of the bars (ie "It ... / I"), giving the impression of weariness, of a character that's given up, despite the content of the pleading that this voice gives in this song.  PB's backing vocal echoes off to the left - what is it with this album, and favouring the left?  The guitar has built up some great tension, and that is released so attractively in the vocals wearily spilling onto the track, the 60± bpm beat which lurches along.  It's hypnotic, and on the verge of tears.  Add pleading content, and you get a sexy AF tune.  I think I'm gonna conclude, after I analyse all the songs, that this album would be shaggable if it was a person :D

Beautifully resonant piano in the verse, picking out the chord notes - oh, how I'd love to hear that piano in that room: makes me wonder if they'd captured a bit of the studio room sound?  First verse has that catchy double-beat bass, almost like a waltz, locked into the double beat of the kick.  The tension is fed by a held bar (about 16 seconds - 4 x 4?), forcing you to anticipate a chorus, but guess what - VERSE.  Subverting expectations.  I've heard this song SO often (I think it's my second or third favourite song on the album, so yeah, I've thrashed it), and love the slow churn apocalyptic beauty of the climax, that I really WANT the chorus at this specific point, after the held bar.  But no, more teasing ....

The bass sheers away in the second verse; it's a little bit more spare, with less fidelity to the double beat of the kick.  It's an unusual choice - usually Interpol amp up the stakes and detail, slowly; but to move away from complexity into something minimal is odd, UNTIL you realise it's done to emphasise what's about to hit - oh yeah baby, it's gonna be a wall of sound, and you know it's coming.  How wonderfully this band build pressure, only to let the listener have release.  (Note also that Sam adds a small amount of further detail in what he's playing, up on the top half of the kit - slightly more snare hits, slightly more hi-hat taps - the converse of what Carlos is taking away with bass notes.  Cool as.)

And, of course, when this third verse comes in, it's more tense than the preceding two, and features a background swathe of a (slightly left-channel) guitar (am guessing Paul on rhythm - I bet you he does this live; must make mental note to check YewToob, and confirm/deny album-based speculation here) which rings out across its strings at the very start of these verse bars.  More is now at stake, and we listeners are told to anticipate incoming ...

Incoming!  Delicious, delicious chorus.  Sam ups the sibilance by cooking the hi-hat beat: it would be jazz, but he opts for a laboured and tortured feel, to suit the lyrics.  The resonant guitar gets more frenetic, choral, and vocal overdubs take the song into wall-of-sound land (my favourite country, I think).  The bass modulates into fifths and octaves, some simultaneously strummed/plucked, and alongside the vocal overdubs and extra guitar, there's just so much lush harmony.  But wait, it's gonna get even BETTER!  Keyboard/organ comes in at the end of the chorus, and carries on through the bridge to the next chorus ... and this is where the song has evolved to.  A good time for me to skip over to structure ...

Arrangement/structure:  There are some conscious decisions in this, such as the held bar, but it does feel to me as if the band lets the song lead them by the nose - we never go back to the verse.  It's done its job.  The song evolves into a new beast, as though the speaker has finished one set of thoughts (compromise, trying to keep a relationship going when it's already over), and finds himself stuck between special memories, and "I'll wait to find / it's over" (gorgeously effective enjambment: notice how one half of that thought is in the chorus, the second half falls in the bridge), to the relationship half-restarting: "why is it so hard to stay / a / way?"  There's a horrifically discordant guitar in the left can here, 2 min 27 secs, through for a few seconds - it's just under the lush harmonies, and Interpol never do anything out of tune.  But here it is, so effectively throwing a spanner in the works.  Doesn't matter if you don't notice it - you know something is wrong.  It's a flicker of pain.

I hate to rush this next part, as the song doesn't, but where we might expect a held bar, or a tease; the song evolves once again, at the transition from chorus to something new at 3 min 5 sec.  What happens isn't verse or chorus; it's stratospheric.  Carlos strums multiple strings, and pulls back to single notes and perhaps the odd fifth or octave, the vocals pile up into a choir of multiple choices and regrets (sorry if I'm getting purple in my prose here), and the whole tune soars again at 3 min 33 sec, the soaring really thickened by immense keyboard chords. 

This is really rather moving if you happen to be listening through headphones in public :D  Two climaxes, two releases, in one song.  Ecstasy, even if at 3 min 47 sec the band tries to corral the song back onto the ground by returning to the verse notes and structure.  4 min 2 sec is another liftoff, and this is where hints of outro start to appear (and I get morose that the song is mortal, and will end): see if you can pick up that slow arpeggio bright guitar - wholly DK in style, with his angular sparkiness - it appears just after this last liftoff, and it signals the last guitar you hear in the song; a sad, solo coda, which fades away, while PB's voice moves from a begging tone, to something resigned and uncaring, and the drum beat goes on.  Life goes on.

Lyrical content: I especially love the lines:

It would be no price to pay I only ever lie to make you smile All kinds of dust are gonna keep me satisfied But only at your place, only at your place ...

It reminds me of compromise, in a relationship, when it's already over.  Tragic and beautiful.

Thanks for bearing with me.  I'll put in more links soon, and a section that does justice to the overall album.  Next up: 'Summer Well' and 'Lights'.

Last week I was in Sydney, seeing a rocking gig, full of feels and musical expertise, and a band giving it full 100%.  Sigh :D (Note: written back in January, 2019 ... just now ported over this content from a blog, into Tumblr. While I'm swamped with wonderful writing jobs at the moment, this abandoned rave was playing on my mind ...)

[goodestboyryuji]

YOU ASKED. ((this was so fun I love this AU more than anything))

Everyone knew the biggest difference between a Slytherin and a Hufflepuff was the center of loyalty. Slytherin’s had a loyalty to self: self-preservation, personal power, and self-awareness. Hufflepuffs had a loyalty to others: selfless to a fault, kind, forgiving. Gryffindors and Slytherins hated each other the most, but it was Slytherins and Hufflepuffs that held such a personal, quiet distaste for each other, their primary ambitions so opposite. So when Akira--Prefect Slytherin--and Ryuji--rebellious Hufflepuff--form a tight friendship, no one understands what it means. They stare when the two walk down the hallways together, Ryuji’s arm slung around Akira’s shoulders. They whisper when Ryuji’s loud voice fills the library, Akira’s soft “shh” in reply. They give each other looks when Ryuji plops down at the Slytherin table or when Akira slides onto the Hufflepuff bench. It feels like betrayal. But somehow...somehow it looks easy.

When Ryuji retreats to the Hufflepuff common room, apple in his mouth, manga between his hands, sometimes his fellow Huffles corner him before he can get to his room.

“He’s only using you, you know,” they say. Ryuji frowns. “He ain’t, though,” is always his answer as he tries to shove by them. “Keep your wits about you! He’ll stab you in the back the first chance he gets!” “He wouldn’t. I trust him more than I trust halfa you guys!” Ryuji’s tone always so firm, confident, sure of itself. The Hufflepuffs give up, usually, aware that Ryuji is stubborn as hell and wouldn’t agree with them no matter how hard they tried.

And when Akira gets to his common room, pulling at the gloves he always wears, the Slytherins descend like animals on prey.

“He’s making you soft!” they scold.  “Nothing wrong with that,” Akira usually quips. “It’s manipulation! He’ll do some thing that will make you feel like you owe him!” “Oh no! Whatever can I do?!” Akira’s eyes dark with sarcasm and irritation. They part easily as he walks through, all too afraid to continue challenging him.

If anyone bothered to ask the two how, when, and why, they’d learn the truth. Ryuji would shrug, scratching at the back of his head. “He-he reminds me that it’s okay to think about myself sometimes, ya know? I don’t realize when I’m wearin’ myself thin tryin’ to help everyone out. He does, though, and he’s helping me learn how to tell people ‘no’ if I can’t do it. I’m not becoming selfish or anythin’! Nah, nothing like that. Just...ya know. Takin’ care of me like I try to take care of my friends.” Akira would chuckle lightly and take off his glasses, wiping at the lens with the sleeve of his robe. “I can get...carried away, sometimes, when it comes to competition. I know what my strengths are and I’m not afraid to use them, but Ryuji reminds me that my weaknesses can come in handy too. I don’t feel ashamed of the ways I’m not powerful with I’m with him. He’s actually helping me feel more powerful by showing me how to be vulnerable. It’s a balance you don’t often find in Slytherins.”

Then they’d both grin wildly and say something along the lines of, “But y’know, he’s still a selfish dick.” and “Of course, he’s still an overeager dork.”

**

“Close your eyes,” Yusuke instructs. Luna frowns.

“But I want to see it.”

“Afterwards,” he insists. Her frown deepens but her eyes close all the same. Yusuke flexes his wrist back and forth, pencil propped between his fingers. He rolls his neck one way, then the other, and then takes a deep breath. “You may begin,” he informs.

“It’s called a Nargle,” she starts, and reveals what little she knows: close to extinction, lived in mistletoe, definitely not something you wanted near you. Repelled by butterbeer corks. Little buggers who love to steal. As she speaks Yusuke’s pencil sketches, small, messy lines that take form the more Yusuke learns.

“And what would you imagine the Nargle to look like?” he asks. 

“Ooo! I’m so pleased you asked!” Luna responds, excited. Little, of course, little enough that you can’t see them in your room, rifling through your drawers. They have to be strong though, she realizes, if they’re apt to steal shoes and earrings and other little trinkets. And color? Well, perhaps they can camouflage? Or perhaps green, to match the mistletoe. Or no! Maybe pink! But so small you’d never see the color against the plant. Well, whatever the color, they definitely had lots of arms. They needed them to carry things with, since they were so greedy, and maybe just a few strong legs to support them. Can they fly, she wonders...yes, yes she supposes they can. They must if they expect to travel frequently.

His pencil flies faster now, concrete shapes forming on the page. A definitive arm. An eye. Another arm. He listens intently as she speaks, catching every detail, following her every line of thought. She hovers over his shoulder, eyes still shut, face peaceful as she imagines what these little beings look like. Yusuke has to admit, he is curious about them now too. He hadn’t heard of them before, and in his art studies he most liked to draw creatures, so he feels partly aghast he hadn’t heard of them and partly enthralled there is a new creature to draw. Granted, he’s aware Luna hasn’t seen one for herself, but he trusts her. The possibility of it--the discovery of it--that is what excited him.

Luna trails off and hums quietly. “Yes, I suppose that’s all,” she muses. Yusuke sketches a few final touches into the Nargle before asking Luna to open her eyes. When she does, she squeals with excitement.

“Oh yes! I must show this to my father; this is exactly what I imagined!” she throws her arms around Yusuke’s neck, “Thank you! We will publish it in the next issue of The Quibbler!” 

Yusuke’s face flushes slightly. “Thank you,” he responds sincerely, touched at how confident she is in publishing his work. Luna’s so excited she bolts out of the courtyard, nearly mowing over Akira and Harry, the two just entering the area. She holds the sketch up in their faces when she passes them.

“He’s a genius!” she shouts, “He’s discovered the Nargle!” 

Akira and Harry look over to Yusuke with intrigue, eyes questioning and eyebrows raised. Harry feels pleased Luna has found a friend in Yusuke, someone who can indulge her imagination and desire to believe in greater things, in better things. Akira is happy Yusuke has Luna, someone who can appreciate his dedication and passion, never “too weird” for someone who was considered “too weird” herself.

“It really is an incredible creature. You see...” Yusuke begins when the two get close enough.

**

“Ah! A favorite customer!”

“The favorite customer!”

“And, currently, the only!”

They say the last line together, in-sync like always. Akira looks up at them from the tops of his glasses, body bent toward a new display of prank products. He smiles slightly.

“Gentlemen,” he says, regarding them.

“‘Ello,” George says smiling, leaning on Fred’s shoulder, “What’ll it be today, boss?” 

Akira rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I haven’t decided yet, but I need something good. Something messy.” Akira thinks about the cross-house picnic Ann has planned--not the first of its kind, but enough of his friends don’t belong to the same house that it’s causing a bit of a stir amongst the other students--and smiles wickedly. Yes, something messy would do nicely. 

“Well, messy’ll be over here,” Fred instructs, waving an arm to another area of the shop. “We got Wet Weather, Whizz Poppers, Otters Fizzy Orange Juice--”

“Hold on a minute, Fred,” George says, lifting a finger into the air, “Let’s consult the books, shall we? We don’t want to sell our best customer something he’s already used!”

“Nothing worse than a joke told for the second time,” Fred agrees, turning towards Akira, “Gets stale that way, y’know.” 

Akira follows the twins dutifully through the store until they arrive at the shop’s main counter. Fred slides behind it and produces a rather large--in fact, comically large--book from underneath. When he opens it, the font is impossibly tiny.

“Akira Kurusu,” George whispers into the pages. They flip quickly before opening on what must be Akira’s shopper profile. Fred drags his fingers down the page before tutting to himself.

“It appears he’s already done most of what we sell!” 

“Well, well,” George muses, “it must be time to promote him.”

“Promote?” Akira asks. George flicks his wand in the air and produces a small, plastic card with the letters VIP printed on it. He plucks it out of the air and hands it to Akira, who takes it delicately, fearful of what it might do.

“Welcome to the WWW VVV III PPP club!” Fred says.

“So nice you gotta say it thrice!” 

Akira flips the card over. “VIP: Virtuous Intelligent Prankster” it reads, but suddenly the words shimmer over. Akira blinks twice; the card now reads “VIP: Very Into Poop.” 

When Akira looks up at them, Fred beams. “That was my touch,” he says. 

“Truth be told, joker, you’re our first VIP!” George reveals. Akira’s eyebrows raise.

“Really?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really have anything set up for it, but you’re in here almost every day so we figured we should reward you somehow.”

“And what’s my reward?” Akira asks, eyes glinting. Fred and George meet his gaze with their own mischievous look.

“Our experimental products,” Fred says, leaning forward. George nods vigorously. “Ron is good for the human trials--”

“--safety is a big concern, you know,” George interrupts.

“--but we would like to see how the public reacts before we mass produce. If a joke won’t land, we want to know before we send it out there.”

Akira can appreciate the intent behind this and pockets the card. “Sure, sounds like a fair trade off to me. Got anything in the works that’s messy?” 

Fred smiles evilly, “There is one product we were thinking of asking you to test. It’s call Food Frenzy, and it-”

“I’ll take it,” Akira cuts him off. Fred’s jaw drops a little.

“You didn’t even hear what it did.”

Akira shrugs, “Do I need to? I am buying from a Weasley after all. The name carries a certain amount of...” and Fred and George both size up instinctively, ready for the insult that never comes, “...respect,” Akira finishes. The twins’ shoulders drop slightly, exhaling. 

“By George,” Fred says, smiling pulling at his lips, “I do think I like a Slytherin.”

“I didn’t think it possible,” George says, bewildered.

**

“Yo, you think she’s the baddest bad guy we’ve seen?” Ryuji’s voice echoes down the hall.

“Uh, she got rid of Quidditch,” Futaba says, irritated. “She’s definitely the worst.”

“Not for Slytherin!” Ann counters, but Futaba rolls her eyes.

“Quidditch is no fun if you don’t have anyone to play against!”

“Hey,” Akira says, turning his friends, “When we’re the Phantom Thieves, we’re not our individual Houses, okay? We’re one team. Forget House loyalty for now.”

The team nods solemnly, then they continue down the hall. Soon they arrive at the wall they’d been looking for: the endless “Education Decrees.”

“Man, just lookin’ at these gets me pissed off,” Ryuji says, adjusting his mask as his face flares hot in anger.

“Yes,” Yusuke agrees, “To restrict students under such duress...I cannot imagine a more heartless creature.”

“We have to change her heart soon. I can’t bear being a Prefect under her...she has such terrible orders for us,” Makoto says, shuddering at the memory of the last meeting she had with Dolores Umbridge, current monster of Hogwarts.

“And we will,” insists Akira, “But we have to do this first. After this she’ll be so upset she’ll get careless and leave the key to her office out in the open. If Haru’s instincts are right--”

“I’m sure of it! A cat showed me!”

“--the treasure is located somewhere in there. Once we confirm that, we can send the calling card.”

The Thieves turn to the wall of decrees before them. They stare at it in silence for a moment, considering the consequences of what they’re about to do. Then, as if on cue, every single one breaks into a mischievous grin, eyes bright with playful passion. 

“Ready?” Ryuji asks, turning to his team, taking hold of his steel pipe and slapping into the palm of his hand. Yusuke leans forward, hand on his Katana, just as Haru heaves her axe over her shoulder. Makoto cracks her neck twice and rolls her shoulders; Ann cracks her whip. Futaba raises her arms as her Persona drops tentacles that pull her into the ship. Once inside, she flashes the bright lights on the wall. Akira snaps his gloves against his wrists. The team hears a distant meow that sounds more like a growl.

“Ready!” Futaba shouts. At once the Phantom Thieves lunge forward, knocking decree after decree onto the ground. Ryuji vaults Makoto into the air, who shatters the glass of a few decrees with her brass knuckles. Yusuke stabs them like a fork, stacking them on the length of his katana. Futaba’s ship uses a tentacle to raise Ann to the top, where her whip wraps around a frame and throws it to the ground with a crash. Haru swings wide, nearly taking off Akira’s head in the process, but makes deep contact when her axe wedges into the wall.

It’s a gleeful exchange; destruction of items for destruction of spirit. It feels almost cathartic and for a second they all wish the other students could be taking part in the mess, in the chaos. The Phantom Thieves wished they could tell their classmates that it could all be over soon, that the thieves will take care of the worst thing Hogwarts has ever seen (well, considering).

It’s over too soon, broken decrees scattered across the floor. They don’t have much time to admire their work before a Shadow shows up, so they quickly head back to the real world and split to their respective dorms. In the morning the screech can be heard down every hall, the worst alarm any student has ever heard, but the Phantom Thieves all jolt upright with a smile.

**

Harry stormed down the hall, anger like fire searing each of his nerves. Why couldn’t anyone trust him?! Why would they risk him being wrong? Did they think he didn’t hope he was wrong, that he wanted to be right?!

His scar burns with the truth he knows, his shoulders heavy with the burden that comes along with it. They could do something! Harry was confident they could try to stop him this time, maybe even succeed. But first they had to believe him.

And they didn’t.

He hears the footsteps behind him, soft soled shoes pattering against the stone ground.

“Forget it, Ron,” Harry spits, not bothering to turn around, “I don’t want to hear it.”

But Ron doesn’t respond, just keeps running after him. “I said forget it. I don’t care if you’re sorry or if something happened and now you believe me or if Hermione made you come apologize or if Dumbledore says I’m in trouble for saying it to the whole school in the middle of his speech. I don’t care. I don’t care.”

Ron’s footsteps are closer now and Harry realizes they’re decidedly less heavy than usual, less clunky like Ron tends to be. The hand falls on his shoulder before he can turn around.

“Harry,” the voice says, and with a start Harry realizes it’s Akira, Slytherin’s real Seeker, the criminal who didn’t seem anything like a criminal. His voice is calm, even. When Harry turns, his eyes are kind.

“I believe you,” he says, squeezing Harry’s shoulder lightly. Annoyance flares in Harry’s bones. He shakes Akira’s hand off and grunts.

“I don’t have time for a dumb Slytherin prank right now,” he says, “I meant what I said in there and I intend to do something about it.”

Akira huffs, equally annoyed. “Yeah, I know you did. This isn’t some Slytherin prank--Jesus, what’s with you Gryffindors and your pride? I meant what I said too: I believe you. I trust you,” he urges, now grabbing both of Harry’s shoulders and shaking him lightly. “I intend to help you, if you’ll let me.”

“H-help me?” Harry asks, green eyes staring wide into gray.

“Of course. Whatever you need, I’m there. This is something bigger than us, than all of us. Innocence is lost every second that we don’t do something,” Akira’s face twists into determination and frustration, a look Harry’s seen on many a Slytherin’s face. This, however, is not dark or wicked-looking. It just seems...passionate. 

“Besides, I’m way better at flying than you. You’re gonna need someone like me on your side,” Akira says, smirk evident on his face. Harry rolls his eyes but smiles, the white-hot anger in him cooling. Just then Harry hears footsteps he actually recognizes: Ron’s, heavy and randomly paced, Hermione’s, light and quick. There’s a third set, one he doesn’t recognize, strides long, even, but fast. When he turns his head he sees the bright yellow down the hall. Must be Akira’s Hufflepuff friend. What was his name again?

“Harry!” Hermione calls, “I’m sorry! We’re sorry! We didn’t mean to-”

“I was just startled!” interrupts Ron, “I didn’t expect you to just go up there and say it all for everyone to hear!”

“Hey!” says the Hufflepuff, “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, man? The team’s ready to go when you are!” question directed at Akira.

Akira turns to Harry and smiles wide. “I think I got something that can help us even more than magic. You ever heard of the metaverse?”

[mtwy]

People Weekly

USA May 13th 1985

Even when I was a little girl, I knew I wanted the whole world to know who I was, to love me and be affected by me. - Madonna

She’s tart but delicious, she’s campy but coy, she’s the pop world embodiment of personality-as-art. She is, of course, rock’s Madonna, that bad girl of boy dreams and bawdy snatcher of hearts. And she is now something more as well; the biggest star to hit the stage since the Boss left town for Europe and the Gloved One went home to his pets.

On her first-ever concert tour - a 28 city trek that hits Atlanta May 14th and Cleveland the 16th - the reigning queen of kitchy-coo has been drawing crowds faster than a Good Humor truck in a heat wave. After the first three shows, the demand for tickets was so intense that the tour - originally scheduled for small venues - was hastily rebooked to include some main arenas. New York’s 5,800 seat Radio City Music Hall sold out three shows within half an hour of announcing Virgin Tour ticket sales, and females from 12 to 21, wearing stretch lace, mini-skirts and Merry Widows, outnumbered men in the rush to scalpers.

What they’re calmoring to see is a woman who looks like Marilyn Monrow and dances like Elvis Presley in a spectacle as tightly choreographed as a Rockette routine. Onstage Madonna swims, frugs and jerks so energetically, she just may inspire a renaissance of those silly 60′s dances. She also writhes, wiggles, shimmies her semi-liquid assets and gleefully misbehaves. No female rocker (except perhaps Tina Turner in her Ike days) ever whipped up such an erotic frenzy.

Look deper and you find more than a hot new rock act and - though her work in the $16-million box office surprise Desperately Seeking Susan has placed her squarely in the Hollywood firmament of the moment - more than a hot new movie star.

Consider the way she deals in real life with her friend Prince, even as they are supposed to be (read: weren’t, aren’t, never considered) having an affair. When the 5′3″ marvel of Minneapolis and his unusual gang of muscle showed up in San Francisco for her recent date, Madonna (5′4″) went calling, accompanied by her bodyguard. As the elevator door opened on his floor, she declared: “Well, time to go visit the midget,” Later, she castigated him for his attitude: “He usually wants to be treated the exact opposite of the way he is dressed. His outfits say touch me, lick me, love me, lust me, but then he pretends he’s wearing a monk’s outfit. He needs to step back, look at his clothing and laugh at it. “Is this any way to talk about royalty?

For Madonna, yes, it is: This is exactly what she is about in Susan, what she represents onstage and why she seems now (with indulgance from the gods of hyperbole) the figurehead of something close to a movement. This “Boy Toy” thinks men, like all experiences, are to be seized, enjoyed, used and, when used up, forgotten. In Madonna’s world, yuppie women in suits and bow ties need not apply, though they may - as Rosanna Arquette does as Susan - press their noses at the window and consider their options. In the movie, Arquette’s bored housewife comes to envy, then emulate, Madonna’s free-form life-style. You do not have to stretch far to see in its portrait of suburban ennui a swipe at preppy-yuppie value systems. After whipping up the crowd with her hit Like a Virgin, when Madonna shouts out “Will you marry me?” and they scream back “Yes!,” there is in that call-and-response that feel of liturgy, the sense of a new faith aborning.

It is no wonder that critic Judith Crist said of Susan’s Madonna that she seems to be “dripping self-confident savvy from every pore and glitter spot.” The act, see, isn’t an act - always the best kind. Anna Levine, who plays Susan’s friend Crystal in the film, remembers that Madonna “had a very clear vision of her character, which other people didn’t always have, so they left her as Madonna.” She did her own hair and makeup and charged the role with her own chemistry: “A certain kind of attitude toward the world,” says Mark Blum, who plays Arquette’s husband in the film. “It’s all hers. Anything she wants, she gets, and I suppose there’s something there that helps young girls think, ‘I don’t have to be coy anymore. I can be like Madonna and just go out and take whatever I want.’”

It’s worked for Madonna, 26, to whom Hollywood now beckons like the world’s bigest toy chest, awaiting her pleasure. Producer Ray Stark has a film for her (”She really projects a feeling of truth and energy in her persona like the stars of the 40′s,” he says), and so does director Herb Ross, who turned her down for Loris Singer’s role in Footloose. “There is definite buzz about her,” he says now “it reminds me of what was happening to Barbra Streisand just before we did Funny Girl.” Another producer is making noises about using her in an updated Cinderella. (Very updated, evidently). At concerts her per capita sales of T-shorts and memorabilla are among the highest in rock history. “She sells more than Springsteen, the Rolling Stones or Duran Duran,” says Dell Furano, the concession merchandiser for her tour. At her San Francisco date, $20 T-shirts sold at the rate of one every six seconds. All this Madonna finds no more than she deserves. After her tour’s triumphant debut in Seattle early last month, she playfully raised a glass of bubbly and proposed a toast to “we who rule the universe.”

Cocky words from one who, just four years ago, was shopping her demo tapes to dance-club deejays. A Michigan native who had moved to New York’s tough Lower East Side, Madonna had little in the way of showboz credits then; a fleshy role in a never released underground film, a short stint as a chantuese in a band called the Breakfast Club. She plowed through boyfriends like party snacks, knocked on record company doors until her knuckles turned blue and finally found an audience for her tapes at a disco club. As her audience grew, so did her sense of confidence. “If I seem nonchalant about success,” she said, “It’s because I knew it was going to happen.”

Her boy for now is actor Sean Penn, 24. “She’s really serious about him and sees it could be a lot easier for her if she had some permanent anchor in her private life,” says a friend. Still, that doesn’t stop her from playfully leaving port on occassion. When she invited singer David Lee Roth to attend her L.A party, he asked, “Should I bring a date or will I be busy later?” Madonna’s reply: “Sure, bring a date. We can all do something.”

Such invitations, delivered graphically if less explicitly onstage, do draw a crowd. As her popularity has increased (she had her first Top Ten pop song in June), so has her phalanx of security guards. Says her bodyguard Clay Tave, who once helped protect Michael Jackson, “I can feel it happening again. Pretty soon the jogging and window-shopping - we;’re going to have to give that up.” Good luck trying to convince Madonna, whose days begin with a six-mile run, after which she goes through an aerobics workout and several laps in a pool. And she’s very much the boss of her road show - attending all sound checks and barking orders. “I can throw a fit,” she boasts. “I;m a master at it.”

Yes, assuredly, in matters large and small, Madonna will be heard. Not everyone will like the message. Laurie Metcalf, who plays Susan’s sister-in-law, has real problems with “that kind of disrespectful bad-girl image that comes across as free and exciting. I don’t know that it should be put across to kids all the time.” She probably speaks for most of the mothers of America. Madonna asks for a little slack here; she’s not endorsing vice and mayhem, she says, just putting on a show: “I know the aspect of my personality, being the vixen, the heart-braker and the incredibly provocative girl is a very marketable image. But it’s not insincere. you just can’t take it seriously.”

Tell that to the enraptured 16 year old girl who came out of Madonna’s concert in L.A last month. “Madonna’s living out our fantasies,” she said. “She’s able to do something our parents would never let us get away with. The whole slut image. It’s usually just the guys who get to do that. But don’t quote me. My mother would kill me.”