#they have the first set of rings on their horns but i think they order a second set for their actual hands

[remitro]

feeling shrimp emotions about cbee again. sorry it will happen again

[minotaurs-my-beloved]

Your first lesson in riding

Cowboy minotaur my beloved<33

TW: nothin! i just love minotaurs and this has been sittin in my drafts for like months. forgive me if the dialogue isn't the best, im not used to writing it

In an attempt to get a fresh start on life, you and a really close friend had recently moved to a new small town in the south thinking it'd be the perfect place. And after a long first day at work, you decided to go to the local bar, wanting to let loose a bit after the stress of moving and your job. 

Standing at the bar, you rest your crossed arms on the wood, ordering a drink. Keeping to yourself because, let's be honest, none of us have the confidence to ever go up to anyone, only to hear someone come up and stand next to you. Flicking your eyes over to see who it is and being graced with the sight of a big, burly, minotaur. His brown short furred body ripples with muscles still visible even through his shirt, shaggy hair slightly covering his eyes, white hat sitting on his head nuzzled between his big sharp horns. 

"Oh... oh he's fuckin' pretty" is all you can think as you stare unabashedly at the man. After a second he feels your gaze and turns slightly to face your direction, the both of you locking eyes. Blushing hard you quickly rip your gaze from him, mentally crying that you no longer get to drool over his Herculean body, a Greek tragedy indeed, but you're far too embarrassed at being caught to try again.

He huffs out a laugh though his cute cow snout at your reaction, the gold bull ring shining in the fairly dim lighting. 

"You must not be from 'roun here, haven't seen you before. Names Mason." He growls out softly, staring down at his drink, a smile on his lips. It takes you a second to understand what he said, your mind lagging like my old ass computer. Turning to him you give him your name then answer him, "I just moved here bout a week ago." You respond, downing your shot, hoping it'll give you some courage, but all it does is burn your throat. He takes a slow sip of his own drink, setting it down, and facing you, "Pretty name for a pretty girl." 

Turning around to lean your back against the wood, you tease him, laughing, "Bit generic." All while trying to ignore that, generic or not, it still made you feel a few butterflies. 

He chuckles, moving to stand in front of you, "Sorry, darlin', I don't get to flirt much with women." You raise your eyebrows slightly at that comment, clearly not believing he doesn't get attention. 

"Mhmmm'' You grin, rolling your eyes playfully. "What? M'bein' serious! I mean sure, they come up to me, but 'm rarely interested enough to actually hold a conversation." He defends, raising his hands and chuckling.  "Oh? Well lucky me, being deemed worthy of your presence," you tease. He nods, leaning over you to grab his drink and take a sip while looking down at you, jokingly humming in agreement.

The tension is thick in the air as you stare at him, lips slightly parted. Without taking the time to actually think about your next move, you raise yourself on your tiptoes, just managing to reach the brim of his hat and pull it off. Placing it on top of your own, you grin up at him. 

He takes a deep breath turning his head to the side and clicking his tongue quietly, just barely managing to contain himself at how damn good you look wearing his hat. 

"You done got me riled, sweetheart. You can't be waltzin' around wearin' a cowboy's hat like that. Gonna give folks the wrong idea."

"Mm, and why is that?"

"There's some old sayin about if you wear a cowboy's hat, you gotta go home wit' 'im. Means nothin' to me, but, everything gets exaggerated and rumors spread like a wildfire in a small town like this." He warns, but that only fuels you more, "What if I want that?" You purr in a low tone, grinning as you run the pad of your thumb on the brim of the hat.

"Fuckin' tease," He growls in response. "You really want that?"

"M'wearin' your hat, aren't I?"

He takes you by the hand, leading you outside to his truck. It's extremely stupid to get in the car with a stranger but you do it anyway, he's just too good to give up. You do send your friend a quick text explaining the situation and give her your location, so at least you weren't completely defenseless.

If anyone were to ask you what his house looks like you'd have no answer, the both of you were far too busy messily kissing to notice literally anything around you. Kicking the door shut and throwing you down on the bed, he starts to slowly undress you. All except the hat.

He spreads your thighs apart, squeezing them while kissing up and down the inner part, leaving little bite marks in his wake, teasing his tongue just around your cunt.

"Stop teasin'!" You whine, bucking your hips slightly, furrowing your brow and pouting. "Yes Ma'am," he lazily salutes, before burying his tongue deep inside your cunt, moaning into your pussy at how good you taste. The vibrations make your eyes roll back, your leg kicking slowly in pleasure. He keeps intense eye contact with you as he laps at your pussy, sloppily making out with your cunt. Flicking his tongue on your clit, he slowly pushes one of his thick fingers inside, beginning to stretch you out.

Three fingers deep, you cum all over his hands and face, your thighs shaking as you pull his hair harshly and scream his name. That only encourages him to go faster, sucking on your clit til you push his head away.

He gives you a cocky grin, licking his fingers clean and giving you one more kiss on your thigh. Tapping your ass twice, he pants, "C'mon, baby, wear the hat, ride the cowboy. Up." Still shaking slightly, you get on you knees, throwing your leg over his body to straddle him.

Groaning as you grind down on him, his fingers press into your skin, leaving little indents on your hips. You lift off of him for a moment to pop the tip in before slowly sinking down on his massive cock, whimpering at the stretch. Stopping half way to catch your breath, he rubs little circles on your skin to soothe you, "You're doin' such a damn good job, darlin', real proud of yah."

He continues to praise you as you begin to take the rest of him. Cautiously, you begin to ride his cock, moaning as he hits every single spot deep inside you. "M-mason! Fuck, so deep!" You rest both of your hands on his chest, using them to help you bounce up and down, whining each time his dick slams deeper into you, tears already beginning to form in the corners of your eyes.

He groans, throwing his head back and slapping your ass, moaning out more praise, loving to watch you keen at his words. After a while he notices your thighs trembling and starts helping you lift your hips. "G-gonna cum!" You choke out, he grabs your face, forcing you to look down into his eyes.

"Don't you dare look away." Mason growls, your body forces you to listen, trying your hardest not to let your eyes roll back as you clamp down on your cock, milking him for all he's worth. He holds your hips still as he rams up into you, filling you up with his hot cum.

You collapse onto the bed, the both of you sweaty and panting, Mason reaches over, hooking his arm over your waist and pulling you into his chest, putting his head atop your own.

You're never giving this man up.

[noneorother]

The secret timeline inside of Good Omens season 2 revealed, *part1*

Part 1 l Part 2

If you’ve ever watched a ballet or an opera, you know how the rhythm in the music is used throughout to determine not only the movements of the dancers, but also when lines are sung or spoken. This is almost unheard of in television, but what if I told you it was hidden in season 2 of Good Omens? If one were to, say, meticulously cut together only the scenes set in the present day into one big timeline, you would get one long video that is exactly 2 hours 22 minutes 00 seconds and 00 frames long. An ineffable cut that is so perfect it defies all logic. (I’ve burnt a timecode into this ineffable edit to help pick up the rhythm.)

Even though there are large swathes of the second season with no music, there is a constant tempo weaving its way through the show: What if the seconds ticking by in the runtime itself was the music? Here’s an example of what I found. Behold a supercut of every single time Shax shows up, or Hell is mentioned in series 2 in the ineffable edit. They always arrive on a 6 in the time stamp (ex: 00:XX:X6).

(SOUND ON is an absolute must here, otherwise you won't hear any of the triggers)

Shax rings Crowley on a XX:X6. Shax miracles herself into the car on a XX:X6. Shax knocks on windows on a XX:X6. Shax’s big scary moment at the bookshop happens at 66 minutes exactly (lol). Crowley calls out for Shax on a XX:X6. Beelzebub starts spewing flies on a 6. People mention hell and it’s always on XX:X6 etc. etc…(Bonus: I also left in Maggie flipping the damned the double-bird on a XX:X6) I’ve also left in the only appearance of Shax or hell at all in the whole series that isn’t tied to a six: the park bench scene with Crowley. Shax seems to be off by one line, showing up on a XX:10, then back to XX:X6 on her second reply: “Bills, mostly”. I can only theorise that this scene, while technically in season 2, is not supposed to *be* in season 2 (even just judging by the trees, sun and the overcoats, it’s not summer like in the rest of the season). And it’s not only sixes! Every time I go through I find more and more little beats that line up exactly with ineffable timings. I can only do one video per post, so I’ll have to cut it up into sections, but Gabriel, doors, car horns, bird calls, Aziraphale, food, drinks, Angels, dialogue, Maggie, Nina, jokes, clocks, bells… The list goes on and on. 

Neil called this season “The bridge”

Because we all know how much Neil loves double meanings and wordplay, I just have to ponder the idea that when Neil said this season was “the bridge” between seasons 1 and 3, he meant it double-literally. First, as in the bridge Aziraphale and Crowley have to cross in order to get them into position for the second coming. We even see the physical manifestation of this bridge leading everyone in the background of the opening credits. But this season is also a bridge in the sense that it’s a musical section that introduces new ideas or material in the middle of a song. This whole season is the music that deviates from the familiar, and re-contextualizes the chorus and the verses so we can appreciate them in a new way. 

Let’s not forget that 2:22 is also exactly the same timing as this (and only this) track from the good omens s2 album (read all about the soundtrack here):

Why is this so bonkers? I think GOS2 might be the first ever “Total” series of television.

Having everything in the series timed and choreographed would actually make it a very faithful adaptation of the Powell & Pressburger film The Tales of Hoffmann (read about the movie and it’s effect on all of s2 here). If you watch the tales of Hoffman, you will realize that the entire film is actually done more like animation, with the music and vocals all performed in a studio, mixed and edited first, and then the actors came back to act out their choreographed and lip-synched parts for the cameras afterwards. The result is "Total film": a movie that feels more like a ballet, with every movement, action, and line happening in time with the music. As far as I can tell, very few films have ever attempted this, with The Tales of Hoffmann and Playtime being the only two “complete” films I could find in this style. (The Red shoes has one section, and An American In Paris has a few)

“Why would ambitious filmmakers simply film an opera? Many admirers of the work of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger have assumed that their decision to make The Tales of Hoffmann (…) was in some way an admission(…) that they couldn’t go on making their edgy, over-the-top melodramas after the rejection and interference they’d suffered, (but) there’s a case for considering The Tales of Hoffmann as one of the finest and boldest works that Powell and Pressburger produced, so far ahead of its time as a wholly “composed” film... Late in his life, Powell himself said that he thought it was one of the best films that he and Pressburger had made.” - Criterion review, Tales of Hoffmann

Here’s a simple example from An American in Paris

If season 2 *is* scripted and choreographed to line up with specific timings, I’m pretty sure that would make this the first ever “total” or “composed” season of television ever attempted. Not only does this take an ASTOUNDING amount of planning, scripting and editing finesse, not to mention a completely controlled set, it takes a real understanding of how to perform as an actor using rhythm and metre, which would go a long way to explain why all of the main actors coming back for season 2, with the exception of John Hamm, are well regarded theatre performers, (especially of Shakespeare).

I’ll leave you with one last surprise I found in the discovery of the ineffable edit: remember Aziraphale’s smile at the very end if the credits? It happens on 02:23:03, as the first step off the bridge, and into season 3.

I will have much more in the next ineffable timeline post. Stay tuned…

__________________________________________

Thanks for reading all the way to the end. It’s taken me a solid month to get this perfect. There are so many hidden cuts and jumps to take into account, and I had a frame rate issue that kept exporting to 29fps instead of 25fps, but I’ve finally nailed the ineffable timeline enough that I am confident sharing in it.

Credits to @thebluestgreen and @embracing-the-ineffable for all the support and help with editing and just general good vibes. 

[tkaulitzlvr]

heyyyyy!! just wanted to start by saying i legit love ur writing so much ur one of my fav TH authors and i legit love seeing and reading ur stories. THEY R SO DAMN GOOD :)

anyways here the request if ur comfy lol IVE HAD THIS IDEA FOR SO LONG AND I NEED SOMEONE TO DO IT PLS QUEEN

soooo basically like 2017 soft dom tom and like we r in a car driving and like reader is rlly horny and hes teasing her LIKE CRAZYYYYY and resting his hand on her thigh and stuff and whispering dirty stuff to her giving her small neck kisses and pecks and like other teasing stuff (LOL IDK WHATEVER U WANT JUST SHIT TONE OF TEASING) and then when they get home he completely ignores reader and acts like it never happened and just acts normal and goes to watch tv on couch but then reader gets RLLY CLINGY and comes over and THEN STARTS TEASING TOM ON COUCH and like reader whispers stuff to him and neck kisses and the tom gets rlly nervous and then he gives up and like eats her out till shes BEGGING HIM TO STOP (so like some overstim) and then they fuck and yeah just smut smut smut. and tom and reader with praise kink and lots of dirty talk pretty pls. <3

HAH SORRY THAT WAS KINDA LONG AND DETAILED BUT YEAH ITS LEGIT MY DREAM STORY. pls only write if ur comfortable but yeah u can add whatever u want that would fit with the story and YEAH PLS MAKE IT GOOD!!! (u will ur amazing) yeah thankyouuuuuuuuu <3 :)

DESPERATE - T. KAULITZ

synopsis: you can’t contain yourself, basically throwing yourself at tom. he knows it, but wants to make you wait as long as he can, and it drives you crazy. but, he makes you realise that you should be careful what you wish for.

content: smut

a/n: thank u so much anon i’m glad u love my work, and i hope this lives up to ur expectations. also never written for older tom before so thanks for being my first req to write him🙏

he saw the glances i sent his way, the way my legs squeezed together, palms becoming a little sweaty. he noticed my breathing becoming a little erratic, teeth sinking into my bottom lip, feet tapping impatiently against the floor. he knew exactly what i wanted. but, even when i leaned over, running my hands across his inner thighs, closer and closer to his clothed dick, he kept his eyes on the road, knowing that he was driving me crazy, and he liked it.

“thinking of ordering pizza for dinner. you down?” he asks, completely ignoring my hands which are now directly over his crotch, and my eyes on him, filled with desire. he knows exactly what is doing, the slight smirk tugging on his lips telling me that, and i know that he won’t give up his little game yet. i am in for a long night, my eyes set on feeling him inside of me, willing to do literally anything to get that satisfaction, completely aware that he isn’t going to make it easy for me.

but, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to tease me either.

“mmm, i’d rather have you instead.” i mutter, knowing that he heard me.

we stop at a red light and he turns to me, his eyes dark, a familiar look of lust present within them. that same smirk is still on his face as he slowly leans over, planting a slow kiss just below my ear, his breath tickling the skin as he whispers into it. “who says you can’t have both?”

my eyes widen, the heat between my thighs only increasing, his words quickly causing me to become flustered, my cheeks flushing a light shade of crimson. he sees this, a small laugh escaping his lips as he plants soft kisses at my neck, the warmth of his touch contrasting with the harsh metal of his lip ring as it dances around the skin of my neck, my head tilting to the side to give him better access. his actions are abruptly cut off by the sound of a horn behind us, tom’s head shooting upwards, the traffic lights already having turned green.

he quickly adjusts himself, flashing me a quick wink before pulling his head out of my neck and beginning to drive away. my eyes focus on his hand on the gearstick, the way his veins flex, fingers tightly holding onto it, wanting nothing more for them to be moving inside of me. as if he had read my mind, he removes his hand, placing it onto my thigh, letting it travel further upwards, moving closer and closer to the place i need him most, his head still facing the road as he looks blankly at it as if he isn’t teasing me to the point that i could scream.

he moves his hand flat against me, and my body jerks in shock, his fingers slowly rubbing my clothed clit, he sees the reaction he gets out of me by doing this, smiling to himself before abruptly moving his hand away, returning it to its previous position on the gearstick as i whine in frustration.

“baby why’d you stop?” i sigh, placing my hand over his and trying to move it back over my heat, but he refuses, keeping it set on the gearstick.

“stop acting so impatient, liebe, or you know you won’t get anything. be good for me and maybe i’ll give you what you want, you just gotta wait till we get home, mhm?” he taunts, watching the way i quickly nod my head, smiling at my obedience, placing his hand back on my thigh, torturing me as his thumb begins slow movements over it.

so i stayed put, trying to distract myself literally however i could, the drive home seeming like hours as each second wasted time, time that could be spent with him inside of me. the teasing never stopped, tom kissing my ear, neck, collarbone, cheek, anywhere his lips could access whenever we stopped at a red light, promising that he’d give me what i so desperately needed once we got home. so i held on, restricting myself, his words keeping me going, acting as motivation as the reward of holding back was completely worth it.

a sigh of relief escapes my parted lips once he turns onto our driveway, my hands scrambling to undo the seatbelt, literally unable to contain myself at this point. tom however, takes his time, not stepping out of the car until i have reached the front door, unable to get in as he pulls the key from his pocket, slowly unlocking the door. i expect him to move onto me the second we walk in, pushing me against the wall, attacking me with kisses, showing me that he meant his promise, but he does the opposite.

he slowly kicks his shoes off, walking into the kitchen as i stand there, pissed off and feeling completely let down. i join him in the kitchen as he stands on his phone, leaning against the counter, a smile forming on his lips once he sees me walk in.

“what pizza do you want babe? i’m feeling like pepperoni.” he utters those words so nonchalantly, as if the things he had said to me, the way he had touched me in the car were all figments of my imagination. i mumble a small ‘get me anything, i don’t care’, before trudging to the living room, sexually frustrated, completely done with his teasing.

he joins me soon after, patting my thigh gently as he sits beside me, grabbing the remote and scrolling through the channels as if i wasn’t sat next to him, bored and desperate. i had reached my breaking point.

“tom…” i trail off, leaning towards him, my lips pressing open-mouthed kisses against his neck, taking note of the way his breathing begins to quicken, knowing that i am slowly getting to him. but he doesn’t show it yet, his expression still blank, eyes still set on the tv in front of him.

“baby…” i mutter against his skin, my hand reaching for his crotch, palming him as a low groan emits from his now parted lips. he shuffles in his seat a little, adjusting himself and clearing his throat. still nothing. i reach underneath his t-shirt, my fingers tracing his abs, feeling every muscle, lips still attached to his neck. he doesn’t give in, keeping me waiting, which only frustrates him even more, but i can feel him slowly giving in, only motivating me more.

“please, i promise i’ll be good…” i slowly say, looking upwards at him before climbing onto his lap, straddling him as he has no choice but to look into my eyes. “i’ll be so good…”

i repeat my words, dipping my head so that it is underneath his chin, kissing his neck once again, sucking gently on the skin as i try to leave marks. but i am not finished yet. i slowly begin to grind against his clothed dick, moving back and forth at a teasingly slow pace. it doesn’t take long for his hands to grip at my hips, completely stopping my movements. bingo.

“so fucking impatient.” he mumbles, switching us around in one swift motion as he lays me on the couch, moving on top of me and messily colliding his lips with mine. “couldn’t wait at all could you, hm?”

i say nothing, too busy focusing on the way his lips move against mine. he clearly isn’t wasting anytime as i feel his hands move to my leggings, hooking his fingers around the hem, tugging them and my panties down, raking them down my legs and throwing them carelessly onto the floor. my own hands scramble for his t-shirt, taking it off of him and letting it find the pile of clothes on the floor, my own t-shirt and his pants following, only his boxers between us.

he reconnects our lips as a quiet ‘please’ escapes from my mouth, wanting more than just a kiss, having waited all night for this.

“please what? you know you have to use your words schatz.” he teases, his forehead against mine, waiting for me to speak.

“need you to touch me.” i whine, my hands finding his neck as i play with the loose strands of hair, watching the way he nods his head, seeming satisfied with my answer.

he crawls downwards, kissing each part of my body as he does so, nipping gently at the skin, enjoying the way my breathing is fast and heavy, low whines escaping my mouth. he reaches my inner thighs, still planting small kisses, one hand on each leg as he forces them both apart, letting his head rest in-between them, stopping his motions and looking upwards at me, his eyes meeting mine.

“you sure?” he asks, knowing full well what my answer is, using his breath to ask such a pointless question, knowing that it will only get me more riled up.

“yes tom just- fuck! touch me, ple-.” i sigh out, my pleading soon cut off when i feel his tongue delve into me, my mouth forming an ‘o’ shape as i my hands find their way into his hair, pushing him further into me.

“oh my god!” i cry, feeling his tongue hit all the right spots inside of me, knowing that it won’t take long for the familiar knot to form in my stomach, his teasing meaning that the smallest of touches had the biggest effect on me. he groans against me, the bass in his throat sending a vibration through me, yet another moan spilling from my lips, his name never being said this many times before.

his pointer finger finds its way to my clit, rubbing slow circles whilst his tongue continues to drill inside of me, my release building up inside of me.

“getting close. don’t stop, oh my god please don’t stop!” i beg, my hands lost within the thick strands of brunette hair, the previous tidy bun messy thanks to me, but he didn’t seem to mind, only focused on feeling me get to my end.

his tongue touches my g-spot, a high pitch moan unlike no other i had uttered coming from the back of my throat. he picks up on this, directly hitting that spot over and over, my vision clouding, eyes rolling to the back of my head, way too lost in pleasure to process the fact that the knot in my stomach had released, tom swallowing all of my juices. i expect him to stop, my chest heaving up and down, coming down from my high, every part of me sensitive, but he keeps going at a fast pace - if not quicker than before.

“too much! can’t take it.” i breathe out, my thighs squeezing against his head, careful not to apply too much pressure, but he only smiles against me, completely ignoring my pleas.

“you wanted me to touch you.” he mutters into me, replacing his mouth with his fingers so he can speak more clearly. “so that’s what i’m gonna do schatz.”

and he sticks to his words, his tongue moving back inside me, the overstimulation quickly taking over, my entire body jolting when he hits the sensitive spots inside of me, unable to take the pleasure.

“please…i can’t…too much…”

my words are incoherent, not able to form full sentences as i feel another release building up.

“not stopping until you say the word baby.” he mumbles against me, referring to our safe word that i have only had to use once. he knows that i won’t say it, secretly enjoying the pleasure despite the pain that comes with it, taking all of it in. “you can give me one more, doing so well.”

i take in every single word of praise he gives me, using it to work through the pain, focusing on the pleasure, using it to guide me to my release, my eyes squeezing shut, head falling backwards as it takes over, my back arching off of the couch, this one much more powerful than the last. he swallows everything, planting a few kisses on my lips as i wince, completely spent. my body lays limp on the couch, his moving upwards so that he is hovering above me. he kisses me softly, his thumb reaching upwards and wiping a few tears that i hadn’t even realised had fallen.

he sits up, taking his boxers off, stopping them at his knees, not even bothering to fully remove him. he lifts my body, sitting me on top of him so i am straddling him.

“you did so well baby. you think you can handle just one more, for me?” he asks, running his hands up and down my hips, watching as i tiredly nod my head, a small smile spreading across his face.

i position myself onto him, slowly sliding downwards as he fills me up.

“fuckkkk.” he drags out, his head falling backwards and resting on the top of the couch, his hands tightly holding my hips, fingers digging into the flesh.

i stop about halfway, feeling completely full, not sure how i will be able to take all of him. he sees that i am struggling, kissing my cheeks gently , moving down to my collarbone.

“you feel so good baby, keep going, you’re almost there. shit- so fucking good.”

low groans escape his mouth as i nod my head, continuing to sink onto him until i am fully sat on him, my mouth dropping open, wincing a little at the pain, his fingers nothing compared to the size of him. i place my hands on his chest, trying to steady myself as i begin bouncing up and down, tom moaning loudly, his hands never leaving my hips, watching me move on him.

“so fucking tight, oh my god…” he sighs out, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut as i speed up my movements, whining as he hits a totally new angle, never feeling so good, so full before.

his forehead glistens with sweat, muscles flexing every time he squeezes my hips, his fingers leaving marks into my skin, but i don’t complain, the feeling only increasing my stamina. my walls clench around him unconsciously, tom groaning whenever i do it, the feeling only bringing him closer to the edge.

“just like that.” he groans, his voice deep. “yeah, shit baby- feels so good.”

after my two orgasms, it doesn’t take me long to become tired, my movements slow and sloppy. my body collapses onto his chest, frustrated as i am getting close, unable to get there myself. he notices this quickly, beginning to thrust upwards into me, loud moans echoing throughout the room as i try my best to meet his movements, rotating my hips a little, feeling him deeper inside me than i ever have before.

“i’m close. don’t stop.” i manage to say, messily colliding his lips with mine, his tongue exploring my mouth whilst his strokes remain strong and deep, hitting all the right spots.

“me too baby.” he mutters between kisses. “almost there, you’re doing so so well.”

his dick twitches inside of me as he thrusts in and out a few more times, before his cum shoots into me. his head quickly falls backwards, eyebrows furrowing, mouth falling open as a long groan falls from it, his release triggering my own as i clench around him for the last time. he thrusts a few more times, riding out our highs, our heavy breathing and skin slapping together the only thing sounding throughout the quiet room.

he kisses my lips once more, pulling apart as his forehead leans against mine, arms holding me within his embrace, skin pressed together.

“you did so good meine liebe. took me so well.” he whispers, still trying to catch his breath as i am unable to respond, totally worn out, my body weak as it rests in his for support.

his lips gently kiss my forehead, one hand running through my hair whilst the other gently strokes my back, his breathing calming down as he utters sweet nothings in my ear until i fall asleep within his embrace, completely exhausted.

requests are open! keep sending them in!!

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin | Chapter XLV | One Thing More

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: self-harm, flashbacks, referenced child death AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XLV | One Thing More First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Chronological Notes: Quirrel and Hornet have a difficult conversation. Hollow considers whether to intervene.

○

Its sister tensed.

The vessel could feel every motion she made, every shiver, every stifled flinch. She was leaning against it, tucked into the crook of its injured shoulder with its legs drawn up on her other side. Its head was craned around to rest beside her, its single hand curled near her knee: the knee that she’d injured, that she’d been favoring as she ran to meet it. It knew the look of a bad strain or a break, knew the meaning of the massing heat it could sense through her cloak. That should be seen to.

It did not move. Neither did she.

No one had ordered it to do this—to hinder her movement, to come between her and the scholar, to keep them apart by threat or by distraction—but to its shame, instinct had taken hold of it again. The last hours had worn it down until it felt like nothing more than a ball of instinct and bare nerves; it could not have said what it feared as Quirrel stepped closer, only that it could not bear to see it happen.

He had been unwise to approach her. It had felt the winding tension in her limbs, the subtle quiver in her claws. The anger in Quirrel’s voice, clenched inside his fists, had nearly matched her own.

Its options were few. It refused to hiss or bare its teeth at Quirrel again—not after he had stayed by its side, spending hours in its company as the fear slowly, slowly left it.

Still, it was a monster. A construct of blade and spell, a creature of death and the endless dark, wielding the weapons that had formed it. Metal and void, tooth and claw. It could not disarm itself, could not make itself harmless, even for him.

But for him, for what he had done for it, it had tried. It had tried the only thing it could think of—putting itself in his way, warning him back, while pleading with its gaze, its curled shoulders, the tilt of its horns.

Do not.

Do not come closer.

Do not hurt her.

And, inexplicably—

Do not let her hurt you.

Even more baffling, he had listened.

He had heard, somehow, what it did not have the voice to say.

Something was humming inside of it, some uneasy note ringing through its void. Its sister was back, its world set right at last, destroyed and then restored within hours. She was here, her back pressed warm against it, so close that it could wrap itself around her, shielding her with its own shell.

…so close that it could pin her down, with just a shift of pressure. Could keep her here. Could keep her from leaving again.

Those thoughts were traitorous. Mutinous. Such a thing should never have entered its cursed mind.

But the fear—the fear was still there. Muted, nearly silenced, though ringing loud enough to clash with the relief of her return. Enough that it did not move, though the danger had passed.

It would move, if she wished. If she asked it to. It would let Quirrel approach. Both of them had calmed now, and he had asked to tend her injury. It saw no reason to warn him away.

“It’s fine,” she said, but it could tell she did not believe that. “It’s—I’ll live.”

“I’m sure you will,” Quirrel replied, somewhat drily. “But wrapping or splinting may help with the pain and prevent it from becoming worse.”

Her hand tightened on its horn. “I heal quickly. It’s not likely to last more than a day or two.”

“And I’m sure that fact has enabled you to develop any number of bad habits.” He tilted his head, staring, intent on her. “Just because your limits are higher than others’ does not mean you should attempt to ignore them. Let me see.”

Hornet slumped further, sighing. Then she extended her leg, setting her heel gingerly on the floor and pulling the hem of her wet cloak up.

Before it could do more than glance at the injury, Quirrel’s attention returned to it. “Hollow. May I come closer?”

That was—

That was strange.

He knew that it had not been ordered to do this. That was an action it had taken on its own, an expression of will, though the tattered remnants of its knight’s oath had guided its decision. It was meant to protect the weak, and as strong as its sister was—as strong as Quirrel was, to survive both the wilds and the mindless brutality of the decaying kingdom—they were weaker than it. By design. It had been built into something stronger than anything natural.

Its ultimate purpose had failed, but it was able to do this much. It could still protect her. Protect him. Protect this fragile peace that they had forged.

Hornet had not reprimanded it. She had not taken offense at the notion that she might need or want the service of a thing so broken. She even seemed to welcome it, if the way she leaned into it and stroked its face were any indication.

And more confusing still, rather than order it to move aside, or ask its wielder to do the same, Quirrel deferred to it, about what it might decide to do. As if its will were equal to his own, its actions as valid as another’s.

Nothing had happened when it spoke to him before. When it used the signs it had been taught for one specific purpose in another way entirely. Its hand was trapped beneath it, and it could not move without leaving its sister unshielded—and she wanted it there. When she bade it answer him, that was the only option it could think of.

So it answered again. Two taps. Its claw made no noise on the blanket, but his eyes dropped to follow the motion as it spoke.

Yes.

Yes, he could approach. Yes, he could assist her—he was able to do things it could not. She was hurt, weakened, and afraid, though it did not quite understand why. And he—

He had spoken kindly to it. To her. He had attempted to help it, to keep it from deepening the wounds that still throbbed beneath the dressing. He had not run, even when it threatened him, had not left it alone. He had not gone away, though its sister had ordered him to.

Beneath the still-settling unease that swirled in its breast, it was… glad.

He nodded back at it. “Thank you.”

That, too, served no purpose. It had never been thanked for performing its duty. But this was new territory, someplace uncharted. No one had ever behaved toward it like he did. Perhaps this was simply who he was: someone who gave of himself, always, even for those who did not deserve it.

He moved carefully, as if he half-expected that he might need to run. His steps were slow, his hands slower still, as he knelt and reached out to touch its sister’s leg.

Hornet sat stiffly, one hand clenched around her cooling cup, while he examined her knee, the swelling that had pushed her plates apart, the way the skin between had darkened with gathered fluid. When he pressed his thumb beneath the joint, she hissed, and it felt a tingling rush run up its spine and into its jaw, a sudden, compelling urge to bristle, to bite.

No. It must not, must not lose control—it was dangerous, deadly, a single strike could tear off a leg or an arm, it must stay still.

It was restraining itself so tightly, all its concentration focused onto holding itself back, that it nearly twitched when she spoke. Her voice was fractured, airless, as if the words were dragged out of her unwillingly. “Quirrel, I—”

“Later,” he muttered. She stiffened even further. He glanced up, met her eye, and looked down again. “When we both mean it.”

A breath broke from her throat, heavy and strained. Anger? Or something else? What had she been about to say to him? What was it he had not wanted to hear?

Quirrel’s fingers pressed somewhere new, and the next hitch of her lungs was undoubtedly pain. Her hand squeezed its horn more tightly, seemingly unaware she was doing so, using its presence to help her endure.

Did she need a distraction? Did she need it to help her in some way? It had never had anything to hold onto, aside from the desperate curl of its claws into its own palms. It did not know what she needed, what might aid her.

It hesitated, then bumped its face against her side, fighting the instinct to press itself still. This, too, was an action it had not been ordered to take, but she rewarded it by breathing out a troubled sigh through her teeth and relaxing.

Her head eased back, bit by bit. She let go of its horn to slide her hand down between its eyes, claws moving in tiny half-circles across its cracked shell. When she flinched again, it was half-hearted, smothered by exhaustion, and the humming note of its relief grew louder, its shade nearly purring within it.

Quirrel did not say anything. His hands were moving in tiny, shifting motions that its eyes could not interpret, not this close. There was a stony quietness about him, something its mind couldn’t help but worry at, like a beast with prey between its teeth. Was the injury worse than she had thought? Was he loath to speak of it, for fear she’d be displeased?

It shifted its head again, this time to get a better view—it did not need to see, it knew that, this was information it did not need but it wanted—and Quirrel halted, turning minutely to look it in the eye.

“Nothing is broken,” he said. To it. He had noticed its interest, and… and he was answering questions it could not even ask. It had only had to look. “I think it’s a sprain, though a fairly bad one. It should heal with no complications.”

“As I said,” Hornet mumbled without looking, sounding as if she could not quite get her mouth to work correctly. “It’ll heal quick enough.”

“Yes, it will.” The scholar sighed, resuming his inspection. It could see now that he was shifting the joint slowly side to side, watching the motion while applying only the barest pressure. “If she can manage to stay off of it for a few days, that is.”

Hornet raised her head at this, looking between it and the cricket, but whatever she found there, she did not comment on it. When she spoke again, it was softer. “I can manage that.”

“Good.” He set her foot back on the ground. “From what I recall, most spiders would prefer to sacrifice the limb and induce a molt rather than suffer through the healing process.”

“If you recall, I have fewer limbs than most spiders.”

Quirrel shrugged. “True enough.” He rose, tiredly, bracing one hand on his knee. “Stay put. I’m getting the bandages.”

Hornet half-tensed, uttering the beginning of a protest, then slumped again when he disappeared into the kitchen, ignoring her entirely. He should not do that—she was of much higher rank than he—but, strangely, it found that it did not mind, not if she continued to object to having her wounds cared for. She deserved that far more than it did, and it did not know why she would deny herself this, except to prove something that did not need proving.

Quirrel returned with several rolls of linen and set about wrapping the injury, saying nothing more as he did so. Hornet watched him with heavy-lidded eyes; her head was leaned back against its side, her hand falling still every few moments as her focus slipped. It had not seen her so tired since the last time she left the house, since the last time she left it alone.

It had not been alone, not this time. It had had Quirrel. He had listened. He had helped it. He—

He had apologized. He had seen it broken, utterly, had witnessed it losing hold of every scrap of its control, and still, he had said—

Oh, my friend. I’m so sorry.

And its sister’s voice echoed the words—

I’m here. I’m so, so sorry.

For what?

For what?

They spoke as though wrong had been done to it. How was that possible? Any distress it experienced must be a result of its own hidden flaws, its own weakness that it had failed to stamp out. From the moment the Temple opened to show it the one who would replace it, all the way back to watching its older sibling dwindle and fade before its eyes.

Dead. Its sibling, dead.

Not merely returned to the Sea, like so many others. Not merely a shade, a lingering imprint of instinct and will. Unmade. As if they had never been.

Its kin, its siblings. First and last. Dead and ever-living. And the vessel itself was somewhere in between, a shattered thing, fit for neither its duty nor the grave.

It was certainly not fit for the sympathy it had been given. For the desperate grief in Quirrel’s voice as he stayed near it while it cried, or the breathless sorrow in its sister’s as she begged forgiveness for leaving it behind.

And yet, something within it reached out toward the words. The same twisted, ravening thing that grasped and clung on to every scrap of praise, growing stronger each time the vessel failed to deny it what it wanted. Some lingering hunger that the void had instilled in it, a shameful need that had at last been its downfall.

It would not have retained the memory that the Radiance used to break it, otherwise. It would not have cared. That moment would not have mattered, any more than any other moment in its life.

A single glance had been enough to ruin it.

But still, the thing inside it dared to hunger.

It fed on soft touches, soft words. It sank its teeth into its sister’s guilt, into the fearful way she clung to it, into the broken desperation of her promise, that she would come back for it. That she would always come back for it.

What had it ever done, to be valued so? How did she see anything in it worth returning for? What purpose could she have for it—for she must have one—that would bring her back, exhausted and injured, fighting through the cold and the pain just to be here with it?

“Try not to move it.” Quirrel’s voice broke through its thoughts. He had finished his task, wrapping its sister’s knee in a layer of bandages, finished with a neat knot. “I can find you something to use as a crutch, if you like.”

“Fine.” Hornet sounded utterly flat, defeated, in a way. Though if it meant that she did not protest being cared for, perhaps that was for the best.

Quirrel went and rummaged in the shelves until he pulled out one of her spare cloaks. He placed it, wordlessly, in her lap, then busied himself elsewhere in the room. Hornet grumbled and hissed to herself as she peeled her soaked garment off and exchanged it, movements stiff and halting.

An awkwardly placed elbow caught the vessel in the face. Hornet mumbled an apology, but did not move away, toward her comfortable nest on the hearth. In fact, she burrowed in closer to it, tucking the dry fabric over her feet and resting her horns on its neck, breath coming in warm puffs against its throat.                                                                              

It did not stir, either, though its shoulder was beginning to burn. That was only one more pain to ignore, just like the phantom ache of its left arm, the pressure in its chest, the dull throb in its mask.

No, it would not move. To move would be to disturb something precious, something delicate, a moment of unutterable peace. She was so small, so light; the weight of her hardly added to its pain.

This… must be like dreaming, but it knew that it had not fallen asleep. It had never dreamed in all its long un-life; even its time spent trapped in that realm had been unnatural, twisted and manipulated by the goddess in order to hurt it however she could.

It had heard others speak of their dreams, including those that preceded the early stages of infection—sweet and warm and bright, filled with unutterable longing for something unfulfilled. A heart-deep wish, a need long unmet. The yearning hunger of someone deprived of what they needed most—of a goddess whose worshippers had fallen away.

They had sounded exactly like what it felt now. The soft-sharp ache in its chest, deeper than any of its wounds. The warmth spreading over its shell, centered where it held its sister close, as if she were a light and the vessel her clinging shadow.

It did not seem possible for this to be real.

But it was no longer with the Radiance. And vessels did not dream.

Quirrel finished tidying the room as the light waned, putting away his tea supplies and hanging its sister’s cloak to dry. He brought in more sticks of shellwood and piled them on the fire, then crouched down to nudge them into place with the iron. He took so long about it and accomplished so little that it began to question whether he was watching what he was doing.

Its sister stirred, then slowly turned her head. Her voice was rough. “You’re staying, then?”

The scholar half-turned his head, the gleam of one bluish eye just showing through his mask.

Four eyes. Eyes behind masks.

It blinked, attempting to clear the images away. The tightness in its chest was back, and it struggled to breathe quietly, to not betray that it was snared in its own past once more.

Would it ever stop seeing the emptiness of its sibling’s eyes? The void draining down the table to envelop its feet? The scholar standing over it, its father’s knife melting away in his hand?

It had smothered those memories. It had not even known that there were any to unearth from its brief time as a nymph. It was not the Radiance’s influence, or a mind broken by infection, that had prevented it from remembering; this had been sealed away before the vessel itself had been, and just as thoroughly.

Had its sister not left it here, it may never have remembered its missing sibling at all.

They had no relevance now. It ought not think of them.

It did. It would. It knew that.

Quirrel did not answer Hornet’s question directly. Instead, he let out a deep sigh and lowered the fire iron. “You’re sure you wish to have this conversation now?”

Its sister uncurled further, but still did not move away from it. Could she be drawing some kind of comfort from its touch, or was she merely trying to keep it calm? Either way, she did not seem inclined to leave.

She did tense again before she spoke. Pulling inward, spines beginning to bristle against its side. “Yes, I am.”

He nodded, but said nothing more. Not until he had jabbed at the fire a few more times, then hung the poker in its place by the hearth. “If you insist.”

After snagging a pillow from the pile in the corner, he approached the bed and lowered himself to the floor with another sigh and a muffled creak of chitin. He wrapped his arms around his knees, staring at the floor in front of his feet. He did that for a long minute, seeming to hunt for the words he wanted.

He must be tired. Nearly as tired as its sister. He had sung to it for hours, melodies and words it could barely remember now, except as a constant presence in its awareness: one song braiding into another, one verse into the next, giving it something to hold onto as it climbed out of panic’s maw. He had sung until his voice began to crack, and then he had kept singing still, pausing only to sip water from a bowl he’d placed at his side. He had sung until it lay still with rapt fascination, rather than frozen, trembling in terror that had made it hiss and snarl at him. He had sung until it could hardly hear him at all, and now every word that left his throat was rough, rasping, much like the sounds from its own.

It wished that she knew of that, somehow. She was still afraid, still staring him down as if he might strike out at her. But he had not tried to defend himself from it, or even retreated to safety. He had done something utterly unexpected—something that was able to guide it out of the dark.

It thought he might do the same for her, if she would let him. It thought that he might intend to try.

“They panicked when you left.”

Ah.

He—

He meant to tell her of its failures. Of how it could not help reacting when he came close. Of the way it had threatened him. A sliver of that panic pricked at it now, both at his words and at the shaky breath its sister took.

She should know. She should hear that it could not keep itself in check, that its fractured mind made it a danger to those around it. She should not even be here now, so close to it, so soon after it lost control. It could not be sure it wouldn’t do so again. It could not.

“Nothing I said could reassure them, though not through any fault of theirs.” His gaze shifted to meet its eyes. “I am not the one who saved them. I am not the one they trust. You are.”

Hornet didn’t reply, didn’t shift against its side, did not move at all except to breathe a little faster.

Quirrel clenched his hands tight around his wrists. “I don’t think I need to tell you what damage was done. Or that it could have been far worse.”

She shook her head minutely, whispering, “No.”

He…

He would not tell her, then? She deserved to know, and he—

Quirrel deserved to be safe from it. He was kind, and gentle, and had not in any way earned what it nearly did to him. Would it not be punished for that? Would it not have to hear the words that would make its sister lose faith in it?

It was unfit, in every way—unfit to live, to serve, to exist when so many others no longer did. Its fault, its fault. People had died. Many, many people. The infection had crushed its father’s kingdom like a landslide. Another sibling suffered now in its place. And before any of that, before it had known it was impure, before it had been proven faulty, it had stood before another, and watched their darkness drain away.

Many, many.

It had nearly added one more to that tally. Not one left to plunge into the Abyss, or driven mad by the whispers of the goddess. Merely too close at the wrong time, too fragile to survive a blow from its hand.

He knew that, surely. He knew what it had almost done. He feared it, and rightfully so.

And yet—

“I do not know you well, Hornet.” Quirrel lifted a shoulder, then let it fall. “I thought you would keep your word. But I could not say for sure.”

Hornet turned away, tucking her chin into her cloak collar. Her hands were moving under the fabric, twisting, claws scraping over chitin. “I didn’t—” she started, then scrapped it and started again. “I wouldn’t—I won’t—”

“Don’t tell me you will not leave again.” Quirrel’s voice was harsh, suddenly. The vessel suppressed the urge to curl more tightly around its sister, as if it could protect her from the things he said, the way they seemed to sink into her shell like drops of acid. “I promised the truth to them, and I promise the same to you. And if I’m to assist you, I must ask for the same. Do not lie to me.”

Hornet was shaking. Anger, fear—it could not tell the difference. The scholar did not flinch as she snarled at him, even when she bared a glint of fangs under her mask. “I swear it, cricket.” Her words were garbled, half-lost in a growl. “Do not call me a liar.”

Quirrel tilted his head to stare at her from another angle, his antennae twitching. “I will call you nothing you do not deserve. That, I can also promise.”

Its sister scoffed, turning aside again, shoulders hunched tightly. Offended, as she should be. Who was he to speak of her in this way? How could he imply this—and why was she allowing him to?

She had not disputed any of it. Not a word.

Was he being truthful? Was she…

Had she really lied to him? Had she really said—

You said you would not leave them.

You swore it.

The vessel was as lost now as it had been before, in the face of a new kind of pain it did not know how to bear. It felt… pulled, in tension between two extremes, though it lay there helpless, unable to interfere. Putting itself between them was not warranted; there was nothing it could do.

It should not interfere. It had no right. That was not its place.

“If,” she said finally, the word grinding out through her fangs. “You said if you’re to assist me.”

Quirrel sighed, tipping his head back. “You seem to recognize that you were in the wrong. That you should not have left the way you did.”

Silence.

“If so, you must also recognize that I have a right to feel wronged. Betrayed, even.” He waited, but when he got nothing more than the sound of Hornet’s claws scratching over her wrists, he sighed again. “I do, Hornet. I am hurt, and I’m angry with you. That is why I had decided to wait before I spoke to you about it, until you decided otherwise.”

Hurt. Wronged.

These were words that should have had no meaning to it. But—

It did hurt. Always, now. It felt its hand twitch, invisibly, felt its fingers start to move through the memory of the sign. Hurt.

The fear had hurt, deep within it, when it realized its sister was gone. The despair had hurt, when it thought she was not coming back. The memories of its sibling hurt, hurt, hurt, like a knife sinking void-deep into its shell.

Its claws had hurt when they pierced its chest. Its throat had hurt as it cried. Its whole body hurt now, an all-consuming ache that seemed to drag its limbs deep into the cushions.

I am hurt.

He said it like he had been wounded. Did his throat burn, too? Did his joints ache? Did the betrayal he spoke of sting like the point of a blade?

Surely, that was not what he meant. It did not understand. It could not know what that might feel like.

I’m sorry, she had told it once. I’m sorry. I know it hurts.

That hurt had been physical. That had been something it was well-equipped to endure.

If she had not left it now—if it had not been alone with Quirrel—if its memories had not ambushed it after she was gone—

It was hurt. It did hurt.

You were wrong—I am hurt—I’m sorry, sorry, sorry—

“What is the point of this,” Hornet snapped, jarring it out of its spiraling thoughts. “I know this. You’ve said enough.”

“Have I?” Quirrel’s forefinger tapped against his knee. “I still don’t think you understand.”

“I—you said—”

“What I said in anger was true.” He looked down, briefly. “But I believe you heard something more than I intended.”

Its sister choked out a sound. A splintered laugh, perhaps. “What does it matter?”

“It matters a great deal.” There was something else in his gaze now, a softness that looked almost wounded. “I am here because you asked me to be. Because I could see that you needed help. Because… when you found me, nothing else in my life seemed to matter.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “For the most part, those things are still true.”

When you found me.

The blue haze of the crossroads flashed before its eyes, its body growing heavy with the memory. Heavy with exhaustion, with infection, with the clinging, smothering certainty that there was no use going on. That it would be better served to fling itself into oblivion, to fail one final time and then no more.

She had saved it. The red of her cloak. The sound of her voice. The threads of her silk, binding it.

Had she saved Quirrel, too?

Hornet looked on in silence, still with tension quivering in her arms where her claws were clenched. It smelled a trace of blood, hot and sharp. Alarm kicked its heartbeat higher. It could not stop her—it did not know how. The only thing it could do, it had already done: offer itself as support, as something to hold onto, to lean on.

Oh, it wished she would stop.

It had once been a knight. A protector. If it must protect her from herself, put itself in the way of her anger, give her something else to sink her claws into, it would. It would.

Quirrel noticed, too. He stopped, mouth open to speak again, and seemed to reconsider what he’d been going to say. “Hornet, I… no, I am not leaving.”

She twitched, briefly, halfway to flinching. It fought not to respond, fought not to break from its stillness. Every breath she took was high and fast, and with the tang of her blood in the air and her smothered shudders against its shell, its every instinct called for it to shield her, to pull her away somehow, to take her pain upon itself, as it was meant to.

“Do you need some time?” Quirrel asked, gently. “I don’t have to—”

“Say what you need to say,” she interrupted.

For a moment, it thought he might protest. When he resumed speaking, it was slow and halting, as if he worried he might put a foot wrong. “What I said before was this. If I’m to assist you, I must ask you to tell me the truth. To tell me what I need to know. If you cannot do that, I will find it hard to help you.” He sighed, and it sounded world-weary, full of exhaustion that a single day had done very little to add to. “It did not mean that I am looking for an opportunity to leave. Or that what you did, or what you are, or what you think you are, has given me reason to.”

Hornet swallowed, and it felt the barest amount of her tension release, her spines creeping downward an inch.

“I don’t understand why you left,” Quirrel continued. “But I understand that you felt you needed to. I am hurt, and I am angry with you. I do not need an explanation, but I do need you to listen to what I’m saying, and only that. Not what you think you might hear.”

Hurt. I am—

Hurt, hurt, hurt.

A moment ticked by, measured in the rattle of the raindrops. Then its sister nodded stiffly. Her voice was a mere whisper. “Agreed.”

“Good.” Quirrel shifted, crossing his legs and leaning forward, hands laced together before him. He was silent for a moment. “I cannot promise that I will always be here. There may come a time when our paths diverge, when I can no longer stay, for one reason or another. But if that happens, I will tell you. And I will tell you why.”

Its sister looked at him. Stared at him, really, as if there were more to him than a single cricket scholar with an earnest gaze and the warm glow of firelight spread behind him.

“This is what I’m asking.” He lifted one finger for emphasis. “The next time you need to leave, you will tell me first. You will tell me where you’re going, and how long you’ll be gone. No argument. And, if you can, I’d like an hour’s notice.”

A long exhale, which seemed to leave its sister smaller than she had been. “Agreed,” she said again. “I—I swear it.”

She spoke with a slump to her shoulders and a tilt of her horns that it recognized. Much like its own, a feeling it was faintly surprised that she shared with it.

Shame.

You were wrong.

Did she agree with him? Did she believe, too, that she had done wrong?

Even if her actions constituted a failure, she could never fail as thoroughly as it had. It should hurt. It should burn for what it did. It would never wish such punishment on her. Never, never.

She did not seem to wish that for it, either. She did not want it to hurt. She had said so, over and over.

I know it hurts.

I’m sorry.

Its next thought was feather-light, a whisper. Weak. Cringing. The shade, the void, at the core of it, corrupt. Impure.

Desperate.

It… did not want to hurt again.

“One thing more,” Quirrel said, before it could turn this concept over. “You will do the same for them. They deserve to know, as much as I do.”

For—

For it?

Its tired mind filled with static. It—

Surely it had not heard that correctly. It blinked, waiting to understand, to piece together what he had really meant.

Hornet turned to look down at it. It found itself tense, suddenly, painfully so, and its breath had snagged somewhere around the hook in its guts. It had done nothing to draw her attention, there was no reason for her to regard it now, unless…

It had heard right?

They deserve to know.

She had already made it one promise it did not understand. She had already given it far more than it had ever dared to want. Without reservation, though she had little to give, and without condemnation for what it needed.

It wished it did not need this at all. What it would not do to be what she once thought it was, to be the perfect void that its father had intended. That she had told it of her plans before was generous, to be sure, but it could not expect—

They deserve to know.

Quirrel was looking at it, with a tired softness in his gaze.

Deserve. It did not deserve anything. It had earned nothing but a traitor’s fate. He had no right to ask this of her, especially not on the vessel’s behalf. He was mistaken.

He—

He had called it friend. Sat with it. Sang to it.

It had never met anyone like him.

A gentle hand touched its face. It smelled the fresh blood on her talons, the scratches she had opened on her wrist. “Hollow?”

It had not been breathing. It was worrying her.

It made an effort, though its first attempt was too short, shaky, doing no good to reassure anyone at all. It was spent, mind and body, frame aching in ways that it had not felt since the very first days in the mansion, muscles sore and throat rubbed raw with sobbing. But it tried, tried to please her—nudging its muzzle into her palm, into the firm touch that seemed to send warmth racing down to its very core.

Hornet gazed into its eyes, into the lightless void there, and did not flinch. Without looking away, without so much as a quiver in her voice, she whispered, “I swear it.”

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[r3dmooon]

Secret Admirer — Wally Darling x gn! reader

summery: reader starts getting love letters in the mail. join them to figure out just who could it be!

wc: 1.5k

Master List

“Eddie, nice to see you!” I greeted with a wave. “I was just going to check my mailbox.” 

Eddie replied with a chuckle, “Well you’re right on time.”

“I’m guessing you got something for me?” I asked curiously.

“Got it right here,” Eddie beamed warmly, only to accidentally drop a few letters in his excitement. “Shoot!”

I laughed lightly, “It’s okay, here let me help.” I bent down and helped him gather the letters. Once everything was in order once more, Eddie managed to hand me the letter without any more problems. I looked down at the red envelope, my first name written in a fancy bubbly cursive. Little hearts were drawn next to my name as well. I looked up at Eddie with surprise, a knowing expression resting on his face.

“See ya around,” He waved, already walking off.

“Bye,” I replied absent mindedly, gaze falling back to the letter. Whoever wrote this definitely put their heart into it. I tried to open the envelope as nicely as I could, and quickly took out the letter. Reading it made my heart flutter. I felt a bit more self conscious, but in a good way. I felt more attractive. I put the letter away in a safe spot, feeling giddy. A secret admirer, who would’ve guessed? 

I felt light as I made the trek to Sally’s place. I promised her that I’d help paint sets for her newest play. 

“Hey…” Sally trailed off. “Something going on?”

I waved her off, my mind clouded with that mysterious letter of admiration, “It’s nothing.” 

She gave me a disbelieving look, “You look like you’re in la la land.” 

“Is it that obvious?” I asked embarrassed. “I mean…it’s not a big deal…I got this letter today.”

“What kind of letter?” Sally asked, handing me an apron and paint brush. 

I tied the apron and got started on the backdrop and whispered back, “A love letter.”

“Really!” Sally exclaimed, her eyes seeming to have stars in them. “That’s just like the next play I’m doing! Who’s it from?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied honestly. “The signature was from ‘your secret admirer’.”

The rest of the day went on. Joking around with Sally, we were nearly complete with the backdrop, but the sun started setting. I kept trying to think of who could possibly think of me like that. Would they send me another letter tomorrow? Eddie seemed to know…but I know he’d never tell me who. I let out a sigh as I laid in bed. I stared up at the ceiling blankly. I was too excited to sleep. 

The next morning, I woke up as energetic as ever. I dressed up a bit more than usual, styled my hair to the best of my ability and checked myself out in the mirror to make sure I looked alright. Anticipation running through me, I dashed outside. I didn’t see Eddie, and I checked my mailbox just in case. My smile fell as it was empty. But I quickly shook the disappointment away. I got a letter, my name plastered right on it! Someone here admired me! 

…

Unless it was a joke…

No, don’t think like that. I needed to head to Howdy’s Place anyway. I woke up earlier than normal today. Maybe a new letter will show up once I get back. The gentle sound of a bell ringing sounded as I opened the door to Howdy’s shop. 

“Hiya (y/n)!” Howdy greeted with a wave. His other hands put apples in a basket. 

“Why hello friend,” Wally smiled. 

“Hello guys,” I smiled. Walking around, I grabbed items I was getting low on at home.

“You got plans today?” Howdy asked as I placed the items on the counter. I noticed that Wally didn’t leave yet, idly standing by his basket of apples that were also on the counter. 

“No,” I shook my head. “Why?”

“You’re dressed more fancy than usual,” Howdy shrugged, bagging my items. “So, what do you got for me today?”

“Why do cows wear bells?” I asked, pausing before continuing. “Because their horns don’t work!”

Howdy let out a laugh, pushing the bag towards me, but I jumped in surprise at Wally’s laugh. I kept forgetting that he’s here! He’s being so quiet, which I suppose isn’t too unusual due to how lively our friends are. I smiled at the two sheepishly, was my joke really that funny? 

“Thank you kindly,” Howdy grinned as I grabbed the bag.

“Thank you,” I replied with a nod. Turning towards the door, I smiled at Wally. “Walk with me?” I offered as he seemed to be waiting for me to be done shopping. 

“I would love to, friend,” Wally replied back. The sun shone brightly above us as we exited the shop. I smiled a bit at the nice weather. I turned my gaze to Wally, only to find him already looking at me. 

“The weather sure is lovely,” I spoke up.

“Yes,” Wally agreed. “Days like these always give me inspiration.” We conversed some more before we arrived at my house. I checked the mailbox on instinct and my smile widened at the sight. Another red envelope sat waiting. 

“What’s that?” Wally asked and I tensed as I felt him look from beside me. I shoved the envelope in my paper bag and laughed awkwardly.

“Oh, nothing,” I dismissed. I felt a bit shy under his stare, it felt…intense. It was like I couldn’t look away. 

“It was lovely walking with you, friend,” Wally commented. 

“You too,” I smiled back. “I’ll see you around.”

Wally nodded in acknowledgement and I went into my house. I put away the food first before taking the envelope and sitting on my couch. I stared at the familiar cursive lettering of my name. I opened it excitedly and the letter was even sweeter than the last one! Gah, why can’t they just tell me who they were? 

I was kind of hoping it was Wally. I mean how could I not? He was charming, lovely, and a pleasure to be around! It didn’t help that he seemed to always pay attention to me. Sally even brought it up before. I just wanted to give him a peck on the cheek!

What if it wasn’t him though? The thought made my stomach fall flat. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I liked Wally…I looked down at the letter in slight guilt. This person seemed to really care and like me in a way I’ve never received before…would I really give that away for Wally? Is it just the attention I like? Geeze, I need to calm down. This is only the second letter and I’m making up crazy scenarios. All I can really do is see where this will go. Maybe I should go talk to Sally? 

“Eddie!” I shouted, glad I was able to catch him as he delivered me another red envelope. It’s been a week, and I felt myself fall more and more for this mystery person who has been adamant on sending me these letters. Each one made me swoon, wishing I could know who seemed to like me so strongly. 

“Hello (y/n),” Eddie greeted back with a bright grin. “How are you this cloudy morning?”

“Terrible,” I pouted. Eddie looked a bit concerned at first but lightened up as I continued, “I need to know who's sending me these letters!”

“Now now,” Eddie chuckled. “I’m sure they’ll tell you in their own time.”

“I know,” I groaned. “I just want to meet them so badly.” 

“All in due time,” Eddie smiled, tipping his hat slightly before continuing on his way. I let out an over dramatic sigh. 

“What seems to be the problem, friend?” The familiar voice of Wally spoke up. I turned to him, startled. He always managed to sneak up on me and I wasn’t sure how he did it. I looked at the letter I held in reflex, debating on whether or not to tell him. Wally was a great friend, but so far the only people who knew were Sally and Eddie. “I’ve seen you with those red envelopes a few times,” Wally hummed in observation. “Who's been writing to you? A pen pal?”

“Not exactly,” I mumbled, feeling shy about the topic. “A secret admirer.”

“My my,” Wally teased lightly. “Someone’s become famous. Join me for a walk?”

“Okay,” I agreed, shoving the letter in my pocket. “Any idea who it is?”

“I might,” Wally grinned mischievously. 

My mouth fell open and I huffed out, “Does everyone know but me?”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Wally laughed. “No.” 

I frowned, eyebrows furrowing in thought, “Did they tell you?”

“Silly silly,” Wally teased. “I’m a bit bashful to confess this, but I’ve been the one sending you those letters.” I stopped in my tracks and stared at him in shock. He turned around and tilted his head a bit, his gaze holding light concern. 

“I hope I wasn’t overstepping,” Wally apologized.

I quickly shook my head, “No, no.” I can’t believe the person who holds my affections was actually Wally Darling. The cool and collected (not to mention skilled and stylish) Wally! 

Wally’s smile returned, his gaze never wavering, “I’m glad you feel the same.”

“I said that out loud?” I cried out, hands over my mouth in shock. 

“Ha, ha, ha,” Wally laughed, stepping closer. “You are just so endearing.” 

My brain short circuited as Wally kissed my cheek.

[passionateseadruid]

Snake King’s Bride 2

The Meeting

Say hello to my intersex Imp Styx. As I'm sure many of you know the evenly stripe horns are indicative of male Imps and the thin strips white are Female. And also my hellhound Pluto. Also Vagqie is 5'4 and when lucifer met her they were about the same height; but also keep in mind that he was wearing heals (that's canon, like it's in the episode). Finally, I can't believe that he has a nose

When you woke up you were still in the old wedding dress and heals. The veil had fallen from your head, you had slid it back on and flipped the veil back over your face. Whatever brought you here isn't going to get to have you so easily.

You wandered around to the halls of the place you fell into. They were red with gold columns lining every few feet. The walls were lined with apples and the columns were accentuated with what appeared to be snakes coiling around them. "Whoever designed this place needs to be fired."

On the other side of the palace, in the thrown room, Lucifer was panicking. 

"Okay! Everything's going to be fine!"

A little Imp wants in. They were taller than most Imps and had big horns that curled inward towards each other like a heart. Their hair was slip down the middle. White on the left to match the male Imp horn that was slightly bigger than the one on the right; which was female in origin with black hair that was almost tinted dark blue from some angles.

"Styx! Did you get everything set up?" Lucifer asked panic evident on his face.

"Yes sire!" They saluted him. They stood at about 4'11 and wore black leather pants, a short burgundy corset, and a white shirt with long sleeve frilly.

"Good! good."

"Sire. It might be a good idea to take off your ring as to not scare or confuse the young miss."

"Oh! Yeah, I guess." He slid off the ring that had matched Lilith's. The first time he'd taken it off in seven years. "Can I really do this Styx?" 

"Well it is up to you, but if you want you could let her go."

"But then I'd be alone again."

"I suppose so Sire."

Lucifer looked down at his ring again and materialized a black box to slip the circlet if gold into. "I can do this, somehow I know it."

You hadn't gotten very far in your expedition of the strange new place you'd found yourself in. You found a library though which was good. Always good to have a place to hide. Eventually a small fluffy creature resembling a bull dog. She had grey fur and wore a loose black dress that went down to her knees, with a red wine colored bodice. She was only 4 and a half feet tall.

"Good evening my lady." She curtsies and you awkwardly due the same. "Please my lady. Don't feel the need to bow at me. Please follow me to the thrown room."

"Thrown room?"

She sighed. "Yes. Where the king is." She looked back at you and saw you planted firmly in place. "Come on!" she motions for you to follow.

"What's going on? Where am I? Who are you? What was with the spooky fiery rift in space back in the store?"

"Are you serious right now? You sold yourself to the king of hell. Don't play dumb and pretend like you have no idea what's going on. And what's with the wedding dress? Do you actually think the king would choose some lowly human like you?"

"I'm sorry I seem to have misheard you. I thought you said the king of hell."

"I did."

"...hell? ...as in-"

"Lucifer yes." She cut you off.

"There has to be a mistake! I didn't sell my soul to him! I shouldn't be here!"

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't."

'Maybe I can convince him to let me go. He can take Regan or Kaitlyn, I don't care!'

"Head inside." The bulldog ordered.

"May I please have your name."

"Pluto."

"I hope you have a good day Pluto." 

You walked into the room. 

"Darling!" A short man ran up to you and pulled you into his embrace. You struggled as best you could but his grip was firm and unrelenting. "Sorry, to tight?" He lessens his grip and you shirk away.

"Please don't touch me. We don't know each other."

"Oh of course! My apologies. Lucifer Morningstar, your new husband~" 

"What? No... um I think there's been some mistake. I don't belong here."

"Of course you do! You're going to be my bride! That little bug wouldn't have dressed you up like this if you weren't the one intended to be my new wife!"

"But I didn't exactly want that to happen."

"Well you're here now so you might as well make the most of it!" He cheered coming closer to you.

"Wouldn't you rather have someone who wants to be with you? I'm sure there's plenty of goth girls or satanists who would kill to get this opportunity."

"Ugh. You know you humans are really ignorant. Him and I aren't the same. Neither are I and Beelzebub."

"Okay...?"

"That's not important right now." He came even closer and you back into the door. He grabbed the bottom of your veil and you snatched his wrist.

"Doll..." He sounded serious. "Show me your face."

"No thank you."

"Sorry Doll but that wasn't a request." He yanked out of your grip and took your veil off with him. "There! That wasn't so hard, was it?"

You backed up as close to the wall as you could and actually got a look at him. He was about 5'4 and had platinum blond hair. His eyes seemed to glow piss yellow while his pupils were blood red. He wore a white suit with a pink and white stripped vest underneath. His books were black as were his hands though you weren't sure if those were gloves or his actual hand color. 'but he's so pale.'

"Hm? Take a picture it'll last longer~" You rolled your eyes. "You know darling if you're so interested in my hands I can give you a demonstration of what they can do~" Your face heated at his words, and the face that he brought one of his hand up to his mouth in a V shape and licked his lips.

"Why me?"

"Because you put on my ring!"

"But I didn't know what I was doing! Why not choose someone who knows what they're agreeing to?"

"I want you Doll. You're beautiful and my heart is calling out to you. The moment I saw you for the first time in that store i knew I needed you. Come on! We have a Wedding to plan! I'm thinking next month."

"Next Month?!"

"I know it's far off but We'll need to give our guests time to prepare gifts and of course we'll need time to send out the invitations."

"Well I was thinking of more of an August wedding. But eleven months is basically a year and I'm sure it'll still be warm in hell in September so... maybe we should make it a year from now?" Your voice grew meeker as you spoke. "It would also give us a year to get to know each other."

"If I make it a year from now will you be willing to marry me?" He asked excitedly.

"Um maybe?"

"Good enough for me! Come on then! you're probably tired and you'll want to get out of this old thing."

He takes your hand and leads you through the palace.

"Mr. Morningstar?"

"Call me Lucifer! You'll be a Morningstar soon! I suppose I'll have to talk to heaven about turning you immortal. Charlie had begged me for siblings when she was younger, so I'm glad to finally be able to fulfil that."

"Lucifer, I think that we should stay in separate rooms."

"What? But why?" He whined.

"We just met." 'and your the devil.' "And I'm rather traditional." 'No I'm not but you don't need to know that.'

"Alright if that's what you wish Darling."

"And one more thing. Wouldn't it be so romantic if our first kiss was the one we shared on our wedding day?"

"Ooooohh! Like the ones in those romance novels that are so popular on earth!" She squeaked. 

"Yeah... like those."

"Well here we are! It's the best guest room in the place! I'll have Styx put on some new warm sheets on the bed and I'll get you some clothes. You probably want to go take a bath."

"Um I'm good I'll shower in the morning."

"Nonsense Doll. Unless this is a backhanded way to invite me to join you~"

"I'll go take a shower ON MY OWN!" You said running out of the bedroom.

"What am I going to do?

After your shower you cracked the door and looked down to find a pile of clothes and no Lucifer in sight. You changed into them and found the shirt tight on you and the thong given to you a bit too revealing for your taste. "What am I going to do? I can't walk out there and show everyone everything."

"Yeah, I'd prefer this all saved for my eyes only." Lucifer's voice called from behind you.

"Ah! What are you doing in here?"

"Just admiring the view." he slowly gazed up and down at you tracing the curves of your body.

"May I please have something that actually fits me?" You rolled your eyes and your arms came up to cover your chest.

"Fine..." He huffed annoyed. "But I think the size of my old shirt looks cute on you." He snapped his fingers and the shirt grew so long it basically became a night gown. 

"Is this really okay to do to your clothes?"

"It's an old shirt I don't wear anymore."

"This thong better not have belonged to your kid."

"No! no. nonononono! It was uh, my ex-wife's."

"Oh. That's a bit weird isn't it?"

"I'll take you out shopping for clothes tomorrow, but for tonight you can either use those or go commando. I know which option I'd rather see~"

"Goodnight Lucifer!" You pushed him out of the room.

"Goodnight Darling!"

'What am I going to do?' You thought.

[katyspersonal]

So, Ymir was full of shit or rather, lost his marbles! I've made some more SOTE progress!

1) So, first I was exploring the various corners I've missed (again, Val's advice since I was despairing to do anything but 'important' points gvghgb) Went in order!

2) I killed the second big red horned bear in this game! And before that, killed two Rune Bears with some success..? Still got hit hard, but I am finally learning to dodge roll properly! Most of it is rolling in, not away x)

It dropped an incantation that is like those dragon head ones.. but like, bear head one gfhhhg And there was another variant of Brave Set nearby (the clothes of bear-hunters)

3) Coincidentally, the very next guy was using this same incantation! It was sending a series of roars that knock the person off! AND he was in the last Mausoleum that I did want to find very much!

AND he also was a Redmane!! They have so many distinct friends of Radahn in this DLC xD

4) The next one was a forge and I was done with running across them orange woods. This is when I finally realized that the big rocky guys needed to be hit while back turned, in the weak spot on their backs, whereas I've been hitting them in the front this whole time... :^)

5) This guy would later become important:

So, they just freeze eventually? It kind of seems like eventual fate of all rock creatures I guess, since they can't age. There are Ancient Dragons in Farum Azula who are just walls now for one

I instantly had a feeling that this would be a good summon seeing how much damage and defence those guys had, and hoooo boy was I right!!

6) OKAY SO I finally did it! @fareehaandspaniards REJOYCE!!! Basically Metyr and Fingers predate Elden Ring/Beast, because it also was a shooting star and Metyr was the first:

I struggled with this boss as you remember, and wasn't even trying to go without summons but just couldn't find the right ones xd THIS guy though staggered her like two times letting me do critical, and lasted ungodly amount of time (until magic attack blasted him since rocks are wear to magic in this game)! But he was SO helpful?

So it was this guy causing ungodly stagger and me stabbing bleed with Mohg's spear jfghyj I also finally realized to NOT, no matter what, get myself caught on the side of her body 🙄 That attack with rapidly moving fingers from her side is NOT survivable nghgf If anyone here makes the same mistake: don't, just always face her.. face, lol

7) Also my idea confirmed! When I first saw this location, all watery and the giant "tubes" going from here to "above", I saw it like the giant fingers so it is some hammerspace version of womb water! Turned out the grace of this place marks location as Finger Birthing Grounds, so yeah!

8) My instant reflex was to go back to Manus Metyr! ...and I got attacked when I had hands full of runes because I forgot to spend them after the boss 🤡 I didn't die, but NEVER forget to level up lol

Jolan first attacked me as an invader, saying we've hurt Ymir so much that he now wished our death, and then Ymir was there as a boss (thankfully a weak one). ?? I was just sitting here like "wait a second, the whole operation was your idea?" because Ymir gave me the map here?

9) So, I started to think about it and recalling what happened before. His last map was captioned "May you join the glimmering stars above" which was sinister, but so was he so I didn't give it an extra thought back then! Now it does seem like he intended for us to not survive that encounter, like same sacrifice thing as with "meeting" Rykard, but there was more

Back when Anna attacked us, I assumed she was sort of enemy. I did tell Jolan about it, but her dialogue was vague:

I interpreted it as Anna getting on the way and Jolan implying that she will or will not kick her ass depending on what Ymir says. But oh boy, seems like I was wrong.. When you kill Anna, the text 'RECUSANT VANQUISHED' appears; the term reserved for Tarnished that hunt other Tarnished! So, knowing that Anna habitually kills people (her own?), and knowing that I was not supposed to kill Metyr despite being sent directly to her, Jolan's reaction to us telling about Anna can be seen as: 'Damn, I started to really like you, but turns out that Ymir wants to sacrifice you (?) and I can't speak against him so pretend that my ally did not try to kill you, okay? :/' but I wasn't aware just HOW right I was!

10) Turned out that Jolan also had the decision split between Iris of Grace (gives Spirit Ashes) and Iris of Occultation (gives her weapon)! Like it was with Queelign! Damn, they made SURE that people either replay this DLC or talk with other players for full lore x) Respect!

11) ALSO turned out that this whole time, there was a secret way to drop atop of the upper section of Rabbath Rise from Shaman Village, where you find a person in the same set sitting in the same fashion as inactive puppets of Seluvis! And it was ANNA, that we could combine with Ashes of Jolan!

frail and WHAT? AND WHAT gdghhgh The text didn't fit, oh my god!!

I asked Val about it, the missing word was 'and pliant'.

12) I also asked him about the 'doll' part, because by all means it should have been 'puppet'! He confirmed that it IS the same term in original because he was confused too and checked earlier: 'doll' here is 傀儡, and is the same used for Puppets in the main game. So, obviously, they were trying to save the letters space! And still failed... XD

13) So, yes, a totally normal thing for Carians to do! Granted, Nox were the ones who started the Puppet dids, but Carians are basically infamous for making Puppets, which Ymir is!

That makes it apparent that Anna attacked us due to him wanting it :^) I assume we were supposed to be food for Metyr, because since he lost his shit over her death he needed her for something. The power to bring Yuri back to life, I suppose.

This made me wonder whether Jolan herself was a puppet? We don't know whether they can still talk and think from the base game, maybe they can! What we do know is that puppets will attach spiritually attach to the master and unquestionably do their bidding (which Jolan does), that they are crafted through blue star shards thus uniting their fates since blue stars control fates of humans (and Ymir and Jolan do affectionately call each other their stars), and that a puppet can be given to someone else despite who made it (since Seluvis can gift his and we now can use Anna).

Jolan is not referred to as a puppet, so maybe her devotion and dependence bordering insanity happened to be her true feelings and not some magic (yet it wasn't the case for Anna, apparently...).. But interesting thing to consider. (LOL I can SEE Ymir simps jumping at me and asking how the heck Jolan's behavior is supposedly magic and not normal reaction gfggnfhhg)

14) Turned out that Ymir's clothes can be altered into... this:

15) I also checked at the Roundtable Hold, for more Metyr lore:

I already read that Greater Will stopped communicating with her, but interesting information! Besides.. the staff to cast sorceries AND incantations sounds SUPER useful! No more switching between seals and staffs xD

The second weapon is simply Metyr's head that mentions there is an eye at the center of it. Yes, I could tell from getting blasted with lasers hfhhjj

16) Also I don't have pictures space left, but if you collect everything like I do, don't forget to check Yuri's grave for a sorcery after Ymir is defeated!

[miirshroom]

Shadow of the Erdtree - "Pure and Radiant, He Wields Love to Shrive Clean the Hearts of Men"

"Shriver" is an occupational title meaning "scribe" or "writer" and comes from the root "Shrive" which originally meant "to decree, pass judgement, prescribe, hear or receive a confession (of sins), free from guilt, to absolve" and later came to mean "write".

So keeping in mind that the concept of Words have literal Power is part of the Golden Order faith in Elden Ring (see Coded Sword or Cipher Pata), when Miquella is in the Lands of Shadow to "Shrive clean the hearts of men", his goal is to either literally or metaphorically write a narrative that cleans the hearts of men. So, what does it mean to "clean a heart"? Metaphorically it seems like a term for absolving sins, but it can take on another meaning when read more literally.

Because of course this has come up before on the internet I searched the origin of the phrase "hearts of men" and received: the Battle Hymn of the Republic. An American ('Marikan) Civil War song with lyrics written by abolitionist Julia Ward Howe in 1861.

... He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment-seat; Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! Be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Glory, glory, hallelujah! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me. As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on.

The only notes I want to make for that last stanza is that it is interesting that Christ is associated with lilies in this particular song when that is also Miquella's flower. And that Miquella (and Mohg, and Radahn) certainly died to reach the Shadowlands in a classic set up of Death and Resurrection that fails to complete the resurrection bit.

At least two biblical passages provide context/inspiration for the poetic phrasing about hearts (again: internet is full of people discussing the meanings behind works of art and poetry):

Romans 2:15 “the requirements of the law are written on their hearts”.

Revelation 2:23 “I am he who searches hearts and minds, and I will repay each of you according to your deeds.”

So thinking of shriving in terms of writing is not so farfetched, and also there's some end of days style judgement happening with all the horn sounding (that being the theme of Revelations).

Grading Gravel Stone with Sieves

The technique of "sifting" is used in geotechnical engineering to separate particles of rock and sand into sizes, where the smallest size of sand and silt or clay is what passes through a #200 sieve with opening size of 75 µm. The first step is to prepare a tower of sieves of various sizes - say ranging from 1/2" to 75 µm openings - and add to the top a sample of soil baked to zero moisture content, and then shake them vigorously until all fine particles settle to the bottom. The fineness of the resulting silt below the lowest sieve can be further determined by agitating a sample in a water column and watching a hydrometer (a buoyant instrument) to see how long it takes the particles to settle. 

Clayey soil causes problems - it sticks in crevasses of bigger rocks and forms clumps that do not pass through the #200 sieve. However, in some case a fine particle analysis is not required, so the solution is a setup that continuously runs water through the sieves during the shaking of the tower to wash fines clean from the coarse particles. Or if you work in a low budget lab like I did, just stand at the sink and smoosh the clay around with fingers until it goes through the mesh.

The point being that in the metaphor the material of "coarse" hearts are sifted out and exposed while that of exceptionally "fine" hearts pass judgement of the final sieve and are washed through with the water. And while in the real world the "fineness" of a heart is subjective, in Elden Ring this becomes quite literal: dragon hearts have been shown over and over again to be ridged in coarse gravel stone. Like, when you get a dragon heart and literally "clean the heart" of all of the blood that obscures detail, this is what is exposed:

Dragon heart seized by a dragon tracker. Riddled with Gravel Stone, this grotesque organ continues to beat vivaciously. An offering used in the Dragon Communion. Consume a dragon's heart at the altar to make its power yours. While a terrible and savage-looking thing, the heart has a peculiar beauty to it.

And the quote about Miquella shriving clean the hearts of men originates from Ansbach, who finds this concept terrifying. And as described in the Wise Man's Mask, "an old fear lurks beneath...the appearance of a quiet, wise, old, bearded man", so it's a personal terror rather than the abstract thought that somebody should be terrified about this. Being "absolved of their sins" by a loving deity is usually not something that sparks fear in a person - if anything it's supposed to be cathartic in the sense of having successfully appeased God. So Ansbach fears being judged and found inadequate. In other words, the fear of Ansbach is that the hearts of "men" will have all fine facades washed away from their surface, exposing the coarse stony hearts not unlike savage, bestial dragons. 

Man vs. God

But good news: if man does not want to be judged, then he must simply kill god! After all, the final words of Ansbach are "Righteous Tarnished. Become our new lord. A lord not for gods, but for men."

There's another more modern song to the same tune as the Battle Hymn of the Republic - an American paratrooper song dating to World War 2 known as "Blood on the Risers":

... The ambulance was on the spot, the jeeps were running wild The medics jumped and screamed with glee, they rolled their sleeves and smiled For it had been a week or more since last a 'Chute had failed And he ain't gonna jump no more Glory, glory, what a hell of a way to die Glory, glory, what a hell of a way to die Glory, glory, what a hell of a way to die He ain't gonna jump no more ... There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute Intestines were a-dangling from his paratroopers suit He was a mess, they picked him up, and poured him from his boots And he ain't gonna jump no more Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die Gory, gory, what a hell of a way to die He ain't gonna jump no more

Glory to God isn't in the song any more, only gore, and the idea that "hell" is not something for an afterlife but experienced right here in the present (and there are medics - hello Varré). The "god" in question being not Miquella, but Marika who was previously keeping the Omen such as Mohg and his pureblood faction in check and set the conditions for their release with her disappearance. It's not really better when a god dies without any functional structure in place to fill the power vacuum. More of a lateral shift from a belief that killing is for the glory of God to the grim disillusionment of seeing that people die in viscerally brutal ways to advance whatever flimsy ideologies men can invent to justify capturing control of resources. 

Sowing and Reaping

And while that would be a decent sentiment to end on in a discussion about a real history and the rise of secularism - I can dig deeper. This is a video game and the characters unquestionably have a Creator in the form of the writer. So a certain proverb of biblical origin can apply here quite literally - "you reap what you sow". Ansbach wields the "Obsidian Lamina" a scythe like what would traditionally be used for reaping grain. People who Ansbach can potentially "reap" with this scythe via combat:

Needleknight Leda

Dryleaf Dane

Freyja (if she is given Ansbach's letter)

Moore (if you advise "put it behind you" to the question "Our mother abandoned her brood. She did not love us. We are her children, what should we do? Must we be sad forever?")

Hornsent (if you deny him vengeance or snub him after helping with that vengeance)

Miquella and Consort Radahn. 

Why should Ansbach fear the judgement of Miquella except that he knows that in some way his actions have sowed the lust for violence toward himself from all of these people? And now it has come time to reap them if he wants to survive without compromising on his irrational loyalties to the Lord of Blood. I don't think it's necessary to speculate on all of them except this: Ansbach did cleave open Miquella and wound him with a Furious Blood Blade. Leda saw it happen.

I’m afraid Sir Ansbach will have to be next. He insist that he’s nothing but a worn down, over-the-hill soldier. But in his day, he was the feared commander of the Pureblood Knights, who cleaved open Miquella the Kind with his blood blade. He claims he hasn’t the spirit to take up his sword again, but I doubt it’ll be very long… Before he recalls, as I have, the cascading sheets of blood. I’m afraid he cannot be left to fester…

This seems to contradict directly Ansbach's own claim - but unlike Leda's specific recollection (the description for "Furious Blood Blade of Ansbach" even uses the word "cleave") he never said with which blade was he unable to reach Miquella. His scythe couldn't reap Miquella yet. All he had done at first contact was to sow the seed of despair with his bloody assault. Even more poignant that Needle Knight Leda was present as witness considering that she is themed around a different kind of sewing.

But here's the thing about fiction. Miquella isn't really Ansbach's god in a divine sense - that would be the Creator FromSoftware. Miquella having discarded so much of himself is basically on the level of a straw man argument that people who plea for kindness are all really thought-policing monsters. You know. Straw. A grassy plant that is sown from seed and may perhaps be reaped by scythe. Like the new straw/hay bale asset found in the DLC villages that was not present in the base game.

People have throughout history invented gods to explain natural phenomena and obsessed over making up stories about them. Inventing a caricature/phantasm of a person to do mental combat against is just a more mundane version of that. And like I've said previously - the DLC takes place in the body/mind of the withered corpse in the cocoon.

Like, to be clear, the set up of the straw man argument above is that I say "I really don't trust the faction who are themed around blood exultation and glorifying wounds and pain" and the straw man response might be "so you trust the god who wants to use mind control to make everyone be nice to each other??". Which is what the Mogh vs. Miquella argument seems to be reduced down to sometimes. No, I think that dwelling on the possibility of mind-control is a pit of paranoia, and that if the blood faction stopped polluting their own water sources with blood and fantasies about a glorious dynasty then maybe they would be able to calm the fuck down. Get some basic needs for sustenance and safety satisfied to then have the time and energy for introspection. Gain perspective on how they've been radicalized by doctored narratives.

Including the phantasm of the violent and mind-controlling god who "shrives clean the hearts of men" and must be stopped before he can enforce a new narrative where kindness is the default and being exposed for having a coarse/uncivil nature is a faux pas to be weighed and judged along a graded scale of severity. Remove the part about "violent and mind-controlling god" and that basically sounds like the ideal that most rational people wish we already had from civil society.

So the thoughts about violence under a mind-controlling god is pure projection - the idea that there must be a terrifying caveat to any attempt at Kind governance. But really, the Blood Dynasty faction is just reaping what they sow:

Governed by a God? Mohg has always been deferring to gods - first Marika, then the outer god of the Formless Mother, so in a twisted way Miquella must be a god as well. Mohg and his Sanguine Nobles also in their design take clearest inspiration from the type of embroidered stole as worn by the Catholic Pope.

Mind-controlling? To believe in an omnipotent God is to believe that God knows your most private thoughts. Always. And is always judging you on the correctness of those thoughts. So you must be sure to think the correct thoughts, and obey the letter of the holy text and the guidance of the priesthood. Also, just try to think rationally when in excruciating chronic pain, as the Formless Mother espouses.

Violent? Yep.

[randomvarious]

Today's compilation:

The Wild Bunch 1995 Reggae / Roots Reggae / Rocksteady / Dub

First off, let me just say that I am in total awe of this crop of reggae instrumentals from the 60s and 70s here. So much music since has come with so much more fuss and technological advancements, and yet an unscalable pile of the stuff that came out after this doesn't seem to come close to how good a bunch of these simple tunes still are. In a broad sense, all these songs' formulas are pretty simple, but they really still just manage to click so damn well 😌.

From this comp's liner notes:

During the past eight years, Trojan have pioneered the 'Revival' Reggae scene. Our re-issue programme has preserved some of the best vocals ever recorded in Jamaica, but with the emphasis being placed on some of the island's many talented singers in recent years, the musicians have tended to be ignored. This current release reverses that trend by turning the spotlight onto the 'players of instruments', and in so doing we pay tribute to Kingston's legendary session men.

Now, because nearly all of these are straight-up instrumentals, they all pretty much operate in the same way, and each of them seem to have one thing in common that ends up either making or breaking the tune: the lead instrument. Because reggae riddims are inherently repetitive and steady, if left alone, they will naturally get stale. So, it takes a good melody of some kind to be laid atop that riddim in order to lend the song some much needed variety. And in a whole lot of these 27 tunes, that ends up coming to remarkable fruition.

It's hard to even really know where to begin with this album since there's so much goodness to be found within it, but the thick, whistle-ringing improvisational organ of Lloyd Charmer's "Ling Tong Ting" is an absolutely terrific place to start. Then the JJ All Stars get topsy-turvy with the audio channels on "Memphis Underground," by sending the melodic leads exclusively and *very prominently* through the left, and 90% of the riddim through the right; Herman Marquis' "Tom's Version," whose intro I'm pretty sure I've heard sampled in at least one hip hop tune before (Wu-Tang, maybe? It's honestly driving me crazy that I can't put my finger on it), then follows by doing a wonderful job of harmonizing its organ and trumpet, yielding this fully warm and satisfying haze; the legendary Augustus Pablo, who singlehandedly managed to transform the melodica from a mere plaything for children into an instrument with serious gravitas, shows why on a rootsy piece of dub called "Great Pablo;" and then towards the end, we get a bit of a surprise with a piece of gospel-reggae that's actually not an instrumental: the Harry J All Stars "Holy Moses," which is aided by a small set of female singers whose deployment of soul harmonies reminds of the backup singing that can be found on a bunch of Bob Marley hits.

But the closing title tune by the Music Doctors may be both the most remarkable and most fun track of them all, for the simple fact that it uniquely trades its leads between—not things like guitars, horns, and organs—but just bass and drums. And the bassist just seems to carefreely play this laid-back and very recognizable piece of melody from The Jackson 5's "I Want You Back;" it's so good!

So, a phenomenal collection of rare Jamaican reggae instrumental classics here, from the genre's premier label itself, Trojan. Yesterday, I posted about an excellent metal cassette from 1985 that's also called The Wild Bunch, and given how good that that album was, I really didn't think that this one could outdo it, but it very much did!

Highlights:

Selwyn Baptiste - "Mo' Bay" Boris Gardiner - "Memories of Love" The Dynamites - "Phantom" Sound Dimension - "Soul Food" Lloyd Charmers - "Ling Tong Ting" The Aggrovators - "The Sniper" JJ All Stars - "Memphis Underground" Lynn Taitt & The Jets - "Love Me Forever" Herman Marquis - "Tom's Version" The Tennors - "Copy Me Donkey" Winston Wright - "Heads or Tails" Augustus Pablo - "Great Pablo" Harry J All Stars - "Holy Moses" Music Doctors - "Wild Bunch"

[toads-treasures]

I want both Leda and Cori!! Or you can choose as you like. Ok 5, 47, and 58 :3

5. What are your character’s strongest and weakest stats (strength, charisma, etc)? 

Both are charisma as the highest and strength as the lowest 😂😂 they both have a minus one to strength. I haven’t had a chance to actually play in a few days so I can’t remember their exact stats but both of them are very charismatic with absolute noodle arms 😔

47. What is the most important item your Tav has?

When Leda first left home she had a lot of jewelry. She loves jewelry and all shiny pretty things, but when she left, she took all of it off, the earrings, the charms on her horns, the rings, all of it, and slowly pawned them all off until the only one she had left was a necklace her father gave her for her birthday. It’s pretty simple. usually she favored things that were elaborate, delicate construction of chains and pearls and gems. But this is just a small amethyst, the same color as her eyes, set into a small heart shaped pendant. It’s the only thing she has left of her family or her life before.

Cori has two sending stones. One corresponds to a pair with her parents, the other to her older sister Lyra, who settled down and isn���t traveling with her family anymore. The one for Lyra is missing, and the one that matches her parents broke in the nautaloid crash. She also has a small bundle of letters from her niece and nephew, Lyra’s children. They’re mostly scribbles, or messy drawings with Lyra’s neat handwriting translating the letters. They say things like “saw a frog today, it was bigger than my hand. Mama wouldn’t let me keep it.” Or sometimes it’ll be Lyra transcribing things like “Marren keeps asking for me to do the voices like you do when we read her bedtime stories, and gets very upset when I can’t do them right.” She reads through them almost every night.

58.  What decision would your party have to make in order for Tav to consider splitting off from the group?

Leda would never split, no matter what the group did. She could definitely be unhappy, definitely find herself a stranger and hate herself for staying. But she was always so so unbearably lonely. Now that she has friends, has a family, I don’t think she could ever leave them. Even if they become something unrecognizable to her. Thankfully, Wyll would never do that 💕

I think, the only thing that they could possibly do would maybe to turn on each other? In that case, I think she’d follow wherever Wyll and Karlach went.

Cori would have no trouble leaving if the group did something she didn’t agree with. Growing up on the road, and with her parents raising her with a pretty solid moral code (her mother was a very lawful good type), they always kind of hammered in the idea that it was better to be alone than with people who made you lose sight of who you are. So that possibility of leaving is always tantalizingly close. She doesn’t necessarily want to leave, but she also always has to have that as an option if that makes sense?? It would have to be fairly extreme, like raiding the grove, or siding with Kethric. But sometimes it feels like she’s one minor inconvenience/miscommunication away from splitting lol.

[schismusic]

In the shadow of the horns: meditations on Team Ico's works – 2½. Project: Robot

Okay, there's only so much mileage I can get out of less than these two minutes of footage – even though it's, ahem, actual gameplay, which I believe is a mystifying statement at best. This, and I should probably be talking about The Last Guardian first, right? All of this is true. I raise you this: episode 1 was about Shadow of the Colossus, as opposed to Ico, so I've already set a precedent for being weird about the order this is going to take. Secondly, and more importantly, it's going to take a really long while before I go back to The Last Guardian. Not because I did not like the game: quite the opposite, actually, I thought it was stunning, but more on that when I actually write about it. It's just going to take a lot of concentration to replay it while taking notes and trying to ignore the sounds of my PS4 lifting off as the game runs. So let's focus on this much less electricity-intensive task first, shall we?

It's some dude (gender neutral) with a mask who climbs on top of some gigantic robot, goes on top of its head and has it detach, taking flight to avoid some kind of massive storm approaching. It's like a cross between Dormin's darkness and space debris as seen on the rings of Saturn/an asteroid belt. The head and its occupant are however quickly taken away by the storm itself and that's where the trailer ends. Some have speculated that this might already be a gameplay loop on its own, but – given the sheer amount of setpieces displayed by The Last Guardian – I'm inclined to think the exact opposite. My hopes are as follows: not only is this not representative of the final gameplay loop, but this is literally just the game's intro, or something.

Check this out: what if it's like Shadow of the Colossus, wherein perhaps there's a repeating gameplay loop of sorts that focuses heavily on exploration (of some deeper, fuller world than that of SotC – or maybe something even emptier, better conveyed through more powerful technology), but with the added narrative thing from The Last Guardian thrown in for good measure. Sort of à la Death Stranding when it actually starts gaining steam, in a way, but with the added Ueda thing where everything is melancholy and faraway and stunningly silent and meditative. Which is actually why I called this series a set of meditations, of all things – these are games that invite a level of thought that doesn't necessarily take the usual steps that Aristotle-based logic – for lack of a better word that isn't "Western", which one could see as sort of a cop-out in this scenario – would deem indispensable.

Such an approach, for starters, would explain the use of English in the spoken bits of the game. I've been playing Outer Wilds lately (thank you @alexswordsman for insisting that I give it a shot – you were right all along) and see, now that's a game that sounds like a solid peer to what I hope this one big ass robot game turns out to be. The idea is that the so-called plot of the game may be lived entirely in retrospect, but keeping the usual cryptic approach that Ueda and the team seem to favor in their storytelling. So there's this dude (gender neutral) who has to repair their robot, or somehow traverse a landscape, and in the meantime they come to learn… something, I guess, about who was here before? Or maybe just who was hit the hardest by that debris storm from the trailer, mere hours ago? Who knows, not me, I'm just speculating because I have way too much free time on my hands. Would love to hear you guys' thoughts on the matter. Gender neutral, of course.

I realize I'm still trying to think of Ueda as a creative, after all of these years, in one of two ways:

he's doing his usual thing, and he's thinking within his own box.

he's looking out to other developers in attempts to make a mishmash of random cool titles that might have interesting elements.

The problem with both of these lines of thought is that it makes no sense to close off one or the other. I can't shake the feeling that there will be, simultaneously, more and less than what I've discussed above. Again, this entire post is nothing more than a bunch of speculation and opinions piled together into a trenchcoat, but I'm still feeling way too up in the air about this. The one thing I'm sure of is, I am really excited about this. My best hope for this is not that it finds its market niche, or its "target audience", or any of that BMA crap. I just hope it's a good Ueda game, one that strikes emotional chords with the same grace and poise and elegance as the others do.

Now for another robot song, and it's the last one, I swear.

[momolady]

Bo the Qilin

A new mother gets a rather strange visitor claiming her child is something from prophecy. Unfortunately for this visitor, he's going to have a hard time convincing this mother of anything. Also, first new story of 2022!

Female Reader x Male Monster

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

The night my son, Sebastian, was born, I swear I saw the color of the moon change. No one believed me, but as I got into the cab to the hospital, it turned brilliant pink. I knew what I saw back then, and I don’t think I’m creative enough to make something like that up. For a while, I thought it was some sort of sign, even a warning, so I was cautious when I first took Sebastian home. After a couple of weeks had passed, I decided that maybe I had seen a trick of the light, that it wasn’t some omen. That was until Bo came into our lives.

It was just a normal day, and I was trying to get some things done around the house while Sebastian slept. I was used to people dropping by at this point, so when there was a knock on the door I didn’t think twice. Answering it, I found a tall, oddly dressed Asian man standing there and smiling, with very long, pitch-black hair that looked more like a sheet of silk. He wore an elaborate robe covered in gold embroidery, a huge red gemstone pinned to the front of his collar and tiny round sunglasses that almost completely hid his eyes. “Good afternoon, Ms. Valynsia,” he said in a strangely soothing voice. “My name is Bo, and I have come to see the baby.”

“Are you out of your mind?” I burst.

His brows raised. “I beg your pardon?”

“You do see what you look like, right? I mean… My auntie dresses weird, but I know her. I’m not letting some strange man into my home to see my baby. Thank you for trying, bye.” I closed the door on him, but it wasn’t the last I had seen of Bo.

Bo came back the next day, asking to see Sebastain again. But as I was going to close the door in his face he earnestly said, “He’s a very special baby! I’m here to help him!”

I glared at him through the crack in the door. “What are you talking about?”

Bo sighed. “Your son’s birth has been foretold for generations. He is meant to be the most powerful sorcerer this world will ever see.”

I scowled. “Is this Harry Potter?”

“No. I am serious. My kind have been watching over the great magic users and sages since the world was new. It is my responsibility to see to your son’s well-being, and teach him magic so he may use it wisely.”

“Your kind?” I asked.

“I am a qilin.” Bo laid his palms flat on his chest. “To put it in the simplest of terms, a unicorn.”

This was a bit hard to swallow. “Then why do you look like a guy if you’re a unicorn? Where’s your horn?”

Bo huffed in disappointment. “This is a form I have to take in order to walk amongst humans. My real form is sealed until your son performs his first spell under my tutelage. I know this must be strange and even hard to believe, but this is extremely important.”

“I’m too broke to be buying nonsense. So either come back with some sort of proof, or stop trying to be weird around kids.”

I was about to close the door when suddenly his hand closed over mine. The ring on his finger shimmered brightly, leaving a trail of pink light behind it, and the gem set in it reminded me of the pink moon I saw the night Sebastian was born. “Please. I only want to help, Ms. Valynsia” Bo pleaded gently.

His expression was soft and gentle, and dare I say he even looked beautiful, which made me soft. “The last time I let some strange man into my house I ended up pregnant.”

Bo’s brows pursed. “The child’s father is not around?”

“No. He vanished not long after I found out about the baby. So I am mother and father for as long as I have to be.”

“How odd. Usually the father is supposed to…” Bo stopped and lifted his chin. “All the more reason I should be here. You won’t be alone, Ms. Valynsia.”

It took some more convincing, as well as my own research online. Qilin are supposed to bring prosperity and good luck, and much like Bo said, they appear during the arrival of great rulers and sages. Bo visited each day until I let him in to see Sebastian and then I realized there was real magic involved. Sebastian floated out of his crib to meet Bo, like an infant Peter Pan. He instantly took to Bo, too, and after that first meeting Sebastian would cry and scream when Bo was not around. It started wreaking havoc in the house, as his cries made things fly off shelves, walls move, and even changed the layout of his nursery.

At wit’s end, I let Bo in. It was strange at the beginning, having this man in my home. Bo’s clothing and movements both hinted that he wasn’t exactly human. But Sebastian adored him, and after some time I got used to him too. Having Bo there was a blessing, especially when I went back to work.

Time passed, and Bo became a normal part of our lives. I was able to help him try to acclimate to human behaviors, and pick out a new wardrobe, although his taste was still suspect. He helped me understand Sebastian’s abilities and importance, although that still terrified me. “He is meant to do important things, but he will always be yours,” Bo told me. “He will always have your wisdom and strength with him, which is part of what makes him so powerful. Because you’re a good mother, he will be a good leader.”

I sighed and rubbed at my cheeks. “You’re going to make me cry, Bo.”

Bo chuckled. “It’s true, Ms. Valynsia.” He placed his hand upon my back, and his palm was warm.

Sebastian’s sixth birthday rolled around, and I got busy planning the party. Sebastian was excited, as he had so many new friends from school to invite. This was his first big-boy birthday party. “Six is a big age,” Bo was telling him over breakfast one morning. “And a very powerful number.”

“Really?” Sebastian looked up from his plate.

Bo nodded. “Six is a sign for happiness and harmony, which means this could be an important year for you.”

“Every year seems big,” Sebastian said in awe.

The smile on Bo’s face as he looked at Sebastian always made my heart flutter. Something about it was so adorable, and I could tell he loved my son, which meant more to me than I knew. “This one is going to be extra-big.”

“Whoa!”

I chuckled and handed Sebastain his lunchbox. “Hurry up and finish eating. Your bus will be here soon.”

“Okay, Mommy. Thank you.” He picked up his toast with both hands to eat.

“Is there anything you’re wishing for? Since it’s going to be such a lucky year for you, it will probably come true.”

Sebastian got a look on his face I couldn’t quite read. “Will you and Mommy be getting married?”

Bo choked on his tea, and I very nearly put the knife I was cleaning through my palm. “Sebastian, what are you talking about?”

“What?” he asked with a slight pout.

“As honored as I would be, your mother and I are not…” Bo hesitated and adjusted his glasses. “Your mother and I are indeed very close, but there is nothing…” He seemed to be having a hard time saying that word.

“The bus!” There was no time to think about it now. I rushed Sebastain out as the bus honked and the kids inside yelled, and when I came back into the house there was a curious tension in the air. “I had no idea he had such thoughts in his head,” I sighed. “That boy.”

Bo sighed. “It is not so silly when you see things from his point of view, Ms. Valynsia. He has two people who have cared for him all his life, and who love him. Of course he would get that idea in his head.”

“Well…” I murmured, unsure of where I was heading.

“It’s hard to say what he knows of romance aside from those cartoon movies he adores.” Bo had a strange expression on his face. “He may assume more than we know.”

I put the dishes away and stood there for a second. “Didn’t you say that his words have power once?”

“All words do,” Bo said softly. “Sebastian, though, has a funny way of knowing what’s true, even if he doesn’t grasp it yet.”

I made myself laugh. “It’s silly, though!”

“Yes,” Bo looked distant. “It is.”

I screwed my mouth into a tight line. “I have to get to work. You don’t mind picking Sebastian up today, do you?”

“Not at all. I’ll be happy to see him. Is there anything you’d like for dinner?” Bo asked.

I shook my head. “Whatever you make will be fine.” The tension in the air was growing.

A big storm came that weekend, and we had to reschedule Sebastain’s birthday party. He was beside himself with disappointment, and stayed snuggled up with me or Bo all day. I read to him and made a blanket fort in hopes of cheering him up. That evening, in hopes of lifting his spirits, I let him go stay with his grandparents, who promised to spoil him rotten the next day. He always loved staying the night with them. They had a bigger TV, and his grandmother made his favorite food.

After he was gone, I felt a bit heavy. I was disappointed too. I had been working so hard to plan for this big party, and now it had to wait. I went back into the living room to clean up the blanket fort and noticed Bo was inside. “What’re you doing?” I knelt in the entrance.

Bo quickly put his glasses back on. “I’m sorry, Ms. Valynsia. I was going to clean up, but it seemed cozy in here.” He smiled up at me. “Did he seem excited to be going to his grandparents?”

“He was still a bit pouty.” I sat down with him inside. “I thought turning six was supposed to make him happy.”

“It will, just in ways that won’t seem obvious at first.” Bo smiled at me. “Even this disappointment will have meaning for him.”

I smiled back, then looked down at the book we had been reading. I went to pick it up, but Bo reached it the same time I did. Our fingers touched and while I started to chuckle, Bo’s cheeks bloomed bright red. “Are you hot or something?”

I reached up to touch his forehead and he pulled back, grabbing my hand to keep it away. “No, I’m fine.” He scooted back until his head got stuck into the blankets.

“You’re acting weirder than normal, and that’s saying something. You’ve been a little iffy all week. Is something wrong?”

Bo huffed and pulled his hair over his shoulder, stroking it through his fingers. I had only noticed him do this a few times before, once when Sebastian had an extremely high fever and had to stay overnight in the hospital, another time when Sebastian had a bad splinter, and then again when he went to school for the first time.

“Something’s up. If you can’t tell me, then I’m going to worry.”

Boo shook his head and had a slight frown on his lips. “It’s not something that needs to be worried about. Not by you, at least.”

I gave him a cross, concerned look. “That sounds like I need to.”

Bo licked his lip, then tucked it between his teeth. “This isn’t something that should happen. It’s strange.”

“Bo!”

He looked back up at me and his cheeks went red again. “What Sebastian wants for his birthday, what he told us a few days ago…” His voice cracked and he turned away again. “I don’t think it is entirely ridiculous.”

A jolt went through my heart. “That we should get married?” I laughed.

“Yes. I have been dealing with some complicated feelings for a long time, but I did not want to admit it until Sebstian so boldly announced his wish.”

I held my breath as Bo continued to stroke his long hair. “I do have feelings for you,” he breathed. “For a long time, actually.”

My heart was racing. “You do?”

Bo couldn’t look at me. “This isn’t supposed to happen. The legends stated the child would have parents who embodied wisdom and kindness. I am not supposed to fall in love with…” He stopped and hung lower.

“Bo, I…”

Bo shook his head. “You don’t need to say anything. You don’t have to tell me it will be okay, or that you care for me. I know you do, and I understand if you do not feel the same. Sebastian is what matters, and I will overcome these feelings with time. All I require is your friendship.”

I placed my hand on his cheek and raised his head. At first he resisted, but then he gave in and let my palm meet his cheek. I couldn’t stop myself from kissing him. I sat up to reach his lips and I felt myself melting into him. Bo’s lips parted in surprise, and then he placed his hands on my shoulders. His long fingers slowly moved up, touching my face as the kiss deepened. “Ms. Valynsia,” Bo whispered as we parted. “I don’t think my heart can take this.”

“You don’t have to call me Miss. Just call me by my name.” I smiled softly at him before I leaned in to kiss his cheek.

Bo turned slightly, our lips brushing together again. It felt so right, felt so needed. His touch was gentle, and his hands shook. Both of us were nervous, but so sure of what we were doing. I ran my fingers through his hair, and Bo took hold of my braids and let them sift through his fingers. “Alright,” he breathed. “Valynsia.” He made a face. “It sounds so weird, I’m sorry.”

I kissed him again. “You’ll get used to it.”

I woke the next day inside the blanket fort with Bo’s arms wrapped around me. His glasses were set to the side, but his eyes were closed. I’d never seen him with the sunglasses off. He had always been beautiful, but in slumber there was a fairy tale quality to him. His long lashes fluttered in sleep, and as I rose he began to stir, although he fought rising.

Last night, when he confessed his feelings, I was too overwhelmed to fully voice my own. All these years my fondness for him had grown, and the more he loved Sebastian the more I fell in love with him. His smile, his odd ways, even his odd dress - I adored them all. I suppose I had been afraid of falling in love again and being that vulnerable around someone. In fact, I was still afraid.

Bo’s eyes fluttered open, and I saw a bright flash of pink. He quickly put on his sunglasses again and sat up. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” I muttered.

He smiled shyly. “So…” he looked around, confused. “Morning.”

I chuckled to myself. “I hope your back is okay, having slept on the floor all night.”

“I’m fine. Are you?”

I looked at him and my heart rumbled again. “Mhm,” I nodded.

“Oh, good, good.” His cheeks began to redden. “Well… let's clean up, or I can make breakfast. Either way,” his voice cracked, “you probably want a shower. You should go first. I’ll, uh… I’ll wait here.” He stroked his hair.

“Is something wrong?”

“Yes there is, and it is mortifying!” Bo huffed. “Please, just give me this grace.”

I glanced down to his lap. “Are you…?”

Bo placed a pillow over his lap. “Ms. Valynsia!”

I smiled and started laughing. For some reason, that broke the tension inside me, and I couldn’t help kissing him lovingly. “Okay, I’ll go take a shower.” I kissed him again, not really wanting to leave.

“Don’t laugh. Ms. Valynsia, it isn’t funny.” He kissed me in return, laughing between each embrace. “You’re making it worse.”

I grinned. “I thought you were some proper, slightly stuffy gentleman. I’m a bit shocked.”

Bo’s smile was big and beautiful. “Even proper, stuffy men like me can be felled by a beautiful woman. Now I beg you again, leave so I can calm myself.”

“It’s natural. You don’t have to be so ashamed. But I’ll leave you be.” I rose to crawl out of the blanket fort. “Maybe we should have a better talk later. About last night.”

“Yes, of course.” Bo said from inside. “I’ll make breakfast.”

I took my time in the shower, allowing myself to cool down as well. Once I was done, I changed into comfortable clothes and went into the kitchen. Bo was cooking, and wearing a new change of clothes as well. His hair was tied back and I could see the elegant nape of his neck, which looked kissable. “I know you’re there,” he said.

“I know you know,” I jibed. I stood beside him over the eggs he was frying. “Do you feel better now?”

“I’m still mortified,” he scoffed. “But I will survive.”

“I do love you,” I murmured.

He stabbed the yolk of the egg. then quickly moved the pan aside. “Don’t startle me like that! I love you too,” Bo huffed.

I could almost cry. “I have for a long time, just like you said. But I was so scared, Bo. Scared it would hurt, scared it would hurt you and Sebastian. I was… am terrified of opening up like that again.”

“You don’t need to explain anything to me, Valynsia. I was scared for the same reasons. I mean, this job is important. Sebastian is everything to me, not just because of my responsibility, but because I love him too. You’re both…” I saw tears slip down Bo’s cheek from under his glasses. “There is so much at stake here.”

I stood on tiptoes to kiss him. “And that is what made me fall in love with you.”

Bo took off his glasses, and I saw the pink moons in his eyes. I wiped away the tears on his face and he held my hand there, kissing it lovingly.

Not long after his sixth birthday party, Sebastian came running up to me, more excited than I had ever seen him before. “Mommy! Mommy!” He tackled my legs and nearly knocked me over.

“Easy, baby, easy!” I knelt down to be face to face with him. “What’s got you so excited?”

“I finally did it! Bo taught me!”

Bo came into the room, having chased after Sebastain from the yard. “Show her. Go ahead!” He sounded just as excited.

Sebastian held up his hands and concentrated hard until his fingertips began to glow. Small sparks of light flew between his palms, and then a ball of light began to form. It grew bigger and bigger, then folded out and created petals. He then held a lotus blossom in his hands. “I did magic! Like Bo said!” Sebastian bounced excitedly, showing me the lotus he had made.

It was his first spell. Sebastian raced back over to Bo with a big grin. “Remember your promise?”

“I do,” Bo said softly. “Now that you’ve mastered your first spell, it means I can show you what I really look like.”

I had forgotten about that. When Sebastain was still a baby, Bo had told me his appearance was locked until this milestone. Only then could he reveal his true appearance.

Bo took off his glasses, and his eyes began to glow. Sebastain stepped back, standing with me as Bo began to change. The light in the room shifted, flickering and dancing, turning pink around Bo. Bo then shook off the light, standing before us as the mystical beast he was. His hair had become the mane draped over his long neck, and pink flames rose around his face and legs. Dark purple scales covered his body, and a single horn jutted from his forehead. His back legs were hooved, but his front limbs ended in clawed hands, which he extended to us.

“So, how do I look?”

“Cool!” Sebastian ran up to him, touching the pink flames - which didn’t burn - and giggling over how cool his best friend looked.

Bo turned, looking expectantly at me. I approached him and smiled. “You’re so beautiful.”

His gaze softened and he chuckled. “You don’t think I’m odd?” His voice was human.

I took hold of his hand. “Of course I do, but I still adore you.”

Sebastian went to bed easily that night. Mastering a spell and seeing Bo’s true form really tired him out. He snored loudly as I tucked him in and shut his door, then headed towards my room to get ready for bed. I hesitated. I instead went to Bo’s door, which had once been a closet, but which he had magicked into a full-size room. I knocked on his door and nervously waited.

“Come in.”

I stepped into Bo’s room, seeing he was still in his qilin form. He looked up at me and suddenly shifted back to his human guise. “Why did you switch?” I asked.

“I figured you would…” He stopped and shrugged. “I’m a bit nervous.” He sat down on the foot of his bed.

“I think you’re handsome both ways.” I sat down beside him and placed my hand into his. “I’d like to see it again.”

“Really?”

I leaned in and kissed him, feeling the shift in his lips, his mouth. I saw those pink moons in his eyes as I pulled back, and the dark scales as well. I smoothed my hand over his long face, gently running my fingers through his mane.

“Is there something you wanted?” Bo asked shyly.

“Just you.”

His eyes went wide. “Really? Are you sure?”

“Only if you want me too, that is.” I ran my hand down his thigh.

Bo took a breath. “Of course I do. I just don’t want to rush. But I so want you.” He smiled. “Ever since that morning in the blanket fort, it’s always been a thought, a wish.”

“Wish granted.” I kissed him, falling over onto the bed as it deepened. I lost my breath as his kisses went down my body, and I was not prepared for the exceptionally long tongue he had. I hadn’t been so worshipped like this, touched and comforted, lit aflame.

“You’re so wet,” Bo breathed against my thigh.

“It’s been a while,” I caught my breath. “And you’re…”

His long tongue pushed between my folds and flicked up, hitting that very sensitive bud. Bo moaned and pressed more kisses into me, and it was almost becoming too much for me. I had to push him aside and lay him out, kissing him as I reached below his waist. “Ms. Valynsia,” he breathed.

“Shh.” I took hold of his shaft, gently caressing it. It was surprisingly thick, with a flared head. “Let me take care of you now.” I kissed him again, grasping his length and stroking slowly. “There. Have you been wanting this?”

“Yes,” Bo whimpered.

I kissed his cheek. “Is this how you imagined me touching you?”

He grunted in reply.

“Or did you picture something else?” I teased.

“Where did this come from?” Bo panted. “I didn’t imagine you being so… so verbal.” He whimpered and jerked his hips as my touch became more intense.

“I like seeing you fidget like this.” I kissed him hungrily. “Now tell me, is this how you imagined it?” Bo whimpered. “Or do you want something else?” I purred. I moved my hand away and hiked my leg over his, straddling his thighs

Bo’s mouth opened and he sighed. “Valynsia, this…”

I slowly took him inside. He was quite thick, so it took me a moment. His eyes glowed brightly, and his pink flames shuddered. I whimpered once he was all inside. “Like this.” His hands wrapped around me, holding me firmly. “I wanted to see you like this.”

“Oh, Bo.” I squeezed around him, rubbing him deeply within me. “Touch me.”

His hands roamed across my body as I lifted myself up. I lowered myself again, feeling him slip in more easily. The more I moved, the better it felt. I watched him, eagerly taking in his pleasured expressions and voice. I rode him harder and harder. My legs would be useless come morning, but it didn’t matter. I wanted him, I needed this, and it felt so much better knowing he felt the same.

I woke to Bo’s kisses on my shoulder. His sweet smile greeted me when I opened my eyes. “I’ll go get breakfast started,” he whispered. “And I’ll bring you some clean clothes after I check on Sebastian.”

“Wait.” I pulled him down and kissed as passionately as I could. “I love you.”

Bo grinned. “I love you too, Valynsia.”

[sylviah98]

The concept of Gold in the world of Elden Ring

So there is a concept that I have been pondering over a lot with regards to Elden Ring lore, i.e the concept of various kinds of Gold and maybe significance of other metals in the metaphysical sense. In the game we have come across three kinds of Gold- Primordial Gold, Gold associated with Golden Order and Unalloyed Gold. Lets find items related to these three types of gold:

Primordial Gold: The color motif associated with this is a reddish hue. That is quite commonly associated with a metal commonly used.

Ordovis's Greatsword - Greatsword of Ordovis, one of the two honored as foremost among the Crucible Knights. This sword is imbued with an ancient holy essence. Its red tint exemplifies the nature of primordial gold, said to be close in nature to life itself.

**Siluria's Tree-**Siluria's Tree, weapon of one of the two honored as foremost among the Crucible Knights. The primordial form of the Erdtree is close in nature to life itself, and this spear, modeled on its crucible, is imbued with ancient holy essence.

Crucible Hornshield -Greatshield of red-tinged gold carried by Crucible Knights. Features a great horn. An ancient holiness dwells within. The crucible horn skewers foes when performing shield bashes.

  This is the Crucible axe set. Notice the tint of the armor which also closely resembles the red tint, associated with Primordial gold.

  This is the crucible tree set. Same thing as above.

These items that are associated with the crucible knights have a reddish tint. Similar to a metal we know and is extensively used in our day to day life. Copper. The primordial gold is said to be extracted from the Crucible, which was basically a foundry of creation. The world prior to Erdtree was chaotic in a way there was no defined set of rules governing the world and this crucible, which was a cauldron for differing ideas provided the first base for creating life. Just like Copper was the first metal used by Mankind for its usage.

 Gold associated with Golden order and Erdtree: The color motif associated with this is the actual golden color. the bright yellowish hue that is assocaited with the precious metal i.e Gold.

Sacred Relic Sword -Sword wrought from the remains of a god who should have lived a life eternal. Thoughts on what the weapon portends are many and varied. Some consider it the mark of a great sin, or a sign of great devastation. Some think of it as the end of an age, while others; the beginning.

Inseparable Sword  -Sword forged by compounding silver and gold.A sacred weapon to hunt Those Who Live in Death.Deals holy damage.The inseparable twins found solace in the Golden Order, the only institution not to revile them as accursed beings.

Twinned Armor-Armor depicting entwined twins of gold and silver. The two known as D are inseparable twins. They are of two bodies and two minds, but one single soul. Not once do they stand together; not one word do they speak to one another. Perhaps this armor longs to find its way to the other D. 

  Golden Halberd- Weighty halberd forged of gold. Wielded by the Order of Tree Sentinels, heavily equipped knights.  Deals holy damage. A masterfully crafted weapon that lives up to its heft, but is difficult for one mere human strength to wield.

Erdtree Greatshield  Weighty greatshield forged of gold carried by the order of Tree Sentinels, heavily equipped knights. Blessed by an old incantation of protection.The living rampart of the Erdtree, the Tree Sentinels are the standard to which all defenders of the Erdtree aspire.

Tree Sentinel Armor -Golden armor of the heavy cavalry Tree Sentinels who serve the Erdtree. Adorned with a cape featuring the mark of the sacred tree. Imposingly sturdy and nigh unbreakable, the grace of old yet lingers.

  Notice that all the items I mentioned are actually made of Gold, Gold that is specifically extracted from Erdtree. Thus everyting related to Erdtree(like Erdtree incantations ) and Golden Order( like Golden Order incantations) are associated with this particular motif and is considered to be the symbol of order in Lands Between.

 Unalloyed gold: The color motif associated with it is dull gold or a dull yellowish hue that is associated with pure gold that hasn't been alloyed with other metals.

Unalloyed Gold Needle -An intricately crafted needle of unalloyed gold, snapped in half. A ritual implement crafted to ward away the meddling of outer gods, it is thought capable of forestalling the incurable rotting sickness.

**Miquella's Needle-**One of the unalloyed gold needles that Miquella crafted to ward away the meddling of outer gods. Capable of subduing the flame of frenzy if inherited, allowing one to cheat fate and avoid becoming Lord of Frenzied Flame. However, the needle is as yet unfinished and can only be used in the heart of the storm beyond time said to be found in Faram Azula.

Haligtree Crest Greatshield -Metal greatshield depicting the Haligtree with unalloyed gold. Carried by knights who have vowed to serve Miquella's Haligtree. Possesses high holy damage negation. Yet now, with the Haligtree misshapen, this wondrous rendition is a fleeting fantasy.

Miquellan Knight's Sword -Sword forged by servants of Miquella of the Haligtree, with a design modeled after those carried by Carian knights. Instead of glintstone however, amber from the Haligtree is embedded in the blade. A sumptuous piece, yet it has never been offered to any knight — an ill-starred sword with no master.

Malenia's Armor -Armor made of unalloyed gold. Worn by Malenia, Blade of Miquella. Malenia awaited Miquella at the foot of the husk. "My brother will keep his promise. He possesses the wisdom, the allure, of a god - he is the most fearsome Empyrean of all."

Hand of Malenia- Blade built into Malenia's prosthetic arm. Through consecration it is resistant to rot.Malenia's war prosthesis symbolized her victories. Some claim to have seen wings when the weapon was raised aloft; wings of fierce determination that have never known defeat.

 Valkyrie's Prosthesis- Golden prosthesis once used by the one-armed valkyrie. A masterwork of craftsmanship, with practice and skill it can be used as proficiently as a real arm. When Maleigh Marais, Lord of the Shaded Castle, embraced this prosthesis, he claimed to feel the presence of his personal goddess.

Haligtree Knight Helm- Helm worn by knights sworn to the Haligtree. Graced by a crown of unalloyed gold.Increases faith.

  Here notice the color motif of items. They are dull gold. The unalloyed gold is supposedly extracted from the Haligtree i.e Haligtree sap is the unalloyed gold. But it is dulled because haligtree never reached its full potential of growing into something that could rival the Erdtree. Thus it never reached the perfection it was supposed to reach.

 So what was the point of showing all these?

It was to suggest that gold is very much related to trees. Its the sap of the trees that is responsible for creation of all kinds of gold. The tree is very much related to an alchemical cauldron.

The Primordial gold( or Copper which is a lower rung metal in alchemy) was created from the Crucible, from the first experiments on creating life, which was chaotic in nature and thus hadn't reached a level of perfection.

Then comes the Elden beast which consumes the crucible and with its power, circumvents and perfects the process to create the Erdtree, whose sap is considered the Gold( which signifies the perfection of Alchemical process) that is associated with order( and everything related to Elden Beast- the Erdtree incantations and items, the Golden order Incantations and items). This basically suggest that Elden Beast restricted the natural process of creating order from chaos which would eventually have reached from the crucible had not the Elden Beast consumed and circumvented the process, thus assuming a direct control on cauldron of life.

Then comes Miquella, the greatest genius of Lands Between, who studied the Golden Order and Erdtree and himself invented Golden Order spells like Discus of light or rings of light and understood the true process of the alchemical cauldron that created Erdtree. But since an outside influence perfected the process of alchemy in the Crucible, Miquella devised a way to replace it with a process that is derived from the world itself. Thus comes Unalloyed Gold which is basically the sap of the Haligtree. But if Miquella had not been kidnapped by Mohg and perfectly have grown the Haligtree, the unallyed Gold will have reached the perfection it was intended for and then it would be capable of opposing the Gold from the Erdtree i.e Haligtree would have co -opted and consumed the crucible which is directly related to the life force of the world and it would have still reached the level of perfection (in alchemical terms) but without any outside influence.

That is the reason why Malenia considered Miquella the most fearsome of all Empyrean and Gideon didn't want him to wake up. Its because Miquella is so intelligent that he reverse engineered the creation process that governed the world and was circumvented by Elden Beast and Greater Will and used it to create an alchemical process to reach perfection of Gold, that means it could replace the entire world structure that was co-opted from the crucible by the Erdtree and replace with Haligtree such that it can essentially allow him to banish the planes from which any Outer god can influence the world.

That is also the reason why Miquella's needle can only be used in Placidusax's arena. Since that arena is locked away in a time where Erdtree was not created and the Crucible still goverened the world, that means Miquella's needle can tap into the Crucible and perfectly reach the pinnacle it was meant to reach.

 There is also another metal that has been in Elden Ring that can be considered precious in our world but it is always hampered by the brillinace of Gold. i.e Silver.

Silver Tear Husk: A hardened husk shed by a formless life form known as the Silver Tear, found in and around the Eternal City. Material used for crafting items. The Silver Tear makes mockery of life, reborn again and again into imitation. Perhaps, one day, it will be reborn a lord.

Silver Tear Mask: Mask fashioned from the corpse of a formless Silver Tear, supported by its hardened, shed husk. Greatly increases arcane to the detriment of physical attack power. To imitate the imitator is a cunning play indeed.

Mimic Tear Ashes - Legendary ashen remains. Use to summon the spirit of a mimic tear. Summoning consumes HP rather than FP. This spirit takes the form of the summoner to fight alongside them, but its mimicry does not extend to imitating the summoner's will. Mimic tears are the result of an attempt by the Eternal City to forge a lord.

Larval Tear -Core of a creature of mimicry known as a silver tear. As much as a substance as it is a living organism. Material required by the amber egg cradled by Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon, to birth people anew.

See all these suggests that the Eternal city tried to replicate the process of alchemical perfection of Gold that Erdtree and Elden Beast had reached so that they can rival them. But just like Silver mimics the brilliance of gold and never reaches the same level of perfection, the Silver related items also never reached quite the level of perfection to rival the Gold of Erdtree.

So guys, what are your thoughts?

[katyspersonal]

Thoughts about Crucible and conceptual corruption of religion

I've started trying to figure out what Crucible is exactly today while playing Elden Ring and I need to put down my thoughts about it before I forgot 🤔 I think basically it is what happened when the divine met the natural, the lifeforms on the setting's earth. In a way, the original Greattree is somewhat of a Crucible itself! Conceptually it is a very primordial faith that was yet filling life with meaning beyond just survival in a very good sense, but in ER the divine needs us as much as we need it, if not more so. Elden Ring hasn't always operated by Golden Order / Marika obviously; it was initially just a cool thing that fell from space and kind of accelerated everything, especially life itself! Presumably the result of Greater Will wanting to manifest itself in some sort of personality and coherent shape, but before the decision of what the order would be got handed to mortals (Empyreans first of all)

^ In Farum Azula there is a depiction of Elden Ring in more abundant form, very overflowing with life, so alternatively it'd rely on (ancient) dragons, the lifeform of whole other level back then for "order and personality"!

But yeah, uhhh like how do I put it...? Crucible is the result of the divine growing within the earth full of nature, primordial matters and mortal life. The initial Greattree "contracted" it like an influence, nature of life itself crept into it, it became the divine matter turning imperfect but alive! And the way Misbegotten, Omens and alike have animalistic features placed without any logic (and at times these features are useless) is a reflection of how chaotic life in its nature is brought from a concept to a display! Also the evergrowing "horns" were already a thing in simpler times, like what Ancestral guys are associated with! That's why Crucible used to be seen as a sacred thing - it was like a display of the divine matter wiling to live through you! But also Greattree wasn't meant to last forever and would one day die and in turn give the way to new life to replace it (Erdtree). It is a principle the divine naturally adopted upon becoming alive in the way nature knows it through the first big tree; life sprouts from death as much as it sprouts from birth!

So yeah, the problem began when the mortals (Marika?) pulled an ultimate purity wank and wanted that eternity, divinity and "perfection" forever rather than this new Erdtree once likewise dying (even if in turn it would give way to new life and so on forever). The whole DS3 is just Miyazaki being salty about how some people just won't let things die after their cycle expired, why not use what works again? XD But ALSO in these terms, the beastly idiocy nature of life started being seen not as simply something that MAYBE needed discipline to get the best out of it, but as a "disease" or a curse that "dirtied" the divine essence. So the divine in their eyes needed to be protected from being "sullied", from being pulled down to this level, the imperfections that make the life what it is started to just being liability - a bad mistake forms of civilizing (especially religions) keep making.

So Erdtree eventually ran out of its blessed sap and became ephemeral, useless as the holiness that only preserves its "purity" and doesn't sully itself for anyone can be. How it could give the world any more of the sap that was good for it without subjecting itself to it? It is like sharing advices without ever listening to what people's struggles are to BEGIN with. Age of Plenty was over because of obsession with the purity and defending the divine from "lowly" life, Crucible was an evidence that it once got "dirtied" but now never again, when in reality the very worst thing that could have happened with Erdtree is it dying like Greattree once did but giving life to the next tree in turn. I do think that fixation on the idea of eternity is still a larger part of it but I just can't ignore the thing about purity and control in it

^ @val-of-the-north also showed me these shapes when I shared my thoughts with him, to illustrate my point back to me (basically he said he agreed with my thought process). He pointed out that progression of the symbols shows the same thing - modern Erdtree and Fundamentalist incantations notably lack "life" in them in the form of branches and leaves. It could be not just what the Erdtree stopped doing, but also what they wanted to remove from the divine (Floral Crucible is only mentioned in cut content, but still). The latter two are "trapped" in concrete geometrical shapes, reflecting an actual order like what Greater Will wants in the end; it wants some organization, no matter which one. ...but also doesn't, there are enough implications that Frenzied Flame is just another side of the same coin. It even also has the hand as a conduct of the GW! And makes it funnier how they've sealed the Frenzied Flame away too, removing the alternatives- For sure, a decision that is understandable, but what does life mean if you don't have to fight against the essence of existential despair for it?

___________

Hhhhhh I went on a tangent but I was trying to say that I think Crucible didn't "come from space"! Elden Ring fell in this world cold empty and without self-comprehension like the cosmic void it came from, but initially assimilated with what life is here and Greattree was the manifestation! But Crucible also wasn't fully natural for this world too; it reflects aspects of life forms here but they get taken through this assimilation and then boosted with the blessing and given new meaning! Life for the sake of itself and next level magic for the sake of itself both are far from being meaningful but it is when low and high matters meet everything becomes full and complete! But in chasing to make the good things that come from it last forever people will end up demonizing and trying to exterminate natural things and prioritize only the divine.

Looking back at real humanity history, yeah I can see the relevance with how religion has been developing as a concept. How it started simple and fulfilling as a (successful) attempt to add higher meaning in existence than just surviving, was full of joy and wonder and freedom. And how in the end it came to incredibly suffocating and corrupt systems of control, purity wank and denial of normal parts of life 🤔

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it    

Words: 12,857

“So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow. 

this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito​ & @kugutsuu​ for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!  

Practicum prac·ti·cum /ˈpraktəkəm/ noun a practical section of a course of study

It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on. 

Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class. 

It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.

That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date. 

It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings. 

‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’

‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’ 

But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away. 

Fuck. 

Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors. 

Perfect.

Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students. 

Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.

This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now. 

When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.” 

Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess. 

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”

The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”

“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously. 

“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”

You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”

You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number. 

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?

Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago. 

Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class. 

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too. 

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.

Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing. 

The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you. 

Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall. 

Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine. 

He’s watching you. 

The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.

“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”

He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”

“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”

“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms. 

“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness. 

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”

Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass. 

You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his. 

You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”

Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either. 

You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.

“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”

“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”

You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.

“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”

“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”

“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”

You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”

You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged. 

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied. 

The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.

He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class. 

Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his. 

Wait. Sexy? 

Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you. 

“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit. 

At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium. 

“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”

“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race. 

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed. 

You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?

“Did you need something?”

His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.  

“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”

“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”

“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”

He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips. 

The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon. 

The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares. 

At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.

“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs. 

He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.” 

“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare. 

“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”

“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”

Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”

“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?”

“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”

God. 

You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.

The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.

The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA. 

God fucking damn it.

You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces. 

It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips. 

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door. 

“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”

“Gimme the paperwork.”

Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves. 

You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you. 

Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence. 

When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”

His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea. 

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright. 

“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk. 

He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line. 

“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow. 

“Something came up.”

“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression. 

“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult. 

“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”

He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”

“Um, yeah. But–”

“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”

You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”

“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”

“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”

“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”

“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”

“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name. 

“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again. 

“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.

“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question. 

“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”

You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.

“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.” 

Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”

“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.

“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move. 

“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”

You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands. 

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin. 

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”

Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him. 

He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.

“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him. 

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”

“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin. 

“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”

“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead. 

“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”

Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.” 

What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that… 

Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.” 

You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.

“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side. 

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”

You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.” 

Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand. 

“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”

He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.

“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.” 

He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin. 

Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.

“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes. 

“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully. 

“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath. 

Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences. 

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”

“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”

The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed. 

“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.

The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter. 

“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice. 

“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”

Thank God.

True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back. 

“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips. 

He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”

Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.  

“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”

Damn it.

“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs. 

“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”

His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold. 

“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”  

“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.

“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” 

Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless. 

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you. 

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements. 

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.  

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis. 

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N). 

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet. 

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright. 

“What is the cell membrane?” 

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain. 

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance. 

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer. 

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you. 

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin. 

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.” 

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.  

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips. 

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior. 

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.   

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine. 

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus. 

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision. 

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather. 

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait… 

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper. 

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.  

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade. 

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise. 

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts? 

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit. 

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.  

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg. 

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by. 

“Hold still,” he commands. 

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit. 

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form. 

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?” 

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face. 

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you. 

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance. 

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think. 

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–” 

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips. 

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass. 

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need. 

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness. 

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice. 

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head. 

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again. 

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms. 

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good. 

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face. 

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting. 

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips. 

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release. 

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs. 

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release. 

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders. 

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you. 

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy. 

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love​, @libiraki​ <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here. 

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu