#I’ve had it put together for a bit but it was all comprised of whatever sketches I had done before I had to stop drawing

[waywardstation]

Quick post!

Apologies for the absence, I see all the asks I’ve gotten! Got a little sick again and been super busy with my job (it always gets very busy during holidays, and it’s currently spring break!!) and just stressful life stuff in general, so I haven’t been around much.

But I see them!! Lots of PMD AU stuff and PLA asks in general. Can’t wait to get to them! ^^

BUT SOME REALLY GREAT NEWS! After dealing with an unusable hand for so long, I finally found the problem and got it fixed, and I can do art again!! Expect more art around here soon, and asks with art again!! ^^

#that’s also why I haven’t been around too much in a bit I was working on getting that fixed as soon as I found the problem #I mentioned putting out a merch interest poll a bit back #I’ve had it put together for a bit but it was all comprised of whatever sketches I had done before I had to stop drawing #I’ve been working on them again in between commission work now!! #so I’m gonna postpone the poll a bit in order to finish up the rest of the artwork #very excited!!

[separatist-apologist]

You should do a one shot of Elain letting her inner fire out and yelling at the IC about using Elain to control Lucien AND going on and on about Lucien failing Feyre in Spring. (I mean we all know Tamlin abused Lucien both mentally and physically and its a bit hard to take care of someone else when you are being abused yourself. Ya feel me? HA)

This will be done more elegantly if you're reading I Know Places. I also can't help but feel like my Elucien reputation is becoming Night Court slander. This is my preface by saying I LIKE (most) of the IC, so this isn't dunking on any one person or being an anti.

Anyway don't send me hate if you don't like this (Send me Eris X Elain brotp prompts instead!!!)

Elain stomped through the city streets of Velaris, furious. Lucien was back in the city again, and yet he hadn’t come to visit. Things had been rocky, sure, but she thought they were doing better. They’d been exchanging letters weekly, she’d made him dinner—granted, at his apartment—and they’d even had that sweet kiss she still daydreamed about to the exclusion of all else. Yet, for the fourth time in six months, Lucien had come to Velaris, met with Rhysand, with Azriel, with Feyre, but not her. She’d been quietly polite about it the first time. He was a busy man, after all and probably had somewhere to be in the morning. She’d been quiet but less polite the second and third time, allowing her self-doubt and insecurity to creep in but now she was just mad.

If he didn’t want to see her, he should just say so.After four years of yearning and avoidance to get to where they were, which was practically no where given how far away he chose to occupy his time, he at least owed her an explanation.

She pounded on the blue front door that comprised his little town house. She heard scuffling and a muffled crash before the door flung open.

“Elain,” he breathed, clearly not prepared to see her, given how disheveled he looked. “To what do I—”

“Why are you avoiding me?” She demanded, crossing her arms over the silver cloak she wore. Frigid wind whistled around them, biting at her cheeks though she hardly felt the chill over her hurt and anger. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Ah…come inside,” he urged, stepping out of the way to let her in. Elain did as he asked, mostly to prevent making a visible scene she knew would work its way back to Rhysand and his inner circle.

“I understand if you’re too busy to spend time but not even a note?” She rounded on him once they were out of the foyer and in his living room. He reached for her cloak, ever the gentleman but Elain swatted his hand away.

“I do want to see you,” he replied softly, palms raised upwards in defense. Both eyes, one gold, one russet, watched her with apprehension, as though she were a bomb that might explode at any moment. She certainly felt like one.

“Then why don’t you?” She demanded, hands on her hips.

Lucien licked his lips. “It’s…complicated.”

Her stomach dropped. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“What?!” He panicked, taking a hasty step towards her. “No, just you. Only you, I swear.”

“Then explain. I’m not stupid, I can follow whatever is keeping you. I don’t want secrets between us I want—” She stopped herself before she could admit that what she wanted was to be in the same place for longer than a night.

“I need permission to visit with you,” he told her, dropping his hands with a sigh. Elain looked at him sharply.

“What do you mean…permission?” She demanded.

Lucien gestured for her to sit but Elain shook her head, her mind whirring. Why would Lucien need permission to see her? He’d been nothing but polite, he’d give her distance…they always had a chaperone, she realized. Save for once, right before he left to find Vassa, Lucien and Elain always had an audience unless she snuck out of the house. It was why she’d begun writing him letters in the first place. That was the only way she could speak to him without someone else in the room.

Lucien was watching her shrewdly, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“Do they think you’ll…” she couldn’t bring herself to say it. He laughed dryly.

“I certainly hope not.”

“Then why? No one cared about how much time Cassian spent with Nesta.”

“Well…I imagine it’s different when the High Lord trusts the mate in question.”

That didn’t make sense. She bit her bottom lip. “They trust you…you’re their Emissary…”

Lucien laughed again, plopping onto his cream-colored couch. “Emissary I may be, but trust me they do not.”

Elain frowned. “Because you’ll betray them?”

“Because I don’t want to be here,” he replied honestly, his every word condemnation. She could put it together now. Lucien was in Velaris for her, he’d left Spring for her, and he’d continue to be the Emissary on behalf of the Night Court for as long as Elain lived in Velaris.

“You don’t have to stay for me,” she assured him, crossing the wood floor to sit beside him. She took his hand and squeezed, looking up into his tanned, beautiful face. Lucien smiled at her sadly.

“If I quit, I’d never see you again.”

“Of course you would, we’re—”

“Do you imagine Rhysand or Feyre would just hand you over with my resignation? If that were the case, I would have taken you from here when we first met.”

“So I’m what? Bait?” She asked breathlessly. He didn’t respond but the steely look in his russet eye was answer enough. “Something to keep you in line?”

He shrugged but Elain was angry again. “I thought you were avoiding me,” she told him, pulling her hand from his. “I’ve been mad at you and all this time you were trying?”

“Elain—”

She spun on her heel and tore out of his apartment, well aware he was right behind her. She didn’t care. She wasn’t an object or a tool to be weaponized against her own mate, for cauldrons sake. She was tired of being treated like a pretty piece of furniture that couldn’t think for herself. She wanted the Nesta treatment, she decided, storming into the river house.

“You had no right!” She shrieked, storming into Rhys’ study. She’d meant to find Feyre first, but Rhys was there, sitting at his desk staring down at parchment. On the couch beside the fireplace, Azriel looked up, hazel eyes wide at the outburst.

“Hey Elain…Lucien…everything okay?” Cassian asked from a chair in the corner.

“No!” She continued, her chest heaving. If she didn’t say everything now, she’d chicken out; Elain hated confrontation. Rhys stood, his violet eyes glittering with emotion. A moment later Feyre skidded into the room, practically slamming into Lucien’s back.

“What’s wrong, Elain?” Feyre asked breathlessly, shoving past Lucien to touch Elain’s shoulder. “Did something happen, did—”

“Why does Lucien need permission to visit me?” She demanded, stepping out of Feyre’s grasp only to slam into the sold chest of her mate. “No one had a problem with Cassian breathing down Nesta’s neck, but Lucien needs advance written notice?”

“Whoa, that’s not how it went,” Cassian complained. “If anything, she was breathing down my neck—”

“Cassian,” Azriel murmured quietly, silencing his friend.

“You and Nesta are different,” Feyre tried but Elain didn’t want to hear it.

“So? I think Nesta could have healed perfectly fine without being…fucked—” she whispered the word, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “Up against a wall.”

The mood of the room became immediately tense. Cassian stood; arm crossed over his broad chest.

“Elain,” Rhys warned. Lucien put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing his support. She didn’t have to do this. She could walk away, could tell them to shove it. She had to. Lucien didn’t understand, was good at sticking up for himself but she wasn’t. They needed to know.

“It’s shameful,” she told Rhys, looking him dead in the face.

“We just wanted to keep you safe,” Rhys told her, his voice very much implying she was on dangerous ground.

“From what? I thought Lucien was Feyre’s friend,” she challenged. “I thought he was your Emissary. How can you trust him with your politics but not his own mate? Why is it okay for Azriel to see me but not Lucien?”

Rhys’ took two steps forward, darkness rippling off his back. She’d overstepped, she’d openly challenged Rhys and, perhaps most damning, she’d done the one thing he’d ever asked her not to; discuss the almost events of Solstice. Azriel’s face paled for a moment as Cassian, Feyre, and Lucien all turned to look at him. “I’m not your political pawn,” she whispered, stepping closer to Lucien.

“You are my subject and you will sit down and stop talking.”

She felt the metallic tang of magic slam into her face, attempting to make her obey. Elain knew what Rhys didn’t, what she’d kept a careful secret until that moment. He couldn’t compel her; his magic had no effect. He wasn’t her subject. She never had been.

“Sit down,” he said again, his every word dripping in authority. She straightened her spine even as her hands trembled. “You can’t make me,” she replied, pressed as close to Lucien as she could get.

“Rhys,” Lucien warned, his own voice rich with that same magic. She shivered at the sound. Rhys glanced towards Feyre, exchanging some conversation silently between them.

“I want to leave,” she told them, her voice wobbling nervously.

“Elain…can we talk? Just me and you?” Feyre murmured, holding out her hand. “Please?”

Elain looked over her shoulder but Lucien was still staring at Azriel with a clenched jaw. “Fine.”

Feyre grabbed her hand and whisked her out of the room. In the hall, Nesta had her back pressed to the wall. She followed behind Elain silently, spine straight, eyes cold. The three practically ran down marble floors, up the stairs, all the way to Feyre’s room. She locked the door behind her, as if that would keep anyone out.

“What happened with Azriel?” Nesta asked the second the door was shut.

“There are things you don’t understand,” Feyre interrupted, ignoring Nesta’s question. “You can’t leave.”

“Are you saying that as my sister, or High Lady?” Elain whispered.

“Where will you go, Elain?” Feyre prodded. “Spring—”

Her laughter was practically a shriek. “Did you know the last time Lucien came home from Spring he had bruises all over his ribs? Couldn’t look me in the eyes when I asked what happened? What do you think happened?” Elain demanded. Feyre flinched.

“How can you send him back there and stand here and tell me I don’t understand the situation?” Elain pressed. “He’s your friend.”

“I know, Elain, I’m sorry,” Feyre interrupted breathlessly. “I care about Lucien, too but he’s cunning and—”

“And what is Rhys?” Nesta interrupted with an imperious smile.

“You suddenly like Lucien?” Feyre demanded, hands on her hips. Nesta scoffed.

“No, but I like watching Elain tell Rhys to fuck himself. And…and it meant a lot what you said about…”

Elain nodded.

“Don’t leave,” Feyre pressed, ignoring Nesta completely. “Move in with Lucien if you want just…just don’t go.”

“I want to do more than garden,” Elain whispered. “We’d still see each other…he’d still help you, if you asked because you’re his friend…and I’m your sister.”

Feyre nodded, her eyes glassy. Elain knew she was still talking to Rhys, trying to strike some sort of balance between the fight they’d just had and not making things worse. “Rhys is asking if Lucien will go to Day Court on his behalf…they have a lot of libraries…Vassa still is spelled and we haven’t been able to figure it out. Maybe you could go with him? If you want, I mean?”

Elain nodded her head. “I’d like to see the other Courts.”

“But you’ll come back?” Feyre asked, her voice small and Elain knew she needed to apologize to her sister. Feyre was trying…Feyre had been good for all those years, selfless even when she didn’t have to be. Guilt gnawed at Elain. She’d let her temper get the better of her. She crossed the room and hugged Feyre tightly.

“Of course I will. I’m sorry…I didn’t…I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Wrong again,” Nesta said dryly. “You should yell more often. Tell Helion if he tries anything—”

“Helion won’t try anything,” Feyre assured Nesta. “Trust me.”

Nesta frowned. “He’ll take one look at her face and fall in love just like everyone else. How can you say—” “Rhys is going to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t have to do that,” Elain cajoled. “I can handleone High Lord calling me pretty.”

Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose. “It…it’s not appropriate, you have a mate—”

“I can handle it,” Elain said firmly, determined to do something for herself. “Promise.”

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by Rhys and Lucien in the archway. They looked tense; neither looked at the other. Elain wondered what had been said. Rhys looked from his mate to Elain before raising his palms.

“We…we worked it out,” Rhys assured her. “Don’t kill me.”

“I’m sorry I yelled,” she told him, not sorry at all. She suspected he knew.

“Day Court?” Lucien asked, brows raised, his face very much. She smiled.

“Day Court.”

#elucien fanfic #elucien fic #elucien prompt #all roads lead to day court #helion is gonna hit on elain #thanksgiving will be awkward that year #feyres gonna be like i TRIED to warn you #while elain stares at a plate of yams

[oiksuga]

come on and show me

prompt: smell of mint: “the strength of love and hate are one in the same.“ for @tooruluv | #tooruluv2kparty pairing: oikawa x f!reader tags: angst, misunderstandings, childhood neighbors to enemies (?) to ?, rated M for Makeout (so rated pg-13) warnings: underage alcohol consumption, ambiguous ending wc: ~4k synopsis: the one where you and oikawa grow up right next door of each other. complementary songs: unholy - hey violet // new girl - finneas // like real people do - hozier a/n: this fic had me biting my nails. i haven’t written in ages and to tackle something this long made me woozy. hope you enjoy it! (update: decided to turn it into a semi-angsty one-shot instead, maybe i’ll continue it as a side project, but for now, it is done!) no beta we die like men. i’ll proofread later.

You first meet Tooru Oikawa at the age of six. He had just moved to your street. The house right next door, no less. Quiet, shy, a bit of a crybaby. He clung to his mother for the entirety of that first meeting, a stuffed cartoon alien tightly clutched in his right hand. Your mothers, naturally, hit it off. You and Oikawa on the other hand, well that’s was a work in progress.

You tried to play nice, you really did. Your mother had told you about how it was just them two and his older sister. His father had died a little over a year before. So obviously you felt bad. You went over to his house on a few ocassions. His mother would welcome you with open arms each and every time. He was another story.

He had enough manners to come say hello, even inviting you up to his room to play with some toys (at the behest of his mother) but the minute she was out of sight, he’d go back to his own things, paying you no attention. Not that you particularly fancied playing with him, but if you walked this far to visit him, you would think he could acknowledge you for more than 2 minutes.

Tired of wasting valuable playtime sitting on the floor of his room, you take matters into your own hands and ask your brother for advice. He was a year older than you and Oikawa, so naturally you believed he held the secrets to the universe.

You approached him after dinner, and presented him with your problem.

“And I don’t know why he makes it so hard to be friends. And mom just keeps forcing me to visit him.” The huff of indignation only made him laugh.

“Well Y/n, you have to understand that he’s lonely. He is not very used to having others around him.”

“But if he is so lonely, wouldn’t hanging out with me make him feel better?”

“Remember how mom told you his dad is no longer with him?” you nod, “Well he has been living with other girls so much he probably wants to play with another boy. Guys don’t always want to play princesses you know?”

“So would he want to play with me if anothery boy was present?”

“Well, that is up to him, but it would interest him.”

“Then will you come with me tomorrow when I go over?”

“Sure”

And that is how you found yourself at his doorstep once again, brother in tow. His mother practically bounced off the walls seeing he had accompanied you. Did she also think he needed a boy to play with? She called Oikawa down, and you could hear some grumbling from his end. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, a confused looked ag the sight of two people instead of one.

Your brother went up to him first.

“Hey, uh Tooru right?” First name basis already?“I’m Y/n’s older brother. Well I just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out with me and a couple of my friends today?”

Huh, so that was his plan. Your brother is the unofficial leader of his group of friends, comprised of various kids in the neighbourhood. Some his age, some more around yours. They like to cause trouble and torment other kids at times. Your mothers were close too. Unfortunately for you, none of them had any sisters your age. So everytime you were supposed to play with them, you were miserable.

After that first meeting, your brother and Oikawa had become quite the pair. He took him “under his wing” (as he liked to call it) and formally inducted him to his squad. They were over the moon to have someone new to hang out with (read corrupt). You, on the other hand, could not hate it more. Now that those two were buddies, Oikawa was always present in your home. Anywhere you looked he was there. And now that he had other people to be with, he came out of his shell. Gone was that snotty kid with the alien plush, now replaced with a self-absorbed bastard you wanted no relation to. Too bad he never took the hint. It got worse once you both turned 14.

“You know Y/n, I’ve gotten so many confession letter this week. But oddly enough, I have not gotten one from you. You need to hurry up before one of these girls wins your spot as my girlfriend.”

“Well good thing I have enough smarts to never feel the need to do something like that.”

“Ouch Y/n you are killing me over here. Whatever, I’ll just look for it in your room when you are gone.”

“What the- how are you going to do that? You know what don’t tell me. Just please get out.”

“Or you are gonna do what? Call your brother to-“

He was interrupted by the arrival of yet another nuisance in your room.

“Hey Oikawa, please leave the poor girl alone. Stop being such a pain”

Enter Hajime Iwaizumi. Ah Iwaizumi. The other half of the obnoxious duo. Not that you don’t like him. No, quite the opposite. He keeps Oikawa tame and off your hair, something which you are deeply grateful for. But he also has his habits of annoying the crap out of you. All of your brother’s friends do. But you like to think that deep down they’d do anything for you.

“Not now Iwa-chan, Y/n is about to confess her secret feelings for me.” He says, clearly aware of the growing irritation on his friend’s face.

“Don’t make me pull you by your hair again. We are going to be late for the movie.” He emphasized his threat by rolling up sleeves, a tell-tale sign he was about to beat the crap out of Oikawa.

“Alright alright Iwa-chan you are such a hard ass.” He now turns to you, taking a few steps forward and stands right in front of you. “I’ll see you later, m’lady.” With that nickname, he took your right hand and kissed your knuckles. You could only srunch up your face. Gross, how many of those shows are he watching.

You heard the downstairs door shut and with that, it was silent again.

Finally, peace.

Years went by, and Oikawa’s popularity only skyrocketed. Everyone around him found him attractive, so naturally they’d hang on to him. He was also really good in volleyball, so everyone would go to see him play. Your brother and him remained close friends. Hosting parties together, going on weekend long trips with all their friends. All things you were forbidden from participating in because, as your brother said, this is not the crowd you want to be with. Your parents still let you host your own events, but nothing of that magnitude.

Soon enough, years went by, and you began your senior year of high school. This was going to be your years. With your brother now gone, having graduated and gone off to college, it’s your turn to be the life of the party. No more “you can’t be there.” Now all eyes will be on you. And what a better way to make your debut than with a party. While classes didn’t start until a week later, it was your brother’s tradition to take over your parent’s beach house for a weekend and hold a last big major bash before the semester began.

Invitations were sent, music was chosen and all that was left to do was tidy up the place. You brought some of your friends with you to help you get the place ready before the chaos began. Sweeped everything, locked away valuables, and got them settled in two of the rooms so they could sleep comfortably after. As you were outside stocking up the bar area, you heard a collection of voices coming from the living room. It’s too early, why are there people coming already? As you walk back in, you are greeted with Oikawa, Iwaizumi, and their two friends, who were also part of your brother’s group, Hanamaki and Matsukawa, all too sitting too comfortably in your couch.

“I hope you guys know this is a respectable place.” You crossed your arms at the sight of them getting too comfortable in your couches. Feet up on coffee table like savages.

Oikawa spoke first. “Relax darling,” God you hated that nickname, “You do know we have been here more times than you right? The parties that have happened in this place oh man.” You felt indignated at his attempt to one up you in your own home.

“Well if I recall correctly, this is still my parentms place, so I can have you and your friends kicked if I wanted to.”

At that, the other three butted in, a chorus of “Oikawa what the hell man,” and the sound of Iwaizumi hitting the back of his head.

“Okay fine. I’m sorry Y/n that you are so jealous of me and my party animal ways.”

“God you are exhausting. But anyways, I am glad you guys are here because I need help hanging some lights outside. Iwa and Mattsun, could you pretty please come with me to hang these?”

You led them outside, before sticking your head back in, directing your gaze to the two remaining guys camping in your couch.

“And don’t think I have forgotten about you two. Kiyoko needs some help putting more stuff together, and the rest of the girls went out to order food, so please make yourselves useful and go.”

You play some music on the speakers, and get to work.

Soon enough, the party was in full swing. You swam through the sea of bodies trying to locate the kitchen. The sheer number of people was disorienting. But to your luck, the swaying crowd somehow guided you to your destination, slightly sticky from stranger’s sweat, but otherwise unscathed. You make way to the counter and try and lift yourself onto it. The drinks in your system making in a harder task than usual. You are halfway through climbing in a more unlady-like manner, when a voice calls out for you.

“Uh Y/n, need some help?”

You turn around to see Oikawa. His face was flushed, you assumed it was from whatever was in the plastic cup in his hand. Hair disheveled, forehead shiny from his sweat. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, and the lighting made his chain glint at an angle. If he wasn’t Oikawa, you’d admit he was attractive.

You become aware of your compromising position and stop your attempts of getting on the counter. The suddent movements make you wobbly, and you grab onto the counter to keep stable. You notice him walking over to you, and motion for him to stop.

“I don’t need your help. Just get me a water bottle from the fridge please.”

He obliges your request and gets some water for you, going so far as to opening the bottle, and hands it you. You are silently grateful, as you don’t think you have the coordination to do it yourself. As you are drinking, feeling the relief of the coolness down your throat, you notice he’s staring at you. This felt odd, there was something about the way he looked at you. You felt too vulnerable. It was getting awkward.

“So, you enjoying the party? I saw you doing a shots competition outside earlier. Did you win, Mr. Party Animal?” You made sure to emphasize the mock of his nickname.

He huffs indignantly. “Well Y/n-chan, cannot believe you doubt my abilities. If you must know, I did in fact win, with an impressive 5 shots down my system. And look at me, cool as a cucumber.”

You look at him for a second, brows furrowed, and then burst out laughing. “‘Cool as a cucumber’? God you are lame.”

All he can do is stare at you. You have never laughed like that. It’s always measured, not too loud, not too long. This is different. He likes different.

When you stop, you notice he is staring again. You feel small. As if you are under a million spotlights, all pointed at you. You are about to ask if he was okay, but seems like someone beat you to it.

“Hey Tooru~ I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Are you okay?” She notices the position you are in, and slightly grimaces, “Tooru who is this.”

He blinks, a bit too hard, and turns to face her. “Hey Sara, this is Y/n,” he motions to you, “you know, the one who organized this party.”

Sara. You know who she is. And she definitely knows you. You two met at the last student council election, a few months back. When you found out you were running agaisnt each other. She was the current president, and you held a lower position as secretary, so running for president felt like a giant leap. Though it seems that after a month of campaigning, debates, and a tiresome election you had won. A very exciting moment, and what felt as a good culmination to your high school career. You and Sara had an extensive talk about it over coffee, in which she assured no ill feelings towards you.

By no means were you guys best friends, but you also like to think you were not enemies.

“Oh Y/n and I know each other. Great to see you again, and amazing party, you really know how to entertain.” Well that answers that, she doesn’t hate you. Great. “Do you mind if I borrow Tooru over here? There are some things I need to talk to him about.”

“No problem at all, glad you are having fun.” You wave goodbye and with that they were gone. You were alone.

Now feeling more sobered up, you decide to go back to the masses. Your newfound energy leading you to the makeshit dancefloor, letting loose to Makk’s karaoke rendition of Pursuit of Happiness. What a movie moment. Everything letting loose in a beach house living room.

The thing that wasn’t a movie moment though? How much you needed to pee. How come no one ever informs you of the effects alcohol has on your bladder?

Once again, you venture through the bodies to find the bathroom. There was no line, which should have been a sign. But you made no thought of it, until you swung the door open and found, in the most cliche moment ever, the ever-present Tooru Oikawa passionately making out with Sara. That sobers you right up.

If they noticed, you wouldn’t know, because you bolt out immediately and go straight to your room. You go to the bathroom there, and as you are washing your hands, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Even though you only saw them for a second, the image of those two making out was burned in your brain.

There was something about the way he held her, pressed to the sink counter, hands on her waist, that made you feel something inside. You chalked it up to general lust and splashed cold water on your face, trying to stop whatever your brain was imagining. You left the bathroom, ready to take a break in bed.

That was, until the man in question made his appearance in your room.

“You know there are laws against trespassing right? So I don’t know what you are doing here but-“

“I came to apologize.”

Well that’s a first.

“Apologize for what exactly. You haven’t been an ass the entire night, if anything, I should congratulate you for that.” You say, tone more snarky than you intended. What were you even pissed about.

“Well I think you and I both know what you walked into. And I just wanted you to know that is not who I am, nor how I behave.”

Oh

“Well let me be the first to tell you that I don’t care who you suck face with, as long as it doesn’t happen in my presence.” What was up with you right now.

“What if it was with you? Would you care then?” He took a step towards you. You took one back.

“What are you talking about.” Why did he keep walking towards you. This room cannot be that big.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” Your back was met by the wall at the end of the room, and Oikawa now stood in front on you, “Darling.”

Something about the way he looked at you, combined with the alcohol in your system and the muffled music you could hear from downstairs made your insides feel on fire. I must be going crazy, you thought.

Because as soon as that god-awful nickname left his lips, you pulled him down onto yours.

“As your big brother, it is my duty to protect you from all the evil things that are out there. You know that right?” 

“That includes Oikawa right? He is such a meanie. I don’t know why you even hang out with him.” 

“Well, Tooru is different. He means well, he just doesn’t express it how you are used to. Boys his age usually behave like that. But he’ll grow out of it. You’ll learn that eventually.” 

“Well I don’t care. He’s mean and I hate him. I don’t care if he changes. I’ll still hate him.”

“Haha. Well I’m glad. Wouldn’t want you messing around with someone like him anyways.”  

Curse the heavens. There was no denying it. Tooru Oikawa was an amazing kisser.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Grazing his tongue to yours every now and then. His hands, god his hands, his right one was holding his chin, while his left one slid up and down your waist. 

Curse his perfection. This cannot be that snotty kid from all those years ago. This is a whole different person. Yes that’s it. This is not Tooru Oikawa. Because Tooru Oikawa is not capable of making you feel these things. 

Like any normal person, you have to breathe, so you break the kiss. He has the audacity to whine at that. You look of to your side, because something tells you that if you look at him right now, lips swollen and pupils wide, who knows what’ll happen next.

He doesn’t like any of it. 

He takes this opportunity to move his mouth south, landing on the flesh of your neck. He seems to have caught you offguard, if the sound you make at his action is anything to go by. He works his magic in the area. Biting. Kissing. Sucking. Anything that’ll draw out more of those noises. And you wish he’d stay there for eternity. 

But you are you. A little selfish. And always wanting more more more. So you take him by his shirt and lead the two of you onto the bed, gently sitting him down and taking a seat directly on his lap. Now this is more. 

But this also felt wrong. On so many levels. You don’t think you could ever look at your parents again if you have sex on their bed. But the desecration of their sleeping place is a small price to pay for the enormous pleasure you are sure he would bring you. Because if there’s one thing Oikawa Tooru believes in, is doing his best. 

And he sure as hell will do his very best with you. 

“Well well darling, look who is eager now.” He spoke with that sickeningly sweet tone he always uses. But there is something else behind it. You can’t really pinpoint it, but before you could ponder on that, he got a hold of your hips and started to drag you along his length. 

Well if you are off to hell, might as well enjoy the ride. 

You decided to be bold and unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders and onto the floor. You could sit here and wax poetic about how intimacy goes beyond physical appearance and his muscles are not important, but you are no philosopher. So you’ll say it. He’s hot. You knew the guy was ripped, having been witness to the arduous workouts he and your brother did over the summer, but this was something else. 

Your brother. Ha. Imagine if he could see you right now. Actually don’t. That’s weird. But he would be dissapointed wouldn’t he. All those years being so put off by the mere presence of Tooru Oikawa and now you are sitting atop him, like some sort of worship. Oh the hypocrisy. 

No you can’t think of him right now. No get out of there. 

“Something the matter, princess?” Ah again with the nicknames. “I think you’ve had enough fun up here. Maybe it’s my turn to be on top don’t you think?” 

You nodded. Because that is all you could muster. You feared that if you opened your mouth, all of your thoughts would slip out. 

He rolled you to the side, off of him and onto the mattress. He stood up and groaned and god the way that made you feel. He kneeled on the soft surface, and leaned down to face you. Because he is the epitome of cliche, though, he makes sure to flash you the biggest smile you have ever seen. It looks different. It looks genuine. That’s new, a bit exciting even. 

And before you know it, he goes back to work on your neck. He used his knee to put a slight pressure between your legs. You cannot keep your thoughts straight for long, because the next thing that comes out of your mouth is a moan of his name.

You’ve never used that tone with his name. He, of course, loves it. 

“You cannot imagine how many times I have imagined of doing this.” While you are on your way to what could be a very mind-blowing orgasm, and you are incapable of coherent sentences, your hearing is very much okay. But there is no way you heard what you just heard. Because what the fuck.

“Stop.” It’s low, a bit above a whisper. He couldn’t hear you, you conclude, so he keeps at it for a bit, but when he feels the push of your hands on his chest, he pulls away immediately. 

“A-are you okay? Did I hurt you? Do you want to stop this?” For someone with the charm of a western hero he sure is insecure. 

“What did you mean by that? What do you mean by ‘I imagined of doing this’?” Well of course you know what he meant. But what did that mean for you two? This isn’t something that should be happening. And you tell him just that. “This is not something we should even be doing.” Crap. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

You might not be very fond of him, but you know him. So you know he is probably getting too much inside his head right now, so really you should have seen his next words coming. 

Except this is all new and you haven’t been able to see any of this coming. 

“You know what, you are right. I am sorry. I think we should leave. Actually, this is your room, so I’ll go.” You have to be imagining things, because there is no way he sounds hurt over this. Is there? 

You want to ask if there’s a genuine chance he meant what he said. You really do. But you are scared of his answer. All your life he has been the kid you cannot stand, your brother’s annoying friend. But this changes everything. You have no feelings for him, that you know. But apparently there is chance he does. So what are you doing about that. 

Before you can ask, you hear the door shut. In a flash, he is gone. How befitting.

And like that, once again, you are left alone. All you can hear is the boom of the speakers. 

Your lifelong long was to have Tooru Oikawa out of your life. Now that you have succeeded, why do you not feel at peace. 

fin.

#um hi there #i have not written in ages jesus #rip my ao3 fics i feel sad for not finishing them #haha i need help #tooruluv2kparty #haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #tooru oikawa #oikawa x y/n #tooru oikawa x reader #oikawa x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff

[wild-oats-and-cornflowers]

today I am going to share my favorite Les Mis fics with the class

All are set in canon era unless otherwise specified. Not presented in any specific order.

Mysterious Tongues by kvikindi. Rating: M. archive warning: None apply.

This is the fic that singlehandedly made Combeferre/Prouvaire my Les Mis OTP. First you get to know them and their initial friendship, then you see them get together; sounds simple, but it's put together in a complex and deeply satisfying way. The characterization is so damn vibrant and and the prose is simply masterful. It comes across as a very intellectual fic, for lack of better adjective; you can't rush through it, you have to go slowly and thoroughly so as to pick up on every nuance and absorb every detail. But you like doing that, because it's the fic equivalent of a gourmet dinner. Has a one-shot sequel, All Seasons Shall be Sweet To Thee.

A Passion for the Absolute by AMarguerite. Rating: T. Archive warning: Contains depictions of violence.

I won't lie to you folks, this is a LONG fic, but every bit of it is important to the story and worth reading. This is a slow-burn Enjolras/Courfeyrac fic, and is the only fic to ever make me ship it, which I usually do not do at all. It deals carefully and period-accurately with cultural prejudices, as well as character development and interpersonal matters both between the primary pairing and the other characters. Everyone who shows up in this fic is fleshed out and fully realized, as is the historical setting in general, and the slow-burn is just fabulous (and agonizing.)

I Have Come to Sleep with You and its sequel Je Me Souviendrai by eirenical. Rating: T (both.) Archive warning: Major character death (the first), depictions of violence (the second is tagged as such, but the first also depicts aftermath of violence.)

It's hard to explain this pair of fics without giving spoilers, and I don't want to spoil it, because the most effective way to experience the complete narrative is a) not to know how the first fic ends and then b) to go into the second fic not knowing how it continues from the first. What I will say is that Feuilly and Courfeyrac are the major characters involved, and it's an AU of the aftermath of the barricades, and platonic love is a major aspect of the story here, although there is another very, very significant angle to the story that I refuse to spoil. I'll also say that this two-part story is of the most fascinating and heart-ruining fics I've ever read.

The Fakest Fake-Dating AU, a series comprised of a 4 chapter "main" fic and a one-shot sequel/companion fic, by Elenchus. Rating: G. archive warning: None apply.

This is possibly the funniest Les Mis fic I've ever read. It's a "loosely canon-era" fake-dating AU, wherein Bahorel and Grantaire come up with an outrageous plan to help Marius secure his grandfather's permission to marry Cosette. Cousin Theodule also makes a few appearances. It's chaotic and ridiculous and surprisingly in-character and the prose is delightful. I won't explain the exact details of the aforementioned outrageous plan (though the title may give some hints!) but it's a fic that has to be experienced to be appreciated; descriptions don't do it justice.

But Better is Beer if Drink We Lack by Dinglechen. Rating: G. Archive warnings: None apply.

A LOTR-crossover fic wherein Les Amis, post-barricade, find themselves in Hobbiton rather than in whatever afterlife they might have been expecting. No major LOTR characters appear; I'm not sure what Middle Earth era this is set in, though I would guess it's probably set at some point post-ROTK. The fic is told from Bahorel's POV, and it's just a simple vignette of them adjusting to life among the hobbits, learning the language and culture etc., but so unbelievably cute I want to make everyone read it.

And last: A very special fic, Blood and Wine are Red by chasingtides. Rating: T. Archive warnings: None apply.

This is one hell of a longfic, folks. It's a 17th century England historical AU where Les Amis, led by Enjolras, have formed a commune as an offshoot of the Levellers, who were an early sort of religion-based proto-socialist movement. You don't need to be super up on all the historical background to read the fic; things are explained pretty well therein. Among other things, it's an ExR fic, but not of a sort that I have ever seen before; I won't give details, as part of the interest of this particular depiction is watching it develop. The primary POV character is Grantaire, who comes into the commune as a sort of new recruit who doesn't buy the commune's beliefs and who struggles with mental health issues that are dealt with really well. This is essentially a full-on AU novel that takes on period social issues, mental health issues, and religious matters, and a fairly obscure historical background and does it very, very well. It made me believe that these were actual alternate-setting versions of the Les Mis characters, who had developed to be the way that they're depicted due to differences in their lived experiences, rather than mostly-OCs with the same names.

#read these fics folks #they are fantastic #les mis #fan fiction #sorry about the long post i didnt want any of these to be overlooked bc they were hidden by a cut

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Dress Up (Ethan x MC)

Summary: On Halloween night, Ethan gets a big surprise

A/N: Okay so this was the tooth rotting fluff I was talking about earlier this week. 

A/N 2: I haven’t written something this short in years. Issa miracle

A/N 3: Happy Halloween! Enjoy!

~v~

The words on the paper in front of Ethan start to blur together the longer he stares at the page. He’s been at the hospital for nearly 18 hours and it’s finally starting to have an effect on him, the exhaustion finally creeping in.

It’s been a long shift. He put in some hours in the free clinic on top of helping with his patient for the diagnostics team, and dealt with a particularly exhausting meeting with a few other department heads. On top of the usual business, it’s Halloween, and the holiday has never bode well for the hospital. By the time midnight rolls around, the ER is typically packed with college students and other young 20-somethings that have gotten way too drunk, started fights, and injured themselves.

His cell phone rings and he reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve it. His mood instantly perks up when he sees ‘Naomi R’ flash across the screen accompanied by a picture of his wife’s smiling face.

It takes him mere seconds to answer the phone, balancing it delicately between his shoulder and ear. “Hello?”

“Hi handsome,” Naomi greets back.

The cheeriness in her voice cheers him up slightly. While it’s been less than a day, he’s missed the sound of her voice. “Hi.”

“What are you doing?”

“My job,” Ethan deadpans.

“Obviously smarty-pants. Are you working hard or hardly working?”

“I'm always working hard,” Ethan insists. “I’m trying to prepare myself for how busy the ER is going to be once the sun goes down. I hate Halloween.”

“You hate everything.”

“I hate pointless consumer holidays,” Ethan says. “Especially ones that promote candy and alcohol consumption.”

“Oh, so all the fun ones,” Naomi teases. “Where are you? Are you in the office?”

“Yes, I’m taking a break right now.”

“Perfect. Open the door.”

“Open the–” Ethan looks up, intrigued. He can’t make out any figures on the other side of the door, the frosted glass not doing him any favors. Either his lovely wife had food delivered for him, or she’s pulling some sort of Halloween trick on him. “Why?”

“It’s a surprise, so open the door.”

Deciding to play along, Ethan gets up from his huge leather chair and in a few quick strides, he’s on the other side of the room, opening the door. Looking straight ahead he doesn’t immediately see anyone standing outside. He should’ve known this was some prank of hers.

“Hi, daddy!”

The tiny voice cuts through the otherwise silent hallway. Out of the corner of his eye, Ethan sees a tiny blur practically flying towards him. The small figure collides with him with a soft thud, wrapping around him tightly.

“Oof!”

Chuckling to himself, Ethan glances down at the 3 year old clutching his pant legs like a life raft. “You are very strong for a toddler.”

“Valentina Marie Ramsey, what have I told you about running away from me!” Naomi’s voice is what captures Ethan’s attention as she speed-walks down the hall in an effort to make it to the office.

Ethan looks her up and down, confused. She’s wearing her work clothes, a simple blouse, pencil skirt and her white coat, as well as her purse and a plastic bag from CVS hanging off of her shoulder. Naomi isn’t supposed to be working today and she never dresses this formally in their casual life outside of work. “Did you take a shift?”

“Daddy, look, we're doctors because it’s Halloween!” Valentina says, garnering her dad’s attention. 

The couple had given up on picking a costume for Valentina over a week ago, as the precocious toddler wasn’t good at picking one thing and sticking to it. In the past month, she’s wanted to be a pirate, a bear, a fairy, a princess, a princess fairy, and Baby Shark.

Ethan looks down at her and sees she has on a white coat of her own, one that is entirely too big for her which only makes her look that much more adorable. He smiles at her. “You make a very cute doctor, my darling.”

“Mommy says doctors are supposed to be very smart, not cute,” Valentina corrects, and while she’s already the spitting image of her mother, she sounds just like her too. She’s just as stubborn and argumentative.

“You’re the smartest 3 year old I know,” Ethan says honestly. As if a child born to him and Naomi would be anything but.

“You promise?”

“I pinky promise.”

“We were just coming by to show off our costumes, and to grab my doctor’s bag,” Naomi says. She leans forward and presses a soft kiss onto Ethan’s lips, one he doesn’t let end to quickly. Wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist, he pulls her in closer to deepen the kiss. 18 hours is far too long to go without her.

The kiss is broken up by Valentina aggressively wedging herself between the two of them. “No kissing.”

Naomi pulls away with an eye roll. “Okay, okay.” Leaving the doorway, Ethan moves backwards and allows them inside the office. Naomi instantly goes behind Ethan’s desk and grabs her physician’s bag. She usually doesn’t carry it unless the diagnostics team has to make a house call, and she empties it, making it easier for Valentina to carry around and use it as a candy bag. Before she hands it over, she empties the plastic bag she’s holding, a box of pink band-aids, popsicle sticks (aka tongue depressors), a roll of stickers, and a pair of small reading glasses fall onto the table.

Ethan watches as Naomi puts the final touches on Valentina’s costume. “Why the glasses?”

“Because you wear glasses,” Valentina answers as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Ethan raises an eyebrow in question, not understanding the point Valentina is trying to make. He turns to Naomi for further clarification.

“Val didn’t want to be any old doctor,” Naomi says. “She wanted to be...you.”

“Mommy said I can wear your big doctor coat!” Valentina exclaims.

And that’s when Ethan notices she is in fact wearing his spare white coat; Dr. Ethan Ramsey, M.D., F.A.C.P., stitched into it underneath Edenbrook’s logo.

While he already thought his three year old dressing up as a doctor was a sight to behold, something inside his chest warms as the thought of her wanting to be dressed up as him. Her entire world is comprised of doctors, but she wants to be a mini him.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s been silent until Valentina tugs on his hand. “Are you okay, daddy? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” Ethan assures her with a smile. He crouches down so they’re able to look each other eye-to-eye. “Daddy is just very happy that you want to wear my coat, that’s all.” Valentina does a spin for him, spurred on by the positive affirmation and Ethan looks up, catching Naomi’s eye. “She wants to be me, not you.”

“Whatever. She looks like me, so when people see us together, she’ll automatically assume she’s dressed up as me.”

“But you and I both know the real intent. You know, I think your costume is missing something.” Reaching around his neck, Ethan takes off his stethoscope and drapes it around her instead. “There. Now you make a perfect Ethan Ramsey.”

“So now I have to make you feel better,” Valentina says. Dramatically, she places her hand on Ethan’s forehead, as if she’s taking his temperature. “Uh-oh.”

“What’s the diagnosis, Doc?” Ethan asks.

“You have a boo-boo,” she replies matter-of-factly. “But I can make it all better.” With some help from her mother, Valentina manages to open the box of band-aids. She sticks one on her dad’s cheek, just above his mustache, and follows that up by kissing his cheek. “There! How do you feel?”

“I feel much better,” Ethan says. “Thank you for being such a good doctor.”

“You’re welcome.” She then shoves a big Hello Kitty sticker into the palm of Ethan’s hand. “And you get a sticker for being good.”

“Even better.” Ethan tugs on one of Valentina’s curls, earning a giggle.

A few more minutes pass, with Naomi and Ethan snapping as many pictures as they possibly can and Valentina putting a few more band-aids on her parents.

The door opens and Baz comes in this time, eyes downcast as he’s staring at a file. “Hey Ethan, Dr. Banerji wanted to–” he stops short, laughing as he zeroes in on the bright pink band-aids covering Ethan. “That is quite the look you got going for yourself, Ethan.”

“I’ll have you know that my lovely doctor here put these bandages on me.”

Baz’s grin turns into a wide smile as he takes in Valentina’s appearance. “Well aren’t you the cutest doctor I’ve ever seen, Teeny!”

“I’m not a cute doctor, I’m a smart doctor, Uncle Baz,” Valentina practically growls.

“I apologize for the mistake.”

Naomi glances at the large clock hanging behind Ethan’s desk. “Okay, Val, we have to go so we can get some candy before it gets too dark. Say bye-bye to daddy.”

Valentina wraps her tiny arms around Ethan’s neck, squeezing tightly. “Bye daddy. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

As Naomi gathers up all of their things, Valentina tells him all about how she can’t wait to show off her costume and get candy. It was her first time trick-or-treating, as Naomi and Ethan decided it was better to wait until she was a bit older before participating in the holiday. 

Her excitement is palpable and Ethan can’t help but to feel excited too. And while it’s true he’s no fan of Halloween, the thought of not witnessing it through his daughter’s eyes makes his chest tight. “How long do you plan on taking her around?”

“An hour,” Naomi answers. “I think that appropriate enough time for a 3 year old, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Ethan turns to Baz. “Do you think you can hold down the fort for an hour?”

Baz shrugs. “Sure. But only if you bring me back a Reese’s peanut butter cup.”

“That can be arranged.” Ethan stands up, his arms still firmly secured around Valentina. “Come on, Dr. and Dr Ramsey, we have some trick or treating to do.

~v~

Tags: @professorkingslay @nikki-2406 @maurine07 @aka-calliope @edgiestwinter @soft-for-drake @greenbean-kylie @akshara16 @bluebellot @kaavyaethanramsey @honeyandsunfl0wers @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @the-pale-goddess @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramseyx @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

#playchoices #choices: stories you play #open heart #open heart 2 #ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #halloween

[another-snape-story]

Firewhiskey

Chapter XVII

“Alcohol is not a solution,” Snape reminded you as you both entered his office.

“I know,” you sighed, placing a large bottle on his desk. “I’m just so tired, Severus…” You took your regular place in the armchair, where a wool plaid blanket was folded a little sloppily – the way you left it here the last time. So he didn’t even bother putting it away anymore? Although Snape just lit the fireplace and its heat didn’t yet reach you, you felt so warm like never before.

“Yes. You are,” he agreed, focused on uncorking the bottle. “Why would you have firewhiskey in your possession?”

“I don’t know,” you smiled apologetically. “Bought it the day you refused to go to Hogsmeade with us.”

“Is it a vivid example why I should’ve agreed?” he smirked now pouring the spirit into two glasses and you laughed.

There hardly was a place in the whole world which offered you this kind of comfort and consolation, but this cold room with the dark figure of a man smoothly pacing around. Wrapped yourself into the blanket, you relaxed in the softness of the cushions.

“Quidditch Through the Ages,” you leisurely read the title as you noticed the book on a side table. “So now everything comes together!”

“What exactly?” Snape handed you the glass and sat across from you.

“You were to be heard in the Entrance Hall,” you giggled. “Why did you take it from Potter?”

“Well, I wasn’t in a mood,” he said apathetically, wobbling his glass and watching the liquid rotating inside. You couldn’t discern if he was joking or not – it was so likely of him to consider it a fair reason to do so – anyway, his answer amused you, same as his serious look.

“Have you ever been?” you teased, and he answered with a displeased curve of his lips.

“So?” Snape leaned a little forward.

“I’m drinking for you,” you declared, not a trace of your former gaiety remained. “I’m so happy I met you, Severus. You can’t even imagine…”

“Slow down,” he smiled softly. “Too early for confessions.”

“You know I mean it!” you insisted. “I’m telling it before I take the first sip, and I will tell it after taking the last!”

“I know,” his voice so quiet yet so deep. “And you do know I feel the same, don’t you?” The words being extremely alien to Snape’s enclosed character, the words he never dared to say aloud, struggled their way out. He’d prefer to keep them to himself, but he couldn’t leave your sudden ingenuous impulse without an answer.

Your heart skipped a beat each time he acknowledged his reciprocity towards you, although he never said it directly. You nodded, blissful to be ascertained of his fellow feeling again, and reached out for the man.

Mild sonorous clinking broke the silence once your glasses struck against each other.

“How did you get here?” you asked randomly, intending to divert depressive thoughts by some neutral topic, but Snape – unlike what you’ve expected – now looked gloomier than before.

“Dumbledore offered me a job,” he answered with a sigh after emptying his glass.

“Is that what you wanted to be at the age of…”

“Twenty-one,” he finished, filling his glass anew. You tossed yours closer to him to be refreshed with a drink. “All I wanted at the age of twenty-one was being dead.”

“Not much has changed since then, huh?” you smiled sympathetically, and he snickered. Yet again you managed to liven him up.

Another shot followed. Having no crumb in your stomach since lunch, you felt alcohol quickly take over your body, spreading fatigue through your limbs, while your mind still strained to preserve the clarity of thought.

“Did you know each other before?”

“I was studying here. So, apparently, we did.”

“You should’ve really loved it here to return inside the walls of your alma mater?” Recalling your time at school you dreaded the thought of stepping on its threshold ever again.

Snape lowered his head, peering at the brownish fluid in his hand. “It’s complicated.”

“Yeah. I’ve guessed there’s a mystery behind all this.” You felt so terribly sorry for him all at once. There clearly was something he couldn’t tell you, but he did his best to be as honest with you as the circumstances allowed, or his obligations, or whatever else it might be. What the hell it might be?! The thing gave him no peace, torturing his heart, it was evident – judging by his rare bitter remarks; and you felt so helpless not knowing how to ease his mental torments. “Don’t worry, mysterious Professor Snape,” you reassured him in barely a whisper. “I won’t ask questions.”

“I wish I could tell you...” he hopelessly shook his head, afraid you might turn away from him sooner or later – no one would tolerate reticence for long.

“We don’t have that much firewhiskey, do we?” you smiled kindly slowly draining your glass.

“You should be prepared better for the next time,” thankful for your patience and understanding, he gave a short, half-suppressed snigger, and you laughed loving the idea.

“Oh, I will! You know me!”

“I don’t even doubt that!”

“Wanna know what I wanted to be after school?” guilt-driven for involuntary making him feel uncomfortable, you changed the subject, hoping to put some spirit into the man, yet your glance gained a spacey glint. “Hats designer!”

“Hats designer?” Snape chuckled, a slight haze enveloping his head.

“Yep. But somehow ended up being a scientist.”

“What a loss for the fashion world,” he said deliberately unimpressed, but a sly narrow of his eyes betrayed he was ribbing you.  

“Heey, don’t you dare question my artistic talents!”

“Or what?” he provoked you further.

“Or I’ll tell Minerva you assumed no one would notice if she replaced the hat she usually wears with an old Hagrid’s shoe!”

“You can’t blackmail me with a commonly known fact,” he replied in a bored tone, which made you burst into laughter.

“Aw, Snape, you’re such a bastard!”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” with a smug grin, he raised his glass and polished it off.

Snape rested beside you. All of his troubles seemed to step aside when you came around. He wasn’t expecting any kind of cunning, deceitful tricks from your side and could fully relax in the solace your presence comprised. Alcohol helped him loosen up even more, but he still had things under control. You, on the other hand, let frivolity take the lead.

“I was young and naive,” you tilted your head on the backrest, reflecting on a girl you used to be. “Ah, where are those days?”

“You’re still very young,” Snape smiled softly, admiring your features, which he found so alluringly attractive. But it wasn’t appearance that captivated him – something much deeper than physical perception forcefully drew him to you.

“It’s not the point,” you sighed. “Our bodies are aging, but we never actually grow old.” You gulped the rest of firewhiskey left in your glass and looked closely on its empty bottom. “Somewhere deep inside there sticks a child inside each of us. A child with a flaming hope, still believing all of the most fantastic dreams will jolly well come true... Add me some?” you stretched out your hand to receive a new portion of drink.

Snape unhurriedly provided you with another shot.

“Do you regret becoming what you are?” he let the question slip off his tongue.

“And you?” you gave him a pitiful glance, already knowing what he would say.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“But it’s not too late for changes, is it?” you asked uncertainly, mainly, not to cheer him up – which, nevertheless, was also your intention – but hoping he would agree, so that you too could regain confidence there still was a chance, but Snape silently finished his glass instead.

“The Dark Lord might return any time soon. This is currently my main concern.”

“You’re right. Forgive me, I’m just saying whatever comes to my mind,” you smiled weakly. “My tongue works faster than my brain.” The setting of the room started slowly swaying around, causing a sick feeling in your stomach. You seemed to run out of the last bits of energy – another few minutes, and you’d find yourself balancing on the edge of oblivion.

“Do not apologize,” Snape leaned forward, took the glass out of your hand and put it aside. “What is it you were dreaming of? Will you be willing to tell me?” he asked quietly, his voice so pleasant to your ears.

“I’m dreaming of a small house on the mountain side,” you closed your eyes, “surrounded by a forest…”

“And a lake somewhere nearby,” Snape continued pensively, “its waters clear as crystal…”

“Yes. There will be flowers everywhere…”

“Grown all by yourself?” he smiled, taking in your every breath.

“I have seeds of some rare species,” you agreed serenely.

Each word you said found response in Snape’s heart. For a moment he seemed to be carried away – far from his cruel reality – right in the middle of your little paradise.

“We’ll set off for lengthy strolls along nature paths early in the morning with a basket of sandwiches,” you mumbled sleepily, “to gather herbs and berries…”

“…and return home right before the sun falls…” he whispered, “…tired, but so happy…” Snape’s words faded into silence, as he watched you drift off in a peaceful slumber, leaving him with a feeling of a vague regretful longing.

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#snape #severus snape #snape x reader #severus snape x reader #snape fanfiction #severus snape fanfiction

[morgana-ren]

Imagine being at a Halloween party thrown by Dabi and someone in a Leatherface costume keeps following you. It turns out to be Shigaraki. You comment on how his human skin mask is cool and how it looks so real, and oddly looks like Bakugo's face. He laughs, tosses it away and leads you to a field of pumpkins, where he non cons you, while Spooky Scary Skeletons plays in the background.

Okay listen, I know this was probably sent in 200 percent as a joke, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to sit down for an hour and make it work. It’s been a weird week. I can make weird work. 

Like imagine kinda knowing Dabi before the league goes super big. You don’t know too much about him, but he’s a friend of a friend and so on and he’s got the dangerous bad boy appeal alongside those haunting blue eyes, so all ya friends hover around him. So lets say you get invited to his spooky-dooky Halloween party he’s throwin’ in an old warehouse. It’s sort of his last hurrah cause it’s a lot harder to try and bone civvie girls when you’re a wanted villain with your face on the news attached to a criminal group, so he’s gunna throw it back tonight and take what he can get, you feel?

So you and ya friends get all cute and dolled up in your costumes and head out to this bash that’s taking place on the wrong side of the tracks in some godforsaken warehouse. It’s in the industrial zone, which is comprised of nothing but abandoned buildings, squat houses, and old warehouses. You’re pretty sure he just found one and broke the chain on the door and called it a night. That should be your first clue, but fuck it, what’s life without a little risk?

Anyway, a few hours pass and admittedly, you’re a lil’ drunk. That being said, you could swear this dude in a leatherface costume is stalking you. Maybe not stalking you, per say, but he’s definitely trying hard to be where you are. It’s not like he’s easy to confuse with anyone else; his costume is super unique, and if you’re being honest, a little disturbing. It legit looks like that kid Bakugo from the Sports Festival but forcefully mutated in with the classic Leatherface look. Whoever it is, they’ve definitely got an edgy sense of humor. It should spook you, but it’s Halloween for fucks sake! At least they’re putting some effort in! It’s no coincidence that you see him literally everywhere you go, so maybe he likes you?

Maybe he’s cute under that creepy mask.

It’s worth a shot (get it, shot?), so you let him follow you to the bar and sit down next to an equally empty seat, hoping to give off the vibe of ‘quit being creepy and come talk to me.’ 

A few seconds later and surprise surprise, he sits down right beside you. No sense in pretending this is anything other than what it is, so you turn right to him and offer to buy him a drink. 

He stares at you for a minute, beady pupils surveying you beneath that godawful mask he’s donning before he nods. He doesn’t tell you what he wants, so you just order him whatever mixture of gasoline and fruit you get. He just stares at you while you sip at your own drink, and you can’t help but laugh. His eyes are fuckin’ intense, and while you’re already a little tipsy, it’s pretty clear he’s dead sober. Luckily, alcohol gives you a charming ice breaker. 

“It’s probably a little difficult to drink with that terrifying thing on your face, but I really appreciate your dedication to the look.” 

Behind the holes of the mask, his eyes crinkle near the edges. You can’t tell if he’s smiling or snarling, but he’s definitely reacting to what you’re saying. He must’ve decided that he likes you, because he finally reaches behind his head and loosens whatever makeshift strap that’s tangled in his silver, ‘fake’ blood matted hair. 

As he lets it fall away from his face, you study what’s underneath. He’s a little rough around the edges, a little chapped with dry skin and more than a few blisters on his pale lips, but he’s cute and the costume has you intrigued. For all you know, it could be liquid latex. The guy seems pretty dedicated after all. It makes you wonder what is Halloween paint and what’s his actual skin. You kinda wanna lick him and find out.

Shut up, alcohol. 

“It’s homemade.” He rasps out, voice cracking and strained like he hasn’t spoken in days. After a sip of his own drink, he slips a subtle smile as he sees you eying the grotesque costume piece. “I’m glad you like it.”

It’s gross to say the least. Whatever it’s made out of, it’s certainly not plastic or rubber like most masks. It smells atrocious, especially coupled with the must and cheap booze of the warehouse, and it makes you a little queasy as it flops around in his lap a little too lifelike for your liking. It even has pores, for Christ’s sake. Tearing your gaze away from it isn’t easy, but if you look much longer, you’re not really sure what your stomach is gunna do, so you turn your attentions to the owner instead. 

“Are you making a statement or just not a fan of the would-be hero types?”

He giggles a little even though you’re not entirely sure what you said was funny. “I guess you could say it’s both.” 

You sit in an awkward silence, sipping at your drink for a few minutes before another wave of alcohol induced courage lights a fire under your ass. If he won’t talk, you sure as fuck will.

“So, are you a friend of Dabi’s or-” He scoffs, loud and hard, lip curling in distaste. “No. I’m unfortunate enough to know him. We work together.” 

“Really? I always wondered what he did for a living.” 

It takes him a second to realize that’s you’re prodding, and a minute longer to come up with an answer. “I guess you could say we’re sort of... activists or something.” 

“Is that so? He never really struck me as the generous type.”

“He’s not.” He grins like a fox in a henhouse, mischievous and sly like he knows something you don’t. “And I’m not either.” 

“Then why be an activist?” 

His smirk fades, and he nurses his drink, flicking his eyes away from you. “I dunno.”

“What kind of activist are you? Like social or environmental or-” 

“Uh-” He clearly wasn’t expecting this line of questioning. “Political.” 

“Oh, that’s cool! What kind of politics are you guys into? You seem like the anarchy sort to me, but I don’t wanna judge-”

“Are you always this nosy?”

His sudden hostility takes you back a little. Sure, you’re drunk and annoying, but that seems a bit excessive. Maybe this isn’t the tree you want to be barking up tonight. 

“Sorry. I was just trying to get to know you.” 

You turn your body away from him slightly, returning your gaze to the rusted metal behind the makeshift bar. You can see him glaring you down out of your periphery but opt to ignore it. Regardless, he stares for a few more moments before downing the rest of the drink you apparently wasted your money on.  “Well, don’t.” 

Whatever, man. It’s a fucking Halloween party. You can find a different jerk-ass to hook up with, one who at least pretends to be nice until the night is over. Dicks are a dime a dozen in a place like this, and the ‘super mysterious, if I told you, I’d have to kill you’ bullshit charade he’s playing is grating on your nerves. Part of you wants to tell him off for being so rude, but the other part is telling you to just shut up, project your disinterest, and wait for him to leave.

You huff a small sigh, blowing the air out of your puckered lips as you roll your eyes behind closed lids. Your side of the conversation comes to an abrupt halt, and suddenly everything in the room is more interesting than he is. Yet even with the uncomfortable awkward air around you both, he doesn’t leave. He just continues scanning you over as you do your best to give him the cold shoulder. So he really thinks there’s any sort of comeback from that, huh?

Apparently he does. He’s not very good with social hints either. You’ve almost tuned him out when you feel a bony hand clutching your upper arm. 

“Hey, come with me. This place is boring and I’ve got something I want to show you.” 

You turn, shooting him a disbelieving glare, but he’s already slid off his bar stool and is pulling you along with him. He doesn’t bother to wait for your answer, weaving through the crowds and dragging you behind him even as you try to wiggle your arm out of his grasp. Had you been in your right mind, you might have screamed or shoved him and told him to get lost, but your liquor marinated mind makes it difficult. He’s kinda right, after all. This place has gotten boring. All your friends left you behind an hour ago to go find their own conquests and dancing by yourself gets pretty lame after a minute. It’s not like you had anything better to do. 

Alright, fine. Follow the rude guy. He seems pretty adamant about it anyway. 

You try to justify it by telling yourself maybe he’s just super socially awkward or doesn’t have much experience with girls. He could also be one of those super brash, brutally honest people that just says whatever comes to mind. Maybe he didn’t mean it in a mean way. A trailing history of terrible taste in men leaves his unbridled rudeness with a bad taste in your mouth, but it wasn’t like you were planning on seeing him again after tonight. Ride the dick and then ride off into the sunset. 

You both dodge through the groups of people together as he yanks you towards the very back of the warehouse. The couple of doors he leads you through have a fairly prominent ‘Do Not Enter’ sign cautioning at eye level, but he doesn’t seem dissuaded, pulling you through the heavy doors despite the clear warning. A few hallways and dim, empty corridors later and he’s ushering you into something resembling a claustrophobic courtyard outside that joins the warehouse with a few of the surrounding buildings.

It’s very dark outside, and aside from the slight shine of ugly yellow tinted streetlights peeking through the alleyway, you can’t see much of anything. You can’t imagine what on Earth it is out here that he wants to show you, but you doubt you’ll even be able to see it. Anxiety starts to bloom in your chest as your drunk mind starts to realize that you’ve followed a stranger out into a very dark, very isolated area.

“H-hey, I never got your name.”

He laughs softly, coming up behind you and gripping your shoulders in a way that feels all too tight. Steering you forward, he leans in, feet falling in line with your steps.

“You’re right. My bad, that’s awfully rude of me.”

He pushes you forward in a way that seems a bit intense for having just met before latching his hands lazily around the base of your neck and pulling you into his chest.

“I guess it’s a good thing you didn’t know what Dabi does for a living, or else you never would have been stupid enough to follow me out here.”

Okay, it’s Halloween and all, but his brand of prank is starting to feel a little too real. The macabre costume and total boorishness should have been the insight you needed to come to the conclusion that this guy just isn’t quite right in the head, but between the alcohol and your desire to give him the benefit of the doubt, it just never quite clicked for you.

“It’s Shigaraki, by the way. My name. I’m sure you’ve heard it before.”

His wet breath on your neck isn’t the only reason you get shivers. You have heard that name before, only never spoken so casually. His fingers tighten around the tensing muscles in your throat as you swallow down a bombardment of emotion. Panic. Fear. Realization.

There’s a million and ten things going through your mind right now, the foremost of which is why. You aren’t a hero, nor are you a particularly fervent hero supporter. You’re not related to any heroes, and frankly, there’s no one further from the social/cultural hub that is hero society. Isn’t that what this guy gets his rocks off to? At least from the news snippets, that’s the impression you gathered.

You want to ask him why you. Maybe its a selfish question but it’s a question none the less, and one people tend to ask when their place on the mortal coil is being threatened. Yet, no matter how you try to spit out the words, your tongue stills in your dry mouth and refuses to cooperate. The pounding in your chest is giving way to a headache and a serious case of sick, and you swear between the loud pulsing of blood in your veins, you can hear him giggling behind you.

You think maybe that’s a strong enough cue to leave. You can ask him why when you’re separated by a thick layer of glass at Tartarus.

You know, it’s easy to sit back in the comfort of your own home and laugh at the clumsy heroine in any given horror movie who fumbles away from the killer like a newborn fawn just discovering its own lanky legs, but you’re quick to understand just why that troupe is so popular. It takes you a moment to gather the courage to turn on your heel and shove him hard on the chest, and even when you manage, it’s so weak and pathetic that it barely knocks him off balance. It only just gives you enough space that you can dart in the opposite direction. Where you’re going, you have no clue, but it’s not on the forefront of your mind as you pound pavement beneath your shitty costume shoes and shout “Stay away from me!” like some cliche damsel in distress.

Your adrenaline fueled getaway is short lived. A few seconds after beginning your feverish sprint away from what you know to be a very dangerous young fellow, the front of your foot catches on something and sends you toppling to the ground only a few feet from where you began your initial rush. Your fall is less than graceful, and the shriek that emits from your throat before your body thuds to the dirt like a sack of potatoes is far less sexy than anything in any horror movie. The bag you’ve been clutching, filled with nothing but the bare essentials and a half empty flask, is flung from your fingers. Your assailant doesn’t slow-walk towards you in a menacing manner while wielding a knife, but practically jogs over, wheezing with nasally laughter as he grabs you by the hair.

“I bet that went a lot better in your head, huh?”

A lot of things went a lot better in your head, to be fair. That scene. This night. Your life in general. But the little pity party you’re throwing yourself does little to garner his sympathies. No amount of hiccuping and crying fat gobs of tears that leak from your lashes and down into the Halloween makeup it took you hours to do elicits any response from him but what he had already planned on.

His laughter finally dies down and the fingers threaded through your hair manhandle you to your knees before roughly casting you down onto something. Something hollow yet sturdy greets your sensitive, liquor addled stomach as he forces you down and bends you over it. It feels slightly waxy, yet organic to the touch, and seems to wobble around slightly the more he kicks and prods you into a position you’ve seen one too many times in those shitty free pornos.

Pumpkin. It’s a fucking pumpkin.

You can smell the leaves and grass and sodden soil as he positions your hips up in the air, shucking off the costume apron he’d been wearing. Dirt embeds under your finger nails as you struggle to drag the rest of your body over the pumpkin to make your escape, but the hand that isn’t currently fumbling with his zipper is still tightly anchored in your hair, holding you in place. He hisses out a few words warning you against struggling too hard, his quirk is uncontrollable after all.

He makes quick work of the cheap costume bottom, inhaling a ragged breath and digging his jagged nails in a little too tightly to your skin when your ass becomes bared to the cool night air. The sight of you must’ve made him impatient, as he settles for simply yanking up your top along your back to expose your tits instead of going through the effort to try and get it off you. If what you’ve heard is true, he could simply dust it and be rid of it, but he doesn’t seem like he’s in the most centered form of mind right now, and it doesn’t appear like it’s your death he’s after.

No, it seems like he’s after something much more intimate than death.

Your mind is acutely aware of what’s about to happen, but it’s trapped in your paralyzed body, unable to force your heavy limbs to move with the weight of the panic. He’s freed himself from his pants, knuckles bumping against the cleft of your ass with every jerk of the cock that you thank God is hidden from your vision. After a few rigorous pumps, he withdraws for a moment before spitting and dribbling his slick saliva into the palm of his hand, coating his cock and using it as a makeshift lubricant.

When he’s finished making spitting sounds that make your stomach church, he lines his hips against your reluctantly spread legs and you feel the hot, thick tip prodding against the tautly pulled walls of your entrance. It’s enough to renew your childlike kicking and whining, babbling and pleading for him to stop. Regardless, he pays you no mind, opting only to yank his hand from the roots of your hair. It stings and he takes several strands of hair with it, but you don’t have time to focus on the pain as his fingertips dig into the fat of your cheeks, flexing and forcing you to look up at him as he hunches his wiry frame over yours.

It’s hard to see through the haze of tears that blear your vision and thick black makeup caking around your eyes, but you can make out that he’s smiling. If you can call it that, that is. Cracked lips wet and parted, breathing hot, moist breath down onto your forehead. Lips curled upward in a nasty, smarmy grin. A slimy tongue trails along his teeth as he practically drools down onto your shoulder like you’re a thick cut of venison and he’s a rabid wolf ready to sink in his canines.

“You know, I never cared much for Halloween,” His hips cant forward ever so slightly and begins to push the tip inside your unwilling hole. Slowly, slowly at first, but soon with more force. It hurts, morphing from a dull ache into an intense sting the more his girthy length is stuffed snug inside between your thighs. “But Dabi was right- it’s a lot more fun when you dress up.”

To punctuate the end of his sentence, he pulses his hips forward, sinking himself all the way inside and watching with a sick sense of glee as your face contorts in pain. He rolls his hips experimentally against your backside a few times, hissing in slight discomfort at the bittersweet tightness that strangles his flesh inside of yours. It stills him only for a brief moment, long enough for you to truly grasp the horrendous sensation of your body molding to accommodate something too large for it to have been ready to take.

However uncomfortable he may be, it’s nothing compared to what you’re feeling. It seems like a cruel joke that the wanted villain who set his sights on you that night would also have a monster cock, but Halloween was always the devil’s little prank show. He’s crammed it inside you with no regard for the damage it might do, pain radiating in the deep of your stomach as his cockhead is scrunched firmly against the wall of your cervix. Your fingers dig deeper into the dirt, but not to escape. You’re aware you’re too firmly impaled on him for that to be an option, so you settle for trying to give yourself any sensation at all that will lessen the unholy tear of your already sensitive pussy.

Eventually he decides he’s had enough of memorizing your pretty, anguished face, and his movements begin anew. Hips pistoning in a building rhythm, flesh of his thighs slapping obscenely against your bare ass. The protruding stem of the pumpkin grates into your abdomen, forcing pained, breathy ‘ah’s from you with every powerful hump. The anguishing drag of his cock assaulting your insides begins to blend together one after the next, and you do your best to block out the animalistic grunts and a sickening moans he emits with every thrust.

Eventually he lets your face go in favor of sinking his fingers just below your waist to anchor you in place as he pounds away, and you take the opportunity to drop your head in defeat and clench your eyes shut. He’ll get bored of you or he’ll cum. It’s what comes after that you should really be worried about. By the sounds he’s making, he’s far from losing interest. He seems to be getting a bit carried away, muttering something along the lines of “take it, slut” and needing to celebrate holidays more often.

That’s when you hear it.

Spooky, scary, skeletons send shivers down your spine

At first, you think it’s a joke. Like you’re having some sort of twisted nightmare and reality has finally decided to throw you a bone to lead your consciousness back home. But his manic fucking never stops and neither does the pain.

Shrieking souls with shock your soul, seal your doom tonight

A few blinks to clear the fresh wave of agony and one hand digging into the side of the pumpkin to stable yourself enough against his rutting to search for the source of the noise. There’s a glowing light a few feet from you, flashing and vibrating but just out of reach.

Your phone. It’s your phone. Your bag had landed not far from where he had you pinned, and your phone had been thrown from the bag.

Your new October ringtone plays through the damaged speakers, flashing your best friends face on the screen. She’s looking for you, probably wondering where you went. She’d never find you here. No one would.

We’re so sorry skeletons, you’re so misunderstood

Help is so close, yet so far away. Your sobs begin anew, feeling his cock pulse as he whines something about breeding his pretty little bitch into your ear. He’s cumming inside you, papping his hips against you in a shallow, offbeat rhythm. You can feel it, hear it squelching and leaking down your thighs. He came. Inside you. And judging from what few words you can make out between your agonized cries, he has every intention of doing it again.

You just want to socialize but I don’t think we should

#Anonymous #Shigaraki x reader #tw rape #tw noncon #tw alcohol #gagfic #this is a fucking joke and I put no effort into it please know that #I wouldn't actually consider it one of my stories #just a goof lmao #warning not proofread AT ALL #Shigaraki fucks you over a pumpkin #still technically smut tho #You're a girl on a quest for dat DICK and he's a rude asshole #Bakugo may or may not be dead #totally depends on your interpretation #i wrote this on PAIN KILLERS BABEYYYY

[brain-jarred]

Chapter one.  Marriage problems

In the dank bowels of New York, it was a normal day of extracting brains from dubiously consenting test subjects, and Dr. Hal was bored. Bored with his life, he knew he was smart, he knew he had a brilliant mind. In theory this job was in fact nurturing his mind, and putting it to good use in bettering mankind, and-

Yeah yeah whatever. He knew that this was for a good cause, as he carefully cut open the patient's skull, revealing the squishy and oozing brain. He sighed, and his colleague finally took notice of his dour mood. “Dr. Hal? What's wrong? You don't seem very enthusiastic about this.” Dr. Param asked, looking up from their clipboard which they were doodling in the margins of. Dr. Param was very much like Dr. Hal, in the sense that both of them had similar backgrounds. Though despite this similarity, the two were as different as could be. “Come on, Hal! Put some pep into that neuro-needle!” They said cheerfully, pumping their metal arm in the air, much like a cheerleader. In response, Dr. Hal just rolled his eyes and took the neuro-needle out of the tray, and did what you do with a needle.

Once he was done with it, he returned it to the tray, and the doctor began the process of removing the brain from the skull. He sighed again, and turned to Dr. Param. “Hey Dr. Param? Do you ever feel like… I don't know, that we could be doing literally anything else with our lives?” He questioned as he lifted the brain with one hand, and cut the spinal cord with the other. “Like, I know that this is to improve mankind and everything, but… this is just so…” He plopped the brain into a jar, staring at it for a bit. “Boring.” He said flatly. Dr. Param looked shocked. “What?! No way!” They retorted, limping their metal wrist joint in at Dr. Hal. They put down their clipboard and slid a pan containing a brain across the counter. Then, they sat their elbow where it had been. “Listen Hal, Dr. Hal. All jobs have their… their dips!” “Dips?” “Like low points on a graph!” Dr. Param said while walking around. Their six metal legs made clicking sounds as they moved on the metal floors. They had their arms behind their back. They circled around the now brainless body that was laying on the surgical table. They patted one of the legs to accentuate their point. “You just-” Another slap to the cadaver’s legs.”-Just gotta keep going!”

“Dr. Param, I appreciate the enthusiasm, as well as the attempts at motivation, but you should stop slapping the body.” “You aren't listening to me!” Dr. Param slapped the body. “No. I’m not.” The scientist sighed and walked over to the sink, removing his thick plastic gloves, placing them in the cleaning solution. His hands were… not human. Because neither Dr. Hal, nor Doctor Param, were human beings. Doctor Param was a centipede-esque cyborg, maybe even centaur-like in their design. They had one almost normal looking hand, if not for the sharp claws on the tips, and one needle like appendage on the other arm. The other legs, six of them, were simple, like a bug’s legs. They had huge red eyes that stared annoyed into the back of Dr. Hal’s head. Or rather, they were staring at Dr. Hal’s brain, that was visible through the translucent psychic aura that made up his body. He looked very much like a person, but without bones, skin, muscle, or even nerves. He looked like a person composed entirely of blue jelly. The only solid parts of him were his brain and his eyes. The two doctors both had human brains, greatly enhanced, yet still human, brains.

“I’m just saying-” “I know what you're saying.” Dr. Hal interjected. “You're saying I should just accept the life I've been given, and I shouldn't wish for anything more.” “Wow. Rude.” The cyborg huffed. ”That's your problem! You are rude. When people try to cheer you up, you just-” they waved their arms around. “You push them away! You push me away.” He huffed. “Why have you been so- what am I doing wrong!? You have been so on edge lately.” “I don't want to talk about this anymore.” Dr. Hal looked away and began to pad out of the room. “Don't walk away from me!” They said, raising their voice. “Please! Let's just talk!” They said, throwing their arms up in the air.They had been working with each other for sixteen years, and though Dr. Hal was walking away, and acting standoffish, he did care about his colleague. The two of them had been working together for sixteen years. The pair acted like a married couple when they argued. But really, they were both married to their jobs, not each other. Recently though, Dr. Hal’s marriage with work was failing. Like a marriage in which both of the participants were no longer in love with each other.

Dr. Param followed Dr. Hal for a bit, before sighing and going to sit down in one of the chairs outside the operating theatre. It was a bit awkward to sit in, considering they had a 5 foot long body. In reality, the bug-like cyborg laid on the chair rather than sat in it. They watched as Dr. Hal put his hands in his lab coat and power-walked away to his quarters. They hated when he got like this. Lately they had been noticing that his colleague's heart just wasn't in his work like it used to be. Dr. Param missed it, back when things were simple. Executing tests on subjects, researching, and all the other marvelous things- they weren't fun anymore. Maybe it wasn't supposed to be fun, maybe this work was supposed to be hard and laborious. But… Ugh. Dr. Param just sat there, trying to think of ways to reignite that fire that had been reduced to cinders within Dr. Hal. Meanwhile, Dr. Hal was in his quarters. The off-white walls surrounded him, it was a small room, only about 9 feet wide and long. The ceiling was low, and if he jumped, he would probably hit his head on the ceiling. Not that he was the type to just randomly jump. That was more of Dr. Param’s thing. Being all excited and enthusiastic about their job… Dr. Hal wondered how they did it. How they managed to be as passionate about their work as they were the day they both first woke up and did their first assignments. Part of him admired it, maybe even envied it. These walls. These floors. The lights, the blood, the smell of this lab. It was all the both of them knew. Their old lives were gone. Dr. Hal wasn't supposed to miss it. He had consented to this after all. He consented to having his body removed from his brain, and having his brain utterly transformed into something inhuman. Dr. Param consented to it too. So then why did he feel like something was missing? 

Why would he miss being a terminally ill cancer patient? This was a far more noble life than wasting away in a hospital bed with no family to be there as he died. Of course he did not remember being a terminally ill cancer patient, but that was what his bosses told him. They even showed him pictures of who he used to be. Birth records, I.D., photographs. All meaningless to him now. 

He had been thinking more about it lately. He hadn't told anyone though. He always got the feeling that the bosses didn't like it. It was an unspoken taboo to mention the past when the goal of the organization was to further the path into the future. He closed his eyes. Well, he didn't really have eyelids. He just shaped the ectoplasm that comprised his body to slide over his eyeballs.  And then there was a knock at his door, before he could tell them to come in, someone he didn't expect to see today walked into his room stiffly. The person that entered his room was a pale man, with wispy and wild white hair, and a ratty scarf worn over his lab coat. His face was round, it would have been almost friendly looking if not for the deep scowl that he wore on his face at all times. Dr. Hal sat up, and then got off his bed to stand respectfully towards the head scientist “Dr. Brian.” He remarked. “It's good to see you.” “You did good work on the last subject, but we have another assignment for you.” Doctor brian said, ignoring pleasantries and going straight for what was needed of Dr. Hal. “We have a subject coming in that is extremely high profile. Not only that, but it's going to be a vivisection. Further details will be given later.” He said in a monotone. “Oh. I see. But why are you telling me this in person? I feel like this could have been communicated in a memo.” He crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Because you haven't been confirming your memos.” He huffed. “You have been acting highly unprofessional lately. Now tell me why that is.” He asked pointedly, glaring up at Dr. Hal. “I apologize.” He began, taking in a breath. “I have just been feeling unwell lately. I was actually going to request a week’s vacation for-” “Denied.” The head scientist interrupted. “The high profile vivisection is tomorrow.” “Oh.” Dr. Hal folded his arms. “I assume my...talents will be needed?” he asked. “Both you and Dr. Param will be needed, yes.” “Alright.” he looked away. “Tell you what-” Dr Brian began. “You can have your week's vacation after the vivisection tomorrow. It's estimated to take six hours to complete.” Dr. Hal’s eyes widened. Wow. That was more than double the length of the longest vivisections he had done. This must be someone special that they were vivisecting. “Will it be a terminal one?” He asked. “Yes.” Damn it. Dr. Hal hated the terminal ones. Usually they were performed only on death row prisoners or terminally ill patients. So he didn't feel shame about most of them, despite technically being a murderer. Well, he wasn't really a murderer. They were going to die anyway, so who cares? He certainly didn't. But it was still unpleasant to be in the mind of a dying person. It was sometimes borderline nightmarish. Of course, he wouldn't voice these opinions out loud. But Dr. Brian’s scowl still deepened. “Do what you will for the rest of today.” He huffed, and exited the room. End of chapter one

#oc #oc story #mad scientist oc #robot oc #Brainjarred #medical horror #body horror

[pathogenliliaceae]

Thoughts on Jill Valentine

Hello, friends! My responsibilities for my trading company job have abated in the interim, so I thought perhaps I would come back around to Jill, as promised. 

Thoughts on Jill Valentine:

I will begin this by saying that it is appropriate that she was asked alongside Mia because there is one outstanding issue that I have between the both of them: The need to be saved. Though I find Jill to be leagues more competent.

We’ll get to it in full a bit later. 

I will make no secrets that Jill has never been my most favourite of protagonists. Most of those issues stem from “3: Nemesis” and Five, though I am not adverse to including bits from One and Revelations. In one word, Jill is tolerable. Though, if given a choice (depending upon who my choices are) I will usually pick someone else.

A bit of background on Miss Valentine: I am utterly convinced that Capcom has changed her birthdate. I remember quite vividly scoffing that they made her birthdate Valentine’s Day, but now that I look it up again it seems its in May. Well, that’s at least a half a point in her favour. It’s become less mind-numbingly stupid. She is French-Japanese-American, whose father was a professional thief. In addition, she received Delta Force training through the US Army. Unusually adept at lock-picking, she then (apparently) gains the moniker - the Master of Unlocking. She also, again apparently, is adept at bomb disposal, though I cannot remember an instance in which this is exhibited. Though I can remember many instances when this would have come in handy. Jill. 

Post-Delta Force and US Army tenancy, Wesker recruited Jill for STARS - described as an elite special forces operation for the RPD comprised of military veterans and weapons specialists (put a leaf in this for when I eventually get to Rebecca Chambers). Joining her in STARS are Forest, who she already had a friendship with prior to working together, and Chris. She is the only female officer on STARS Alpha Team, and works as a Breaking and Entering specialist. Forward onto the Mansion Incident.

Again, I’ve mentioned that if given a choice, I will usually not pick Jill to play as. However, that is not to say that I have not played Jill’s scenario in One. My primary complaint about Jill’s Scenario is as follows: It is fundamentally easier than Chris’. She’s got the lockpick set, so she doesn’t need to find Old Keys. She has more inventory space. In the space where she finds the zombie in the bathtub, she stomps his head mid-cutscene and does not have to fight him. She starts with the handgun and receives higher powered weapons whilst Chris has a higher chance of critical headshots. She can mix chemicals to weaken Plant 42 and cut the boss fight in half. Jill can skip certain puzzles in Arklay with Barry’s help, one under the guise of “saving” her from the falling ceiling where you retrieve the shotgun. No need to find the broken shotgun, and you have access to the shotgun as soon as you unlock the area which makes accessing the Armour Key much easier. I used to believe that this was a reflection of the character, but now I believe it is a bit of thinly veiled misogyny on Capcom’s part. ): 

About the opening to her scenario, after running amok in the forest and into the mansion - “There are only three STARS members left now. Captain Wesker, Barry, and myself. We don’t know where Chris is.” YOU’VE JUST HAD HIM AT THE DOOR! HOW HAVE YOU LOST HIM? Also, check your maths, Jill. That’s four STARS members. We have one negative point here in that she’s managed to lose her partner in the amount of time it takes to cross a threshold. Anyhow, like how it is when you play as Chris, the other is locked in the cell in the labs and must be released with the MO discs prior to the T-002 battle. Canonically, Jill escapes with Chris and Barry. Chris escapes with Jill and Rebecca. Rebecca does not make an appearance in Jill’s game, nor Barry in Chris’. Brad is there in the background, flying the helicopter he had damned them with at the beginning. It’s a bit of a flub.

Moving on to 3: Nemesis and the Remake and whatever happens in between the events of Arklay and the destruction of Raccoon City. Gathering from memos in Two and Three, shortly after the Arklay Incident, Chris and Jill take their concerns to Chief Irons, requesting the launch of an investigation into Umbrella and all the related shenanigans. Irons, being involved and heavily steeped in wrongdoing, denies this request. STARS all but disbands, as Chris leaves for Europe in August 1998, Barry moves his family to Canada and follows after Chris, Rebecca is doing fuck-all, and Irons has suspended Jill and ordered her confined to her flat. That leaves... Brad Vickers as STARS. The only member. In office. Everyone else is dead, suspended, or AWOL. I suppose one way to operate as a corrupt organisation is to keep the most inept person as your only functioning operative. I digress, this is about Jill and not the bucket of maladroitness that is Brian Irons.

Jill remains in Raccoon City under the pretense of attempting to locate NEST, with the intention of following behind Chris, Barry, and Rebecca(?) a bit later. I believe also she was intending to sort through the rumours of the development of Golgotha, but I cannot find accurate citation of that. Things that she manages to do whilst confined to her flat for a month behind the departure of the other STARS members: Not that at all. I have long wondered what it was that was actually keeping Jill in her flat, aside from orders from her no-longer boss, when she had intentions of leaving on 30 September. I don’t imagine that with what remains of STARS poking around, save for Brad, that Irons would put a definite date on the lifting of her suspension. “Yes, now you may leave to bring down the organisation that I am tangentially working for”. The Three Remake expands on this a bit, as it seems that perhaps Jill was not emotionally nor mentally suited for travel outside of the flat. In which case, I question whether steeping herself in all things Umbrella was perhaps exacerbating her condition. I do believe that there is a fundamentally large difference between Three: Remake Jill and 3: Nemesis Jill. First off, trousers. Enough said. I don’t do my personal investigations sitting in a pleather mini-skirt and a tube top with a rather practical jumper tied around my waist, and neither should you. I much rather imagine a suspension to be carried out in pyjamas, but again I am not the type of person to dress at home if I’m not needed to.

Secondly, Three: Remake Jill holds up much better against Nemesis without the help of Carlos (who is also rather incompetent and sexist), than her original counterpart. Her reactions to goings on are much more believable, and for much of the game she has absolutely no issue putting Carlos within appropriate boundaries. He tries to explain to her what a radio is, she snaps at him. He touches her, she tells him not to. You are a stranger, sir, please observe courtesy. Not to mention, a stranger who is working for the organisation we’ve just found out is responsible for the development of bioweapons and viral agents. At least bother to ask her name, first. A bit of a hint, Carlos: It isn’t “supercop”. If we are to continue on with this Jill further on in the series, I will support it. I would quite enjoy a long-standing female protagonist that has no issue scoffing at male protagonist foolishness and scolding their perspectives. Perhaps it is a good thing that she and Leon have never met in any official capacity.

Three: Remake Jill still falls prey to damsel-syndrome, as I’ll call it, upon being infected by Nemesis. Carlos comes in as the knight in shining armour, having become infatuated with her after knowing her for exactly four hours. I like to imagine that this New Jill could wake up from her comatose state, shout about her autonomy, and then go back to sleep. This is however, remedied by some sort of favour-trading as she does save Carlos in a quid-pro-quo a bit later. I do have concerns about how far Jill allowed Nikolai to get without shooting him down, but that’s unimportant in the long run. There is also a bit of inconsistency between games in how Jill and Carlos escape Raccoon City and what happened just prior, but those are unimportant to our examining of Jill.

All in all, New Jill is portrayed as a competent individual, which I think serves much better to support her character in instances such as the Fall of Umbrella chapter in The Umbrella Chronicles, which leads into the formation of the BSAA and her involvement with them.

Functionally, from 2003 until at least 2009, Chris and Jill mostly function as a singular unit. 2005- they work together to subdue T-ALOS. 2004- The Queen Zenobia, Queen Semiramis fiasco in which Jill carries Parker through a sinking ship as Chris slams doors in her face- as loving partners do. (I do want to mention in an aside that so many people find themselves in trouble whilst looking for Chris. It is the plot of NO FEWER than four games. One, Two, Code: Veronica, and Revelations. Maybe even a bit of Six. Call it four and a half). Revelations does delve into a bit of why I find Jill to be competent amongst the ranks of highly amateur BSAA agents. First off, she reads the manuals for things. She realises the importance of memos! Secondly, she is shown deducing and explaining quite a bit about the situation they find themselves in to Parker, who is often none-the-wiser. An argument could be made that Parker is a newly ported FBC emigre and therefore does not yet have the same expectation but I disagree having seen the... eptitude of other agents. She is rather instrumental in uncovering the whole FBC - Veltro - BSAA mess and quite honestly tends to hold her own in that installment. If only the dodge function worked better. Anyhow, back to her partnership with Chris- it canonically ends with the Lost in Nightmares campaign in Five. In which she quite literally bowls Wesker out of a window in defense of Chris and (sort of) the world. If there is any secret method of getting me to enjoy a character, it is self-sacrifice for the sake of another. There is something so beautiful about it. Except Ethan, nothing can redeem him. Jill functions best as a character when she is partnered with Chris. I cannot say that in any of these scenarios I have profound issues with her. Forward onto the events of Five and about where we will end this tangent.

Jill and Wesker, obviously, both survive the fall from the Spencer estate. Jill is kept for experimentation due to the existing muted strain of T in her body from the events of Three. The antibodies she possessed were used by Wesker in attempts to make Uroboros more accepting of human host bodies. During the time that she was “in his care” (poor choice of words, I know), he repeatedly injected her with Progenitor strains and took the resulting antibodies. As a result of the testing and antibody removal, Jill’s hair, skin, and eyes lightened in cryostasis (I am still trying to make sense of this bit). Once she had reached the extent of her usefulness, Wesker volunteered her for the P30 project, a Las Plagas extension that utilised chemical compounds for mind control. However, due to the high expulsion rate, the chemical had to be constantly injected, explaining the injector attached to her body.

This requires her, again, rescue at the hands of Chris and Sheva. Once the injector is removed, the other two move on after Wesker, and Jill promptly collapses into unconsciousness. She is found by BSAA Delta Team Captain Josh Stone, who escorts her to a helicopter and initiates a rendezvous with Chris and Sheva on the volcano.  I will stand up for Jill on this one- I do not at all believe that if Jill was on the helicopter, that Sheva should have been the one to wield the rocket launcher. That honour should have belonged to the two original STARS Alpha Team members alone. It’s simply poetic, and I am sorry for Sheva, but it would have been much more perfect. 

Currently, we’ve not seen anything from Jill since Five. The only mention to her current condition is that she is at the BSAA undergoing testing and rehabilitation for her time spent with Wesker. In her words: “...ever since getting back I've been locked up in this lab as they run tests on me day in and day out. It's every bit as boring as it sounds”. We leave Jill’s chronology with her being bored. Fitting. In short, I believe that Jill has quite a bit of potential in her competency, and I am actually quite interested to see what her reaction would be to the BSAA using bioweapons. We’ve not heard from her in twelve years, so one can only assume that she is still alive somewhere, being bored. If they are going to take her character in the same direction they appear to be going in the Three: Remake, I would not at all be adverse to seeing her again in a future standalone installment.  That being said, I have quite the backlog of characters to talk about! Please give me the benefit of the doubt when waiting on these. I’ve got work to do, tea to drink, games to play, and characters to analyse.

[inkykeiji]

Hi hi! I hope you’re taking care of yourself 🥺 have you been up to anything exciting? I have a question for u.. how do u make ur writing so unique? I feel like smut gets so repetitive and a lot of people use the same descriptions and analogies or whatever. Your stuff is always written so differently, do u have any advice? Anyway, have a good day or night sweetness 💕 - 💸

aaaaaah sweet angel dollars hello!!! <3 not particularly, to be honest!! i’ve been planning out the last few months of 2021 in terms of writing tho and that’s getting me super excited!!

ooh, that is a very good question! and i think that it’s quite a difficult question to answer, because style (regardless of the art medium) is such a personal thing, and every single creator has their very own unique style/aura inherently and irrevocably imbued within their work that is comprised of their personal experiences, feelings, opinions, beliefs, influences, art that has had an impact on them in some way, etc etc etc the list goes on forever. sometimes these styles can be more distinct or noticeable than others, but i genuinely believe everyone possesses one, even if it’s less developed than someone else’s. i’m going to get more into this under the cut because i have a feeling this is going to be a LOOONG answer hehe <3

okay FIRST OF ALL i want to say thank you for your compliment on my smut!!! that means so much to me you don’t even know, because i work so dang hard on my smut (it takes me up to a week to write one smut scene, on average!), so thank you!!! <333

secondly, the reason why i mentioned style above is because i want you to know that you DO possess your own style, just like everyone else, and as you continue to create it will show itself more, and more, and more; it will continue to strengthen itself and distinguish itself (but it is already there, it already exists in your work, i promise!). my favourite thing about creating art is that there’s virtually no cap to it; you’re never going to reach the top or the peak of writing because you will continue to improve and get better for as long as you live (or create hehe).

as such, my primary piece of advice to you is to look through your work and begin analyzing it. what elements do you notice cropping up repeatedly? what themes are present? which literary devices do you seem to gravitate towards? what is your favourite thing to write about? do you enjoy writing prose or dialogue more? where are your strengths? are you happy with them, or are there other areas of writing which you’d also like to strengthen? if so, make a plan on how you’d like to focus on those and put it into practice. when you analyze your own work like this, you really begin to notice the pieces of YOU sewn into your art and what distinguishes you and your style from everyone else.

my secondary piece of advice to you is to pay attention to life around you as well as to continue consuming art of all mediums. inspiration is EVERYWHERE, every single day, you just have to look! it’s in your daily life; in the way your family speaks to each other, the way you interact with others, your friends’ mannerisms, people off daydreaming in their own worlds while grocery shopping, in bits and pieces of conversations you hear while walking home or riding the subway, in your memories, in the WAY you remember things, in your own experiences both good and bad, happy and painful. extract that information, use it, morph it, break it, reconstruct it, collage it, crumple it, make it into something new, make it yours.

the point here is that no one, and i mean NO ONE, will experience the world the exactly way you do; there may be others who experience it similarly, but they will never truly be 100% the same, because THEY AREN’T YOU. you’re a one-of-a-kind, unique individual, with your own thoughts and emotions and opinions and experiences etc and all of these things come together to create your very own unique worldview (and art!). i kind of feel like this mr. rogers post explains it quite well, too <3

additionally, watch movies that you love and analyze why you love them; listen to your favourite artists and ask yourself how they make you feel and why; write yourself a small personal essay or a journal entry on what an illustration or painting makes you feel, etc. i think it’s very important here to distinguish between taking inspiration from others’ style vs imitating their style, purely because imitating their style won’t do anything for yours; it isn’t going to evolve or grow your own style because it isn’t your own style, you know? annie (@/rat-zuki) said this a while ago and i loved it so much so i’m going to repeat it here: creativity works on the basis of inspiration to innovation. which is to say, take those elements that inspire you, or that you really love, and make them your own! you already have your own style, something that is YOURS and special to you, so take these elements and fit/fold/mold them in there! make them special to you, too! your art/style/aura is essentially a whole collage of everything i mentioned above the cut; all of your influences and experiences and inspirations and how YOU see them, how you experience them, how you interpret them, how you feel them, etc. *reminder that we are talking about STYLE here, not plot/story; imitating a plot/story would be plagiarism, which you obviously should never do

as for writing smut in particular, this answer is the best advice i have for you. like i said there, the majority of my smut comes from my own experiences, so it’s a lot of me breaking down those experiences and analyzing them in terms of mood + feeling etc. hehehe (i’ve gotten into the habit of writing down how i felt and what happened after i have really good sex LMAO it always makes my boyfriend laugh)

AAAAH i hope this makes sense!!! i know it’s very long, but this is also a very complex question and i wanted to try my best to make sure i was coming across as clearly as possible. but hopefully this helps you sweetpea <3

#WHEW SORRY ITS SO LONG #IF ANYTHING IS CONFUSING PLS LET ME KNOW #all i mean with the imitation bit is: in the long run it won't do anything for you #it'll just be a cheap imitation of someone else #with no substantial benefits on improving or strengthening your own style #BUT YEAH NOT GONNA RAMBLE IN THE TAGS SINCE I WROTE U A LITERAL ESSAY AHAHA #smut is hard sweetpea just keep practicing <3 #i promise consuming other art will improve ur style in every area/aspect including smut #sending u so so so much love n health!!! #have a fantastic night and pls stay safe <333 #💸.anon #clari gets mail

[tartagilicious]

our future > gavin, mlqc

ok… here comes the actual birthday fic — happy birthday, one of my biggest comfort characters ever <3 I’ve grown to be so attached to him over the time I’ve been playing mlqc, and though I really can’t even put into words how much I love him, he just makes me feel so happy. I truly hope all of us can find someone that makes us feel the way, fictional or real. //w.c 2330 // not a request.

[toothbrush by dnce]

I’ve only ever met one person I would call truly noble. In the glint of his amber eyes, I've seen more kindness and effort for reform than I have in anyone else -- slowly chipping away at the person everyone had expected him to become to reveal the man he had always wanted himself to be.

My sentiment means very little compared to all that Gavin deserves, but, I’m proud of him. I know very little people that could make it out of such a deep hole, littered with familial and personal issues that even I don’t quite understand. And I thank the deities of fate every day for giving him the chances he needed to get through everything unscathed.

I watch my apartment door open to show his face, suddenly contorting in what I’d call a lost kind of surprise at the small group cheering for him -- as if something about a surprise birthday party doesn’t make sense. But it quickly fades to be replaced with a more familiar happiness, soft like in days of the past.

Yet, his smile is the only thing that remains unchanged in my memory. His spirit has since grown stronger, his body firmer, his sense of justice tighter -- but all of it still belongs to the same man that I have always known.

“Boss!”

Kiki had hissed my name thrice before I realised anyone was calling me that day, and as she smiled mischievously, I knew exactly what she was up to. She must have peered over my shoulder and--

“So, about Gavin.” She had pulled over a seat to sit next to me, in which I quickly clicked off the tab I was on and found something more work-appropriate. Party planning could wait until I was off of work, anyway.

Kiki startled me by asking, “It’s his birthday soon, isn’t it?”

Flashes of the tab I had closed out of flooded my memory, and stammering, I nodded.

“Y-yeah, it is. Why?”

“I think we should throw a party for him! Just as thanks for being so helpful with Miracle Finder, y’know?”

I thought for a moment, painfully aware of Kiki’s eager expression in the corner of my eye even as my mind screamed obscenities. The aforementioned plans held a certain weight in my heart, dragging my mind down with everything I'd be unable to do in the scenario of a party. But, in an effort to keep from having to expose those plans, I swallowed my complaints and agreed.

It’s better this way.

I dropped down onto my bed later that same day and groaned into the pillow, my brows furrowing as I cursed my inability to say no. This wasn’t the end of the world, surely it’d still spin regardless of how the day is spent -- granted that the things I planned to say to him that day aren’t pushed back too far.

That form of reassurance immediately failed to wipe the frown off my face.

Rolling over in a huff, I caught a near perfect glimpse of his gift sitting wrapped on my vanity, its bright and slightly messy packaging mocking me almost more than I could take. Oh, what a day to be reminded that what goes around, comes around.

Truthfully, the idea didn’t taste as bitter in my mouth the next morning. That didn’t excuse the nauseating feeling of anxiety it left behind, but it was progress nonetheless. I opted to keep my breakfast down and stow his gift away from my prying eyes.

It was the beginnings of a busy day, starting with countless bullets in my planner being scribbled out to make room for the new circumstances. The only thing that had remained unchanged was the guestlist, comprised of the close staff he was aware of on Miracle Finder and Eli. A part of my eagerness faltered looking at the rest of the blacked out page, but all I could do was hope that during our meeting, Eli, the first invitee, had what it would take to bring my spirits back up.

The bus was mostly empty on such an afternoon -- kids in school and adults at work. Yet, of course, a certain someone still somehow managed to show up.

I was broken out of my thoughts by a tap on my shoulder, the smooth yet irritating voice of its owner letting my heart sink a bit further into my stomach. Begrudgingly, I looked up at Shaw’s expecting eyes and sigh.

“The seat’s open, you don’t have to ask me.”

His similarly amber eyes peered down at me through lilac bangs, but his short observation session ended with a simple shrug. Shaw had very little problem plopping right down next to me as if we’d known each other forever, even adding the polite touch of music blaring from his headphones.

I stared for a moment, but shook off whatever thoughts had begun to creep into my mind and turned my attention back over to the open planner in my lap, the page depressingly blank. I couldn’t focus for what seemed like eons, but I looked up to realise that it may have something to do with the unwavering gaze trained on my face.

“Shaw?” I questioned, unable to keep a small smile from my face as his eyebrows suddenly flicked up. “Is something wrong?”

“Working on the bus? I didn’t take you for such an overachiever.”

I snorted, twirling the pen between my fingers absentmindedly as he took out a single earbud. “I guess a busybody like you wouldn’t know.”

“Care to tell this busybody what you’re up to, then?” He hummed and pointed curiously to the scribbled out block of text with his finger. I could feel the temperature in my face rising with each passing second, yet I tried my best to answer him regardless.

“I-I’m trying to plan for someone’s birthday…” I started, laughing awkwardly as Shaw retracted his hand with a teasing smile. “I just had to scrap some things, that’s the mess.”

“Nice, who’s the lucky guy?”

I’m instantly taken aback. “How would you know if it’s a guy?”

I could tell that my reaction had pleased him, and internally kicked myself when he chuckled.

“Is it going well?”

“...I think so.” I said, unaware that I had said this more to myself than him. “I couldn’t let him down for something so simple, anyway.”

Shaw’s teasing words didn’t come as I expected them, and when I looked up to see his smile, my actions staggered. He seemed suspiciously happy to hear about my lacklustre plans, but I didn’t let that get to me. I had an entire afternoon to worry about before diving into whatever was going on in that man’s head.

Though, at the moment, Shaw isn’t the one that should be capturing my attention.

Gavin stands in the entryway now with Eli and Minor on either side of him, actively being showered with wishes of a good birthday and positive comments alike. The man in the centre of it has a wistful smile curling his lips, growing almost imperceptibly wider as the seconds pass.

Though betraying him are his eyes, openly showing the contentedness that I had been hoping to see. A similar small smile appears on my own lips, yet I fail to recognise that my body’s mechanics are no different from Gavin’s.

At least he’s enjoying this.

I feel guilty and self entitled for even thinking in such a way, especially being the only one that the turn of events has inconvenienced. Everything has a right time, it just seems that tonight just wasn’t mine.

My chest grows hotter instinctively when I notice Gavin break away from the excited pair, as if my irrationality is trying to tell me he knows what I’m thinking. But, through everything, his calm and familiar smile comes to wash over me like a bucket of cold water.

“___~” Gavin drags out my name knowingly, the tips of his ears a buzzing red from all of the interaction. The nature of his smile is similar as he takes me into his arms, only enveloping me fully when I begin to laugh.

And, It may be my delusion, but his grip around me somehow seems a bit tighter than usual.

I settle gratefully into his shoulder as he begins to speak, though truthfully, I can’t bring myself to focus on more than a few words:

“Thank you.”

I feel accomplished to still recognise a similar glow in his eyes around an hour later, curiously following the homemade cake that Minor places down in front of him. The icing looping daintily overtop of it reads as a messy “Happy Birthday!”, and my heart swells when he smiles upon reading it.

Surrounded by the people I care about, my circumstances are momentarily forgotten. It really is the little things that count.

The night from then on goes up in a semi-chaotic flame orchestrated by Minor, who seems very determined to make this a night no one will forget. At one point, he even thrusts a noisemaker into my hands, to which I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of.

People begin to trickle out some time after the clock chimes midnight, passing me their thanks and Gavin a last wish before leaving. The quietness slowly returns to my apartment, but throughout all of this, I can’t help but notice that Gavin makes no attempt to leave with everyone else. It’s subtle, but the way he lingers around everyone tells me enough.

The only thing I don’t quite understand is why.

Then, I remember the gift in my nightstand. It’s been sitting there, alone but not necessarily forgotten, for a few days, abandoned with my original plans. But, if Gavin really does intend to stick around, then maybe I can still make good use of it.

True to expectations, Gavin says goodbye to the last guest while standing by my side. In the next moment, it’s only us left in the silent apartment, held together by nothing but the sounds of our breathing.

“Thank you, ___.” I turn to him when he suddenly speaks, and find myself startled by the gentleness his eyes possess. “Thank you so much for such an amazing day today. I might have said it last year, but I still want to be honest: so many things have happened since then, and it wasn’t until today that I realised that all of the good things that have happened to me, they’re because of you.”

An embarrassed tint bites at my cheeks. It’s not often that Gavin shares his feelings so openly, and I certainly hadn’t expected such an average experience to draw them out.

I smile. “My life changed for the better when you came back into it, this was the least I could do.”

It’s now his turn to grow shy at my words, and I can’t help but giggle.

“Here,” My laughter fades through my words as I wave for him to sit down on the couch. “I have one last thing for you, so just wait there.”

Gavin doesn’t refute like I expect him to, and instead, he does what I say. But, I don’t miss the tenderness in his gaze even as I turn away.

My heart beats in anticipation as I walk down the hall, almost out of my chest by the time I stop in front of the correct drawer. I’ve backed myself so far into a corner that even if I did want to chicken out, there would be no excuse -- so, I take a deep breath and wrap my hand around the small package, letting the scent of paper cajole me.

He’ll like it.

I repeat that sentence like a mantra as I hand it to him, settling beside him as he opens the box. A huge weight in my heart lifts to see the surprise and excitement in his eyes, and I internally sigh with relief.

“Though it doesn’t have a tracker in it or anything...” I trail off with a small laugh, paying homage to Gavin’s small but running white lie. “I still want you to look down at it and know that wherever you are, I’ll always be there for you.”

Gavin holds up the homemade ginkgo bracelet so it catches the light, its appearance reminiscent to the one he had given me when we first met again. Its charm is slightly bigger than mine, and the chain still faintly smells of the store it was bought from, but that doesn’t even seem to phase him.

“Thank you, ___.” His expression is so unguarded that I almost hesitate. “This is the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.”

My face flushes under his compliment, but I quickly pick myself up again and offer to help him put it on. He smiles appreciatively before dropping the small chain bracelet into my palm, holding out his hand.

My embarrassment turns into slight satisfaction when I clasp it around his wrist, my estimation in sizing turning out to be correct. Though, the glint in my eye is long forgotten when Gavin’s hand comes up to rest on the back of my head in a tender gesture.

Heat emanates from where he touches me, so, similarly, I let my fingers over his wrist linger for just a second longer. Painstaking moments pass where neither of us speak, until finally, his hand leads my gaze upwards.

His lips that land on mine remind me of a thousand memories at once.

Gavin tastes of brisk mornings spent in the music room, warm only due to the hot chocolate a curious senior had left for the girl who practiced there every day. He tastes of every compassionate word shared to me, between nights spent dancing in the sky and afternoons around Loveland investigating the truth -- of a unique comfort and familiarity.

It’s in these moments that I realise how much we’ve gone through together, and how much our future truly holds.

#mlqc #mr love queen’s choice #mlqc imagine #mr love queen’s choice imagine #mlqc x reader #mr love queen’s choice x reader #mlqc gavin #mr love queen’s choice gavin #mlqc gavin x reader #mlqc gavin imagine #mr love queen’s choice gavin x reader #mr love queen’s choice gavin imagine #…I forget what I have to tag #otome #恋与制作人 #恋与制作人 白起

[thecleverdame]

Control and Release - 30

Series Masterlist

TEDTalk!Sam x Reader

Summary: After the rest of the staff is caught in a snowstorm, you find yourself acting as a personal assistant to the notorious Sam Winchester. As the arrangement becomes more defined, you and Sam begin a sexual adventure with dangerous consequences.  

Warnings: Dom/Sub, humiliation, embarrassment, sexual objectification, mutual masturbation, spanking, cum play, fingering, anal play, orgasm control, nipple clamps, dub-con, breath play.

Beta: @ilikaicalie

Words:3.1k

Parts 1-36 are currently available on Patreon for a monthly pledge of $2.50. This includes early access to all my stories, including the ABO series Gods of Twilight and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

You blink once..twice...and then your cloudy vision clears and Sam comes into view, hovering above you.

“Welcome back,” he offers, giving your hand a squeeze.

“I passed out, huh?” You try to sit up but your body isn’t ready quite yet.

“Yes. There are usually more warning signs. You went down fast.”

“I hate this.” You close your eyes, a pounding headache whirling to life in the back of your head. “It’s so fucking scary. Every time I’m sure I’m not going to wake up.”

“But you did wake up and I was here with you the whole time,” he explains calmly.

“How long was I out?” You feel around, realizing he’s moved you from the couch to the bed. You’re stark naked and tucked under the sheet.

“Ten minutes, you started to come around once but slipped back under.”

“I’m so sick of this.”

“Maybe this one was my fault. I shouldn’t have put you through all this, not tonight. I know you’re dealing with a lot-”

“It wasn’t the sex.” You shake your head. “I liked that. It’s something else. I know it, I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Well, you need to call your therapist in the morning.” Sam studies you quietly for a moment. “You should be getting better and these incidents are happening faster every time.”

“But fewer and far between.”

“It’s not good enough. If she can’t help you, I’ll find someone who can.”

Rolling onto your side you look at him sitting naked on top of the bedspread. He’s your favorite version of Sam when he’s like this, stripped down to nothing and he’s still so fucking confident in everything he does it makes you wet just to think about it.

“I think I just need time, Sam. It hasn’t been that long, I’ll call her.” You glance at the clock, it’s almost midnight but thankfully tomorrow is Saturday, a well-deserved day off. “Are you working tomorrow?”

“No.” Sam gets up to grab a bottle of water from the minifridge and brings it back to you. “Drink. I had hoped we could go out and see the city. If that’s something you’re interested in and you feel up to it.”

“I would love that,” you smile, wincing as the throbbing intensifies. “I think. As long as my head stops banging.”

Saturday Morning

“You sure you feel okay?”

“Good as new…what is this?” You look at the boxes spread out over the table. There’s so many they’ve overflowed onto the couch, garment bags carefully laid out so as not to wrinkle whatever’s inside. None of this was here when you stepped into the shower and now it’s as if the room exploded. Like he snapped his fingers and a couture fairy appeared.

“Clothing. I ordered you a few things.” He’s toweling his hair dry in the corner as you stand there, hair dripping onto the carpet.

“This is more than a few things.” You tiptoe around the packages, wary of the designer names. One of these boxes is equivalent to your monthly rent, some five times that. You can tell just by the labels.  

“It’s not all clothing. There are a few pairs of shoes, handbags, hats. Anything you might want.”

“Why?” you ask, glancing at your ratty sweatpants hanging from the back of a chair. “Do you not like the way I dress?”

He looks up, thinking about his response before speaking.

“The way you dress is fine.”

“But…” you continue.

“But you’re a beautiful woman and your clothing is...not on par with the rest of you. I thought you might enjoy some new things.”

You can’t help but feel indignant and flattered at the same time.

“So, you don’t like the way I dress.”

His jaw ticks, already losing patience with the conversation.

“No, I don’t.” He pads to the closet pulling a shirt off a hanger. “You can pick out the things you like and I’ll have the rest returned. If you’re upset with me, it can all go back.”

“I didn’t say I was upset with you,” you counter, peeking inside one of the bags. “I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

The truth is you’ve got one look: business wear. In your downtime, you live in jeans and a T-shirt. It’s not that you don’t have an interest in looking more put together, but your salary has never allowed indulgences. Any nice items you own came from second-hand shops. You’re aware the two of you look like a mismatched pair. The thought makes you blush, embarrassed that you’re not living up to his idea of what you should be.

“You liked the suit I bought you.” He shrugs.

“Yes, I love the suit. But it’s worth more than my car. I’m not used to being gifted these kinds of...luxury goods.” You watch as he buttons up his shirt. Even on a day off he’s dressed like he’s got somewhere to be. If you didn’t know him, you’d still know he was someone. He looks important.

“You deserve to look like your worth.” He opens up a small box and pulls out a pair of heels that make your heart flutter.

“How much am I worth?” you ask.

“Oh,” he grins as you slink closer, cozying up to him. “I couldn’t put a price on you.”

“Thank you.” You kiss him softly, watching his eyes fall shut.

After picking out an outfit comprised entirely of Sam’s selections you do feel like a million dollars. You walk a little taller, laugh a bit louder and for the first time you get a true taste of what a life with his resources would feel like. You spend the day eating, shopping, and sightseeing until your feet feel like they’re going to fall off.

Sunday Morning

That morning Sam gets between your legs before the sun comes up. You awake to the feeling of his tongue on your clit. He manages to coax out your first orgasm before you’re fully coherent, leaving you swimming in pleasure as he slides his cock inside.

By the time you roll out of bed you’re ravenous and order half the room service menu. You’re elbow deep in banana pancakes when there’s a knock at the door. Sam answers to an agitated Pepper who slips inside.

“There’s something you need to see.” Pepper glances at you mid-bite, just as you’re shoving an obscene forkful of pancakes into your mouth. She rolls her eyes as you snap your lips shut, watching as she hands an iPad to Sam.

His eyes flit over the screen, glancing up at you for split second.

“What is it?” you garble, chewing as fast as you can.

“This surprises me,” Sam looks at Pepper. “I underestimated the interest in my personal life.”

“It’s different over here, the tabloids look for anything. You’re rich and known for being a bachelor. It’s newsworthy.”

“What is it?” you ask again, standing up and pulling your robe closed across your chest.

Sam wordlessly hands you the iPad as you read the headline scrawled across today’s digital edition of the Daily Mirror:

Love in London? American millionaire Sam Winchester spotted out and about with mystery woman.

It’s accompanied by several photos of you and Sam walking hand in hand, stopping to peer into shops. These photos are from the end of the day. The only saving grace was the whipping wind. You had shoved your hair under the hat he insisted you take along. It kept your locks in check and did an adequate job hiding your face from the photographer.

In the last photo, Sam has his arm around your waist, looking down at you with a sly grin, a moment away from a kiss. There is no denying the nature of your interaction.

“Shit.” You sit back down on the couch, staring at the screen.

“No one knows it’s you,” Sam assures, his tone unreadable as always.

“What?” You look up. “This doesn’t bother you?”

“No, not really.” He shrugs.

“These were private moments.” There’s anger rising and you’re struggling to verbalize exactly why this is so upsetting.

“No one will know that-”

“Oh, I don’t care about that!” you cut him off. “I mean, we’ve gotten ourselves into a place now where people are going to find out eventually, it’s going to be awkward but I’m not worried about it. But someone followed us, Sam. Took photos of us and we didn’t even know it. That’s what scares me. The idea that there are people interested enough in your life to follow you around is...unsettling.”

Pepper is hovering in the background, watching and listening. She’s been privy to the two of you together, but this is by far the most intimate moment she’s witnessed between Sam and, well, anyone.

He’s silent, taking a seat in the chair across from you, tilting his head to the side as if he’s reading your thoughts.

“You knew from the very beginning that this was a possibility. I’ve been boring. I’ve never gotten into trouble, I don’t make a spectacle of myself. But this is..something. People are interested in my life because I have money and they’ll be more interested now that I have you.”

“Is this going to become a regular thing?” you ask, trying to sort through all the possibilities. “I mean, are there going to be people hiding in the bushes when we go to dinner? Will it happen when we go home?”

“I don’t know, but it’s probable.” He shrugs, seemingly unaffected, which only serves to exacerbate how invasive you find the whole thing.

“I don’t know how I feel about this.”

“We should think about making a statement. The longer you stay a “mystery woman” the more interest we’re going to garner. If we get ahead of it, it’s not a thing. We’re in control.”

“No,” you shake your head vehemently. “I will not be bullied into going public. How is that being in control?”

“You really don’t want anyone to know about us, do you?” The words fall out just as even as everything else, his eyes narrowing. He sits back, one leg crossing over the other as his jaw ticks to the side. Sam doesn’t have many tells but this one of them. He’s profoundly bothered by your response.

“That’s not what this is,” you counter, feeling instantly defensive.

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m a spoiled brat. Like you’re the only one with a brain.”

He stares at you, nostrils flaring, fingers curling into the armrest of the chair and then he looks up.

“Pepper, would you give us the room please.”

You completely forgot she was there.

“Of course,” she whispers, scurrying out the door and closing it behind her.

“There, we’re alone now. You can tell me how you really feel.”

“I wasn’t going to let her stop me,” you hiss. “I hate it when you use that condescending voice. You know that bothers me. And you did it in front of her.”

“I’m trying to remain rational and calm. But it seems as if I’ve hit a nerve. While we're on the subject, why don’t you tell me why the idea of you and I being out in the open bothers you so much?”

“It doesn’t,” you snap.

“That’s a lie.” He points at you, thrusting a finger forward. “You’ve been fighting the very idea since we evolved. So tell me, what is that you have to hide?”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“You sure? I get the distinct feeling you’re keeping things from me. A dirty little secret waiting to rise from the ashes.” He’s provoking you now, pushing further than he should and he knows it, but he can’t help himself. “What is it? Some guy you fucked in high school have a polaroid of your pussy?”

“Fuck off!” you yell, pounding your fist on the table. He’s the worst to fight with, he goes from zero to nasty in the blink of an eye. “It’s you, Sam, you are my dirty secret.”

He just stares at you, taken aback by the statement as you fume.

“It’s so complicated, I’m so fucked up I don’t even know where to start.” You kick at the leg of the table in frustration. “I know it’s crazy but I’ve convinced myself that someone is going to know just by looking, all the things I let you do to me. The dirty, nasty things I beg for. And you keep telling people about us without asking me. All I can think is that Toni is in the middle of a meeting picturing me on my knees with a dildo in my ass. Or one of those people from Nick’s party is going to show up and they really know what we’re all about. That stuff is ours, Sam. It’s private and personal and I love how you make me feel but I need that part of our life to stay between us.”

“I already told you, I’ve never told anyone about our dynamic.” His face is hard, emotional armor beginning to build.

“That's not even the half of it.” You sit back, putting your knees up to your chest. “I think about Dean all the time. Every time I’m alone I picture him rounding a corner or showing up at the office. I dream about him. To you, it’s no big deal, but for me, he’s this ever-present threat hovering in the background. You know when the shooting happened, when I first heard the shots, I thought it was Dean, or your dad? And now there are people following us, taking pictures and we had no idea. It would be so easy for your brother to do the same thing. The more we put ourselves out there, the more information they have. You say that there’s nothing to worry about, but I don’t think that’s true. I see first hand every day the damage they did to you.”

You pause to see if he has anything to say, but he just blinks at you.

“And I am nervous about everyone I work with finding out. People will assume I’m fucking you for your money, or for my job. Not that I even care that much about that part of it, that’s the least worrisome part of all this. And, since you brought it up I’m sure there are some pictures of my tits floating around out there. I wasn’t a saint before I met you. I’m a good person but I’ve done some questionable things and being with you means someone will go digging for them. So now I’ve got that anxiety to add to the mix.”

“All of that shit I can get over. It’s not easy by any means but you’re worth it to me. But you really want to know why I’m so gunshy about people finding out about us? I’m afraid you’re going to leave again. You’ll wake up one day, decide you’re bored with me and that will be it. The way you ended things before was devastating and it would be a thousand times worse now. I couldn’t bear losing you and have everyone know about it. I don’t think I could stand that.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you.” He counters, looking genuinely troubled.

“You already did it to me. It was fucking brutal. We didn’t talk, it was just over. You cut me out of your life like I was nothing to you. You were cruel and it took a fucking lunatic pointing a gun at my head to bring you back. You scare me, Sam. And I scare myself because I’m so in love with you.”

He opens his mouth to speak, then stops, rubbing a palm up and down his thigh. His eyes flutter closed for a lingering moment and you can practically see him evaluating and categorizing his thoughts.

“I-” he starts to speak, his voice catching and he clears his throat. “I had no idea you felt this kind of intensity about our situation.”

“Not all the time,” you whisper looking at your knuckles. “I’ve gotten used to this safe little bubble and I’m terrified if we change things, maybe you won’t want this anymore.”

“My feelings for you won’t change.” He sighs, looking up at the ceiling like it’s physically painful for him to expose these kinds of emotions. “I admit I’ve had the same thought, that you will eventually realize that I’m a terrible person and you’ll walk away from me. I’m sorry for what I did to you. I would take it back if I could, but I can’t. All I can do is move forward and show you that I’m committed.”

“I know.” You take a breath, waiting as he gears up for something else.

“As far as Dean goes, maybe he’s not as harmless as I make him out to be. You’re right to be concerned. I’ll figure out how to put more security measures in place. The last thing I want is you to feel unsafe.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“I can’t control what people think of you. I can only tell you that in my experience people assume the worst and enjoy tearing each other down. That is going to happen. There will be some terrible things said and written about you.”

“I don’t need you to control that. I only need you to acknowledge that it’s not going to be easy for me.”

“I understand.” He nods, his eyes never leaving you. “I do love you. I need to say it more.”

“I love you too.” You offer a tired smile, already emotionally exhausted before the day has even begun. “We can’t keep this a secret and I think it would be better for us if we were open.”

“I agree.” He gets up from the chair, sinking down on the couch next to you. “People will start digging. Looking for anything that could be twisted into a scandal. But I have someone who can help. Make sure we know what's out there, look into your past and get things cleaned up.”

“That would be great.” You take his hands, laying your head on his shoulder. “For the record, I’m not going anywhere.”

He gives a stiff smile, still in his head.

“Neither am I.”

#sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction

[kitsoa]

A Case In Stubborn Belief

I don’t feel like I’ve reassessed my theories properly since things started going to hell in khux. The benefit to this torturous slog of releases is it allows me to adjust my mindset and theories in real time so as to have a healthy theorist mindset. In other words I use the time between releases to justify my theories and dig my heels in. Hahaaa-- so like, let me preface this by saying that there is plenty of reason to hold onto seemingly jossed theories and evidence because...

1.) Multiple things can be correct at the same time. 

2.) Red herrings are frequently employed. 

Now. I have, in the past summed up my thoughts in this 3-prong Theory for Khux post which is a little dated but subscribes to three ideas.

The Master of Masters is the Author of Fate

Ava is the Traitor 

Ven harbors a split personality.

And while recent events have definitely had me going to the drawing board. I still kinda believe in all three ideas. Let’s work this out. 

Ven as the Murderer

In my original Split-Personality Theory, I proposed that the Darkness within Ven was suppressed to the point that it gained sentience and acted with a will of its own. As Re:mind supports, Vanitas refers to existing long before their split. 

The primary take away was, regardless of who did the dirty deed of killing Strelitzia, Ventus was innocent because he lacked agency. This is still true. 

Now, it seemed as though this theory was disproven in last months flashback of the murder. Ven is clearly coerced by this physical shadowy Darkness to go to the scene of the crime, from which the Darkness strikes Strel down, orders Ven to pick up the Leader Book aaaand physically takes on the appearance of Ava. 

All interactions with this force suggested that Darkness was an external force simply using Ven as a pawn in the scene. Darkness had to order Ven to pick up the book. Darkness manifested separate to Ven. This isn’t something coming from within Ven, it’s simply grabbing hold of him. 

But then we have to consider the entire context of the scene. Ven was planted in the Leader position by Darkness. Darkness set it up so there was some foundation of legitimacy with Ava being seen with him. It was orchestrated specifically for Ven’s benefit... but to what end? Ven’s a pawn sure, but if the goal is getting a hold of a Union Leader, an external force of Darkness shouldn’t have to go through a very risky murder plot to make room. If the goal is to sow discord among the Leaders then killing someone close and framing one of them is all you need to do. If the goal is BOTH then why Ven? His presumable innocence? Is he just convenient scape goat?

This is where I think this months update comes into play. Darkness, spawns from Ven. Darkness has been hiding inside Ven. Ven is the Trojan Horse. While Ven blames himself for the death of Strel, he asserts that “It’s not me”. Darkness isn’t Ven. But that could be wishful thinking on his part...

That Darkness, no matter how external it behaves, is Ven’s. While not behaving like a split personality in the conventional way, the force is essentially Ven’s darkness given autonomy and sentience while still bound to his heart. That Darkness becomes Vanitas. Same idea different manner of arrival.

Is Darkness Legion?

“You’re finally aware, of us.”

In line with this speculation, this line could be referring to Darkness and Ven in the plural. Vanitas was very fixated on Ven and himself being the same being. I don’t see why Darkness can’t have that same attachment.

But if he’s NOT referring to himself I guess I have to talk about my Author of Fate theory.

This line would then suggest that Darkness is most likely one of those monsters in human form MoM was talking about wayyyy back in Cornerstones of Rebirth. In my Figurative Language post, I use MoM’s potential as a disillusioned author of the entire KH reality as a means to interpret his words more figuratively. 

“Well, if you ask if the darkness they fought was comprised of monsters… maybe so. They looked the same as us, so it’s a bit different from now.”

In my interpretation these beings of Darkness were a summation of the darkness of human nature causing endless conflict. It was MoM’s way of explaining that he is who he is because he’s tired of senseless evil. This is where I think 2 things can be correct at the same time. Darkness can be a manifestation of a pure force of evil similar to the heartless AND be a figurative reflection of MoM’s perspective on humanity. After all, the theory postulates that MoM created everything. It’s a reflection of that “Real Evil” creeping into things.  So is this force which I believe born from Ven a part of some kind of new race of Darkness? Yes and No. Yes because I think MoM’s interpreting a realistic evil through the creatures of the series. Whatever impulses formed Darkness inside Ven, is the same tendencies that MoM witnessed in his youth. No-- because the Darkness by virtue of being in this reality gain a form of autonomy that I don’t think MoM’s story is actually depicting. Literal Monsters in human skin basically detach humanity from the consequences of Evil. And while that’s not the case in reality, Mom’s interpretation paved a way for that to be the case in KH cause he’s the author. 

Got really meta there. In my speculation, MoM is coping with the helplessness of reality. Poor guy. 2020 sucks.

What about Ava?

That’s the question isn’t it? Most of my Ava speculation is based on her behavior leading up to the end of Khx. The suggestions from that line of thought haven’t changed. I mean, nothings really modified the implications of Ava clashing with Luxu and starting the first war. If we take into account that MoM manipulated the Foretellers into their own destruction and Ava potentially discovered this, then her actions would make sense. Even with recent developments we know that Ava took action to defy MoM’s plan by changing who received the BoP. Ava is the Traitor. 

So she is actively trying to circumvent this written fate... and all she succeeded in doing was swapping around a book? Yeah, that’s not enough. 

My original theory speculates that Ava is trying to sabotage the entire Data-Daybreak town because it’s a part of MoM’s plan. And while Luxu’s Secret Report in KH3 has wording that suggest that the Data-Daybreak Town is destined to never have the Keyblade War, meaning that the manner needed to sabotage that is to.... cause the Keyblade War. So the way to ‘save’ her Dandelion’s from being MoM’s play things is to trigger the Keyblade War that they wanted to avoid, all so that she can attempt to remove them from MoM’s clutches (I further speculate this is because she doesn’t understand the extent of MoMs ownership over fate and therefore thinks its possible to defy fate enough to escape him).

So this puts her in the perfect motive to do whatever she can to make sure shit hits the fan and war breaks out. It’s an ironic little reversal cause once again Ava is becoming MoM in order to ‘stop’ MoM and she is really the fool here. This desperation might have her joining forces with some unsavory forces and pushing for some... drastic measures (like permitting murder!). It’s all for the greater good of course and she needs to free them from being in MoM’s creation. 

This is why I still think, Ava is a benefactor/ accomplice to Darkness. I think she ultimately gave it access to the Dandelion ranks and orchestrated a deal that would ensure the escape of some Dandelions (through the Arc business with Maleficent) while also the assured destruction of the Data-Worlds that imprisoned them. This is because of the Darkness’s actions with Maleficent and paving a way out of the Data World which seems counterintuitive to the actions of Darkness through Ven, sowing discord and killing little sisters. Sure there could be more than one with more than one agenda but this can come together if you’re stubborn enough. So yeah. Ava is still in cohorts with Darkness. I really want her to be a well intentioned extremist don’t I? 

---

Anyway. I am not so deluded that I can’t accept my theory being wrong. It’s okay. I’m not like... seriously hung up about it. But, not only do I think these 3 ideas are just insanely compelling, I DO believe that everything is a monthly slow confirmation here. One week seems to destroy an idea and the next resuscitates it. It’s incredible how they don’t just drop every plot twist at once. As someone trying to write a compelling mystery in my KH fic, I am impressed with how this has stretched out over years. 

I’ll let you know when I’ve really given up. Until then, I’ll just start digging my plot on this hill. Read my theory master list while I do that.

#kingdom hearts #khux spoilers #kh specualtion #kh theory #kh meta #khux theory #putting this on my masterlist

[mohdeep237]

I never knew how quickly the world could fall apart, not until today.

“Breaking news, an asteroid bigger than the moon is hurtling towards Earth--”

“Scientist by the name of Andy Stevenson invents first ever human compatible exoskeleton--”

“It is said that the asteroid may contain a certain specimen of bacteria closely resembling the organic structure of a virus--”

“Andy Stevenson has made Earth’s first extraterrestrial defense system comprised of fully automated defense robots--”

“An interview with a local from hometown of famous Andy Stevenson is on now- ‘Them killer bots will end us all! That bastard only wants destruction! Heed my warning! He’s crazy! He’ll kill you and your whole fami-’ Well, that’s, um, not quite what we expected--”

“This just in, the asteroid has hit Earth--First contact in Russi--Earth is on the verge of--How will we surv--”

Chapter 1

It has been five years since the asteroid made contact. We now call that event “The Turn”. The supposed virus that was on the asteroid turned out to be deadly, however, not in a deadly kind of way. Once you get infected, your brain shuts down after a couple days, but you don't die. The virus makes sure you don't die so that it can live inside you. If you happen to come into skin-on-skin contact with one, you’ll be infected immediately, but the effects will still take a couple days to begin. It doesn’t control you or anything, it just makes you stand there in a lifeless state, and those who are infected for long enough start trekking along the land, searching for more bodies to infect. Basically the longer you are infected, the more rabid zombie-like you become. However, if you were to get one’s attention, you’d be attacked on the spot.

As for how the world is doing, I’d say pretty terribly. The UN have decided to make designated “Quarantine Zones”. They’re basically huge cities that are protected by fifty meter concrete walls, and within those walls are defense robots by, you guessed it, the “world famous” Andy Stevenson. Nobody really likes him, in fact, most of us want him dead. There’s concrete evidence of shady dealings and corruption within his company, but they ignore these details and secretly kill anyone who goes against them. How do I know? Because that’s how my parents died three years ago.

My parents had a baby boy when they were in their twenties, which happens to be me. They were really outgoing people and they loved me a lot, as I really loved them. My parents always seemed to be fighting for the right cause wherever they went and I wanted to be just like them. They had been put in life and death situations before and lived to tell the tale, but it seems that their luck had run out this time, and I was there to watch it. Those damn robots, said to be for any “alien activity”, turns out that old man was right, they are for destroying us instead. That madman only cares about his wealth.

As for me, I am now twenty-one years old with semi wavy medium length black hair, dark brown eyes, I am about six feet tall, I have a light beard going on and what young hipsters would call a “killer moustache”. I live alone in a one bedroom apartment in the Vancouver QZ (quarantine zone).

Unfortunately, the only way to make some decent money in this place is to work with the government, either in an office job or on duty as an officer. The job ain’t that bad considering the benefits, but it’s still considered working for that lunatic Stevenson. Most people in the officer position praise Stevenson like he’s their god, but there are a few of us here that really hate his guts. It’s only a matter of time before we make a move.

Chapter 2

I started on my way to check in at work when I was caught off guard by Jimmy, a co-officer of mine. Jimmy has light brown hair that was just about an inch off his head and has bright blue eyes. He’s just a tad bit shorter than me, which I nag him about everytime I start losing an argument to him. “Hey Dean! Over here!” he hollered, as he does every morning at work. I get closer to him, “Would it kill you not to yell every time I get here?”

“Hey man, can’t tell me how to be a friend.”

“Right, whatever you say,” I say, trying to prevent him from being a megaphone any longer. “Hey,” I whisper, “Have you seen Kate by any chance?”

“Man I’m telling you, just give up on her dude. She’s way out of your league.”

“I know, I know, but I can’t help but try. Maybe she’ll give me a chance?”

“That is if you even ask her, chicken”

“Don’t taunt me, it’s not like you’ve got a girlfriend. You’re as much of a loser as I am.”

We begin to enter the check in point which is around fifty feet away. In the slight distance we see a metal fence topped with barbed wire, and within that fence was two gates, one lets vehicles in and out, the other solely for people. We go through the gate and check in to work. As we walk into the waiting area I see, out of the corner of my eye, a stunning woman with silky dark hair, deep brown eyes, and the most gorgeous smile. Kate.

She looks beautiful as always, I think to myself.

Just as we settle in, the general shows up. I would talk to her more often if she didn’t look so scary with that scar across her cheek . “Alright then, let’s make this quick. I haven’t had my coffee and am in the need of some serious rest.” she said firmly, nearly everything she says is said in that “hardcore general” kind of voice, it’s another point that makes her so scary.

The general continued to list names of the people in groups and where they were going out to patrol today. “And finally, Dean Wood, Jim Smith, Kate Williams, you’re patrolling the west in sector A5,” said the general in a gruff voice.

Yes, I get to patrol with Kate! I think to myself.

“Hey, we get to patrol together!” Jimmy says, practically screaming in my ear.

“Yeah, woohoo.” I reply, almost too sarcastically. Kate walks over.

“Looks I’m with you guys,” she says in that sweet angelic voice.

“Yeah, glad to patrol with you again” I say.

Me and Kate have spoken to each other quite often, especially while being in the same patrol group, but there’s never really been anything special between us.

“Well let’s get going,” Jimmy says as he nudges us towards the supply unit.

We each put on light, but highly protective, metal gear and hook up high tech exoskeletons which enhance our every action that are made by, the one and only, Andy Stevenson. As much as I hate to admit it, he does make some quality combat gear, plus he does fund the military so I guess I should expect us to be able to use such powerful technology. We also take a couple weapons and ammo with us to ward off or just eliminate any infected we might see along the way. I grab my usual shotgun, long-range rifle (basically a sniper but they won't count it as one), and my trusty revolver. They don't understand why I take the revolver instead of the regular pistol that can shoot more at a time and more quickly at that, but I've always had a special connection to it. My father used to teach me how to use it and it just seemed so cool to me so maybe that’s why. Once we finish gearing up, we head to one of the jeeps and climb in. Sector A5 is about fifteen minutes away, but with Kate here too it’ll feel like just a few for me.

We arrive at the patrol area in just short of the time we would normally. Maybe it’s because of the complete lack of traffic and road laws during the apocalypse. I’ve been in this area once before, there are plazas filled with stores on all sides of an intersection. Just means more places for the infected to be lurking. We get off the jeep and start the patrol. All three of us walk together making sure that we are covering each other's backs. One usually doesn’t see many infected while on patrol, maybe three or four. The highest I’ve seen on patrol is eight. They aren’t too hard to kill, given that you can shoot quite well and can aim for the head, but the more there are the more dangerous the situation becomes. That’s why we go in groups of three, for complete safety.

We start checking inside buildings to make sure none are hidden.

“Let’s split up, it’ll make this much faster,” Jimmy proposes.

“What about the ‘safety in numbers’ thing?” I ask concerningly.

“Yeah, shouldn’t we just stick together and stay safe?” said Kate.

Yes! Kate agreed with me!

“We haven’t seen one infected this whole time, plus it means we can go home sooner,” Jimmy argued, and to be honest, it was a good argument. I did want to go back. The sooner we got back in the jeep, the sooner I could focus on Kate’s beauty.

“Fine, but don’t take too long. And if something happens shoot a flare into the sky. Make sure the flare is red.” I say. We all agree and go off to patrol alone.

I head to a supermarket because I feel it would take the most time. I head inside and start looking around. It’s solely lit by the sunlight outside which gives it a dark, ominous look inside. Nearly all the shelves are empty.

I guess people were getting desperate to survive huh.

As I walk further in, I start hearing some kind of deep noise. The noise grows louder and louder as I go more and more into the supermarket. I turn the corner into a big open area and I see tens, no, hundreds of infected just standing there.

Where did they all come from?

I instinctively take a step back, but my foot knocks over an empty can. It clangs as it hits the ground. One of the turns and looks up at me. I panic and fire a flare into the glass ceiling and start to run. The infected don’t take long to realize I'm there and start to chase me. I rush for the exit and I see Kate at the entrance.

“Hey, are you done in there?” she asks.

“Run!” I yell, “Go, go! Run for it Kate! Too many infected!”

She didn’t seem to understand until she saw the massive crowd of infected chasing after me. She bolted right away and yelled for Jimmy to start the jeep. Jimmy quickly understood and put the jeep in gear. Kate got in and looked at me.

“Come on Dean! Let’s get out of here!” She yells.

“By the time he gets here we’ll be overrun by infected,” Jimmy says.

“We can’t just leave him there.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll start driving just fast enough so he can catch up and we can make it out of here alive.”

“As long as we get Dean.”

They start driving onto the road while I’m running as fast as I can to make it in time.

I have to make it. If I don’t they’ll have to drive off leaving me to…

No, that won’t happen. I will make it.

I desperately try to run and make it to the jeep.

I just need to get close enough for someone to pull me onto the jeep.

The hoard of infected just keeps getting closer and closer, louder and louder.

The jeep is starting to pick up the pace. I need to hurry if I want to make it back alive and well.

“Dean! Grab my hand!” Kate yells as she reaches out to me. “Hurry Dean! There’s a tight corner we have to turn in fifty meters, if you don’t catch up you won’t make it!”

I try to be faster, faster than I’ve ever been. My legs are starting to get tired. My heart is beating rapidly. I’m slowly running out of breath. I run and I run, trying to get just close enough for Kate to reach my hand. I’ve always wanted to hold her hand, but I never considered it to be like this.

I reach out my hand and desperately try to grab Kate’s. I can start to feel the infected trying to grasp me as well, I even hear their hands slipping off of the armor that I’m wearing.

“Jump Dean!” Kate cries. I desperately try to get my tired legs off the ground as one last ditch attempt to save myself now.

Then the jeep turns the corner.

Chapter 3

#story ideas #apocalypse #action #adventure

[kenkamishiro]

Ishida Sui’s Review of 2019

I didn’t think I’d ever finish this with my onslaught of classes including pharmacology, but I somehow managed! 6k word count, the longest TL I’ve done to date besides Parvati’s interlude for FGO. Lots of insight into Jack Jeanne’s production and what Ishida’s been up to for the past year. It was tough to translate because it was so long, but I had a lot of fun.

Let me know if there are any mistakes, I’m sure there’s a whole bunch. Have fun reading!

Original can be found here.

＊＊＊

2019. I’m reflecting on this past year while flipping through my agenda. Since I’m writing this for my sake, there’s going to be a lot of sections without much explanation.

January

○ This was when Jack Jeanne had yet to be announced, so I was mostly doing preliminary work at the time. Stuff like “BU” and “character facial expressions” will be finished some time this month, is written in my schedule book.

○ New Year’s party in Tokyo from the 16th - 19th. The New Year’s party is a joint party that’s comprised of the 4th editorial department (Shueisha’s seinen magazine branch) that’s held every year in January. I attended the party with the staff every year during serialization, minus my first year.

2019 will be the first New Year’s party since the series ended, but I thought I should stop inviting the staff to attend since we’re not working together anymore (plus it’d be a hassle), so I didn’t really invite anyone. But the day before the event, Editor M brought up the topic inside the taxi and asked, “Are none of the staff coming this year?” (Even if they’re invited now, it’s going to be impossible, asking them to fly the next day and causing a ruckus…) When I replied, “Hey, I’m sure it’d be fun if you invited them and they all came~”, the editor contacted Goubaru-kun, and after said, “He said he’s going.” Guess he wasn’t busy. In the end, the staff during serialization and several people from OB and OG came, almost identical to the lineup from previous years, and it occurred to me that maybe I should have just invited them from the start.

Anyway, at this year’s New Year’s party, I don’t really remember much of what happened. I talked with my senpais from back when I was an assistant for Kingdom, and outside the venue I sobered up from the agoraphobic dizziness I was feeling inside. At the second party I remember people talking to me haphazardly and being photographed. I wish I’d refused. Also, I was sexually harassed by Rikudou Matsubara, my senpai from the same region as me. This New Year’s party will be my last.

February

Briefing session for the game held in Tokyo. Key visual created. It says here [on the agenda] that I want to go to Kagoshima. Every week there’s a checklist for 10 km of jogging and weight training 2-3 times a week. I spent about a week doing some composition work. It ended up being helpful for me, but it made me decide not to work anymore with people with different levels of interest from me.

○ TRPG is written for the 28th. Usually we use the DX (Double Cross) system, but this time one of our participating players, M’s schedule was under mysterious attack. As game master, taking consideration of everyone who’d made time in their schedules for tonight, I thought we could switch to Cthulhu and asked them to wait an hour. 2 hours later I finished coming up with a scenario and began the session. It was fairly fun.

March

Finish BU this month, is clearly noted down. BU stands for bust-up, which are drawings of characters in standing poses [sprites] that are common in ADV games. Normally, since it takes a huge amount of work, the BU work is always divided up. The original drawings are done by the illustrator, in this case I do the base illustrations (line drawing & colouring), and using them as the base, the department sharing the work cleans up the line drawings and recolours it...that’s how the process goes. But since I’m a mangaka and don’t have the technology needed to make gaming assets, I thought it’d be best to leave it to the pros in that field, so that was how that stage proceeded. At that point in time at least.

I also had plans written down to go to Kagoshima. Looks like I didn’t go.

○ TRPG on the 25th. Player M’s schedule lined up with ours, so we played DX with 6 PL plus me as GM. We went to the aquarium, were attacked by witches, and so on.

April

Finish BU, is faintly written down. It seems like the work was more or less completed earlier this month.

○ High school friend K’s wedding on the 6th. Up until then I’d only been to two other wedding receptions. The weddings were for a different friend from high school, and Tajika-san, one of my senpais from Kingdom. This suddenly reminds me of that time at Tajika-san’s reception, when I took a super early flight because I absolutely didn’t want to be late whatsoever, but I ended up not being able to fly for about an hour and a half because of engine trouble or whatever, so I entered at almost the same time as the bride and groom during the reception…

K’s wedding was the first time in my life where I was present all the way from the wedding to the reception, but how should I put it, I was struck by a beam of light. I don’t know who he’s getting married to, I have no clue what their relationship is like. But I was somehow bombarded...by all these thoughts that became jumbled in my head, like the energy in this place, the power of their oaths, questioning what it was, how light isn’t always justice.

I got the feeling that this was what proper, respectable humans take part in, but since I'm fine with not being a proper, respectable human, I decided to not do anything other than what my heart desires.

I'm definitely not good with places where I’m in the spotlight. But congratulations.

○ “Play Sekiro” is strongly noted down. Thank you for supporting me in the first half of 2019.

○ TRPG for the 29th - 30th. DX. Player M’s character dies.

May - June

My schedule book is starting to look more scattered now. On the other hand, since I’ve got a good memory of this time, I can write while recalling the events.

○ I did the covers for the Touken stage play book.

I drew the cover illustrations for the Touken [Ranbu] stage play that Mikasano-san, who I’m grateful to for his work on the anime and movie scripts for TG, worked on. In my mind, it feels like I'm watching the back of who I'd consider my older brother in the creative world, or a fellow comrade on another battlefield fighting to the death. I think it came out quite charmingly, so I’ll include the links for now. Link 1 | Link 2 | Link 3

During this time of work for Jack Jeanne, I was working on “model sheets”. Blueprints for the characters’ attire, not just from the front but also the internal structure.

Unlike most other games, Jack Jeanne has “performance costumes” in addition to normal attire. Because of its “revue” theme, costumes that will be worn onstage needed to be prepared. I was shocked when I suddenly admitted that I needed model sheets for 5 different performances (spring, summer, fall, winter, final) for the 6 main characters, making 30 designs in total.

Back in the TG era, these kind of drawings that I just explained, or drawings that needed a lot of layers, were a pain in the ass. Plus I wasn’t good at them, so I thought that I didn’t want to do it for the rest of my life if possible. But it seems like I have to do this myself. With a sense of determination, I decided to work solely on this for all of May. At the same time, I made nothing but curry for all my meals. There’s no deep reason behind it, but my aim was to kinda boost my ability to concentrate daily by choosing to be decisive in that action.

○ Working on model sheets It came with an unintended effect. Because I spent a month on work that required balance and consistency, my right-left checking skills got better, and completely unrelated, I improved in drawing perfect copies. The design work for the model sheets itself became really fun to do, starting around when I became obsessed with the scarf design (sumo wrestler drawing) I definitely couldn’t use for Neji’s summer costume. I discovered that it’s precisely because I’m not good at this that my labour bore fruit. I feel like this was my experience for the latter half of the year.

July

The cast members were chosen. Unlike TG, there are 6 people + 1 person who can be referred to as the main character, so it was interesting to have a cast with some breadth.

Seems like lyrical work was the main thing I worked on.

Lyrical work. In Jack Jeanne, each performance contains several songs to sing and dance to, so each one is supposed to be sung. ...hence the lyrics.

The topic of what to do with the lyrics was brought up in November 2018. What happens typically is that, let’s say there’s singing in an idol game, then a company that specializes in it is asked to produce the songs. Even for Jack Jeanne, there were several candidates I could pick and choose from. But after a quick look-through, frankly speaking, they all looked the same to me. There’s one person that’s good, it’d be great if we could get them...is what I thought, but, “Even though I don’t have the skills, I’m the one who understands this world the best,” crossed my mind. ...should I try? I tried it. To be honest, I was super embarrassed since it’d be seen by a lot of people, but it evolved into, “Who cares if you’re doing it?” And so Jack Jeanne’s lyrics were tasked to me.

I mentioned this earlier, but there are multiple songs for each performance. So if you combine those plus the opening and ending songs, that makes 17 songs in total. Lyrics for 17 songs that I’m fully responsible for. What the hell...am I doing? Maybe it was from that moment that I started losing it.

Including the lyrics that I’d been working on bit by bit every month, the remaining ones were finished in one go this July. By the time I finished everything, my current state was, “Give me more songs...let me write more lyrics!” But it wasn’t over just yet.

August

Every time I meet someone I tell this story. I’m thinking of keeping it up. Here I am, relieved to have finished the lyrics, when a message pops up on the Skype group chat. It’s from Yamashita Daisuke of Broccoli.

To briefly touch upon Yamashita Daisuke, he is a young man who’s been involved with this project since October of 2018, and a poor soul who was tasked with conducting very important meetings on his third day of working at the company.

The producer from Broccoli was going on maternity leave, so he was scouted as her replacement. As an aside, if I have to be honest, the exchanges between me and Towada-san, and Broccoli’s Jack Jeanne team up until then were quite frustrating. “How about doing it like this?” they would counter. And we’d respond with something like, “This part is going to be developed later on, and since this will become foreshadowing for the entirety of the story, it can’t be modified that easily.” This kind of situation, having to explain everything in detail one by one, going 3 steps forward and being held 2 steps back, had been going on for about 3 years, so the two of us would often whine about it over drinks, going, “When should we quit, this is ridiculous,” etc.

Finally when things began going more smoothly, the producer who was leading the project took her leave, so I wondered if we’d be able to get along with Yamashita Daisuke, but he was, how should I put it, very diligent. For the last year I've been working with people who don’t put in their best effort, so I was very hopeful and thankful to him.

But I digress. This was the gist of the message that Daisuke sent.

“Kosemura-san’s who’s in charge of musical composition wants ‘scratch vocal tracks’ for when the singers are recording.” “Does Ishida-sensei happen to know anyone he could ask for this favour?” “I’m sure it won’t be a problem for you!” “Frankly speaking, it’s okay even if they’re bad.”

Huh. Well, as you might have already guessed, even with the lyrics, it’s impossible to really understand the song at first sight without knowing what kind of rhythm, what kind of emotions are being expressed in the bar measure. Of course we’d need ‘scratch vocal tracks’ to explain the general feeling of the song.

Now, what Daisuke said was, “Do you have anyone you can ask? It’s okay even if they’re bad. Or even you can do it.” But if I found a “it’s okay even if they’re bad” kind of person, we’d still have to show them how to sing it and explain how the rhythm goes. Daisuke already knew which was probably why he asked for the favour. “The person writing the lyrics would be able to make the scratch vocal tracks the fastest.” ...come to think of it, the demo songs that Kunimitsu sent me every time that were sung using Vocaloid, weren’t they also scratch vocal tracks?

Daisuke must have been in a pinch trying to figure out how he should ask me candidly. Ishida-sensei, I couldn’t just ask you to sing it, so I had to ask in a roundabout manner.

I’d already given my answer, but I was still hesitant. It’s true that after I finished writing the lyrics for the 17 songs I’d already lost sight of myself, but if I sang, my singing would reach Broccoli and Kosemura-san’s team’s ears. But I couldn’t just leave poor Daisuke hanging.

So I consult Towada-shi, whom I’d been collaborating with in creating the scripts for Jack Jeanne, for advice. (He had been in charge of TG’s novels, and I’ve known him for a long time.) “Did you check Skype?” “I did.” “What do you think?” “Start by looking up scratch vocal tracks,” so we paid a visit to YouTube. The first search result that came up for ‘scratch vocal track’ was a video of a vocalist who was used to sing a scratch track for AKB or something. I see, so that’s what it looks like. Innocuous, but I could see it was very professionally done.

And the second result that came up was Tsunku♂-shi. The figure of Tsunku♂-shi himself recording a scratch track for his idols. The producer himself became an idol, and was singing really cutely, in his emotions and how he sang it. “This is it?” I said. “Yeah, it is,” Towada-shi agreed. If Kosemura-san and his team, and the people who will be performing the songs have to listen to it, it’d be a disservice to them to half-ass it. I don’t like people who don’t try their best. That means I have to show that attitude myself. Let’s come out of my shell for poor Daisuke as well.

“You’re gonna become Tsunku♂.” “Yeah...I’m gonna be Tsunku♂!” And that was how I became Tsunku♂.

I replied to Daisuke on the Skype group chat. “Understood, I’ll do what I can.”

So this guy, who doesn’t even know what the ‘D’ in DTM stands for, first downloads the software, and begins setting up a recording environment. Other work is pushed aside. I set 3 days to work on this.

I timidly begin working on the scratch tracks. From the perspective of someone who doesn’t have to listen to their singing for a living, it starts out as a living hell, but you get used to it as you listen to it over and over.

And so I kept learning new things. I noticed I was harmonizing with myself.

Just like Tsunku♂-shi, I’d change the voice for each character. If it was Jack (male in a male role) I’d sing like a man, and if it was Jeanne (male in a female role), then like a woman, while the main character Kisa (female) should sound cute... No, Kisa needs to be cuter! I re-recorded her part many times. Depending on the song, I’d sing for 7 people. I was Jack Jeanne now.

Tsunku♂ (I) recorded 17 songs in 3 days, and sent the data first to Towada-shi. Since I was now Tsunku♂, I no longer felt any sense of embarrassment.

“I listened to it,” the reply came, and I called him. Towada-shi was roaring with laughter. I regained the embarrassment I’d forgotten.

“Oh no, I was laughing ‘cause I was impressed,” he said, but my heart was already as fragile as that of an abandoned dog.

“Even this is a big help to Kosemura-san, and Daisuke should be grateful, right?” Yeah. Although Towada-shi guffawed at me, Daisuke will surely thank me. And then he’ll definitely tell me what a good job I did!

I dumped the music into the Skype group chat. “I did what I could,” I added.

How will Daisuke react to my Tsunku♂? I waited restlessly. Three days later on August 5th, a formal message arrived after it was received.

“Thank you very much. We will schedule a meeting with Kosemura-san…”

I couldn’t believe my eyes. My hard work got dismissed with, “Thank you very much.”

Daisuke, why? I thought you were in a pinch, so I...were...were you fooling with me from the start? Answer me! Daisuke! Just tell me I did a good job, or follow up with something, I’m fine with anything! So much for my heart being like an abandoned dog, it’s more like a grown-ass man left naked on a snowy mountain. I did what I could! This feeling was welling up inside me, but was it myself that managed to do it?

○ Later, at a meeting with Kosemura-san “It’s great that you could do this much for us. You didn’t have to do all that.” With the gist of those words, a warm blanket was finally placed over my heart, which had almost frozen to death.

“I didn’t know how to respond. I wasn’t sure if Sensei was the most who did it in the first place,” Daisuke said, so I decided to satisfy myself by threatening, “I’m gonna tell this story until the day I die.”

September

○ Responses to the Questions to Ishida Sui contest We did a “Ask anything to Ishida Sui” contest as a project for the art book “zakki:re”, where purchasers could apply with a postcard. I was writing the replies for them.

I thought there’d be a lot more questions about TG or its contents, but surprisingly there were a lot of questions asking for life advice. There were quite a few questions that I had to seriously think about to answer.

It was kinda tough since there were over a hundred of them, but I thought it’d be nice to get in touch like this every once in a while.

○ BU work for Jack Jeanne Once the music-related tasks like lyrical composition and scratch vocal tracks were completed, I worked on BU. ...BU work? Wasn’t it finished back in April?

Well, a similar situation arose just like what happened with the lyrics. Regarding sprite quality I might not be able to beat the pros, but since I’m the one who best understands how the characters look best and their body balance, I had decided to do all the line drawing colouring myself in June. I had no clue whether I’d make the deadline or maintain the quality, but thanks to Broccoli’s understanding, I was allowed to make it myself.

I realized once again that I’m terrible at splitting up work. If I can do it by myself, I will.

Plus, it’s, how should I put it, starting from my TG days, even though it wasn’t a lot I got to see various types of workplaces. I’d see places where there was no sense of responsibility whatsoever, or the work may have been divvied up appropriately, but it felt like they were making something without a sense of purpose, like a main plot line that isn’t going anywhere.

It’s impossible to accomplish big things with that kind of stance, and I understand that the more people that intervene, the more uncertain the core becomes, so I didn’t like that kind of approach. It makes me wonder whether there’s any meaning in creating a work that’s conservative and unchallenged, and if it’s nothing more than a money grab.

Since I don’t have any desire for material things, getting fed up about it is useless, but I just can’t help thinking about it.

Of course, it may be difficult to get what I want 100% of the time, but I want to create things in an environment that I think is beautiful, even in places that I’m slightly involved in.

...in other words, BU work is tough, but I began remaking the sprites once again by myself. This was the toughest work I’ve ever done out of everything, including the serialization...

○ Scratch vocals training camp at the end of September I went to the recording for the scratch vocal tracks. Based on the scratch tracks that I made, we got professional vocalists to sing it again properly. This is what the actual cast would use as a reference to sing. (So my version was like the pre-scratch vocal track.)

I was stuck in Tokyo for almost a week. Wake up, get ready, go to the recording studio. Come back at 8 or 9 pm, rest and sleep, repeat.

It was like I was back in school, and since I don’t have a steady lifestyle, I enjoyed it.

Kosemura-san’s team is really great, and I know I mentioned this before, but I felt like their workplace was a very healthy production site. When I was drawing manga, I never had much time to talk with fellow manga artists, and I’ve never had the chance to experience what other professionals’ workplaces were like, so it was very exciting for me to see people as professionals tackle one thing seriously. The vocalists were as amazing as I expected, and although my scratch tracks were played at a loud volume to annoy me, I had a great time.

The game might have a high level of entry, but it’s worth listening to just for the songs, is what I truly thought.

○ Parting words to Editor M-shi This might have been back in August, but from 2018 to 2019 I had a lot of things on my mind, so I began talking to the editor.

In between the 11 years of serialization starting from my rookie days, I’d received guidance from him so it wasn’t easy, but I expressed to him that we should keep our distance for any future works.

“I want to become absorbed in myself, not to Ishida Sui or Tokyo Ghoul,” I told him. The other part said he also felt the same way, and accepted it. The next time we meet, I hope we can talk about what we’re into, what we’re going crazy over, he said.

And so, 2 months after that conversation was the scratch vocals training camp in Tokyo, and I had the chance for the two of us to talk again. That day I was completely tuckered out from recording the scratch track, but it was a day filled with accomplishments.

He took me to a restaurant with delicious food in Ebisu or somewhere, and after concluding our brief business meeting, I tried throwing out the cliched, “So, what are you up to lately?” As the lead writer, there was a part of me that was curious about how he was doing after that talk we had.

The editor began talking about homemade curry.

...that’s what he’s into? I decide everything from selecting and picking the ingredients myself, and next time I want Ishida-kun to also see how delicious the curry is...he told me passionately, but how should I put it, the conversation wasn’t very spicy.

The food was delicious.

October

○ BU work

What’s hard about BU work is that it’s difficult to separate the layers according to the face, hair and clothes, and they all have to have the same style and touch to it. If it was manga, then maybe...no, even in manga, there’s still some need to match the outfits, but it doesn’t really matter to that extent.

It’s because I don’t like game sprites. “This character has so much energy from their sideways pose! Amazing!” This never happens…

Around this time of the year, my older sister called this elaborate task, “the task you’re probably the worst at.”

○ The bean life I’m not really fat in particular, but I made up my mind to try dieting. At the time, my body fat percentage was at 18%, and I’ve never been below 10% ever in my entire life, so I’m thinking of aiming for that. Instead of eating rice with unseasoned chickpeas and black soybeans, I began my lifestyle of consuming vegetables and cuts of meat with less fat. Hopefully I can achieve my goal in about six months’ time.

○ Ano-chan, Honda Keisuke, and I After Ano-chan left “You’ll Melt More!”, her official Twitter account removed every single account she was following, but for some reason only two people remained. Those two people were Honda Keisuke and Ishida Sui. To Ano-chan, Honda Keisuke and Ishida Sui belonged in the same category. After some time passed, even we were removed, but I consider this one of my hottest mysteries of 2019. Ano-chan! I’ll always be waiting, so let’s have tea some time with Honda Keisuke!

November

○ BU Need I say more.

○ Main cast’s first recording session from the 26th - 27th.

I visited Tokyo with Towada-shi to supervise the main cast members’ recording session. Wow, everyone was so amazing~

Of course, not just the main characters. Terasaki Yuka-san who plays the main character, Tachibana Kisa, was wonderful as well.

In this kind of game genre, the position as the main character feels less important than the male characters, but I want her to stand firmly in this story’s script. I thought it’d be nice to have the main character not stand out too much and have her watch over the male characters, and I felt that Terasaki-san’s voice and acting fit that image perfectly.

About the cast members, it seems like there’ll be a chance to speak to them eventually, so I’ll come back again.

○ 1 month into the bean life I’m steadily losing weight. Basically I always work from home. I go to the gym and supermarket 2-3 times a week. I started cooking for myself. I got a brand new refrigerator to replace the one that suddenly broke. It actually cools things down now. Living standards have risen.

December

○ I break off ties with M who I played TRPG together with. He was a former classmate who was even chief assistant at some point during the series’ run, but eventually he ended up getting fired due to falling asleep at work. He said he’d attend the last session for the story that day (although his own character had already died), and I was working on a schedule to accommodate him, but once again he cancelled at the last minute.

It’s fine to cause trouble for me (although I’ll probably get pissed), but I can’t overlook treating others the same way. And it’s not the fact that his schedule didn’t match up, it’s because he was complete trash who didn’t know how to behave like an adult once he made plans with others, that I felt sorry for the other TRPG people who took time out of their schedules. Since I felt ashamed when I was together with him, I decided I’d had enough.

This was a year where I cut ties with a lot of people, but I think what they had in common was that I was ashamed to be with them. From now on, I don’t want to associate with such people.

What’s more, when I finally told him, he didn’t even try to deal with it and just gave up, responding, “So that’s how you felt about me. Okay. My bad.”

I won’t go anywhere with those kind of people again.

○ The bean life ⇒ the potato life. I changed it to potatoes.

○ BU is over...

On December 17th, I finally finished the BU work that I spent ageeeeeeeees on.

Although I said that serialization is tough, as long as I finished 18 pages a week that was it (although there were times where I was chasing myself with other work), so I could finish it as long as I didn’t sleep. I somehow managed to finish both the manuscripts and the colour illustrations this way, so expecting BU to be similar, I wasn’t really scared about it never ending, but BU truly was despair. When is this gonna end? I’m even working super hard… This is how it went on the entire time for over a month.

There were about 200 different sprites I had to make myself, including the different costumes and poses, and I had to do all of them.

For one thing, when, “This process is necessary,” came out, I had to go through the same process roughly 200 times, that it felt like I was facing the final boss who already transformed many times. Also, it’s like not equipping myself with a lot of equipment and recovery items in the previous town, but the dungeon I somehow managed to enter is extremely dangerous and even though there’s no safe points anywhere in sight, the boss suddenly comes up behind you, and you go I’m gonna die I’m gonna die

○ If you eat a lot while you’re losing weight, you’re going to have a bad time.

On December 15th I had trouble concentrating, so I tidied up the living room, created a space in the middle of the room, and darkened the lights. After an hour of meditating, only the sound of my breathing could be heard in the room, and so I went back to work with renewed concentration after confronting the issue (like a monk?).

On December 16th, I’ve been working the entire time since morning. I thought today was going to be the last day, but an entire day has passed and I don’t have any energy...

I’ll buy a midnight snack, replenish my energy, and end it once and for all. I’m trying to lose weight, but I went to the convenience store while thinking about how I’m gonna eat a katsu sandwich (I didn’t have the energy to cook).

While looking for something at a convenience store I can eat during weight loss, I think back over the last few months.

Like how it seems like BU is finally over, how a lot of things have happened, how I’m working hard, how lately I’ve been eating only potatoes, vegetables and meat.

And then I suddenly thought, “I wonder if the reason I don’t have any energy is because I haven’t had any rice lately.”

...I thought I should go on a diet in October, so I’ve been living a very modest life since then. Thanks to that, my weight has steadily decreased, and my body fat percentage has gone down 3% to 15%. What will happen if I continue with my relatively strict dietary restrictions during this difficult time?

...even if you’re losing weight, there’s a technique you can set up to binge eat during periods where weight loss stagnates, called cheat day (though results may vary), but what is it that makes no-cheating so inefficient even for weight loss?

...should I have a cheat day today?

“Huh, is it really okay?” I asked my mind. “Do it!” was the answer I got. From that moment, everything around me morphed into things I could eat.

No exaggeration, my knees trembled.

I crammed into my shopping basket carbohydrates, carbs, more carbs… It’s okay just for today, I say as I shove cream puffs, dorayaki, pudding, Family Mart chicken and ice cream. (Even if it's a cheat day, it’s probably not a good idea to take non-nutritional foods, but shh.)

With food in both hands and in high spirits, the first thing I ate was the delicious part of the Family Mart chicken.

I groaned loudly, all alone in the room.

Alright, let’s finish this work! I was energized, but my blood sugar levels spiked so much that I felt extremely sleepy and went to bed instead.

The next day on the 17th, I wake up at 4 am and immediately notice something unusual. My body is burning. I’m sweating.

I immediately wake up, and overflowing with energy, I head for my desk. I’m working actively, and I finish the BU work. It felt like I was pushing forward with only positive energy, feeling uplifted.

I break out a laugh at a slight joke I found funny from a foreign drama (The Mentalist) I’m playing while working. The greenery of the plants and the lighted sink glisten, and the scenery is vivid.

What is this?

I suddenly recall the story of a YouTuber I saw recently. He lives in a region where medical marijuana is legalized, and he explained in detail what changes would occur if you smoked cannabis.

To put it roughly, you feel calm and your senses sharpen. Trivial things can become funny, and funny videos can make you roar with laughter.

Then maybe...I thought, I'll watch Nagareboshi (a comedy duo) on YouTube. Usually I go, haha, that's funny! But that day I exploded with laughter...all of their videos were just too funny.

I learned that when you’re losing weight and suddenly eat a lot, it alters your mind and body as if you smoked cannabis. (※ Just to be clear, I don’t know what cannabis is like.)

Thus the BU work ended with me being high as a kite.

(※ I’m covering it with mosaics for now. I’ll remove it once I can announce it.)

○ I stopped playing TRPGs. I’ve been doing it for about two and a half years, but it also helped me in honing my creative skills. I’d sometimes perform, so it was useful when I was recording the scratch vocals… It was a good experience, managing to vicariously live the energy of ending a story. It was a story about a group of friends, so it was easy to appreciate.

Summing up 2019

After the weekly series finished in 2018, I was in a daze for a few months, but in 2019 I worked only on Jack Jeanne for the year.

This year I tried various things, and trite as it may seem, felt the possibilities within myself expanding. I had many opportunities to realize how important it is to keep a distance from bad things that don’t do anything for me.

During my work on Jack Jeanne, I vaguely thought about my future creations. The work I’m doing now in game production is fun so I wonder if I can keep working in this field, but I’d also like an environment where I can release things more constantly.

I can’t promise anything specific, but I’m going to work on things that I want to do.

I look forward to what 2020 has to offer. Have a happy New Year.

2019.12.31 Ishida Sui

#Jack Jeanne #Ishida Sui #Translations #my translations #time to hibernate

[fleckcmscott]

Watch What Happens - Chapter 11

Chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Summary: Arthur, an aspiring comedian, has struggled to find normalcy and compassion his entire life. Y/N, a hard-working paralegal and transplant to Gotham, has just been put on a case for the Wayne Foundation. When they meet, unexpected sparks fly.

Chapter warning: Smut, Swearing

Words: 4,326

A/N: Special thanks to @rommies​ for beta-ing this!

It had been hard to keep their hands off each other after leaving Kao-Wah. (Especially on the train - those nine stops had comprised the longest ride of his life.) When they’d gotten into Y/N’s building, she seemed to stop trying all together. In the semi-privacy of the elevator, Arthur returned her attentions eagerly, grasping at her sides and hips. At this point, those parts of her were familiar, and he could touch them with some confidence. When the elevator came to a stop, she laughed, grabbed his hand, and led him down the hallway towards her apartment.

Once inside, she closed the door, locked it, and shrugged out of her coat. She pulled him to her, then, and put her arms around his shoulders, boosting herself up on her toes to kiss him fully. Bracing himself against the wall with his right hand, he angled his head, trying to imitate the movements her mouth made.

He thought he’d gotten pretty good at kissing, but now he felt clumsy, trying to keep up. She’s really in a hurry. As much as he loved her ardor, he was taken aback by it. And intimidated. When the tip of her tongue pressed at his lips, he opened them slightly to allow her access. A groan rose from his chest when she traced the inside of his mouth. Cautiously, he put a hand to the back of her head, holding her while trying to gain some control.

She wiggled out of his grasp. “I have to freshen up,” she whispered, then pecked the tip of his nose. “I’ll be right back.”

He watched her retreating form as she headed to the bathroom. Once the door was shut, he braced himself against the wall separating the living room from the kitchen. Shit. What he’d thought about countless times since he’d shaken her hand was about to happen. A nervous laugh forced its way out of him. Holding his breath, he silently begged anyone who might be listening that he’d be spared the humiliation of an outburst while in Y/N’s bed.

He hadn’t thought to pick up condoms - he’d never needed a prophylactic in his life. Maybe she had some? He turned to the couch, his mind racing. Should he sit there and draw her into his lap when she emerged? Was he supposed to wait in her bedroom?

Did she know he was new to this?

Quickly, he took his journal out of the pocket of the jacket he hadn’t yet taken off. He flipped to the notes he made after reviewing all the Dr. Sally segments he had copies of and listening to her radio show. Reading his scrawl was a challenge in the dim light from the windows, so he stood by the glass door. “-Don’t rush.” “-Open communicashun” “-Very posishins” “-Touch the cl-” He slammed the book shut and stuck it back in his pocket when he heard the bathroom door open.

She waited a couple feet from him, raising an eyebrow. “Take off your coat and stay awhile?”

Slowly, he took off his jacket and tossed it on the nearby coffee table. Arthur stilled, unsure of what she wanted him to do next. Then he closed his eyes, unable to force away his growing unease. Would she compare him to her ex-husband or the other men she’d dated? What if he couldn’t satisfy her? What if he came too soon? He squeezed his palms together.

When Y/N took his hands in her own, he managed enough courage to open his eyes. The affection in her gaze wrung his heart. “Arthur,” she said. “If you don’t want to, it’s all right. Please don’t feel pressured.”

Almost as if he feared she’d leave, he grasped her upper arms. “That’s not it.” He felt his cheeks burning as he confessed. “I’ve nev- never done this.” There. It was out.

She blinked at him, confusion on her face. “What?”

He huffed, drawing his brows together. “You’re surprised?”

“Well, yeah.” She placed a hand on his chest and cocked her head. “Why wouldn’t I think some bright, young woman had already gotten her hands on a handsome man like you, Mr. Fleck?”

He shook his head and snorted at her comment. Because I’m a freak? The gleam in her eye told him she meant every kind word, despite her jokey tone. He leaned his forehead against hers as she hugged him. Self-doubt threatened to overcome him. “I don’t wanna fuck up.”

“You won’t.” Pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth, she continued. “Do what you want. If anything doesn’t work, we’ll figure it out.”

How did she manage to say what he needed to hear? He nodded, exhaling sharply. “Okay.”

“And don’t be shy,” she continued. “I won’t be.”

Carefully, he ran his hand through her hair, over her cheekbone, to her chin. When he brought her mouth to his, she tilted her head to give him better access. He leaned into it, wrapping his other arm around her waist, pulling her body to him.

She ground her pelvis against his, making contact with his clothed erection. His breath hitched. His hand went to her hip, squeezing before bringing her against him again. She shuddered and whined against his mouth. Stopping the kiss, he watched, wide-eyed, as her hands went to the front of his vest, sliding the buttons through the holes.

“Come on.” She took his hand and started drawing him to the bedroom. Arthur bit his lip, walking in step beside her. He swallowed hard when she turned on the lamp on the bedside table. When she sat on the bed to remove her shoes, he shut the bedroom door, trying to follow her lead.

It was strange to be in a woman’s bedroom. Or to be in one at all, since he always slept on the couch. It was small, and almost as spartan as the rest of the apartment, but the lamplight softened the room. When he noticed the bed was large enough for both of them, he felt his face warm and looked away. There was a nearby chair. He sat and started untying his shoelaces, slipping his shoes off and putting them neatly by the door. “I, um.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t have a condom.”

“It’s fine,” she said as she rose from the mattress. “I have an IUD.”

That wasn’t a word he knew, but he was relieved - his lack of planning ahead wouldn’t get in the way of whatever was about to go down. Standing, he turned and took off his vest to put it over the back of the chair. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to figure out the best next step.

Y/N came up next to him and hooked her fingers in his belt loops, bringing him to her and smiling. “You make me so happy,” she whispered, before kissing him firmly and resting her head on his shoulder.

His eyes fluttered shut. No one had said that to him before. Well, maybe when he was performing as Carnival. But not when he was himself. “Me, too. I mean, you make me happy, too,” he said, nuzzling at her temple.

She nestled further into him, lips where his jaw met his neck. Taking his hands from his sides, she placed them on the opening of her blouse. “Please touch me,” she said.

A tickle formed in his throat as he nodded. He coughed gently. “Yeah. Okay.” He stepped back from her so he could see what he was doing. His fingers trembled; he stretched them, willing them to calm down. The small buttons gave him trouble - they were damn tiny - and his brow furrowed as he fumbled. He was relieved when she started to help him.

After flicking his eyes to hers, he opened her blouse slightly. When he glanced down, a shivering breath left him. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Before he could recover from the shock, she took his hand and pressed it to her breast. The softness of her, the weight of it, the feel of her nipple against his palm… It was better than he’d imagined. He groaned as she pushed her mouth against his. “Y/N, I have to ask you something.”

“Mm. What?” she hummed.

“Did you - Did you plan this?”

The color that appeared on her cheeks was appealing. He’d caught her. “I, uh… I hoped for it?” They both giggled. Some of the anxiety his body was holding left at her admission. He kissed her mouth, firmly enough to feel her teeth. When he felt her nip at his bottom lip, he squeezed her breast, hard. A sharp sound came from her and she broke off the kiss. “Not so rough,” she chuckled.

He started to remove his hand. “Sorry, I-”

She immediately stopped his retreat. “No ‘sorries.’”

Not so rough. All right. He tried again, gentler this time, and she arched into him. The pad of his thumb swiped back and forth against her hardened nipple. Her soft moan emboldened him, and he let his other hand drift down to her chest, brushing her other breast, before coming to rest on her side.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” she said, her fingers on the top buttons of his shirt. He moved to help her, unbuttoning the bottom of his shirt. It took him longer than normal, his hands bumping hers.

After peeling the shirt off and putting it on the chair, his eyes drifted to the floor. It wasn’t that he hated his body - he walked around without a shirt all the time when he was home. But he knew how gaunt he was, that his body was nothing like the men’s in the few adult films or magazines he’d seen. And he wasn’t used to getting undressed in front of anyone, other than in the locker room at HaHa’s. He hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed.

Her hand lifted to stroke his chest, and he watched as it continued downward. Her fingertips tracing the line of the bottom of his ribs, her hand flat against the firm plain of his stomach and abdomen. As she palmed his hard-on through his pants, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Is this all right?” she whispered.

“Uh huh.”

She giggled and stroked him a few more times, and he felt himself growing harder, to the point where it hurt. She stepped back to shed her shirt, then nonchalantly slipped her skirt down her legs and stepped out of it, moving towards the bed. Arthur wondered if she wore lace panties all the time, or if they were for him. Trying to follow her example, he unzipped his trousers and took them off.

“Don’t forget your socks,” she said. She peeked at him over her shoulder as she climbed onto the mattress, not bothering to peel the covers back. On her back and boosted up on her elbows, her lips turned up at him. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

He scoffed, standing awkwardly in his briefs, hands clasped in front of him. “You need glasses.”

“I think I see you just fine,” she answered.

A strained laugh escaped his throat. Trying to distract himself, he took a step towards the bed and let his gaze roam her nearly nude form. Her breasts were a little uneven, there were faded stretch marks on the curves of her hips, and she didn’t have a gap between her thighs. She wasn’t as nubile as the women he’d pasted into his journal. But she was beautiful. And real. And she wanted him to touch her.

The hand she held out to him interrupted his musings. He took it, climbing into bed beside her. “You’re making this easier than I thought it would be,” he said, squeezing her hand. He leaned down to press his forehead to her shoulder before admitting more, blushing. “And I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Her answer was to turn to face him and kiss him deeply, one hand going down his back to squeeze his ass. She threw a leg over his legs and pulled him to her, groaning against his mouth. He rolled forward slightly, bringing her on her back. Holding himself up on his elbow, he looked down at her.

Her eyelids were heavy, and the way she was admiring him made his abdomen tighten. “I’ve been dying to do this since you took me out for pie,” she breathed. The corner of her mouth went up and she stroked his hair, putting a stray lock behind his ear.

With some trepidation, he put his hand on her chest, between her breasts, and dragged them down her torso. He didn’t know how her skin could be so soft - he didn’t want to stop touching it. They both watched as his hand traveled further, tracing lines on her stomach. When he met the top of her underwear, his eyes darted to hers. She licked her lips and nodded.

Arthur continued past the waistband, his fingertips meeting short hair. Slowly, he slid further. He was surprised when her pelvis lifted to meet him, his fingers slipping between her outer lips and into her folds. “God,” he groaned. “You’re wet.”

She moved against his hand again. “What do you expect? That kiss you gave me after dinner has had me going all week.”

He kissed her cheek. He couldn’t believe she was kidding around with him. While they were in bed. It made everything so much more comfortable. He furrowed his brow as he concentrated, hand becoming a little bolder. Dr. Sally had described a nub…

Y/N reached to pull her underwear down, kicking it off once it was below her knees. Then she put her hand over his and brought two of his fingers to a raised spot near the top of her vulva. “There.” She moved his fingertips down further. He shuddered when he felt the lips of her opening, the tip of his middle finger slipping in a few millimeters.

His eyes shut, following the back and forth motions she was guiding him through. It wasn’t long before she removed her hand to let him take over, let him try things out. After a few more movements, he dared to look down at what he was doing. He huffed at the sight of her body striving towards him, her slick causing his fingers to glisten. She seemed to have a stronger reaction when he kept his hand higher, so he focused on what he assumed was her clit. Gently, he moved his fingertips in a small circle, groaning at the feel of her against him.

She gasped, “Arthur!”

The cry of his name on her lips snapped something inside him. He removed his hand from her, wiped it on the bed cover, then grabbed her face as he climbed on top of her. His kiss was urgent, unpracticed, hungry, and he rutted against her with a grunt.

Her hands moved down his back, to his sides. She pulled at the waistband of his underwear. The temporary confidence and urgency started to slip away from him. “Are you sure you want this? With me?” he asked. If she ended up regretting being with him, letting him touch her, he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Y/N smiled up at him, stroking the lines of muscles leading to his groin with her thumbs. “I’m as sure of you as I am that water is wet.”

Relief ran through him at her answer, and he smiled as he closed his eyes. She wants me. How is it possible she wants me? God, I need her.

Oblivious to his internal monologue, she started yanking his briefs down over his hips. He boosted himself up, trying to help her. The impatience on her face made his heart leap and his face flush. When his underwear was low enough, she put her foot between his calves and pushed them off, helping him wiggle out of them.

He held himself still, up on his elbows, staring at a spot on the pillow next to her head as she looked down at him. Was she comparing him as he’d feared? Was the size alright? Did she mind he was cut? He slowly brought his gaze to hers. Her eyes were hooded, and she licked her lips. Tugging softly at the coarse hair there, she grinned. “What do you like?” she asked, curling her hand around his erection. She swiped her thumb across the head and nuzzled at his cheek.

Groaning, he jerked forward into her touch. It was remarkably better than anything he did with his own hand. After a few moments, he was finally able to answer coherently. “I dunno. What you’re doing now?” She continued to stroke him, sometimes gently squeezing, moving up and down his length. He glimpsed down to see her fingers wrapped around him and he moaned quietly. It took concentration for him to reach down and stop her, fearing he’d come too quickly and make a mess all over her hand.

“We’ll figure it out later,” she answered, kissing his high cheekbone.

Later? There’ll be a later. He prayed there were many laters.

Her hand moved to join the other on his hips, her thumbs stroking them as she arranged herself under him. Her labia came into contact with his cock and he grunted, thrusting against her ungainly. She cried out, so he repeated the motion. Her hands kept a hold of his sides, trying to help him find a rhythm that worked for both of them. Once it was found, her cries grew louder, higher. “Arthur-” she whispered, then pressed a kiss to the underside of his chin, opening her thighs further as she ground against his shaft. “I need you inside me.”

He shuddered. “Okay.” She reached between them and held herself open. Taking his erection in his hand, he pressed the tip of his cock against her. But he couldn’t move forward, hitting slick skin. She adjusted her hips slightly and took him in her hand, guiding the head inside of her before allowing him to take control.

A jolt went through him when he entered her, the sensation of her walls surrounding him overwhelming. He had to focus to stop himself from plowing into her. Don’t rush. Don’t rush. He halted, trembling, and tried to calm himself with breathing exercises he knew. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the-

“Are you all right?” she asked, her hand smoothing his hair back.

“Yeah,” he answered.

She kissed him, her other hand pressing the small of his back. “You can keep going.” Her leg wrapping around him emphasized her words.

He gasped, holding himself up on his elbows. He pushed forward, inching into her heat. She seemed to be getting wetter and was so tight. When the last centimeter of him was pressed into her, when he was buried to the hilt, he sighed. “Oh my god…” He held still for a few moments before pulling out an inch or two, and pushing back in. “You feel so good.”

She moaned, her hands clinging to his back, arching up to meet him. “Don’t stop.”

Once he got used to their languid movements, he did his best to balance himself on his left elbow so his right hand could grasp her breast, thumbing her nipple as he’d done earlier. She whimpered in his mouth, the leg around him coming to his waist and tightening. She surprised him, then, and reached back behind her to anchor herself onto the headboard, the motions of her pelvis becoming harder and demanding. “Faster,” she keened. “Please…” He scoffed, momentarily unable to believe this was happening to him.

Her head was tilted back, her eyebrows knit together, her mouth gaping as pants escaped it and hit his face. He boosted himself up on his knees and increased his speed, soft grunts escaping him every time he plunged into her. He watched in fascination as she snaked a hand down between them to touch herself, seemingly in the same place he’d been stroking earlier. Her fingertips brushed against him faintly and he screwed his eyes shut. With every thrust, Y/N’s voice rose, her body tensing…

Her muscles clenched around him as a sharp wail burst from her throat, and he pitched forward, his right hand moving to catch himself before he fell onto her. Nothing he’d seen, read, or heard had talked about that happening. It felt like her body was gripping at him, trying to keep him inside her. He found it hard to keep moving.

After a few moments, Y/N opened her eyes and admired him, cheeks red. She released a long breath and giggled. Her hands traveled down his body, caressing his back, then grasped his ass, pulling him further into her.

“Y/N, fuck…” When he had done this alone, all he’d wanted was to finish. Now he was filled with the need to touch and taste her, to make it last as long as he could. But the pressure building in him was driving him to go faster, deeper…

Her hands were all over him, her soft cries encouraging him in his ear. His eyes shut, feeling the familiar tightness in his abdomen as his movements became rougher, stuttering, snapping into her. One last thrust, no two, and he stiffened as pleasure shot through him, a broken moan on his lips. He clutched her desperately, his hips locking with hers as he emptied himself into her. A sob escaped him when he collapsed on top of her, gasping, trying to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his ears.

He rested on top her, laying his head on the pillow next to hers, facing her cheek. For one moment, everything was perfect and he was able to forget how broken he was. He brought his forehead to her temple and nuzzled at her face. The hand stroking up and down his back, the fingers combing through his hair, reminded him this wasn’t one of his fantasies. He smiled. Absentmindedly, he caressed her hip and closed his eyes.

Once a few minutes had passed, she spoke. “Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“You’re heavier than you look.” She kissed his shoulder. “And I have to pee,” she whispered.

Chuckling, he rolled off her, leaving the warmth of her body to get under the comforter. She got up, grabbed a robe from her closet, and scurried out of the room, promising to be right back. Arthur lay there, staring at the ceiling. He let out a gentle laugh, which turned to a hum as he smoothed back his hair with both hands. A post-coital cigarette would have been nice, the way he’d seen in movies, but he didn’t want to leave the warmth of Y/N’s bed to stand on her fire escape. He could smoke later.

When she didn’t return after a couple minutes, he started to feel self-conscious. His brow furrowed. Shouldn’t she be back by now? He worried his bottom lip and shook his head. Maybe she’d realized this was a mistake. He hadn’t done a good job. She was waiting for him to leave.

She’d just needed to get off and he’d been convenient.

Angrily, he pushed the heels of his hands against his forehead. The mood swings and thoughts had gotten worse since he’d taken the last of his medication two days ago. He sighed. Why couldn’t he just lay there and be fucking happy? He deserved that as much as anyone, didn’t he? No, he thought to himself. I don’t deserve anything.  

He needed to write in his journal.

As the bedroom door opened, relief filled him and he lowered his hands, sitting up and crossing his legs under the cover. Y/N had a mug in her hand, offering it as she sat next to him. “I thought we could use a drink.”

Before taking the mug from her, he placed his hands on her face, and kissed her firmly. “Thank you. For tonight.” Then he tried the drink. It tasted funny, a bit earthy. “What is this?”

“Chamomile. It’s good before bed.” When he took another mouthful and grimaced slightly, she snorted. “But if you hate it, you don’t have to drink it.”

“No, it’s fine.”

She shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear. “And you don’t have to thank me. If anything,” she averted her eyes sheepishly. “I should have focused more on you. It being your first time.”

He lifted her chin and kissed her again, nudging her nose with his. “I didn’t mind.” Leaning back against the headboard, he stretched his legs, flexing his toes. Without the pressing need to come, he felt his bashfulness returning. He decided to ask her before he became too cautious. “How - how was it?”

She slipped under the cover next to him. “You were great.” He blushed with pride, his eyes tracing the flowery pattern on the comforter. “In fact,” she said, ”if I didn’t know better, I’d say you told me it was your first time to be more impressive.” She tapped her chin in mock suspicion.

Arthur scoffed, a soft grin on his lips. He was pretty sure she was just being nice. He ate it up all the same. “You’ll have to thank Dr. Sally for that. I listen to her show.”

“I’ll write her a thank-you card tomorrow.” Her hand reached under the comforter and stroked his abdomen, then moved to caress the top of his thigh. He shivered. “Arthur, I know your mother’s home alone, but…” Her eyes met his, brows raised. “Can you stay?”

He blinked at her. She must have meant overnight. He let out a breath. Trying to sleep in a bed instead of being cramped up on his sofa? Next to her? “Yeah.” The smile she gave him in return caused his throat to tighten. He kissed her sweetly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

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