#this will get a proper post once i make up my mind to actually continue it KDKJSJKBSFJ

[hansluvs]

close to you — itoshi s.

i burn for you, and you don't even know my name - in which you make your debut into the ton expecting to find true love, and instead catch the attention of piercing teal eyes belonging to the man you swore to never acquaint yourself with.

wc: 3.1k+ (ongoing)

tags: regency au, itoshi sae x f!reader, strangers to lovers, (eventual) mutual pining, slow burn, sae is a little shit in every universe i will die on this hill

notes: took me a few months to get back to this but here it finally is! very excited for this idea it's been fermenting in my brain for a while

masterlist | next part

Your debut into the ton was certainly an anti-climactic one. Being the youngest of your five sisters, who had all been whisked away and married by the time you were of-age, everyone's attention had already moved on from your family's matches and preyed on the newer debutantes that had come in from further districts.

However, a debut that had certainly shocked the ton was that of the oldest Itoshi brother, who was the son of the King's advisor and had been close friends with the crown prince along with his brother since they were children. The entire society had been waiting for him to pursue a marriage match since his younger brother, Rin, had tied the knot with a very fortunate debutante the previous season.

Itoshi Sae had the reputation of being quite the rake, and was notorious for never taking the same woman to bed twice. He was very easily bored, as he put it, always looking for a new source of entertainment. Which consequently swiped marriage right off the table, as words from the mamas claim he's never so much as considered it.

Yet there he is now, standing beside his mother and younger brother, nursing a glass of lemonade. His teal eyes are carefully flitting around the room, seemingly cold and calculated. You hoped they would not meet yours.

As much as the alluring man across you had piqued your interest, you were determined to achieve your one and only goal for this season: to find a love match, and ultimately decided that Itoshi Sae was certainly not the man for the job.

A gentle hand had rested on your shoulder and you turn around to find Mikage Reo, the only son of the Viscount Mikage, and your dearest friend.

"Nervous?" he asked, a cheeky grin on his charming face usually reserved for poking fun at you.

"Hardly. I find it's quite boring, you promised me more fun than this," huffing out a sigh, you take another sip from your lemonade. 

Reo lets out an amused chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way you've always admired. You've harbored an unrequited crush on him for quite some time now, ever since their family had moved in across the street from yours and he had introduced himself with that same toothy grin he now flashed at you.

"It is uncharacteristically dull tonight, I suppose. Would you fancy a dance instead?"

Reo would have been the perfect match for you; attractive, intelligent, humorous, and not to mention from one of the most well-off families in town. You two got along well, and it was no question your shared affection for one another.

"And risk Seishiro shooting another rude remark at me? Thank you, but I'll pass."

If only he had not been in love with your older brother, Seishiro - who had returned his feelings, which you only found out this summer. Reo shoots you a scolding look, as if to warn you about someone overhearing your conversation. It was, after all, inappropriate for two men to be involved romantically within the ton.

Which was why your brother was standing a few feet away from the pair of you, a bored expression on his face as he pretended to listen to whatever Mr. Bachira was talking excitedly to him about.

Reo hurriedly scribbles down his name into your dance card then gently pulls you onto the large ballroom floor. "Don't worry about him, he's not the one making their debut. Besides, someone needs to dance with you in order to gain the attention of other suitors."

As the orchestra plays another lively tune, you scoff at your friend. "I don't need you to attract suitors! I can do that perfectly by myself, thank you very much."

"Really?" Reo smiles, lilac eyes not pointed at you but at somewhere, someone in the crowd instead. "So, do you reckon that Mr. Itoshi Sae would have noticed you had I not intervened?"

"What are you on about?"

As the pair of you turn, you finally see what Reo had meant.

Itoshi Sae, with his piercing teal eyes and indifferent expression, had been watching you move across the dance floor the entire time. Like a hawk.

The two of you meet each other's gaze and a shudder runs through you as Reo twirls you away from him. A sudden, awful feeling sinks into the pit of your stomach, and it seems that you were entirely incorrect.

This season would be far from boring, as you'd come to find out.

[bitchface24-7]

HE’S A WHAT?! - VIKTOR X READER

synopsis: You're an exhausted student, plagued with too much assignments and riddled with insomnia. You've found an amazing ASMR artist called "The-Herald", their ASMR puts you to sleep almost instantly. Their voice immediately putting you into a drowsy state. So when you see a Patreon link regarding more videos, one specifically titled "Talking you through it | NSFW Audio (1mil subscriber) Special" It sparks your attention. Now you're hooked. Instead of being Pavloved into drowsiness, you've pavloved yourself into arousal. His voice sounds familiar though...

warnings: NSFW audio mentions, voice kink, masturbation, obsession, neediness, realizations, suggestiveness, grammarly is my beta, adding youtube and patreon to the arcane verse so lowkey a modern au! ???

genre: m/f

p.s. @melisshivering sent me a DM with a HOT Viktor NSFW audio (literally sounds so similar to him it's INSANE) and I came up with the idea with them for this fic. So send them some thanks as well if you enjoy this fic. I'll put the link at the end of the fic

As a top academy student alongside your friends Sky, Viktor, and Jayce, you're completely burnt out. Hours upon hours of studying, assignments, and working on the campus library to help pay for your tuition. You're riddled with exhaustion that just won't go away, and insomnia is kicking your ass.

"The-Herald" has been your saving grace. His ASMR videos captivating you, helping you quiet your mind as you fall asleep. He keeps his face out of the frame in all his videos, but you can imagine how attractive he is; especially due to his voice. It kind of reminds you of Viktor's.

Are you hyper fixating on this creator due to his voice and your massive crush on Viktor? No. Shut up.

So imagine your surprise when you see a Patreon link for more content, NSFW content specifically. Well... it wouldn't hurt to check it out...

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You're addicted. Holy shit that audio couldn't have been any hotter. The orders, the praise, the degradation, the growly tone of his voice, the sound design.

Fuck... you don't think you've ever cum that hard before.

Your whining pants, your messy cunt, your aching wrist, and noisy bullet vibrator. You came in like ten minutes, you came again in less than two.

Who needs hookups when you've got The-Herald calling you a good girl in his sexy accent as he praises you for being good, and degrades you for being his personal slut.

Hopefully nobody finds out about your new obsession.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It's becoming bad how dependent you are on this man. You're constantly thinking about him. His voice, his words, how he makes you feel. He's honestly rivaling Viktor at this point for how bad of a crush you have on him; and you don't even know what he looks like.

You're down horrendous.

Like your entire libido revolves around this man.

You get one hell of a surprise on your next shift at the campus library.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Here you are, doing your due diligence and retuning books to their proper shelves as you stop every once in a while to chat with your friends. Everything is awesome, it's great! Until Jayce throws a bomb at you.

"So, when're next uploading V?"

You pause your ministrations as Sky continues to work and the two men have a small conversation. Upload? What is Jayce talking about?

"Tonight, actually."

"Really? I though you only posted on Thursdays."

"Eh, I post when I want."

You butt in. No way... there's no way! "Uhhh... Post where? If you don't mind me asking." Jayce looks at Viktor and Viktor casually shrugs, "I run an ASMR channel. It helps me pay my tuition here, it's called The-Herald. Maybe you heard of it? It's been trending these past few weeks."

You accidentally drop a book.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh no.

You've been masturbating to your friends voice, your crushes voice. You've pavloved yourself into arousal if Viktor says anything demeaning, praising, or that can pass as an order. You fucked up BIG TIME.

"What is wrong with you? Pick that up. You could've accidentally hurt yourself. Those textbooks aren't light you know?"

No goddamnit why?! It's like he can read your mind! You shudder out a sigh as you bend down and pick the textbook up, putting it away.

"Good girl."

A wheeze escapes you. Oh Viktor's just teasing you now and being an asshole about it. You look over your shoulder and see Sky and Jayce working together, Viktor is staring you down.

You quickly add, "Yeah I've seen it on my recommended tab. You've gotten quite popular, congrats!"

"Thanks, sweetheart." Viktor casually states, his eyes narrowed onto you as he smirks. He knows. He's gotta know! He's eyeing you down like you're a steak and he's starving.

Another hour passes by and you can feel Viktor's stare on you the entire time. Jayce and Sky pack up, Viktor stays behind.

His one reasoning being, "I don't have class tomorrow until three pm, the two of you have a class for seven in the morning. I can stay behind and make sure she gets home safe, you two can't."

Jayce and Sky can't argue with that logic, so they leave with some hugs and heartfelt goodbyes. Now it's just you and Viktor in this massive empty library.

"You're not very subtle you know." Viktor states as he runs a finger across multiple spines on the shelf, You put your tongue into your cheek, "What do you mean?"

"You've known about my channel for a while."

"You can't know that."

You turn around and Viktor's a few centimeters away from you, your noses are almost brushing together. His voice is quiet, but it damn near echoes in the silent library, "You shouldn't use a well-known nickname as your user ID. It kind of gives you away."

A sharp inhale is what he gets in response. Fuck. You didn't think about that. You assumed The-Herald was some stranger, not your friend. Not your crush.

"I didn't know it was you."

Viktor's eyebrow quirks up as he huffs in amusement, "You didn't know it was me? Wouldn't my voice give me away? My ah... accent isn't very common here."

"I didn't want to assume."

"So you subscribed to my NSFW channel, just cause?"

"I did that cause your voice is hot and it makes me cum quick."

Viktor steps back in some shock, his eyes minutely widened, "That was much more blunt than I expected."

You shrug, "It's the truth. I have a massive crush on you, this person's voice is remarkably similar to yours, there's dirty videos. One plus one equals two."

"You have a massive crush on me?"

You look down, trying to hide your face; Viktor doesn't let you. He pushes your head back up with his fingers under your chin, "Tell me sweetheart, be honest."

"Y— Yes."

Viktor hums in satisfaction, "Well I have a crush on you too."

A beaming grin overtakes your face. Your eyes glittery, you're even lightly bouncing on the balls of your feet. He likes you back!

"I have a question for you. Would you like to join me on my NSFW channel? I'm getting tired of using my hand and imagining you. I can have you for real now; only thing is you'll need to stay quiet."

You just nod, giggling in excitement. Holy shit, Viktor's your boyfriend now. You get that glorious voice everyday. You get him.

"Good girl."

Ahhh, he's gonna kill you one day.

You're not complaining, what a way to go!

I speed-wrote this so if there is any grammar or spelling mistakes, no there isn't.

Here’s the link 😏:

[daydreamingatnight209]

Me actually writing and posting? What??? 😱😱😱

Enjoy some Colson content my lovelies 🥰

As usual Feedback is welcome, HATE is not ; if you don’t like it, don’t read it. ✨💕

“I’m Here, Go Back to Sleep”

MGK x Female Reader

Warnings - None. Just pure fluff!

——————————————————————————

Waking up to an empty bed these days wasn’t unusual these days, with the album deadline slowly creeping up day by day, Colson spent almost all of his hours in the studio, working himself to the bone to produce an album everyone can enjoy.

With your own workplace continuously overworking you, sleep or time didn’t come easily to you either. You couldn’t remember the last time both you and Colson had actually spent more than a few minutes at a time together in the same room and it was starting to become very lonely.

Leaving the cold and empty bed, after another night of hopeless tossing and turning, you sigh and drag yourself downstairs to the kitchen. Preparing for another day to survive on coffee you make one for both yourself and your boyfriend who didn’t even leave the studio last night. It was most likely he fell asleep there in the very early hours of the morning.

While the lack of sleep wasn’t new for Colson, it certainly was for you and you could feel it slowly starting to affect your mind and body.

You grab him a change of clothes, a blanket for yourself and his favourite aftershave before crossing over from the house into the converted studio space.

With the band already in session, you slipped in almost undetected, but as always, your eyes caught Colson’s immediately. You give him a small smile and walk over to give him what you had brought over.

“Babe, what are you doing up so early? You look exhausted” he whispers as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You let out a small laugh and set yourself down on the closest chair.

“Gee, thanks Col”

After a quick clothes change and the others leaving in search for food, Colson calls you over to the desk he’s working at.

“Come, let me hold you” he mumbles, stretching his long arms out in your direction.

Wrapping the blanket tightly around you, you walk over to your lover and wrap yourself around him so you were straddling him. He holds you tightly and sways gently.

“You need to get some proper rest, baby, you are going to make yourself ill” he tells you softly.

You giggle to yourself at his concern for you, knowing full well he wouldn’t take his own advice even if you begged him.

“I’ll rest when you do” is your answer and you can practically feel him rolling his eyes at you, despite not actually being able to see him as you rest your head in the crook of his neck.

The two of you sit there quietly, as colson continues to sway you and hum a track from the new album into your ear.

Despite not being able to sleep properly, something about being in colson’s arms after so long, settles you and you cannot fight the call of sleep that beckons you. Your eyes close slowly and without protest as you rest against the frame of your man, the feeling of safely enveloping you.

Colson smiles down at you, tenderly, the look of frustration and stress leaving your features as you snore lightly.

He would be lying to himself if he said he hadn’t missed these small intimate moments with you and did feel quite guilty for not making more time for you while in the process of doing this next album. You never once complained and took everything in your stride which is on of the many things he loved about you.

He couldn’t wait to look after you and treat you to something special as a way of thanks for all your support when the album was complete.

His train of thought was interrupted as he heard everyone coming back to continue the session. He panicked slightly as they all barged through the door and glared at them in an effort to silence the rowdiness they were currently displaying.

“Shhh! She hasn’t slept properly in weeks and I swear if any one of you wake her up! …” Colson hisses at his friends, before looking down at you to ensure you were still peacefully sleeping.

Slim is the first to put his hands up in mock surrender, a smirk plastered on his face as he leads the group back out the door, but he was secretly glad that this would mean Colson would be forced to take a break, even if it was just an hour or so. He knew he definitely needed one.

Once alone again, Colson lifts you up with ease and carries you over to the sofa, laying you down and climbing in beside you. He wraps his arms back around you settles in. The movement causes you to stir slightly, your eyes still closed you mumble for your boyfriend not to leave you.

“Shh baby, I’m here, go back to sleep”

[luxcuriousao3]

Selfish (Ghoap)

Summary: Ghost stares up at Johnny, heart racing in his chest like he’s just run twenty klicks through enemy territory. His ears are ringing, Johnny’s words echoing in his mind. His sergeant is so close to the truth. Ghost is nothing but a beast, a dog on a tight leash. Price points, and Ghost attacks. It’s been that way since he was reborn in the ashes of his old life. He snaps and snarls at anyone who gets too close, wears his mask like a muzzle to keep everyone at bay. But Johnny has never feared him. Not like he should. Word Count: 3067 Warnings: non-graphic smut, toxic/unhealthy relationship tbh but it's not intentional or out of cruelty, possessive behavior, jealousy, angst/hurt no comfort, mentions of drinking/smoking, unreliable narrator Notes: Finally compiled all those angsty Ghoap blurbs into a proper fic. I polished them up and added a little bit more to the end, but they are mostly the same. This fic definitely works as an (angsty) standalone, but I may or may not continue this. If I do, it will have a happy ending eventually, but it will also be a "it gets worse before it gets better" type of fic, lol. I do have part of a second chapter written already, but I am only going to post it if I actually decide to finish this fic in long form. All SPAG and consistency errors are my own, feel free to point them out. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! - *** means POV switch, and -*- means timeskip but no POV switch - AO3, Masterlist

“What are we doing, Simon?”

Soap regrets the words the minute they’re out of his mouth, already guessing how Ghost will react—but he’s apparently not only a masochist in bed, so he doesn’t take them back. Ghost is quiet for a brief moment, shoulders tensing up as he stands with his back to Soap, clad in nothing but a pair of briefs, muscular form outlined by the light from his private toilet. Soap is still in Ghost’s bunk, naked as the day he was born, sweaty and covered in both his and his Lieutenant’s come. Ghost never cleans him up, just tosses him the towel after he’s done using it, before dismissing him from his room like they’ve just had a briefing and not sex. Soap tries not to let that bother him. He really does. He fails, but at least he keeps it from showing. Usually.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Johnny.”

Ghost’s voice is flat when he speaks, but there’s a hint of a warning in it. He’s giving Soap a chance to walk back his words. He’s giving him an out.

Soap, as he so often does, barrels on ahead anyway.

“This. Us. What are we, tae ye?”

The words hang heavily in the air, and slowly, Ghost turns around to face him. His face, for once uncovered by his mask—a sight Soap only gets to see in these private moments between them, a sight he cherishes—is blank, eyes dark and cold like onyx.

“We are teammates,” Ghost replies, low and intense. “Colleagues that fuck each other to relieve stress, every once in awhile. Don’t make this into something that it’s not, MacTavish.”

Soap swallows, mouth dry, throat still sore from the beating Ghost’s cock had given it. Normally, Soap enjoys that, savoring the roughness, the degradation—but most of all, savoring the reminder of his time with the other man. Now, it just makes him feel hollow.

“Right then, Sir,” Soap says, the words tasting bitter in his mouth. He doesn’t bother to wait for Simon to throw him the towel clenched in his white-knuckled fist, wiping himself off on his Lieutenant’s sheets. It’s petty, but Soap is desperate to leave—and the spark of irritation in Ghost’s stony eyes is satisfying. “Thanks fer the reminder.”

“You need it again, and this is done, Sergeant,” Ghost warns, grabbing Soap’s clothes and tossing them at him hard, in retaliation for the sheets and just as eager for Soap to get the fuck out of his room, probably. Or maybe he just can’t stand the thought of not throwing something at Soap after fucking him. Bastard. “Understood?”

“Copy,” Soap responds as he stands up, clipped. He pulls on his jeans and t-shirt in silence, Ghost’s glare feeling like a physical thing as it burns holes into the side of his head. Soap ignores it as best he can, but his cheeks are flush with humiliation and anger simmers just beneath his skin. He knows he shouldn’t have asked. He knew what Ghost would say when he did. But Soap is a bloody fool that’s gone and fallen for the most emotionally constipated fuck in the entire SAS—and he’s never been able to leave well enough alone.

The worst part is that as hurt as Soap feels right now, as pissed off as he is at Ghost—he knows he’ll go crawling back to him. He won’t put an end to this like he should, won’t protect his stupidly fragile heart. He couldn’t if he wanted to—it already belongs to Ghost. And Soap doesn’t think he can ever get it back.

So he’ll put up with the coldness and the callousness. He’ll put up with being held at arm's length, never being allowed inside Ghost’s walls even when he’s literally inside Soap. He’ll put up with the hollowness in his chest and the curl of shame in his belly when he’s kicked out of Ghost’s bed time and time again, never allowed so much as a five minute cuddle.

It’s fucking pathetic, but Soap’ll take whatever he can get.

He’s a big boy. He can handle some hurt feelings.

Or at least that’s what he tells himself as he leaves Ghost’s room, the door slamming shut behind him the second he crosses the threshold.

***

Things are tense for a few days between him and Johnny.

Ghost has his guard up, walls freshly reinforced. His Sergeant had thoroughly unsettled Ghost with his questions, and for days, his skin feels like it's crawling everytime the other man is near. Ghost doesn’t let people get close, and Johnny is no exception.

Except that’s not quite true, and that’s what scares him.

Somehow, Johnny’s wormed his way into Ghost’s life with that obnoxiously charming grin and his stupid fucking mohawk. He’s gotten closer to Ghost than any other living person, and instead of pushing him away, Ghost pushed him into his bloody bed instead.

He thinks about ending it, in the days following their last conversation. Seeks out Johnny once at their smoke spot to do just that—but he can’t bring himself to do it. And he knows that’s a problem, that he’s in too deep, that he needs to make a tactical retreat and regroup.

Instead, he offers Johnny a cigarette, and ignores the way his heart squeezes in his chest as he’s graced with the first smile he’s gotten in days from the other man.

Ghost should end things, he knows that. But he doesn’t.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

And so they fall back into rhythm with each other, at least on missions. They’re as deadly and efficient as always, bantering on comms like usual. But a certain sense of wrongness lingers when they’re on base, no longer avoiding each other or even refraining from tumbling into bed together—but Ghost notices it nonetheless. Johnny isn’t constantly at Ghost’s side anymore, bothering him with his endless chatter and poorly hidden desire for attention. The look in his eyes when he does talk to Ghost is less intense, too, less painfully open and bright. More befitting of a soldier speaking with his superior. When they fuck, he no longer tries to linger in Ghost’s room, doesn’t even wait for Ghost to get a towel for him, just stands up and limps over to the toilet to grab it himself. At first, Ghost is glad—his sergeant got the message loud and clear, and didn’t even throw too much of a fit about it. They can remain in this limbo of close-but-not-too-close. Ghost doesn’t have to give this up, give Johnny up, in order to keep them both safe. And Johnny doesn’t even seem upset anymore—yeah, he’s a little more distant, but that’s a good thing. He was reaching the edges of what Ghost could tolerate anyway, and now things are back to a blessed normal.

Except that the longer it goes on, the more Ghost misses how things were before.

The silence that used to be filled with Johnny’s rambling starts to feel oppressive, the space at his side where his sergeant should always be is now glaringly empty. The grins Johnny gives him are still large but don’t look quite the same. The shine in his blue eyes has dulled just a tad, no longer so blinding that it makes Ghost feel like the centre of their own tiny universe.

Ghost has no right to miss them, all those little things he’d taken for granted before. He knows that. But just like he knows he shouldn’t continue whatever it is between him and Johnny, he does so anyway.

He never voices any of these thoughts, of course, but the next time they fuck, Ghost doesn’t roll off of Johnny right away once he comes. He lays on top of him for a long moment, pinning him to the bed so he can’t get up and run like he’s taken to doing. Both of them are sweaty and breathing hard, and Ghost watches Johnny’s dark brows furrow in confusion as the seconds stretch on. He starts to shift underneath him, like he’s about to push Ghost off of him, out of him, and Ghost, he—

He snaps, a little bit.

That’s the only explanation for what he does next, sinking his teeth into his sergeant’s shoulder and holding on, like a dog with a bone. He wants to break Johnny’s skin, to taste blood and scar him, to tie them together in a way that no amount of distance can ever erase.

Instead, he gets an elbow to the face and a furious Scot cursing him out in something just to the left of English.

“Ye fuckin’ bampot!” Johnny shouts at Ghost, who’s nursing his bloody nose on the floor, arse-naked. The other man is standing now, one hand pressed to his shoulder, the other gesturing angrily in his direction. “The fuck is wrong wi’ ye? Cannae just bloody bite me like some mad beast!”

Ghost stares up at Johnny, heart racing in his chest like he’s just run twenty klicks through enemy territory. His ears are ringing, Johnny’s words echoing in his mind. His sergeant is so close to the truth. Ghost is nothing but a beast, a dog on a tight leash. Price points, and Ghost attacks. It’s been that way since he was reborn in the ashes of his old life. He snaps and snarls at anyone who gets too close, wears his mask like a muzzle to keep everyone at bay. But Johnny has never feared him. Not like he should.

And now Ghost is faced with the consequences of his royally fucked up head and cold heart once again. He gives Johnny a careless shrug, getting to his feet.

“Got carried away,” he offers as a lame sort of explanation, voice thick from the blood dripping into the back of his throat. He carefully feels his nose. Not broken, but it’ll bruise like rotten fruit. “You got me good. We’re even.”

Johnny stares at him for a long moment, too many emotions flickering across his face for Ghost to name them all. But he does recognize anger—anger and hurt, and his chest tightens at that. He doesn’t want to hurt Johnny, keeps his distance so he doesn’t hurt him. Regret settles heavily in Ghost’s stomach. This is what happens when he gives in, when he allows himself to get too close. This is what he’s tried so hard to avoid.

Because Ghost doesn’t know how to love, how to be gentle or treasure someone like Johnny deserves, like Ghost knows he wants. This is the most he can give him. Not love, never love, but a violent sort of possession that could look like love, in the right lighting.

And Ghost knows his sergeant. Knows how stubbornly loyal he is, how self-sacrificing. He will never walk away, never retreat entirely. He’ll growl and snarl right back at Ghost, he’ll put up a few flimsy walls of his own—but he’ll still let Ghost hurt him.

Ghost doesn’t want to hurt him.

“You’re a real bastard, LT,” Johnny snaps, snatching his clothes and hurriedly pulling them on, not even bothering to wipe away the cum trailing down his thighs and staining his hairy stomach. Ghost watches him, wonders if this is it, if this is the end. Hopes it is as much as he prays it's not. Can’t find the words to make it official, so he supposes he’ll have to wait and see.

But Johnny doesn’t say anything else, just leaves as quickly as he usually does, slamming the door behind him. And Ghost—

Ghost doesn’t know what that means. Can’t for the life of him figure out what he wants it to mean. Regrets leaving the choice in another’s hands, giving up control. And at the same time, relishes in the idea that he can pretend they’re still in limbo for just a little bit longer.

That he’s not ruined the one good thing he has going for him.

He’s always been a selfish bastard.

-*-

They don’t talk about it.

It's normal that they don’t, really. Routine. They fight, they don’t speak for a few days, but they’re always drawn back towards each other, like moths to a flame. The pull is a siren call, irresistible. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before.

The next time they fuck, Johnny insists on riding him, clearly not trusting Ghost not to pin him down and bite him again.

That hurts, but he knows he deserves it, so he allows Johnny that sliver of control.

His teeth didn't end up breaking skin, and Ghost is glad for that, in retrospect. He doesn't want to hurt Johnny—and as good as Ghost’s mark on him would look, it doesn't belong there. Johnny isn’t his, can’t be his, doesn’t deserve to be his. Johnny deserves something soft. Something kind. If Ghost were a better man, he’d cut him loose to go find it.

Every time Johnny comes to his room at night—not as often as before, even less so since Ghost went rabid and bit him—he tells himself that he’ll do it. He’ll be better, just long enough to free Johnny of the burden that he is. But he never does.

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

They’re at a pub tonight, all four members of the 141. Johnny’s traded his usual spot next to Ghost for one next to Gaz, and Ghost pretends he doesn’t notice, that it doesn’t bother him. He shouldn’t notice. It shouldn’t bother him. They’re teammates, colleagues. Nothing more, nothing less. Just like he told Johnny all those weeks ago.

So Ghost doesn’t burn with jealousy when some bloke starts flirting with his sergeant. He doesn’t grind his teeth when Johnny doesn’t turn him down right away. Doesn’t ache when he thinks about how Johnny wouldn’t have entertained so much as a glance at someone other than Ghost, before. He doesn’t clench his fingers around his pint so hard the glass creaks ominously, doesn’t glare daggers at the stranger’s ugly mug, doesn’t feel the urge to grab Johnny and bend him over the table right then and there, show everyone in the damn bar exactly who he belongs to.

Mine, mine, mine.

But he’s not, he’s not, so Ghost just gets up and slips outside for a smoke as Johnny charms the fucker effortlessly and gets free drinks in return. He’s on his way to getting properly sloshed, but he’s not there yet, and Ghost can feel those blue eyes on his back as he leaves. It’s as gratifying as it is infuriating, that Johnny notices him leaving. That he doesn’t hop up to join him like he used to. Like he should.

No, not like he should. Rather, how Ghost wants him to. Wants him at his side, always.

Selfish bastard.

He stares out into the dark street, trying to pull himself the fuck together. He can’t be acting like this. Like a schoolboy with a crush. Like a possessive boyfriend. He’s not Johnny’s, he never will be. He can’t be. Everything Ghost touches, he destroys. He’s breaking Johnny already—he can see how the other man still craves something more from Ghost, despite pulling away. That he always will, that no matter how many pieces of him Ghost steals and grinds to dust beneath his boot, Johnny will never leave, not entirely.

Ghost knows. Sometimes, Johnny looks at him with so much heartbreak and want in his eyes, it takes his breath away.

Ghost is ruining him. Soon, there will be nothing left of Johnny but an empty shell.

A cold sort of acceptance falls over his shoulders, and Ghost stubs his smoke out on the bricks behind him before flicking it away. As he heads back inside, he knows there’s no more running from this. No more being selfish. He will end things. He’ll let Johnny go, even if it kills him.

And Christ, but it feels like it just might.

Especially when he gets back to the team's booth, only to see that Johnny and the bloke that's been chatting him up are both gone. He stops, goes still, stares at Johnny's half-finished pint on the sticky tabletop, wonders if maybe he was wrong, maybe Johnny scrounged up enough survival instincts to leave Ghost after all. Like prey spooking in the presence of a predator.

“He's takin’ a piss,” Price speaks up, reading his mind and cutting through Ghost’s spiraling thoughts. He’s got a hand on Garrick’s nape, the younger man groaning pathetically as he leans against his Captain, green around the gills. “Think Kyle's had too much to drink, gonna bring ‘im back to base. You mind tellin’ Soap where we went?”

Ghost gives him a jerky nod, and Price drags Garrick out of the booth, slinging his arm around his shoulders.

“Ta. See you in the mornin’,” he says, and Ghost watches him lead Garrick outside before sliding into the booth. He stares hard at the door to the men’s room for nearly five minutes, but Johnny doesn’t reappear. He can already feel his determination to do the right thing slipping, and so he gets up and strides over, the crowd parting for him as it always does. Johnny’ll hate him for ending things in dirty pub toilet of all places, but perhaps that’s for the best.

Ghost would rather hurt Johnny a little bit right now than shatter him later.

And he will, if Johnny stays. Ghost will sink his teeth into him and rip him apart slowly, piece by piece.

Ghost wasn’t made for love. He was only made to destroy.

Abandonment is the only mercy he can offer.

The door creaks as it opens, and he’s assaulted by the stench of piss, sweat, and sex. A familiar wet sucking sound reaches his ears, accompanied by a chorus of gags and moans.

“That’s it, baby,” a voice, stuttered and hoarse, grunts. “Take it. Fucking take it, know how bad you want it, been begging for it all night.”

The gagging gets louder, enthusiastic and eager, and Ghost’s eyes drop to the gap between the stall door and the floor. Johnny’s boots stick out, damning.

Ghost turns around and leaves.

He won’t be selfish, this time. He’ll let Johnny go. Just like he promised.

[okaystoptellingmetomakeanaccount]

I feel like saying this again but having it in an actual like proper post written down messily for now, so that’s what I’m doing, with confusing hopefully still grammatically correct somehow sentences included.

Scrooge’s treasure hunts are about adventure btw. Not about the treasure. Adventure is the real treasure in the end.

But Scrooge is still greedy. He shouldn’t go on adventure for the sake of it. There needs to be a treasure incentive for him to go. Look. Wait.

(I’m gonna say all a lot, and such superlative things, but I’m talking about the stories from authors that today are seen as most important)

When you look at the older treasure hunts, the thing that most people remember is awesome Scrooge goes to far away place to get rare stuff that’s worth lots. But like what many people seem to forget about a large majority of the classic stories, is that Scrooge doesn’t get the treasure. People think back and remember a successful and fun adventure, so one might assume that the treasure was also gotten, but that’s almost never the case. The classic (think around to before 70s) Donald Duck comics operate very very heavily on a continuing thread of irony and satire, arguably more so than later. The point in every adventure is that it’s never what you expect. You go looking for a cheap magical defense, and find yourself paying your nephew a proper salary. You go looking for a great medicine, and end up with thousands of dollars spend, and all the medicine spilled (and in the Scarpa twist, also accidentally smuggled jewelry). Or of course, you go looking for paradise, and end up inventing capitalism.

People seem to have kinda forgotten that this was once the norm. Nowadays you get stories where writers think they’re clever by saying: “Oh, no, Scrooge can’t take this treasure. It belongs to the government of the country he is in.” And like that’s nice, but also, that’s not a thing that should be worth pointing out.

The most famous offender of this crime is Rightful Owners, which, to be fair to Rightful Owners, is a DuckTales (look i capitalized ducktales right for once) comic, where I think this does happen, but also, to be fair to my wumblr post, it’s trying really hard to be a Barks sequel as well because Warren Spector (yeah the Epic Mickey guy) was a big fan of Barks. So you’ll get Webby telling everyone how bad Scrooge is, and it feels kinda redundant. And then the ending of that story is pretty weird as well.

But if I think about it again, what Rightful Owners does do is portray Scrooge as very unwilling to agree with Webby. He doesn’t think that the times that he did steal stuff, he was in the wrong. Because that’s the other part. Even when he gets the treasure and is basically stealing from the local population, that’s fine, because Scrooge isn’t a good person. I guess the closest you can get in tropey terms for such a situation is that specific scene makes him a villainous protagonist, but that’s not really the point. There are no hero’s or villains in ba sing se, with which I mean Duckburg, is the point.

Scrooge’s treasure hunts are about adventure, but only for us. The treasure being gained isn’t the point of the story. The story hasn’t ‘succeeded’ when the Ducks find the chest with golden coins. But it is the point for the character. The treasure hunts work because Scrooge is a greedy guy who is fine with doing that kind of stuff. The story has succeeded for him when the chest with golden coins is found.

And of course, this all comes together in the end when I say the new Ducktales does this wrong. Sorry, I did it again, this is where it all leads to in the end huh. I was in the mood okay. Ducktales bad again.

Scrooge in DT17 doesn’t find the treasure that important. He does it for the adventure. It’s to show that he’s actually not that much of a greedy bad person. But he also doesn’t mind taking stuff that’s not his. So, like, uhm.

DT17!Scrooge does often succeed, because that’s how Ducktales is. It has satire, but it’s not drenched in irony, it’s not Guido Martina writing the show. That’s not a critique of course, in case someone would think that for some reason. But DuckTales doesn’t do downer endings (last crash isn’t a downer ending it’s setup for the next episode), so you’re missing the whole part where Scrooge’s treasure hunts fail. The adventure is important, and so the adventure is what Scrooge finds important, and so if he never fails, then the adventure never fails. It’s looking at it from a completely Watsonian perspective. Adventure should only ever be the real treasure from a Doylist perspective. The comics don’t treat succeeding in the character’s goal as succeeding in having written a good story. And i had set up some other points to cycle back to in this part, but i forgot what they were because I’m stupid, so this is just kinda the point you’ll have to live with for now. I might finish this if I remember again.

[petriwriting]

Vero Amore - Theodore Nott X Reader (Part 4)

Summary: Theodore is on trial for being associated with voldemort due to his father and family history, His odds arent looking so good. Luckily for him you are called to the stand to testify on his behalf, and you just might be the key to his innocence.

Fluff, established previous relationship, Exbf!Theo, Older!Theo and others. Post hogwarts.

Previous part here

The prosecution had painted Theodore as a greedy criminal, despite his previously spotless record. It was all about the chatter, and breaking away from the path his father had paved for him would have proven to be difficult. You were ushered back to your seat, away from the center of the courtroom. a mixture of skeptical and sympathetic faces passed you by, if these people wanted a love story, they got one. there was not a single ounce of dishonesty in either you or Theodore, or any of his witnesses'.

During closing arguments, Your escort gave an impassioned plea about Theodore's outstanding character and the complete lack of real evidence against him. The prosecution tried its best to poke holes, but their arguments rang hollow after everything. and it was now in the hands of the jury, you hoped and prayed they would be forgiving. After just an hour of deliberation, the jury returned with a verdict of not guilty on all charges and accounts. You finally let out the breath that felt like you had been holding for months. His life and reputation had been salvaged, he was no longer tied to his past. and he would not have to be sent away to suffer for his fathers wrongdoings. you were overjoyed, elated to be able to see him one day do all of the things he always dreamt of. Once the court was dismissed, you scurried over to Theodore to embrace him, he picked you up into the embrace, holding you closely with a huge breath of relief and fresh air. Blaise appeared, he had been sitting quietly somewhere in the courtroom, though you hadn't noticed. "I told you it wouldn't be so bad." he assured Theodore with a stern pat on the back. Theodore was practically in tears, happiness. "I'm so shocked," Theodore says, the courtroom is now being emptied. you are all being ushered to leave.

As the three of you continue forward into the lobby, Theodore lets out a heavy sigh. He says your name, gently. "I'm so happy you are here," he begins. "Thank you, so much. I am indebted to you." he says. You smile softly. "You don't have to thank me," you say. "I'm glad I could be here." you say. 

After a sentimental moment between the two of you, Blaise is quick to leave. "I do have to get work now, but I'll leave you two to have a more proper reunion." he says. "It was great to see you again," you say politely. Blaise was never super close to you, although you were cordial since he was friends with theo. "Thanks, for everything. We'll celebrate at my place later, yeah?" he says, Blaise nods, and then is off. 

"I don't suppose you have plans after this?" Theodore asks you as you both walk, exiting the ministry building spilling onto the busy street. "No, actually, my calendar is clear for the day." you explain. "Would you like to come to my place? we can catch up- I'd just like to properly thank you for being there today." he says, his hands reaching for his pockets. "That sounds really nice actually." you agree. 

Before too long you are at Theo's small flat. It's messy and lived in. "Sorry it's a mess." he says. "But it's home." for someone that grew up a pureblood slytherin who was well off financially, it was quite modest. "It's fine. I don't mind it." you say, sitting at the kitchen island. Theo is standing on the other side. "Would you like a drink?" he offers. "sure" you say. Although you are both happy that he is now a free man, there is still a slight tension from spending so many years apart after school. you are both attempting to make up for the lost years. Theo offers you a glass with some tea, your favorite kind. He's incredibly thoughtful. "What happened to your father?" you ask, after some contemplation. "After the war, he realized he would be prosecuted. He attempted to flee to America, but he was caught and he passed shortly after." Theo says. 

"I'm sorry to hear that." you say. "It's alright, I don't miss him. but he's the only family I ever had." he says sadly. "That isn't true," you retort. "You have draco, pansy, and blaise." you thought. "and me." you say softly. Theodore gives a grateful smile. there's a special exchange between you. His mother passed away when he was young and his father was awful...  "The past few years have been rough," he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. "with the trial dragging on for so long, and with everyone busy moving on with their lives I always felt like I was stuck back in time... It's been really lonely." he says. "Sometimes I think back," you begin. "and I remember all the things we did, all the fun we had. Laughter, Tears, all of it. I'm sad it's gone now, but I'm grateful that it happened. Those are my best memories." you admit. "Seeing us in those memories kind of changed me." Theodore admits, biting his lip slightly. there is uncertainty. "What do you mean?" you question."I just meant that," he begins, but he back tracks, his hands resting on the counter behind him as he leaned back, his arms stiff. "I've been really lonely and part of that has to do with missing you." he exclaims. "For a long time I absolutely hated myself for leaving you there like that without an explanation, knowing that I ruined one of the best things I've ever had in my life. For a while I couldn't get out of bed, It was so heavy. But I asked you here today so that I could just let you know I'm sorry for that." His head is low, he's ashamed of himself. "Theodore, you don't have to apologize for that." He shook his head. "I do when I've thought about it almost everyday for years." he manages to say softly. "We all did things we aren't proud of, there was a war happening," you say. "That doesn't matter, but I am sorry," he says. 

You shift in your seat, taking a sip of your tea and placing the cup on the counter. you swing your feet over the edge, and you are now standing in front of Theodore. "I know that you had to do that," you comfort. "You had no other choice to survive. and that's okay." you comfort the man in front of you. "And by the way, I thought about you too. a lot. an embarrassing amount. But I wanted you to grow, even if that meant leaving me to do so." you say. Theodore is speechless, he feels like the same teenager he was all those years ago, scared to say anything. so he didn't, he pulled himself forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips. 

[jasper-book-stash]

April 2025 Reading Wrap-Up

Tried something new this time, I made this post early in April and updated it with the books I read as I finished them so I still had my thoughts fresh in my mind. I think I like this approach, I'll be continuing it until I forget.

I read a total of fifteen books this month. I was in a big "study Shintoism" mood because I'm doing a lot of writing for my blorbos over on @azzie-beastbinder, but overall a lot of the books I read were in the nonfiction or occult part of my shelf. I really need to get back to reading all of this fiction I have on my bookshelf, I'm running out of TBR room.

Anyway, the moral of this month is "it's bad enough if your book is boring, it's a bigger sin if your editing is shit".

1/10 - Why Did They Publish This?

None applicable.

2/10 - Trash

None applicable.

3/10 - Meh

Elemental Spirits: Building A Magical Practice In An Animistic World | Jaq D Hawkins

I wanted to like this book, I really did. It was so promising. But the problems just kept stacking up over and over. Between the unsafe offering recommendations (putting HUMAN FOOD like CAKES into WATERWAYS), jacking off about Stonehenge, using faeries and spirits interchangeably which just got weird after a while... And the worst sin of all was that it got repetitive. There were things that made me think in this book, but I eventually tapped out because I just couldn't take it anymore.

Easy Reading Series: The Yengishiki Or Shinto Rituals | unknown author

So, this is basically a paper version of a free PDF I could have gotten. The formatting sucks actual ass, there are nearly no paragraph breaks (which is worth its own bitch in and of itself), and the translation is janky as hell. There aren't even 25 pages of information in here, most of it is just...bad. Not worth the money.

Scorpion Chronicles: A Comprehensive Exploration Of Arachnid Predators And The Realm Of Stingers. | M.sc. Ava Arachno

So this is one of those poorly-formatted books that feels like a bunch of blog posts were made into a book. Despite having around 190 pages, there is very little information in here that just gets repeated over and over in large font. It's like if a children's encyclopedia didn't have any pictures. And that's to say nothing of the shitty editing work.

4 to 6/10 - Mid-Tier

Shinto: The Way Of The Gods: Introduction To The Traditional Religion Of Japan | Vincent Miller

First and foremost, I cannot stress enough that they needed a proper fucking editor. Half of my time going through this book was spent fixing editing issues or making notes about where paragraph breaks should have been. The information isn't horrible, it just had quite a bit of weird phrasing and helped define a lot of stuff, it's just...looking at the writing and the editing, I cannot, in good faith, give it anything higher than a 5 out of 10. (Also, the publisher seems to pump out a lot of dieting books that they advertised in the back...not great.)

The Municipalists | Seth Fried

This was not a bad book. It just was not interesting to me. There's a lot of worldbuilding in here, which is great for something sci-fi, but it often cut down on the characters actually having a conversation; they would just summarize the conversations about half of the time, even with the ones that are, you know, crucial for character development and interaction. It also took me 70 pages to finally get into it, only to tap out at page 106 and just read the last two chapters. I'm sure it's plenty interesting, but it wasn't that interesting to me. Also a 5 out of 10.

Pegasus 1977 | National Poetry Press

This is one of those "I picked up some random poetry books from a secondhand store" type of books. For the most part, the poems were...passable? Not bad considering the year...I think? I can't actually find information on this book online anywhere. Also the mythological pegasus never gets mentioned even once. If anyone knows what the fuck is up with this, uh, let me know. Giving it a 4 out of 10 because it dragged on so long.

7 to 8/10 - Good With Caveats

Mimusubi Essays On Shinto 5: Shinto Practice For Non-Japanese | David Chart

So this is actually a published duo of Patreon essays, but none of the other duos of essays have paper versions that I could get easily. There's a lot of good info in here that built on what I got from Vincent Miller's book. The font is so fucking small though, which I imagine is how the author got all that detail into so few pages (the book is marked as having 49 pages on my spreadsheet). 7 out of 10, hard for me to read but I liked what I got out of it.

DISCLAIMER! One of the shrines referenced in this booklet as an American shrine is apparently bad enough that it has an entire blog dedicated to exposing information about it. That can be found here: Exposing Tsubaki Grand Shrine of America.

Amaterasu: Return Of The Sun: A Japanese Myth | Paul D Storrie, Ron Randall [Juvenile]

This is an incredibly short and simple graphic novel/comic book retelling a version of the Amaterasu myth, with enough given context of previous myths to figure out what's important here. Very generic looking artwork, but lovely character designs. The author and artist chose a version of the myth appropriate to its target age demographic. This is an 8 out of 10.

The Gay Agenda: A Modern Queer History & Handbook | Ashley Molesso, Chess Needham

This is overall a fine enough book that I enjoyed and learned from, but there are some problems I had with it.

While there's a strong aesthetic present thanks to the artwork of Ash + Chess (I actually have a tarot deck by them and didn't realize this was by the same people until I recognized the art style because I just…don't read the author names of books at first), it also has the problem of being really hard to read thanks to small font and background and font colors that don't work together well on several pages. It's very United States-centric, which I did not realize going in. Some of the terminology used in here feels like they're trying too hard to be "hip" and there are a few places where things that were objectively bad were referred to as "really lame". Finally, I found the last chunk (the "handbook" section meant to include guides and information) to be…far less useful than a dedicated book to queer identities, and it suddenly has a section pointedly addressing non-queer people even though the assumption across the rest of the text is that the person reading this book is already queer. There's also some parts back in the handbook section that treat asexual and aromantic as the exact same thing, and a focus on drag queens exclusively in the parts about drag throughout the book.

Despite these problems, this is still a pretty good book for a look at queer history in the United States, though I haven't dug into their sources myself just yet. I'd give it an 8 out of 10. I'm glad this book exists, I just think it could have been better if they had another pair of eyes on it.

9/10 - Very Very Good

Starter Villain | John Scalzi

It's so fucking stupid, I love it. You are sitting down across the bar from this guy while he fixes you a drink and tells you about the weirdest shit ever in his life. The dolphins get unionized. The protagonist blows up a satellite with a laser funded by the US Department of Agriculture. The cats type on keyboards. The events of this book are only going on in the course of about a week. Please read this book.

The Book Of Japanese Folklore: An Encyclopedia Of The Spirits, Monsters, And Yokai Of Japanese Myth: The Stories Of The Mischievous Kappa, Trickster Kitsune, Horrendous Oni, And More | Thersa Matsuura, Michelle Wang

This is a book I picked up on a whim from a "local" (read: 1 hour away) bookstore because I've been doing research to better write my blorbos. For the most part, I enjoyed this book, though I do have some mild complaints that not every entry has artwork (particularly those entries that could use the help of a few pages to get them on par with other entries). Other than that, I quite enjoyed it and got through it in the span of two days, which is pretty quick for a nonfiction read for me. It also introduced me to the bean man, which I cherish greatly.

A Popular Dictionary Of Shinto | Brian Bocking

Less of a book that one reads cover-to-cover and more of, well, a dictionary, it is nonetheless quite thorough and useful. I will be picking up my own copy, and I'm thankful that my library system had it so I could check it out before buying it.

10/10 - Unironically Recommend To Everyone

The Serviceberry: Abundance And Reciprocity In The Natural World | Robin Wall Kimmerer

So, if you know anything about me, it's that I loved Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. It was one of my favorite books of 2023 and the Young Adult adaptation was one of my favorite books of 2024. So when I saw this in the little bookstore an hour away from my rural home (I shit you not, that's the most local bookstore I have), I scooped it up to give it a read too. And honestly? It was really fucking good. It's given me plenty to think about. If you're at all interested in Indigenous science, gift economies, or getting a new perspective, I recommend picking it up.

Ada Lace, Take Me To Your Leader | Emily Calandrelli, Tamson Weston, Renee Kurilla [Juvenile]

This is actually part of a slightly longer series of kid's books, but my family's had it for a little while (...but had never read it) because we're amateur radio ("ham radio") operators, just like Ada Lace in-story and Emily Calandrelli out-of-story. This is a delightful little book if you or someone else has never heard of ham radio before, or if you know a kid a young age bracket with a love for science. It doesn't get bogged down in the scientific details but it also doesn't hesitate to pause and explain things in-story.

A Quick & Easy Guide To Queer & Trans Identities | Mady G, Jules Zuckerberg [Young Adult]

This is basically a nonfiction graphic novel, and it is incredibly approachable and easy to read, even if the font is a little small. It's an easy introduction to the concept of queerness. I would definitely recommend it as a book to pick up if you're questioning or you know someone who's questioning. It's marked as being YA on Amazon but I could easily see this added to the Juvenile section of a library without issue.

[walkingaroundlostandconfused]

hehehehe thanks for telling me your fav stories…

bro trust me if you ever post the deleted scenes for slow and irreversible process i just hope you know that someone, somewhere just immediately fell down onto their knees and thanked god. bad end Takemichi WILL BE ON MY FUCKING MIND. That TaiTake was my first ever TaiTake fic and i think of them every day… sigh. And Part timer chan will always be famous to me!!!! i enjoyed that form of outsider pov fic so much as well xD !!!

Oh fuck, how did i not fucking think of Inupi vs Hanemiya. That’s genius. Oh my days. And to be honest im down to any toss up between Taiju, South, Mucho, Draken (and Hanma too!) like Takemichi bro you’ve got actual titans fighting for u like deadass.

I’ve got the tokyo rev brainrot hitting me and idk if you know about yamagishi’s notes on everyone or not .. (i feel like you do cus youve mentioned shion stomach ache once xD)

and some random facts that i just decided to go and read that i’m sure you alrdy know but nevertheless.. i still wanted to share with you <33

Draken: Fights Hanma once a week. So far, Draken has lost 48 times and won 52 times. (DO WHAT U WILL WOTH THIS INFO2);&£,82,&:)

Kisaki: “Baka-michi’s” partner. Why do they attract eachother even though Kisaki is so smart (wow.. yamagishi is outing them!..)

Angry: Has firmed his own band, apparently! Mitsuya’s the vocalist Kazuhiro plays the guitar Akkun plays base and Angrys on drums. (Takemichi probs played the piano once in 2nd grade and tried to get into the band eheheuheh)

Hanna: still growing… (bro switch to basketball !! )

Chifuyu: close with Takemichi (fork found in the kitchen)

Kisaki’s likes plants and his favourite is Pacific Wisteria (it means long life and immortality… okay Kisaki.)

Taiju dreaming of being a shark. (I guess the aquarium in his restaurant isn’t there for nothing , not to mention the Shiba House where the fish tank was as large as Taijus room.)

And something about Kakucho fighting with Yakuza for shits and giggles (as training ) and once dragging Rindou into it, is so funny to me, I wonder if he’d do that with Takemichi just so he could show off..

South never once hurting Takemichi, just “Move.” and gently pushing him away. (I always think about that little detail of them whenever writing them for myself.)

Also, Makoto doing the deed in Takemichis room…

and Kakucho being a good cook! Rindou being a raging alcoholic and the Haitanis bros shitty fucking sight (but they’re thankful cus then they have a “valid” reason to be so close to Takemichi xD)

SORRY FOR THE BOTHER I KNOW U DIDNT ASK BUT I JUST RLLY FELT LIKE SHARING THIS TO U😭 !!

the stupid grin i had on my face as i read this ask.... thank you for your continued patience.... i am trying to calm down my exuberance...

Fair warning that bad end!Takemichi story is a straight tragedy. While writing that, I was writing vow renewal without witnesses, but man that was a joy. Haven't decided yet if I'm going to make everyone sleep with Takemichi in that story yet. I will have a proper harem story for him soon, but that's going to be in the works for a while, hehe.

I have a modern fantasy, hunter-society story that's up and coming. I was going to post that for Draken's birthday, but that didn't happen, lol. That one ended up with SO MUCH Taiju/Takemichi and Shinichiro/Takemichi that I ... ended up pausing on it. I wasn't prepared for the Shinichiro. I was not. But man the Haitaini's cornering Takemichi at a ramen bar, determined to buy his food???? For saving their lives?? And Takemichi just, "nah man, don't worry about it" and somehow, that pisses them off even more? Bro, that's the verse that's going to spawn about 100 spin-off oneshots. Writing it is such a curse but such bliss.

(We are not going to talk about how unoriginal I am.)

I WANT. SO BAD. The guys just.... passing him around but also don't want to pass him around??? OH YEAH.

I'm always on the fence about Yamagishi's notes so I will do what I always want to and cherry-pick the things I want kekekekek.

South never once hurting Takemichi, just “Move.” and gently pushing him away.

This one specifically I didn't like, because like... That's how they really talk and communicate, you know? Words don't work on these bitches. They can't hear someone unless that guy is bleeding and bruised and not staying down. Like, if South went and punched Takemichi and Takemichi (predictably) goes flying, but then gets back up? Immediately, everyone who has ever fought South knows and respects Takemichi a little bit more. And everyone who knows Takemichi knows that Takemichi is going to die if he keeps getting hit like that again, and very well aware that Takemichi found something worth dying for. At the same time, the thought that South, beaten an inch into his life, and Takemichi running to go save him for no reason other than the fact that it was "the right thing to do" might stay with South for a really long time. After everything that South stood for, weakling Takemichi (especially if they did "fight" before so South knows that this guy wasn't high up in Toman because he was strong) and his do-or-die righteousness would be the direct opposite of everything South has ever known. I want that burn. I want that to seer into South. I want South to be RUINED because he once experienced that Takemichi-kindness and I want it to break him. HAHAHAHA-

The others are cool. I don't have any particular feelings about them. At the end of the day, I will pick and choose whatever I feel like and move ahead with it.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I remember you mentioning A court of Thorns and roses in your posts once when talking about malleus character archetype. Have you read acotar series? If so I really want to know what you think about it. Your post is how I found out this series. It's pretty meh 😕 to me but I would really like to read your thoughts on it 😊. Also are non twst related ask allowed? If not I'm truly sorry😥. You can just ignore this ask

Oh god 😅 That was such a long time ago that I can’t even locate the original post where I made that comment…

To summarize what I said then, I had expressed that the way Malleus is presented to us reminds me of the bad boy supernatural love interests in romantasy novels. I believe the online book community colloquially refers to these characters as “Shadow Daddies” and I find that hilarious. To clarify, I do NOT mean to say that Malleus is Yuu’s “canon” love interest or anything like that. When I say that Malleus is “like” a Shadow Daddy, it’s just in the tropes they share. (For example, being overpowered, brooding, and misunderstood as a “bad guy” when, in actuality, he has a heart of gold and is just lonely.)

… I’ve actually seen multiple posts comparing Malleus and Rhysand, if you can believe that 💀

The rest of my response isn’t really TWST related, so I’ll put it under the cut for ya ^^ I tried to keep my thoughts concise and free of spoilers.

But to your question! Yes, I actually have read the first three books of ACOTAR but not the novella (A Court of Frost and Starlight) or the sequel, A Court of Silver Flames. I got into the series because it was highly recommended within its genre, but I came out of it really disappointed. I continued reading hoping that it would get better, but it really did not.

Maas has this really melodramatic and yet simultaneously juvenile way of writing dialogue that does not mesh well with what I’m looking for in a romantasy read. She’ll have characters give exposition or speeches that go on for like 10 pages straight and also have supposedly wise ancient fae cracking potty jokes like a middle schooler trying to impress their friends. It makes the books a lot longer than they have to be. In actuality, the plot involves a lot of running around and having all the right questions answered by conveniently placed chess pieces. I also did not enjoy the vague world building (like several side characters are never given proper names and instead are always referred to by title) and the near-constant mention of mating bonds. What I did like was how Maas wrote action scenes and descriptions (even if they often veer into purple prose). She also comes up with some unique concepts—but the execution of those concepts isn’t great, so the ideas are left sort of shallow and floating there waiting to be fully realized.

Romantasy and fairy tale retellings are some of my favorite things to read, so I was sad that I didn’t think that highly of this beloved series. It’s been a while since I’ve read a book I’ve been able to seriously get immersed in 😔 ACOTAR’s explosive popularity has led to many other authors trying to replicate Maas’s success, which has flooded the market with horni fae books and even similar titles (“A [noun] of [nouns] and [nouns]”). (And as someone who does NOT find Malleus attractive at all, you can imagine I’m not thrilled.) I have really mixed feelings about that… While of course I don’t mind if people enjoy ACOTAR or ACOTAR-adjacent books, I dislike that it makes up the bulk of what is marketed to me. It makes it a lot harder to find something that’s more suited to my tastes.

If anyone seeing this post is interested in trying out ACOTAR, I caution you that it is a “new adult” book, meaning it is intended for older teens (I would recommend 18+, honestly). There is a lot of violence and… explicit intimate scenes… in the series.

[vexedallay]

I have so many thoughts abt epsilon guys, so it's analysis post time-

Warning: long post below cut

So, they're not human, right? Their body is that of a robot, so presumably their mind is some sort of computer or AI (and here I mean an actual goddamn artificial intelligence, not a "generative ai" or some bs). So their entire fucking mind is made of code, and things like "variability" doesn't really exist. In order for someone like epsilon to function, they need to break down the complexity of human nature into sets of rules that govern how social interaction, society, and the world in general works. They can then follow these rules and be fine. (This is how my brain works, btw. Computers make more sense than people to me) Epsilon can understand that their rules might not be complete, and is flexible enough to add more when encountering new scenarios, but they do expect their rules to be accurate. They are very much a person of logic rather than emotion. As they have mostly only interacted with other robots and artificial beings, who function in much the same way, this works for them. However, when interacting with actual people, this doesn't work as well. People are notably often governed by emotion, not logic, and are incredibly prone to spontaneity. As such, Epsilon really has no idea how to interact with them sometimes, especially with little kids.

Epsilon also refers to living people as "organics" and robotic things as "artificials" because that is how they separate those two groups mentally. There's too many types of people, too many types of robots, so Epsilon refers to the makeup of their bodies instead. This isn't necessarily an insult, it simply is. But it is a fun detail about Epsilon habits.

Also since epsilon is a robot, they can do things like be rebuilt. This is a massive thing in the actual portal storyline - being able to rebuild these robots over and over again to continue testing. Even if Epsilon wasn't programmed initially to feel pain, they are a learning system (that's what makes them so good) so there isn't a reason they couldn't have *learned* to feel pain, or at least some facsimile of it. Additionally, them watching their body get destroyed and rebuilt it bound to be traumatizing anyways, which means I just gave this robot ptsd. Oops.

Anyhow, how does epsilon actually *survive* being destroyed, much less *watch*. First off, Epsilon only exists in their memory files. They can be *completely* disconnected from their body, lose access to *all* of their sensory systems, yet still be *alive*. (This is also bound to be incredibly traumatizing since they are basically completely at the mercy of whoever happens to find them, completely unable to defend themself.) And, if they needed to watch, glados is there and watching anyways. Since epsilon only exists in their memory files, they could be hooked up to other sensory systems, through network connections and whatnot. I'd imagine glados does this on purpose as a sort of threat to epsilon.

I do want to mention glados at least briefly. She definitely had some level of control over at least Epsilons body and sensory systems, which in general is rough (complete understatement). She also put Epsilon through all of these tests, making Epsilon a lab rat. Which means Epsilon likely has the *mentality* of a lab rat. So high levels of obedience, no real purpose to life (currently they want to find rho-13, but once they find him they won't have a purpose at all), etc. Which is just fun to play with.

Also, I like to think Epsilon uses they/them pronouns because they never got a gender module installed, and learned that they/them was the default. So they're a they/them guy with no actual preference.

Fibally, Epsilon definitely thinks of themself as EP-511ON56. They're a robot, and that is their serial number. The same way they think of RHO-13 as his serial number rather than a proper name. The reason they *use* this nickname is because organics don't like listing serial numbers constantly, so Epsilon.

Anyhow, long af ramble about epsilons character? Complete.

[the7thheroine]

Treech x mentor reader part 3/5

PART 5 IN THE WORKS READ THE REST OF MY BOOK 🤬🤬

HEY SO URM 3 PARTS ONE NIGJT?? ALSOOO THIS IS THIS IS THE SECOND TO LASF PART AND WILL BE SUPER LONG.

Once the academy ended the amount of food you bought was, small. Barely even a meal. Stuff stolen from the academy and off your own plate, which snow, had given you that idea as you watched him do the same, pocketing food for Lucy gray.

“This is stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

Snow answers back amused by your expression.

“We can’t just bring them scraps! They need proper food.” You snark holding up the tissue wrapped sandwich. As you approached you could see some students already at the zoo muttering and giggling amusedly over the tributes.

As you approached you spotted treech, sat next to lamina on a bench in the far corner.

“Treech?” You call moving closer to the zoo kneeling down.

He turns his attention to you, before turning to lamina checking if she’d be ok, as she gave no response, he sighs standing up coming over to you.

“What are you doing down there?” He says amusedly

“Getting you water and food.” You roll your eyes standing up handing him the flask and the wrapped food.

“There’s barely enough for one.”

“So?”

“What about Lamina?” He says frowning.

“I’ll bring more later I promise, but that’s all I could get for now.” You say looking over to Lamina as she sits solemnly.

“So.. how good at you with an axe” you say shifting back and forth on your feet.

“What? Oh.. for the games?.. I’m ok, never used it on a person, only on wood.” He shrugs continually chugging the water in the flask.

“Hm.. so… would you say your-”

Immediately a crash, and bloody screams were heard as one of the tributes grabbed her mentor and started attacking her.

Immediately three peace keepers stood up from their posts raising their guns and firing at the tribute, bullets ricochet off the bars firing widely everywhere.

You couldn’t help the scream you let out backing away in fear, Treech turns to you reaching a hand through the cage grabbing your arm.

“It’s ok! Your ok! It’s fine.. you’re fine.” He cries out slowly down your steps before you fall.

He immediately grabs your arm in a funny way through the bar turning you away from the sight.

“I’d.. go home.. ok? Go home rest and come back later when this is all done. When.. the bodies are gone.. you’re gonna be fine y/n..” he nods worriedly letting go of your arm.

You nod gently, taking a few steps back trying not to look at the body. Snow however appears next to you grabbing your arm.

“Cmon. Let’s go y/n.” He says exhausted as he pulls you away from the zoo.

You turn back trying to see treech but he’s returned to his seat beside lamina looking even more worn out then before.

It was late in the evening when you came back, the zoo had no visitors and most of the tributes had sat down looking exhausted, apart from the occasional cough from Dill, there was not a single sound.

In your arms were two bags of food, and three bottles of water, enough to get treech, and Lamina through the night and morning.

“Treech?… treech come on!” I hiss out.

“My arms are hurting…” you hear movement and suddenly there’s Treech stood in front of you by the cage.

“You actually bought us stuff?” He whispers stunned at the sight of large amounts of food.

“It’s for you and lamina, I thought you both could use some and I did promise didn’t I?” You smile pushing it through the gates to them. Treech slowly reaches out, taking them from your hands carefully as if scared you’d change your mind and snap at him.

He quickly takes it handing a bottle to Lamina and a pack of food, she looks up at you slowly, sniffling and wiping her eyes.

“Thank you…” she whispers out before choking up again.

You smile back turning to treech. “Listen, tomorrow you’re all getting rounded up and taken to the arena to look at it and discuss strategy. Whilst you’re here, discuss strategy, do what you have to do. Make friends..” you whisper grasping the bars of the zoo.

“You’re sure.. it’s hard, there’s no one here who seems even interested in me.”

“They are, I’m sure of it, there just.. nervous maybe?” You offer out an answer only to get a scoff back.

It’s silent for a moment, your gaze goes to where wovey is sat leaning against her tribute partner, Bobbin.

“I do feel bad.. I mean.. wovey is so young..” you mutter looking in defeat at the small girl.

“You never know, she might pull through, tiny but mighty.” You chuckle as Treech makes a large hand gesture.

“Well I’m hoping you pull through and win.” You smile at him nodding your head.

“Thanks I guess. Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow? Don’t try and sneak in the cage again. They were going to kill you” he says looking into your eyes with a frown.

“I won’t! Promise.” You smile taking your hands from the cages bars. “Try and get some sleep treech,.” You mutter as you move away giving him a silent wave which, surprisingly he returns it.

As you approach the arena running up the steps the first thing you saw was the tributes, all lined up based on there district and gender. District, then Male and female. You spot snow leaning close to Lucy Gray whispering in her ear, you hadn’t seen him since the last afternoon when the tribute was shot.

You spot treech stood nervously adjusting his hat looking around solemnly as more mentors arrive.

“Miss me?” You joke moving to stand next to him. You look him up and down noticing he’s much less tired today and has gained colour back in his cheeks.

“No.” He answers shortly. He nods to Reaper.

“Where’s that girl? His mentor?”

“Who clemensia? I.. huh. I actually don’t know.” You say curiously looking around at everyone.

Suddenly the gates open and peacekeepers guide everyone into the arena, as you begin to move in, you turn back to look at snow only to see Lucy Gray clutching tightly onto his hand.

‘Not bad snow, not bad..’ you think as you glance to Treech who’s shoulders immediately tense up.

Immediately the arena is scene, and it’s huge. The first thing you notice, is there’s not a single place to hide. Not one.

“Here, cmon let’s go look around.” You say to treech grabbing his hand pulling him into the arena properly.

“Don’t drag me..” he snaps but, he doesn’t pull away though, as you continue to drag him through the arena.

You stop pointing at a large rock.

“That’s the cornocopia. It’s where there will be weapons, and all kinds of stuff.” You say simply. “There will most likely be an axe too so there’s something you’re familiar with.”

“Oh.. right.. there’s no where to hide though?” He thinks allowed looking around.

“You can climb right? Look, up there. If you can-”

There’s a load boom before you can get your final sentence out.

“Oh fuck!” You cry pulling treech backwards as rubble and the arenas roof begins to fall.

“What the hells happening!” Treech shouts over the noise wrapping an arm around you pulling you away from a piece of rubble.

A plane, an enemy ship, falls through the sky and crashing into the centre of the arena, Treech pulls your hand dragging you from the rubble, but not fast enough. Before you can even blink, a piece of brick smashes into your head knocking you to your knees.

“Shit y/n! Y/n oh my god your bleeding… your head.” He gasps as he tilts your head up pressing his hand onto the wound.

“I’m.. I’m fine. I’m fine..” you try and utter feeling your brain because to mix and become fuzzled.

“Treech you need to get out of here.. you need to run…” you choke out.

“No no way! And leave you?” Treech pulls you up wrapping your arm around his neck. As he begins to manoeuvre you out of the arena.

Within a few minutes you could feel fresh air on your face as you make it out of the arena, many tributes and mentors stood outside staring shocked at the rubble falling.

Before you can blink, a peacekeeper has grabbed you and is supporting you as two begin to drag treech into the transportation van.

“Y/n?! Help her god damn it!” He shouts as he’s slammed into the van.

Time begins to blur and warp as you open your eyes again only to see your apartment walls.

Erm so next part will be out soon but I may or may not have accidentally deleted a chunk of it 😌 @ch8mpion

[thelongestway]

And this is it. :) The Nameless Fanfic (placeholder name stands, for now; I name things either first or last) is done.

That said, I'll probably be keeping The Nameless Fanfic as a series name, because I think I have a Situation for part 2.

Before then, though, I probably want to let this fic lie for a week or two, print it and do a proper line edit to put it on AO3. And also write a thanks-and-some-meta post. And do some proper formatting here. So... I don't know if part 2 is going to be soon (tm), but it might happen.

Meanwhile, I think this story is actually, properly finished. That was a ride, at least for me - I hope you, the readers, also enjoyed.

Without further ado...

Chapter 15: Play

After the checks and permits were resolved, Iceblink met me on top of the Tenacious' walkway, alone. She had gotten herself a pair of feed glasses and rigged a small keyboard bracer to her right arm, which she was typing on animatedly. A moment later, she motioned for me to follow her, then tapped my feed on a text-only channel as we walked.

Hi, SecUnit! Dandelion told me you liked talking in the feed more, so I hope you don't mind if I test my new deck?

Go ahead, I poked at Dandelion herself, but she only returned a curt poke back, and then went quiet again. It was kind of disturbing being inside her hull when she wasn't really there. Is your spaceship sulking?

XD XD XD ^____^ ahahahahaahaha

What the actual fuck was all of that?

Iceblink grinned at me.

Nah, she's not sulking. Never been the type. But she has been making herself scarce for a little bit, at least until the SSC gets back to Captain Reed about her case. BY THE WAY SEC UNIT.

It's SecUnit.

By the way, SecUnit! Dandelion ALSO told me you're some kind of media afficionado. She gave me A LIST.

No. Fuck you. You didn't let me download YOUR media.

:3 we didn't know you then!!! trade you? everything you got for everything we got?

…Fine.

Initiating transfer!

Iceblink started the file exchange, and then stopped walking for a moment, hand hanging over her keyboard. She looked at me. Then at a nearby speaker.

"That is still an incredibly bad idea." Dandelion said out loud.

"I know!" Iceblink groaned. "But it's just so… Frustrating. Are you sure that's not how they do things here?"

"Yes."

"Ugh." She began typing again. It is grinding my gears just to say this out loud, but, uh, SecUnit, do friendly people in feed security never really, you know, do blind penetration testing on each other as a kind of hello? No warning, you just start once someone decides you're good enough friends?

No. Because that would be incredibly stupid. And right now also an asshole move that would make you lose movie night privileges forever.

Pfft, even Dandelion only lost hers until we're getting back to Trellin. It's not healthy to deprive people of socialization.

The answer is still no. Don't fucking do it. How the fuck did that even get started???

We had a friend in the early node ship days, Tal Smithson. Dandelion suddenly inserted herself into our text channel. Ke liked training the new generation of IT specialists that way. Ke would have been very glad to see the tradition going, Iceblink, but… Not right now.

Iceblink sighed.

Yeah, Dandelion. I know. SecUnit, consider this a formal invitation to play if you want to. I won't start.

I said, Ok. I'll think about it, because Iceblink was definitely the sort of human who would keep pinging me until she at least got an acknowledgement. But then we got to the Friend's cabin, and Iceblink left me alone with a little wave.

The Friend was sitting at its desk, drawing up some schemas by hand. It looked up when I entered.

"SecUnit." It said. And it sounded weird. And it stared at me.

I stared past it. "Yes. I've got a package for you. From your clients."

It stood up and continued staring.

"SecUnit." It repeated. "Fuck. That wasn't a codename."

I held out the package. It took the box and put it down on the table, on top of the schemas. It had been conducting a post mortem threat assessment of the entire hostage situation.

We stared some more. Then I turned and walked out.

On my way out, I pinged Dandelion, and this time she opened a proper channel.

That was very weird. Are you sure it doesn't need a cubicle or something?

Yes. That was very strange. I don't know why it reacted to you like that. It had been a lot more animated when it told me that a former Friend should have known better, among many other things, and it seems back to normal now that you're gone.

What did you tell it?

She chuckled, sounding sad.

That a long time ago, a dear friend tried to cheer me up by telling me that I could still be a Friend. I took the vows, after all, I did the work. And I told them I couldn't. Not anymore. And that at a crucial juncture it turned out I'd been right.

Dandelion opened her hatch for me, and I walked out down the ramp, into the embarkation area.

Thank you for getting it out alive, SecUnit.

It didn't look like the Trellians would be hauling too much cargo any time soon, so I scanned the area and found an empty spot by the wall with a good view of the stars. I sat down there, and opened a shared feed workspace, then sent Dandelion an invitation. She accepted with a Query? that felt like a raised eyebrow.

I started the first episode of The Rise and Fall of Sanctuary Moon.

[hebuiltfive]

The Five Mistakes of Virgil Tracy

HAPPY BIRTHDAY VIRGIL!

I posted an actual happy story for one of their birthdays? I am in shock.

This is part of a wider alternate universe set in the Regency era that I'm developing... with a twist. You may have a hundred questions regarding a certain scene in this story, but I promise it will all make sense once the actual Regency AU story is published (which will be soon, I hope!)

For now, enjoy Virgil getting up to some mischief.

There is no explicit smut or sex in this, but it is implied. If you do not like romance, this one might not be for you.

For those who prefer to read on AO3.

Mister Reeves's private art collection is not quite what Virgil had been expecting to visit. What happens at the Reeves's family estate, stays at the Reeves's family estate.

March, 1816. London.

It had been a stroke of luck — of good or bad was still to be determined — when John noticed Lord Tycho Reeves contemplating one particular landscape. He had soon introduced him to Virgil as a friend and colleague at the Novatores club. Virgil had been overly keen in meeting one of John’s friends. Most of the time, his studious brother kept his club and its members far away from the rest of the family. Virgil did not mind, although making a good impression had been paramount.

Art seemed to be the topic of choice, given their location. Virgil had turned to the painting Lord Reeves had been assessing and began to critique it earnestly. Surely any smart man who was a member of John’s club, and who possessed an interest in art, would too be able to see the imperfections of the piece.

“It lacks imagination,” Virgil had so boldly claimed. “The shadows are all wrong for one thing. Even a novice would be able to see that those shades are entirely incorrect. It gives the painting an inauthentic feel, and then, of course, there is the case of the sky.”

“What is wrong with the sky?” Another voice had asked. If Virgil had been paying proper attention to his surrounding company, he would have noticed that, while this new man sounded like Lord Reeves, it was not he who had spoken.

“It’s grey.”

“The skies of England are usually grey, are they not? Perhaps, as an American, you would not recognise this.”

Offended, Virgil finally returned his attention to the group. Though Lord Reeves had humoured his inital critique, he was now standing a little further back with his arms behind him. His grin looked suspiciously like a smirk. Next to him, John had a twinkle in his own eye.

That was when Virgil had realised they had been joined by another man. Slightly taller than Lord Reeves, with similar features, but identifiably a very different man.

“Please,” this new addition to the group continued, “carry on. What is wrong with the sky being grey?”

Virgil, suitably uncomfortable and feeling like he was missing part of the puzzle that made it all so amusing to Lord Reeves and his brother, had meekly explained. “… Everything else in this landscape suggests… a happy memory. The lake twinkles as the sunlight catches it, though I cannot fathom where the sunlight is coming from, which suggests a magic spark.”

“Could it not be simply the light refracting the surface of the water?”

“That would be too literal.”

“And art cannot be literal?”

“Of course it can, but this is obviously not.”

“How so?”

Virgil sighed with a hint of irritation. “Metaphors in art are curated in the palettes, designed in the brushstrokes, admired by the viewer. Imagination is what drives art forward. Creative, human spirit!”

“The sunlight could pierce the clouds.”

“It does not represent that.”

“Imagine that it does then.”

Before Virgil could further dig himself into a hole, Lord Reeves stepped forward. “Mister Tracy, please allow me to introduce to you my younger brother, Percival… the artist of the piece you are currently observing.”

The blood had drained from Virgil’s features as the situation slowly sunk in.

He was thankful that Mister Reeves had not been insulted by Virgil’s strong critiques. Instead of turning away from him in anger, he had invited Virgil to tour the rest of the gallery with him and, once they had finished, invited him to visit his own private studio back at his family seat in Kent. This invitation had been solidified when, two days later, Virgil had received a letter from Reeves once again inviting him to his family home. Feeling as though he could not decline such a kind request, Virgil organised his schedules for his trip and set off the following week.

The long journey south had filled Virgil with anxiety. Every couple of hours he’d contemplate whether visiting would be a good idea. The last thing he wanted to do was put his foot in it again. When his carriage rolled up to the Reeves’s Estate at noon, Virgil had still not reached a definitive conclusion on what was best. He noticed Reeves all but skipping down the steps to greet him and quickly decided it was too late to do anything but stay.

April, 1816. Kent.

As Virgil stepped out of his carriage and the man drew closer, Virgil could make out the intricate pattern on Mister Reeves’s waistcoat. A design of dark, swirling lines, blooming in flowery explosions. The colours complimented the rest of his attire well and Virgil instantly realised two things: the first was that this was a man who knew how to present himself. Of course, he was hosting a guest for the next couple of days, however the clothing he wore suggested to Virgil that was ostentatious. The second realisation was that Reeves was a man who prided himself in being that way. If Virgil hadn’t already known better, he wouldn’t have been shocked to hear of Reeves’s love of art. He used himself as a canvas, and Virgil unexpectedly found himself appreciating that.

The first item of their agenda, according to Reeves once Virgil’s luggage had been seen to be a footman, was a guided tour of the country estate. His brother was apparently out for the weekend with their mother and Mister Reeves had expressed great relief at having the estate to himself (minus the obvious staff that flitted in and out of rooms as they passed through them).

Before arriving, Virgil had done thorough research on the man he was about to visit. He had asked John for tidbits of information from what he’d heard from Lord Reeves regarding his younger brother, and had surreptitiously inquired about the man at various events and social gatherings in the week leading up to his journey. He hadn’t been expecting Reeves to share as much as he currently was during their stroll, but had listened intently, as he would with a close friend, pretending he hadn’t heard half the story already.

Unlike his brother, Lord Reeves’s imagination had led him down a path of academia. He favoured turning to science and mathematics in order to understand the world around him. Percival's passions had always been more fanciful, decreed by the arts and a far cry from the world of equations and physics.

With his freedoms as the second-born son, it meant that Reeves had spent the better half of his youth creating. While his brother conducted his technological tests up in his study, Mister Reeves had dared to study the various crafts of art. First, the childish abstract art that a muddy puddle in the grounds of their vast country estate, then, as he grew older, so did his interests. Sculptures and poetry fascinated him, but it was in painting where his true passions dwelled.

Virgil could relate to most of that. He, too, was called to a different path than his brothers. It was refreshing to hear Mister Reeves’s brief story, though when he asked questions regarding Virgil’s own family in the process, Virgil was a much more closed book. He was thankful when the topic of conversation changed to the varieties of plants in Tycho’s greenhouses, even if neither of them were particularly knowledgeable on the subject.

Drizzle began and they made the decision to start back up to the house. They passed a lake that appeared very similar to the painting Virgil had critiqued when they had first met, and then various flower beds before ending the tour by the stables just as the rain began to pick up.

It had been fascinating, taking a walk through the gardens of the Reeves’s estate, but Virgil was far more at home once he was given the tour of the interior. The paintings that hung on the walls of the house were more familiar to Virgil than plants and trees. They strolled further into the grand manor, passing through halls and rooms so elaborate they would no doubt rival the Royal Palaces themselves, until they eventually came to the private art gallery.

Most of the artwork that lined the first room was very similar to those that Mister Reeves had already displayed at the gallery where they’d first been introduced: a couple of watercolour landscape pieces that had been inspired by his home in Kent; a portrait of his older brother painted with oils; a few commissioned pieces that had never been paid in full and so Reeves had kept them as payment.

“An unfortunately common occurrence.” He had sadly claimed.

All had been what Virgil was expecting to see upon arriving. No bold, critiquing comments were made on any of the pieces he saw, however. He had learned his lesson the first time around and the shame he felt in the aftermath… Virgil hadn’t forgiven himself for days. If that had been him on the receiving end, he wouldn’t have recovered for a while. Not that his self-esteem was bad, that is. The case with Virgil came down to his sensibilities; out of the five Tracy brothers, Virgil was undoubtedly the most sensitive.

Mister Reeves guided him through to the second room of the studio. It was low lit and more crowded than the first chamber. As they entered, Reeves pulled back the covers that had been blocking the windows and the afternoon sun streamed in. Light lit up the area, the canvases that were haphazardly strewn across various work surfaces…

And Virgil stopped dead in his tracks.

The previous landscape images and average portraits were the paintings he had been expecting to view.

The image of the scantly clad woman, however, was not.

Virgil blushed.

And Percival Reeves liked that. His smile turned devilish.

“Is this imaginative enough for you, Mister Tracy?” Reeves asked as he sidled up beside his new friend.

Virgil observed the painting. It was certainly suggestive and Reeves’s alluring demeanour and tone only amplified it.

He convinced himself that he was only interested in the brushstrokes, in the colour palette that had been used. It only half-worked.

The ivory dress the model wore had slipped down substantially, leaving bare shoulders on display. Delicately painted hands held up the gown which remained covering her more intimate parts, but the suggestion was enough. Soft ringlets of her brunette hair fell from her fancy up-do.

Whoever this woman was, she was exquisite. Virgil wasn’t sure whether she was real or merely a figment of Reeves’s imagination, and he dared not ask for her identity. The last thing he wanted to appear as was indecent.

Then again, it had been Reeves who had invited him to his private studio, who had guided him into this second chamber, who had revealed to him these secret paintings.

To further his point, Reeves did not seem to care for indecency. As if reading Virgil’s mind, he traced his fingers lightly over the woman’s painted features. “Her name was Clara. She was a model down at the club I frequent.” His index finger reached the rouged lips of the model. “She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”

A variety of questions inundated Virgil’s mind. He kept them at bay and simply — meekly — nodded. “You said ‘was’?”

“Clara no longer models for us.” Mister Reeves explained, dropping his hand back down to his side. “Rumours claim that one of our members became ‘involved’ with her and, when their relationship ended unpleasantly, Clara left and never looked back.”

So entranced as he was by such a scandalous image, that was now additionally paired with a scandalous story, Virgil found he could not take his eyes off the painting.

When Mister Reeves’s gaze drifted over to him, he felt the man’s eyes on him rather than saw them.

“Gossip can be such an obstacle.” Reeves continued. “The Ton seem to thrive on tittle-tattle. Have you ever read that damned gossip sheet that makes it’s rounds now and then? Utter poppycock! Drivel! I believe it to be a vulgar practice. In fact, I think spreading frivolous gossip is far more vulgar than showcasing a painting of natural beauty. Would you not agree, Mister Tracy?”

Beside him, Virgil felt Mister Reeves inch closer.

“Yet, while the gossip rags are allowed to be published and distributed, my paintings are prohibited from being shown in public art galleries. Tell me, do you believe that to be a fair practice?”

Virgil’s collar suddenly felt too tight. The question posed by Reeves sounded like a test of some kind and Virgil found himself not wanting to fail. He could see how such an illustration could be deemed “too promiscuous” to display, no matter the natural beauty it showcased, but made no comment. He continued to stare at the painting, unblinking.

Reeves went on. “I do not think you are the sort of man who enjoys listening to mindless gossip. You appear to be a man who prefers thoughtful conversation.”

His host’s words became more emphasised, more accentuated, more connotative.

“You come across as someone who would rather indulge in more stimulating dialogue, no?”

Virgil grew hotter. Mister Reeve’s arm now brushed against his own and Virgil’s heart-rate quickened. He blamed it easily on the portrait that he still stared directly at.

If Reeves was testing him, Virgil thought that is was a rather unfair test.

“How do you like to be captivated, Mister Tracy?”

His host was being wilfully provocative. Mister Reeves’s arm again brushed up against his own sleeve. It was a momentary touch, fleeting and possibly accidental… No, not accidental. Paired with the words and the images and the previous touch, Mister Reeves had intentionally moved closer a second time.

Still Virgil said nothing. Still he did nothing. He allowed the feelings, so unfamiliar to him they almost frightened him, to swell and infect every part of his body and mind.

He began to wonder if this was the sort of thrill his brother sought when he visited her. If that was the case then Virgil was on the path of understanding what the appeal was.

Mister Reeves had grown quiet, and Virgil realised he had yet to answer his question.

Nervously he cleared his throat, his words seeming foreign on his tongue as he spoke. “I, uh, do partake in poetry.”

He dared a glance towards his host. That was his first mistake —

No, it was his second.

Virgil’s first mistake had been accepting Mister Reeves’ invitation, though, of course, despite his initial hesitations, he had not known back then what would transpire.

This second mistake of his — turning to face Reeves — could have been far more avoidable. Upon seeing the portraits, Virgil could have upped-and-left. That would have been the proper thing to do.

But he had been so transfixed by the images he had seen, marvelled by their beauty, that Virgil simply could not leave. Never mind the fact that it would have been a rather rude gesture towards the man who had essentially given him a second chance with that kind invite.

Just as the painting was easy to get lost in, Mister Reeves’s eyes, Virgil realised, were the sort one could drown in. Without a second thought, he imagined how he could possibly paint them. Bold and daring, with a touch of tawny in the hazel iris. Perfectly opulent…

Dear Lord, he was staring! Straight into the other man’s eyes and—

Virgil’s blush returned with vengeance. His cheeks grew warm and there was nothing he could do to stop them from reddening.

Perhaps the invite had not been kind at all. Perhaps it had been an elaborate scheme that Mister Reeves had concocted to further embarrass him after he had made those comments!

Reeves chuckled, however. It was not the sort of vicious or malicious laughter that came at the expense of another, but one that was reassuring. Gentle and understanding, Mister Reeves reached out.

Despite the fabric of his shirt separating their skin, a thrilling tingle was still sent up Virgil’s arm upon his touch.

…

Oh, this was ridiculous!

Virgil cleared his throat, attempting to compose himself in the face of Mister Reeves. He inhaled deeply, which proved to be his third mistake. The scent of rich orange and bergamot coming from the man standing beside him drowned his senses completely.

“One shade the more, one ray the less, / Had half impaired the nameless grace / Which waves in every raven tress, / Or softly lightens o’er her face; / Where thoughts serenely sweet express, / How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.”

“Byron.” Virgil instantly recognised the piece.

“I, too, partake in some poetry from time to time.” Mister Reeves admitted.

“It is a beautiful poem.”

“It is. I have a variety of poetry books in my private library.”

Virgil cracked an amused smile. “Is this private library as solicitous as this private art collection is?”

Mister Reeves simply stared at him and, for a moment, Virgil wondered if he’d been too bold.

Before he could backtrack and offer an apology, however, Mister Reeves’s smile curled. “Would you think poorly of me if they were?”

Virgil did not think poorly of any man or woman, with the exception of a couple who were truly, under Virgil’s terms, despicable. Mister Reeves, in the short amount of time he had known him, did not seem to be that sort of man.

“Art is not to be thought poorly of.” He diplomatically decreed. “It should be subjective, not discredited due to themes or images alone.”

“Unless it is an unimaginative piece down at the Royal Art Gallery?” Mister Reeves chuckled, the twinkle in his eye suggesting he was glad Virgil was being more direct.

“Am I ever to live that down?”

“It is looking more and more unlikely, Mister Tracy.”

That was fair enough, he thought to himself. “I see. Well, in that case, I shall have to work hard to regain your trust in my judgement.”

“I do not distrust your judgement in the slightest, Mister Tracy.”

Virgil could feel the blush return to his cheeks. “That’s very kind of you to say, Mister Reeves.”

“Please, call me Percival. If we are to be friends, it feels only right.”

The offered hand that Mister Reeves — Percival — had extended was met halfway by Virgil, who had been expecting a handshake from the man. There was no handshake, however, and instead Percival enclosed his fingers around Virgil’s hand, squeezed gently and then pulled him back through the doorway of his art studio. Virgil did not stop him, which proved to be his fourth mistake, and they retraced their steps through the hallway, turning in the opposition direction to lead down a new staircase Virgil had not yet seen. The steps were lined with a beautifully soft red runner and, eventually, Percival came to a stop outside another room, this time locked.

Percival made short work of unlocking the door, opening it to a view of his private library, if the lines and lines of shelving were any clue. Percival pulled Virgil inside, only letting go of his hand once the door behind them was shut.

“This is my second home.” He announced rather proudly. “Or my third, if you were to count the actual house as a home.”

“You do not?”

Virgil’s question was asked half-distractedly. He began to inspect the rows and rows of books that sat upon the nearest shelf.

On the Origin of Species

Believing Is Seeing: Is There Life on Mars?

Relativity: The Special and General Theory

Dark Matter and Dark Energy: The Hidden 95% of the Unknown

A Brief History of Time

Challenging Technology

Sustainable Transport Innovations

The Voyage of the Beagle

Beyond the Horizon: Exploring Breakthroughs in Modern Science

Whatever answer Percival had given to his question, Virgil did not hear. He ran a finger along one of the books worn spines, feeling the groove of the embossed titles that made no sense. After all Percival had said regarding the differences between his brother and himself, Virgil had half-expected a library full of books on the arts. This library looked more like a trove fit for Tycho instead.

His eyes scanned over the titles again.

A Brief History of Time… The Voyage of the Beagle… On the Origin of Species…

Virgil’s mouth grew dry. Beneath the layers of his clothing, goosebumps rose.

Something was wrong.

Fog descended on his mind, skewing his thoughts from questioning any further. The hair on the back of his neck rose and static noise drowned out whatever Percival was currently speaking about. There was a steady beeping sound that was barely audible amongst the crackling disturbance.

Virgil glanced back to the row of books, impossible books, books that seemed wrong. They didn’t belong here, and not because he thought they were Tycho’s books instead. There was something Virgil couldn’t quite put his finger on, something very obvious that was staring him right in the face… but that damned hissing wasn’t helping him think! He resisted the urge to lift up his hands and cover his ears; it wouldn’t have helped.

Virgil jumped when Percival’s hand landed on his arm. The fog instantly lifted, the noise dissipating until he could hear his host’s words clearly once again.

“Are you feeling well, Tracy?”

Without missing a beat, Virgil nodded his assurance. “Yes! Yes, I am… I am well. My apologies.”

“Are you quite sure? You seemed…” Percival trailed off, his eyes searching Virgil’s cautiously. “… distant. Like you were—”

“I assure you, I am fine!”

Despite the confidence with which Virgil had declared his health, the truth was much more different. His heart was still thundering away behind his chest, his head swimming, not only from confusion but from some sort of after effect. He held onto the shelving for support, disguising the fact by gesturing to the line of books. “You have a wonderful collection here, Percival.”

It was only once he complimented the books that Virgil dared to look at the titles again.

The Analysis of Beauty

A Treatise on Painting

The Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects

Bile rose up Virgil’s throat. He was certain those same books held different titles only moments ago. He frowned, tearing his eyes away from the books that had caused his funny turn; he did not wish to go down that rabbit hole again.

“Thank you.” Percival bowed his head in acknowledgement.

Whether he could sense Virgil’s unease or not, Virgil did not know. All he knew was that his host was guiding him by the arm to sit upon one of the leather couches in the centre of the library. Virgil allowed himself to be seated, forcing himself to offer Percival a weak smile. It did nothing to quell Percival’s look of scepticism.

Nevertheless, Percival continued. “As I was saying, I count this as a home away from home.”

“Yes, you said you did not class your house as a home.” Virgil recalled, tracing his mind back to their conversation before he’d been swept up in… whatever that had been. “Is the house not naturally your home?”

“No.” Percival had been nothing but confident since Virgil arrived. He had stood tall, spoke relatively freely and without concern. Yet, with that small, one-worded confession, the man had changed. His tone became quieter, his shoulder hunched making his appearance seem smaller than normal.

“I find the house is less of a home and more of a place where one resides.” He explained carefully. “My studio, this library, feel more homely to me than the house at large does. Oftentimes, the bottom of my liquor bottle is more conversational than my brother or anyone else in this damned household.” Percival’s eyes met Virgil’s. “Do you not feel that way too sometimes, Mister Tracy?”

He took the seat beside him on the couch, his arm stretching out across the back cushions behind Virgil. “Do you not feel encased or entrapped by the house in which you reside?”

Virgil shook his head, though in truth, he had never once given it a thought. His family were the kindest, most welcoming people he knew. They made his house a home. He refrained from sharing that, however. The last thing he wanted to do was sound as though he was boasting, even if Percival had asked him the question in the first place.

Percival grinned with a subtle touch of jealousy. “How lucky you are to not understand first-hand what the pain is like.”

“But surely your brother—”

“I told you, Tycho is less interesting than my bottles of liquor on a good day. He rarely cares for what I do, being too busy tinkering away in his little laboratory or polishing himself up in order to appear just as our father did, a pillar of society. He does not care what I do or who I have become.”

“He was at your art show the other month.” Virgil carefully pointed out. “Surely that means he still must care in some capacity?”

“Everything Tycho does is for show, Mister Tracy.” Percival met Virgil’s eyes again and the vulnerability was clear. This was a man who had turned to his creative pursuits to escape his own reality. Virgil could relate to that, even if he couldn’t entirely empathise with the exact reasons why.

“You must be lonely.”

“Sometimes.” He smiled weakly. “But I am glad I have found a friend in you, Mister Tracy.”

“Please, if I am to call you Percival, you must call me Virgil.”

Percival’s smile grew, softening the hurt in his eyes. “Well, I am glad to have found a friend in you, Virgil Tracy.”

“And I with you.”

“Do not tell me a man such as yourself is without friends?”

“I am afraid all my friends are back home in America.”

Any trace of Percival’s vulnerability was shed. He welcomed the change in topic gladly, lifting one leg up to tuck underneath himself as he turned to face Virgil, his arm still outstretched behind him. Virgil felt relief when Percival did not retrieve that hand, and then batted away his feeling once he’d realised it.

“Tell me about home. My father visited once but he rarely spoke about it.”

“Probably because there isn’t a lot to say.”

“Nonsense! Do not be modest with me now, Virgil. I showed you my most secret collections.”

Virgil grinned. “Perhaps do not call them ‘secret collections’.”

“Why not?”

“It gives the impression that you are a secretive man.”

“Is there a problem with secretive men, Tracy?”

“No, not at all, but it usually begs the question as to what the man is keeping secret.”

“I have laid pretty much all bare with you. What possible questions might you still have?”

“If everything is a secret, Reeves, I’m afraid I wouldn’t know what else I might be wondering about.”

“In that case, allow me to wonder about you. You may not have private art collections, Virgil Tracy, — or maybe you do, who am I to judge? — but you are quite the enigma yourself. Tell me, compared to myself, how deeply have you answered my questions this afternoon?”

Virgil felt slightly guilty. “Perhaps I am simply not as deep as you might think I am.”

“I would have to disagree with you there. I think that you’re extremely deep and meaningful. You just don’t trust very easily, which I understand entirely, but…”

Percival trailed off, shuffling a little closer to Virgil. The hand outstretched behind him gently brushing against Virgil’s shoulder. He tried not to elicit a reaction, tried to ignore the sweet tingle that was left once Percival’s hand left him again, but it was harder to hide than it had been in the art studio.

“But you don’t have to worry here.” He continued, so close his whisper breezed Virgil’s cheeks.

Virgil Tracy’s fifth mistake was not standing up and leaving the library in that very moment, though mistake might have been too harsh a word. The word ‘mistake’ is commonly left with connotations of regret, and Virgil did not regret what happened next in the slightest. Percival’s rich scent of orange and bergamot clouded Virgil’s senses. It enveloped him, ensnared him. He noticed now how Percival’s eyes were more tawny than they were green, citing the different in lighting in the library being the primary reason. He’d have to remember that when he painted the man… if he painted the man.

His muse quite often struck at odd moments. On one occasion, while stuck at the dinner table of one of Lord Clingsdale’s banquets, Virgil had composed an entire symphony in his mind. On another occasion he had written the most beautiful poem whilst playing a round of ninepins with his family. He transcribed it later that evening before he could forget it entirely.

But this sudden surge of creative passion was different. It was stronger. This time his inspiration did not arrive due to boredom or having a lovely afternoon on the green with his family. This time his inspiration came from the very handsome man who had invited him into his home and bared his soul to him.

Virgil reigned himself in.

There was never a logical or calculated moment for when his muse would strike, but he just couldn’t be thinking about that, not now.

Not when Percival was this close to him.

Not when Percival inched his face toward him.

Not when Percival’s lips, so soft, experimentally pressed against his own.

It was over within a second. Percival pulled his lips away and stared at Virgil, assessing his reaction. The kiss had been so fast, Virgil hadn’t been able to process it fully. His confused blinking had Percival frowning, his cheeks warming up.

“Was that…? Oh, God, that was too much, wasn’t it?” Percival jumped up from his position, clearly embarrassed, but all Virgil felt was his absence the moment he left. Beside him, the couch still had a Percival-shaped dent from where he’d been seated.

Distraught, Percival clamped a palm over his forehead. “I’ve ruined it all now, haven’t I? Please, Mister Tracy, accept my thorough apologies! I do not know what came over me…”

The buttons on his waistcoat, unique in its periwinkle shade, were fiddled around with. That vulnerability Percival had displayed earlier, of which Virgil was sure he’d only barely glimpsed, only scratched the surface of witnessing, had returned.

Virgil stood immediately and strolled over to the pacing man. He caught Percival’s hands before he could do any damage to his waistcoat buttons and, to his surprise, Percival ceased his fidgeting. Virgil knew he had a calming quality, an aura that was tranquil, but he rarely didn’t surprise himself with his abilities. His father had once claimed that he was a lot like his mother in that regard and Virgil had held that compliment close to his chest ever since.

The not-quite-tawny-not-quite-hazel eyes glanced at him with hesitance, but Virgil didn’t allow him to back away. If Scott was allowed to have his fun, then why couldn’t he? After all, one more kiss was harmless enough, wasn’t it?

Gently, for he did not want to ruin Percival’s intricately designed waistcoat, Virgil’s fingers wrapped around the lapels and drew him nearer. Their slight difference in height had Virgil leaning forward and up, but he wasted no time in reassuring Percival that he hadn’t ruined anything.

This time, Virgil made sure that their kiss wasn’t so light and experimental. Their brief few hours together had enticed both of them, and Virgil wanted Percival to know that he wasn't the only one who felt that way. Whether it was love or lust, or maybe a mixture of both, Virgil did not know. All he knew was he craved more of Percival’s attention, more of his touch.

Percival seemed stunned when Virgil went in for his less delicate kiss but, once he got over his initial shock that yes he hadn’t ruined his new friendship — could it be deemed such now? — with this man, gave as good as he got. Hands trailed clothed bodies, tables were bumped into and enamoured giggles were exchanged in short bursts of breath, until they found themselves back at the couch once again.

When Virgil had first arrived earlier that afternoon, he had not known what to expect. If he had been able to cast his mind’s eye to the future to envision this current scenario, he might have turned away out of fear. Now that he was here, however, living in the moment and cherishing every second, he was glad humans did not possess that impossible ability.

‘One more kiss’ turned into a cascade of them. Lips began to explore more areas — cheeks and necks and chests. They almost missed dinner, too wrapped up in themselves and their desires to care for the time. When society deems something as taboo for too long, one is more inclined to take a bite out of the denied apple.

In between their fits of passion, Percival assured Virgil that what happened during his stay would remain within the walls of the manor… or the greenhouse, or the confines of the lake area, wherever they wished to adventure next. Silly little love affairs were not something to be ashamed of, Reeves had claimed, but something that deserved to be experienced every now and then, and Virgil had to agree.

He was almost sad to leave the following afternoon. Percival had been disappointed that Virgil did not accept his offer to stay longer, but after promising him he’d return as soon as he could, Percival had lightened up a little again. He waved him off as his carriage departed and Virgil found himself looking back through the cab’s windows, watching the small speck that was the Reeves Estate slowly disappear over the horizon.

When John had inquired about his trip the morning after he’d returned back home, Virgil had kept the details minimal. If his brother had seen through some of his more reserved statements, he did not let on, nor did he question Virgil when he spent more time in his studio painting over the subsequent month. Virgil was grateful for that. Inspired by Percival’s private art studio, Virgil had installed a small lock on the door to his own. The portrait he was currently working on was for his eyes only. He didn’t want to make the mistake of allowing one of his brothers to accidentally stumble across it. He was on a running streak of not feeling guilty over the last five mistakes he’d made, and, high on life, Virgil had no intention of breaking that streak just yet.

[lifeafterpsychiatry]

I'd say to just reblog the ones with the vetting in their ask sent or pinned post as you see them, or perhaps dedicate a few min at a specific moment in the day/week/etc for going through the ones in your inbox/saved from your dash (via drafting maybe?) with said vetting.

generally you dont need to do the vetting yourself as many of the people doing outreach asks will include their vetting sources with a link to show its real, and the majority of them are very legit vetting processes. there is undoubtedly also a list out there of the legit vetting orgs and individuals to verify the vetting source linked in the ask/post is legitimate

otherwise if you cannot do that, with each individual donation post, a compromise can be to add the links to the official google docs etc in a pinned or regularly queued post where vetted fundraisers continually get added to, including ones of congo sudan etc

↳ this post would be an option for that; (insert tumblr period com part here since if i do my ask doesnt deliver)/soft-zawa-png/753900486558695424/fundraisers-gazasudancongo-more-google

and perhaps since people will undoubtedly complain at you like crazy about how it i'd say to do it with another one of your personalised post distinguishing tags (like your getting personal/asks/serious etc ones) that doesn't as clearly end up filtered out automatically (as many people prefer to not have it tagged as just donation/boost etc for various reasons w the filtering and spam stuff of the site)

sidenote; i also dont doubt you'll get a crazy amt of zionists and racist people using the "everyone is a scammer dont risk it" interactions abt this discussion so do make sure to keep in mind that yknow, lotta racism and zionism abt it all n to not believe the UMMM ITS ALL SPAM!!!!! things nor give them the time of day with spewing bigoted ideology etc

I absolutely get that "doing some work to check which campaigns are real/properly vetted" would be the ideal approach here. But I am not exaggerating or just being stubborn when I say I can't do that work, and that this lack of skill also includes figuring out who to trust to do accurate vetting. I am not capable of doing any kind of work and research associated with prioritizing between campaigns and checking for proper vetting. I am not saying this means that I shouldn't share any campaigns ever, but please stop suggesting "checking if a campaign is verified/checking people's vetting sources" as the solution here. I can't do that. I already said I can't do that work. And that includes doing it sometimes/once a day and checking people's sources to see if other people are actually doing their vetting correctly. When I ask "what should I do if I can't do any of the research work associated with vetting campaigns" telling me to "just do some of it sometimes" misses the point quite a bit.

[jacksgreysays]

"soldier, poet, king" + POV of team 7 from someone in the far future, maybe through the lens of a distant descendant build off surviving myths and historical texts

Dear anon, I hope you don’t mind, but I took a gentle step sideways and backwards with this prompt. In my search for all of the royalty!AU posts, I refreshed my memory about Foundation of Yesterday in which DoS/the Elemental Nations is the extremely distant past of FFVII. Coupled with the SOLDIERs of FFVII and my assigning of which member of Team Seven corresponds to which character of FFVII, I think it all combines well with your prompt. Additionally, I couldn’t tell which members of Team Seven I would assign soldier, poet, and king. But it was easy for me to assign solider, poet, and king to their FFVII descendants and then reverse engineer from there. So we get Cloud, obvious Soldier, descendant of blue-eyed blonde, storm and strife. Yuffie as King, inheriting a pendant that summons a sleeping goddess in times of need. And Vincent is less obvious as Poet, but you can probably get into a sort of meditative philosophizing of working for tyrants and falling in love with a scientist only for her to betray you and then going into hibernation and maybe meeting your distant ancestor who is Chaos? Unfortunately, I don’t actually know that much about FFVII—as I’ve never played it, nor the remake—except for what I’ve gleaned from fanfiction and cultural osmosis, lol. And then this does get into the problem, similar to the Fear to Tread (a world unseen) post in that the primary setting/POV of the fic WOULD be the world/characters that I am less accustomed to writing and then making up the history of the world between the events of DoS and FFVII. So I’m going to continue with my gentle sideways and backwards steps and give you this, instead:

~

(king)

When Yuffie finally activates the strange summon materia she inherited from her father, everything goes dark. At first she panics—maybe something went wrong? did she not have enough mana? was she cursed with blindness?—but then little pin pricks of light appear, like distant stars coming ever closer.

She doesn’t see what the summon does exactly, the battle ends so quickly after that, but that doesn’t matter too much considering the summon just… doesn’t leave.

The Shikabane-hime—once the tendrils of star-filled shadows have done their damage and tucked themselves away out of existence—looks human. Like one of Yuffie’s people, a girl far from home, displaced from Wutai, just like her.

But as the other members of the party shift and stare, uncertain as to what it happening, she remembers who exactly she’s looking at. What she is looking at, that is: a summon, inherited from her father, who only showed up now after her homeland has been ruined by ShinRa.

Later, when they have made camp for the night, when the Shikabane-hime has still not disappeared, even though Yuffie’s original mana offering should have long run out, she confronts the summon.

“Where were you?” Yuffie asks in Wutaian so the others can’t understand her. She tries to make it accusatory, tries to sound authoritative, like a proper Princess of Wutai, but she’s afraid it comes out more hurt, plaintive, like a child who realizes that legends are nothing more than stories, than lies. Like the legend that the Shikabane-hime would come in Wutai’s time of need.

The Shikabane-hime tilts its head, gaze sharp but not unkind. Yuffie thinks for a moment, perhaps it can’t understand her, what language do summons speak? Please not Midgarish.

But then the Shikabane-hime answers, “Your father never called for me.” Its gaze, somehow, becoming sharper but also more kind. Concerned, maybe. “Perhaps he did not believe. Perhaps it was not enough of a threat.”

“Not enough of a threat?” Yuffie shouts.

The rest of the party turn their way, hands on their weapons, except for Vincent whose attention had been on the Shikabane-hime the whole time. He waves them off and the others, with reluctance, stand down.

“What do you mean not enough of a threat? ShinRa invaded our homeland. It is a shell of itself! My father—” she cuts herself off before she can say anything else. Before she can realize what else in her childhood is a story, a lie.

“In the future, you will reclaim it, rebuild it,” the Shikabane-hime says, too casual for a command, too simple for a prophecy. “But first, we must ensure there is a future.”

—

(poet)

When Shikako meets the almost familiar red eyes of Vincent Valentine, she does not say the following:

Is he doing okay in there? How did he manage to survive so long? If you could let him know I’m sorry, I miss him. Tell him thank you from me for holding on so long. Too long. Tell him he can let go, that he doesn’t have to stay if it hurts. If he needs to move on, it’s okay. I’ll meet him there when I’m done. And I’ll bring Naruto with me. You can rest now, Sasuke, I’m here now. I’ll see you soon.

When Vincent looks at the Shikabane-hime—

(Kako, Yuffie introduces it as, trying to play it off as just a late coming fellow Wutaian. If the other members of the party make the connection between the godly manifestation of starlit shadows and the normal looking woman following them blandly, they aren’t making a fuss about it, so neither will Vincent.)

—the Chaos inside of him settles into peace.

—

(soldier)

“You resemble your ancestor quite a bit,” Kako says to Cloud during a quiet stretch of their travels. It is the first thing she says to him.

Cloud nods, because what else can he do in response to that—

(Of course nobody believes that Kako is just a normal Wutaian woman, but they’re up against the biggest superpower in the world and also an ancient evil and also an undying Sephiroth while the Planet riots in its attempt to save itself, like a fever willing to burn everything up to stave off the infection.

They’ll take any help they can get, imposter or no. And it’s not as if he has room to talk about that anyway.)

—but he does notice that her eyes are closed as she says this, implying her remark isn’t about a visual resemblance but something else, something deeper.

“He was named after a storm,” she says, and for once her tone changes, the apathy gently flavored with fondness, “but he was truly more like the sun.” Her expression, too, shifts: a small, sad smile gracing her face.

And because Cloud knows what it’s like to lose someone you admired—in both ways, the aching grief of losing an admired person, and the sharp lance of a hero no longer being admirable—he asks her, stumbling “Were you—did you know them well?”

Her eyes open at this, an assessing glance sent his way. Her smile melts away, as if it had never been.

“Yes,” she says, tone flattened once more. “He was a good man and the Planet turned him into a WEAPON.”

Cloud startles. He looks to Aerith as he does whenever Planet and Cetra stuff are brought up, but he finds her face turned away, as if guilty, not wanting to meet his or Kako’s eyes.

“But no need to worry,” Kako says, voice not so much reassuring as it is grimly determined. “I will ensure you do not follow his path too closely.”

[joltai-showa]

continuing naruto reread third edition chapter 2

my honest reaction to Kishi's bullshit post Konoha foundation flashback

continuing with Hiruzen bashing - why the fuck is the ninja mayor of your village is busy looking at the process of kids taking their graduation photos? Like, does he really have nothing better to do? You aren't worried about your ex-student overtaking a neighbouring country and starting his own hidden village? Nothing is going on in Land of Wind, right? Onoki is simply planning his retirement and chilling? Land of Lightning isn't busy rearming? There aren't hundreds of nukenins running around after the fall of Blood Mist? Your own student is finished with her alcoholic 20 something year long trip?

at this point it really does seem like Danzo was the only one doing any work in Konoha

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST HIRUZEN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE HEADBAND MARKS YOU AS THE ADULT SHINOBI OF THE VILLAGE? YOU MEAN THE HEADBAND THAT IS GIVEN TO EVERY GENIN? FUCKING GENIN????

oooof.

Okay, first of all: Hiruzen you suck so much. Second of all: mind you, he is telling this to Naruto who is like 13 and it's been like 14 years since Third Shinobi World War ended.

Now consider the same thing being told to kids who fought in the Third Shinobi World War aka Kakashi's generation, because holy shit Hiruzen was still on his first term at that point and just casually hit those guys with "yeah you just finished primary school, you're an adult shinobi now." Btw, the databooks have ages for when certain characters got their genin/chunin rank, so here's some fun info about how old <character_name> when they left the Academy😁😁😁😁:

Kakashi - 5 years old (yep, a literal preschooler is now an adult shinobi. nope, i don't give a shit that he's supposed to be a genius)

Gai - 7 years old (wow, a first grader🎉🎉🎉)

Asuma, Kurenai, Rin, Obito - 9 years old (and when they were 8 the Third War just started)

HELL YEAH ADULT KONOHA SHINOBI🦅🦅🦅🦅🦅

(other generations/villages don't have a better train record for their genins)

people in reality love to joke that "kids yearn for mines", but in Naruto world it seems like "kids yearn to die on the frontlines" is more appropriate

and then everyone's surprised when people from Kakashi's generation are on like their third suicide attempt by the time they turn 15 or become outright delusional

anyway, those living in Konoha likely wake up every night from very loud rattling noises (it's Hashirama rolling in his grave)

also while on the topic of fun info available only via databooks, there is this fun thing called shinobi registration number!

Basically, shinobi villages are actually doing some work out there and register the academy graduates with their own unique number. now, after reading through the corresponding page on naruto wiki, it seems like registration system works a bit weird in a sense that every graduate gets their own number, but not all graduates even get to genin rank (this is seen by Naruto's class example where 27 people graduated but only 9 became genins, however those 9 people don't have their numbers follow one after another, so Sakura's is 012601, Ino's 012604, Sasuke's 012606, etc, etc). There is very little info on how it is in other villages (mostly because other villages have less than 10 characters with their registration numbers each lol), but I do have some concerns regarding entering kids' data into your NINJA registration system even if they never make it to the lowest ninja rank... like, are those people drafted after a war breaks out? otherwise why register them in the first place? btw those people were neven given proper training, no tree climbing, no water walking, just some basic justu. Once again imagine being some guy from Obito's graduation class, finishing the Academy as it is the only educational institute in the entire village, going to I dunno work at your family dining business and wash the dishes only to be hit with good old "yeah kid you're in our shinobi registration system, we're really low on people after 5 years of World War, we are sending you to fight some Kiri ninja, every single one of them is a mass murderer (that's what their graduation exam is about), good luck lol" after you've spent like 5 years of your life without touching any ninja weapons or training any ninjutsu.

Ah, yeah, obviously not all shinobi assosiated with certain villages have a registration number, because they were born long before such system was implemented, lmao, so a lot of the ancient shinobi don't have one (Konoha founders, first Kages for all villages, Kakuzu, Onoki, etc, etc)

Let's move on to another interesting thing and it's which villages actually have this system, because the answer is pretty surprising. Amongst the five Great Nations, only four have this system, and it's Konoha, Kumo, Iwa and Suna. Kiri shinobi consistently never had any registration numbers in their profiles in the databooks. My personal headcanon as to why it's the case is that they actually used to have such system in place, however due to internal political instability (read as Blood Mist and Fourth Mizukage literally being controlled by forces outside of the country) the records on Kiri shinobi were fully destroyed and by the time of Shippuden Mei and her gang simply didn't have the time to start the registration procedure anew. Amonsgt the smaller villages only Amegakure was known to use registration numbers, and it's another curious case, because the only Ame shinobi known to have registration numbers are genins sent to Konoha's chunin exam in OG Naruto, so neither Hanzo nor Ame orphans have those. My interpretation of this is that under Hanzo Ame never actually had such system, so it only started after Pain and Akatsuki took over the village, soooo... huh, I guess my headcanons that the terroristic gang did do some good for Amegakure are not that much of headcanons.

(also Uzushio aka where the Uzumaki clan comes from is a weird case because we have two people from there, one is too old to have the number being Mito and another being trained and registred in another village being Kushina)

Anyway, so here's another fact that I absolutely love about the registration systems (yes I am a bit insane about this tiny piece of lore because it's really really cool in my opinion): every single village has a unique way of assigning numbers to their shinobi! I already mentioned how Konoha's registration numbers look, but here's the template for each known village:

Konoha - a six digit number (XXXXXX), seems to be given out sequentially, so older graduates will have a smaller number than younger graduates (Hiruzen's is 000261, Tsunade's 002302, Minato's 006510, Kakashi's 009720, Naruto's 012607)

Iwa - two letter code for the village's name and a five digit number that seem to be given out sequentially (IW-XXXXX). Kitsuchi's (Kurotsuchi's dad) is IW-06112, Kakko's (the guy who dropped the boulders on team Minato :) is IW-06219, Deidara's is IW-08721

Kumo - same as Iwa, but instead of Japanese pronounciation they use English one for the village code, so theirs is CL (likely standing for Cloud), and a four digit number (CLXXXX). Killer B's is CL3288, Yugito's is CL5322, Karui's is CL6306.

Ame - similarly to Kumo, they seem to use the English pronounciation for the village code (R for Rain) which has a single digit number attached to it (I guess for graduation period? There are not enough Ame shinobi to do a better conjucture) and a three digit sequential number (RX-XXX). The guys there are literally NPCs, so I'm not even gonna bother with their names, but their registration numbers are R1-115, R1-127, R2-039, R4-059.

I left out Suna for last because I think their numbers contain by far the juiciest piece of info that a registration system can have: year of graduation according to internal chronology of Naruto world. Now we all know that Kishi is not great with numbers and chronology especially (heeeey history of Blood Mist that makes zero fucking sense and has at least a few time travellers if we take Kishi's writing as it is), but what we certainly know is that Kishi imagines that the hidden villages system was established approximately 60 years before the events of Shippuden. I say "imagines" because if that is the case, then the entire Senju clan needs to have the ability to time-travel to be able to do everything that Kishi says they did (I go into more detail about this in the timeline I made for my fics), so I believe that the villages were actually established 80 years ago, so the dates that I have and the dates Kishi uses would have about a 20 year long gap between each other. Now that we got that out of the way, let me present my case about my assumptions regarding Suna registration numbers. The easiest one to see is through the Sand's siblings numbers - Temari's is 53-004, Kankuro's is 54-002 and Gaara's is 56-001. According to the timeline of mine, Temari would graduate in year 73 since Konoha's foundation, Kankuro - year 74, Gaara - 76, all of which happens to perfectly line up with their registration numbers minus the twenty years that Kishi doesn't believe in lol. The theory does weaken significantly when we take older Suna shinobi in consideration, because their registration numbers are a... mess, to say the least. Sasori's does line up (year 52 and 33-001 respectively), but Baki's (Sand's siblings teacher) is completely off with year 54 and 38-212 (and in this case I am sure in my calculations because both Baki and Sasori have their ages and graduation ages for Shippuden). Yashamaru (Sand's siblings uncle) is even more bizarre, because my calcs suggest that the guy graduated at least a year after Baki, but his number (32-049) suggest that he is a whole year ahead of Sasori. Older shinobi are an even bigger mess, because Chiyo and her brother Ebizo both have theirs... which shouldn't be the case since both of them are way over 70 years old and in Kishi's perspective should have been born before Suna was even established, yet they do lmao. Welcome to trying to untangle Naruto's mess of a lore.

Anyway, I'm done ranting about the villages, just wanna add a few fun observations that can be seen in the registration numbers that aren't necessarily obvious in the plot. Considering that Naruto's class had 27 graduates, I think it's fair to assume that if people have less than 30 number difference between each other's numbers, then they likely graduated from the same class/during the same ceremony.

Konoha's elders numbers are spread out through 000256 to 000293

Sannin's numbers all follow each other (Orochimaru 002300, Jiraya 002301, Tsunade 002302)

Dan Kato (Tsunade's fiance) and Maito Dai (Gai's dad) might have been in the same graduation class (002973 and 003001)

Hyuga Hiashi and Hizashi follow each other (005159 and 005160)

Mikoto (Itachi's and Sasuke's mother) was likely in the same class as Nawaki (Tsunade's younger brother) (005348 and 005350)

dads in Aburame, Akimichi, Nara and Yamanaka clans were in the same class (005480, 005490, 005491, 005492)

Kurenai, Rin and Obito graduated during the same ceremony (010881, 010885 and 010886). Kakashi and Gai graduated a lot earlier than them, while Asuma was a bit earlier

Kabuto for some reason has a registration number even if his story suggest he shouldn't. It's actually pretty close to Itachi's (012140 and 012110)

Team Gai all graduated a bit earlier than Naruto's class

I already covered a lot about Sunagakure, but Chiyo might just be the second Suna shinobi to ever be registred (01-002)

Akatsuchi and Deidara were in the same class (IW-08718 and IW-08721). Kurotsuchi graduated later than them both (IW-09011)

Neither of Iwa's jinchuriki has a ninja registration number

Mabui and Samui likely were in the same class (CL5550 and CL5570). Darui possibly too (CL5596)

Omoi and Karui graduated at the same time (CL6305 and CL6306)

Hoooo. Okay, random Naruto trivia is over, back to the chapter

again with Kishi's later rewrite on what Naruto really is. fun fact: the term jinchuriki does not appear until the start of Shippuden :) I remember reading the old translation of Naruto which were released by fans as the manga was still running and it was really funny watching the fan translators try to figure out wtf is this new thing supposed to be (the term was also translated fully and imagine starting Shippuden and being hit with POWER OF HUMAN SACRIFICE in the face lmao)

also don't be fucking mean to a twelve year old, Ebisu

Hiruzen he's beating your grandson's ass maybe do something, oh right, you aren't doing shit even with your primary duties

buddy what are you yapping about the nepotistic line of hokage curves over you higher than a volleyball curved over me when me and my classmates played with it during PE classes

little bro that's exactly how hokage are chosen lmao

I like to imagine that Land of Earth and Iwagakure have hundreds of masters working on stone, precious metals, etc, there are thousands of beautiful statues and monumets literally hand-carved, so whenever an Iwa shinobi ends up in Konoha and sees the Hokage monument they burst into tears and start screaming "THAT SHIT IS SO ASS!"

like, why is the Hokage monument so ugly omgggg

NAAAAAAAAAH not the Kurama slander. tormented our people = was stuck inside Mito for like 40 years before being immediately shoved into Kushina for another like 15, being ripped out by Obito for like 15 minutes and shoved into Naruto for another 15 years. Like, every single mean thing that Kurama said about humans is absolutely valid

(retcons my beloved retcons)

i m in actual tears rn because omg everything in retrospect seems so much funnier, like, Hiruzen, wdym Minato selected Naruto, little bro is his own kid fresh out of his wife😭😭😭

literally who in the shinobi world EVER followed these principles???

"there are no shortcuts to Hokage title"

"you just have to get lucky and be born into a previous Hokage's family"

"and get a teacher who is a Hokage or studied under Hokage"

"see, you need to do a lot of work!"

jesus fucking--- why are you being so creepy hiruzen