#but also what if I STILL need to study >:(

[mermazeablaze]

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents?

My mom is a diagnosed narcissist with bipolar & is suspected of having schizophrenia by health professionals, but won't let them diagnose that one. She physically, mentally, verbally & psychologically abused me as far back as I can remember. She is a raging bigot. We went no contact in Dec 2024.

My dad & I are mostly estranged with rare contact. He was a drug addict (over 5yrs recovered) most of my life & hardly ever around. But is there when I need him.

02: Who did you last say “I love you” to?

My husband, wife, daughters & I say it all the time.

03: Do you regret anything?

Everybody has regrets.

04: Are you insecure?

This question is a bit broad. I have anxieties, not sure about insecurities.

05: What is your relationship status?

V-shaped poly marriage. I am the point of the 'v'. My husband & wife hinge off of me. My wife & husband are just friends. My wife is a nonbinary ace bisexual lesbian. My husband is cis heteroflexible. I am gender fluid pan. We all live together.

06: How do you want to die?

I don't. I actually have extreme anxiety to the point of anxiety & panic attacks about it. Funnily enough, I am a professional paranormal investigator, multiclair & psychopomp.

07: What did you last eat?

Gullon butterfly cookies with blackberry preserves.

08: Played any sports?

Tennis, volleyball, flag football, kickball & t-ball.

09: Do you bite your nails?

No.

10: When was your last physical fight?

I can't remember.

11: Do you like someone?

My spouses.

12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours?

Yes, almost 4 days during a sleepover contest. The runner up made it to 48. Caffeine was involved & pure determination - I am competitive.

13: Do you hate anyone at the moment?

Ha, that's a loaded question. Most of it revolving around political powers that be .

14: Do you miss someone?

Several people.

15: Have any pets?

Four dogs - Fox (Male, Yorkie & Wire Hair Mix), Ori (Female, Beagle & Pointer Mix), Astrid (Female, Greyhound & Bully Mix) & Gremlin (Shiffon)

16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment?

Meh.

17: Ever made out in the bathroom?

I've done waaaaay more than that! 😈

18: Are you scared of spiders?

Anything bigger than a quarter.

19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance?

No, it would imply I regret my family (spouses & children) & the events that shaped them into who they are.

20: Where was the last place you snogged someone?

My husband & I are still very affectionate after nearly two decades together.

21: What are your plans for this weekend?

Currently, a movie marathon & becoming one with the sofa.

22: Do you want to have kids? How many?

I have three daughters - 13/15/17yrs old

23: Do you have piercings? How many?

Currently, only my ears. But have had my lips, tongue, nose, eyebrows, nipples, bellybutton, hips & clit pierced. I also have several tattoos.

24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)?

I am a high school dropout, but straight A college student. I am getting my Bachelor of Arts in Native American Studies.

25: Do you miss anyone from your past?

Of course.

26: What are you craving right now?

Chinese buffet particularly coconut shrimp in the cream sauce.

27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart?

Yes, I was a serial dater before settling down.

28: Have you ever been cheated on?

Yes.

29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry?

Yes.

30: What’s irritating you right now?

Being poor in a fascist regime.

31: Does somebody love you?

Multiple people.

32: What is your favourite color?

I love colors in general. It's hard for me to dislike colors especially when I know complementary colors can make others palatable.

33: Do you have trust issues?

Yes.

34: Who/what was your last dream about?

I have a lot of liminal & shadow work dreams.

35: Who was the last person you cried in front of?

My wife, I had a legit mental breakdown at my last job a couple of years ago & she had to take me to an emergency therapy appointment. Where I proceeded to sob uncontrollably. I hate crying even in front of loved ones.

36: Do you give out second chances too easily?

I used to, but now I am jaded & overly critical of new acquaintances even if I really like them. But I don't make it their problem.

37: Is it easier to forgive or forget?

Depends on the situation.

38: Is this year the best year of your life?

It is a very transformatory one, but not the best.

39: How old were you when you had your first kiss?

I was 12.

40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked?

I am not prude & a bit of an exhibitionist.

51: Favourite food?

Most Asian, Mediterranean, South American, Mexican, African, Southern & Soul Food cuisines.

52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason?

Yes, but I don't believe in predestination or pre ordination.

53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night?

Unless I am sweltering, I have to take my hair down. I have pavloved myself into - hair up (awake) & hair down (bed time).

54: Is cheating ever okay?

No. I believe in ethical monogamy & non-monogamy.

55: Are you mean?

I am a very direct person & refuse to be a doormat, that doesn't make me mean.

56: How many people have you fist fought?

Too many to count, but haven't fought anyone in over 15yrs.

57: Do you believe in true love?

Obviously.

58: Favourite weather?

Stormy weather especially if I have a skylight, a solarium is even better.

59: Do you like the snow?

I like the idea of snow.

60: Do you wanna get married?

I am legally married to my husband of nearly 20yrs & have known my wife just as long, but we've been an item almost 6yrs since she moved in.

61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby?

I prefer babe. I reserve baby for my children.

62: What makes you happy?

Living my life with my loved ones.

63: Would you change your name?

I used to want to, but have grown to accept my name.

64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed?

I would hope not.

65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do?

Consent is sexy & there's lots you can do with it.

66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around?

A few.

67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to?

My husband.

68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with?

I regularly have deep conversations with every member of my household & the people who live in my phone.

69: Do you believe in soulmates?

I don't believe in predestination or pre ordination, so no. I believe in synchronicities & have strong bonds with my spouses because of them.

70: Is there anyone you would die for?

My spouses & children.

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[carmenlikeme]

The decision to have a second child with Robby isn't an easy one.

You both want to. Your first baby was and still is your biggest blessing; you would never regret them, and there wasn't a moment when you didn't think about having another baby. At least two children. Three, if you felt like you could survive not sleeping for over 12 consecutive years.

But your first pregnancy had been so difficult for you, you had doubts.

Well, Robby had doubts.

During your first trimester, you were barely able to drink water before wanting to throw up. Dana recommended some anti-nausea medication, and Robby decided to pick up the least amount of shifts he could to make sure you were okay, always by your side, and just right behind you as you collapsed on the tiled floor.

Your second trimester was a bliss, full of cute pictures, early maternity shoots, and an intimate gender reveal where Robby cried his eyes out after finding out he was gonna become a girl dad. Endless purchases and moodboards for the nursery. You couldn't ask for anything better.

Then, the third trimester came, and with that, the early-onset preeclampsia.

You spend most of your days in bed now, just standing up to go to the bathroom, and even then, you're being looked after when you walk, even for a few steps. When you are close to 34 weeks, you both decide to admit you to the hospital for monitoring, and Robby feels so much better knowing you're only a few floors away.

That's why he looks so stressed, speaking to Dana about how you both want it, but you might consider adoption to avoid putting you at risk once more. Javadi is close by, and before she can stop herself, she opens her mouth to speak.

"Dr. Robby, did you know that 13% of preeclampsia cases are attributed to paternal factors? There's this study that says that while women's genetics are the most important, if the father was born from a pregnancy with preeclampsia. It's generally attributed to 13% from the father, there's another..."

"Hey, crash! I need your help!" Santos interjects, pulling her by her sweatshirt and dragging her away against her will.

Robby stands still next to Dana, who isn't sure if she should kill Victoria just yet. He pauses, tries to find something to say.

"Is that true?" he asks.

"What's true?" Samira joins the conversation, a tablet in her hand. "Mr. Murphy is ready for discharge."

"Javadi just said preeclampsia can be attributed to paternal factors," he says, his tone is almost sarcastic.

"Oh, yeah. There are a lot of new studies about that, also about how paternal diet, mental health, and exercise habits can have an impact on a pregnancy. There's also a greater risk of a premature birth if the father is over 45, so..."

The rest of the conversation and the day go by in a blink. Robby goes home defeated. And there you are, the TV is on, but you're fast asleep with your baby girl on your chest. He smiles, and for a moment, he forgets about the thing that almost made him spiral.

You wake up 30 minutes later. He's cleaning, and you're sure there's a new load of laundry already in the washer. You want to stand up, but your baby is just so comfortable there, you don't wanna wake her up.

"Good morning, love," he says when he walks back into the room. He leans in, careful enough not to disturb his daughter, and kisses you softly. "I missed you two."

"Thank god you have the weekend off," you whisper. "She didn't take a nap today."

"Well, she's almost one. She wants to conquer the world, but her body isn't letting her. Now that she's walking, she'll be unstoppable."

He sits next to you, and even as careful as he is, your baby wakes up. Her bright eyes open, Robby immediately grabs her from your chest and pulls her onto his.

"Show daddy your new shirt, baby," you say. She's still sleepy, but immediately cries when she is far away from you. She cries and tries to crawl back to you immediately. "This kid, she wouldn't even let me go to pee for two seconds."

She sits up on your lap, and it's only then that Robby pulls down her shirt to see it. His hand stays there, frozen, as he reads the words over and over again. He feels like choking up. It's like you're both back in your old apartment, cramped in the tiny bathroom as you wait for the pregnancy test results.

Best Big Sister.

He doesn't know how long it takes him to turn to you, but there you are, holding a pregnancy test that says "Pregnant. 3-4 weeks". You're crying, and he doesn't know when he started crying with you.

"Surprise!" you whisper, choked up. "I guess it's happening."

He kisses you again, this time he takes his time, despite how much your daughter babbles and screams. Just for a second, he kisses you like the world is about to end in just a moment.

"I guess it is."

Nothing matters, just for a second. It's just him, you and your little family.

© CARMENLIKEME 2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[asiatic-apple]

hallo!

Smut # 14 - Caleb - Fem! Reader cus college AU caleb lives rent free in my college self

Thank you for the request! This is my first time writing with non-MC!reader in mind bc she’s implied to be studying the same thing as caleb and is presumably in the same class as him. I hope that’s alright with you!

Private lessons

Caleb x female reader (non-MC)

Words: 1.5k

Prompt: library sex for those dark academia vibes

Content: y’all are trespassing loll but it’s not serious, public sex but no one is around to see it, possessiveness, blink-and-you-miss-it competency kink for caleb, use of “baby” as a pet name, also “my smart girl” and “good girl”, creampie

You’re not even supposed to be here. Technically, the campus library closed over an hour ago. But Caleb knows how to disable the magnetic lock on the side entrance with a flick of his wrist and a muttered ‘they really need better security’.

You’d only meant to study for the upcoming exam. Instead, you’re straddling him in the farthest corner of the engineering section, surrounded by old textbooks and barely lit by a dim red hue from the emergency exit signs.

“You were the one who said no distractions tonight,” you whisper, breath catching as he shifts beneath you. “What happened to focus?”

He smirks against your neck. “I am focused.”

His hands roam up under your shirt, callused fingertips trailing over the curve of your spine like he’s tracing the aircraft schematics from your textbooks. You shiver, more from anticipation than the chill as he hikes your shirt farther up your torso.

“It’s your fault,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “You kept leaning over the table like that. Kept looking at me like you wanted to be taught a different lesson.”

You gasp as he ruts up against you, his erection thick and insistent beneath his pants. Your body jolts, accidentally bumping into the desk behind you and spilling the stack of thermodynamics printouts he’d tossed aside earlier. It’s a reminder of what you came here for in the first place.

“We’re supposed to be reviewing launch vectors,” you whine, even as you rock against him. Your mind screams that you should continue studying, lest you fail this stupid exam and have to take this class all over again. But your body could give less of a shit about the exam.

“I’m calculating a new trajectory,” Caleb replies, almost smug.

You breathe a soft laugh that turns to a moan as he cups your pussy through your shorts. His thumb rubs over the growing wet patch you leave behind, and you choke on a gasp. The sound makes him infinitely more impatient. He wastes no time shoving his hand beneath your pants and panties, running two thick fingers through your slick.

His touch is purposeful, the way he is with everything: steady, assured, thorough. Caleb is the kind of student professors love. All innocent smiles and endless charm while he uses his intelligence to impress them. But he’s also the kind of man who knows exactly how to pull a whimper from your throat without even trying—and carefully cataloging every time you shudder beneath him.

“You’re soaked,” he groans, more awestruck than teasing.

“And you’re still fully dressed,” you bite back.

That seems to spur him into action.

Caleb’s other arm tightens around your body, lifting you with him as he stands abruptly. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor before he plops you down on the messy table. There are so many books, papers, pens, and notebooks scattered around you.

But in one fluid, determined motion, he reaches behind you—with the hand not still buried in your pants—to sweep his arm across the table. Everything crashes to the floor in a messy avalanche, and the abruptness of it makes your pussy ache with even more arousal.

You barely have time to gasp before his fingers dip inside you, wanting a quick feel of how you clench around him so eagerly.

“Caleb–” you start to say, glancing at the mess of all your textbooks and notetaking supplies.

“I’ll clean it up later,” he mutters, not even sparing a glance at the chaos on the floor. His eyes are only on you.

Everything happens so quickly. His fingers slip out of your greedy cunt all too fast, but he immediately tugs your pants down your legs in the promise of filling you with something much better. Once you’re finally bared to him, he looms closer, slotting his wide body between your thighs.

His chest heaves, like he’s torn between savoring this and devouring you like you’ll disappear if he hesitates for even a second.

It seems he decides on the latter for tonight.

Caleb hurriedly unzips his pants, only pulling the waistband down enough to free his cock, and you salivate at the familiar sight of him. You want to touch, want to taste…But he shakes his head when you reach out for him. He taps your thighs, wordlessly asking you to spread them wider so he can nudge the head of his cock against your dripping entrance.

And when you tilt your hips and whimper for him, he doesn’t make you wait any longer. He pushes into you with one slow drag, stretching you open until your hands are scrabbling behind you for something—anything—to hold on to.

You’ll never get used to this feeling. The way he fills you perfectly, like your body was created to be wrapped snugly around his.

“Shit,” he groans, hands bracing the table on either side of your thighs. “That’s it, baby…take me deeper. Fuck—you can do it. Such a good study buddy for me, yeah?” His lips twitch with a smile, but through his teasing, he still manages to press a gentle kiss to your tensed jaw.

You clutch at the edge of the table for balance as he starts to thrust, his pace initially slow and controlled despite how frenzied he seemed before. Your whole body is shaking from the effort of staying quiet. Every time he slides in just right, you sob his name a bit louder. And it just spurs him on, makes him fuck you harder, determined to pull more moans from your lips.

The thrill of the risk, the setting, the way you’re surrounded by knowledge while your brain turns to mush—it all makes it even harder not to cry out. It feels wrong to be so loud in a library that’s usually only filled with hushed whispers. But no one is here to witness your debauchery. Only Caleb hears the downright pornographic sounds you’re making. And he seems to be enjoying every second.

That smug glint in his eyes makes something within you bubble to the surface—something annoyed and frustrated that he can work you up this easily. “You better hope I don’t fail the exam tomorrow,” you growl as you claw at his shirt and run your fingers up his abs. 

“You won’t,” he says a bit too confidently. “I’ve studied with you the whole semester. I’ve taught you everything you need to know.”

His words are both possessive and full of awe in your abilities. And his thumb rubs gentle circles along your clit as he says the last part—as if he’s implying he taught you more than just the drag and thrust involved in aerodynamics.

He’s your proud mentor. And you’ll never need a different tutor while he’s around, he’s made sure of that.

“You’ll ace the test,” he coos, “because you’re my smart girl, aren’t you?”

Your cheeks burn, and you hide your face in Caleb’s neck as he pounds you even harder now. You're so achingly close to coming with the way he touches your clit, but he stops for a second to pull your face back and grip your chin just tight enough to keep your dazed eyes on him.

“Say it, baby,” he demands breathlessly, words hitching with each deep thrust of his hips. “Say you're gonna ace the test.”

You barely know what you're promising as it spills out, fueled entirely by your need to come. “Yes, I'll ace it—ah—I promise!”

You clench around him, and he shudders, forehead dropping to your shoulder and pressing lazy kisses between thrusts. “Good girl,” he pants. You can feel his stupidly sexy smile against your neck, and it only turns you on more. “Come for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

Barely a breath later and you’re unraveling beneath him, your whole body convulsing with the force of your climax. Caleb bites back a curse, grinding into you as you clench around him and milk his cock for every drop of cum spilling inside in slow, pulsing waves.

When he eventually pulls out, you gasp at the mess it makes on the table beneath you. You know you should be embarrassed by what the two of you did here, but you’re still too blissed out to care too much.

For a long moment, the only sound in the empty library is the echo of your combined heavy breathing and the distant hum of the building’s power systems.

You’re still catching your breath when Caleb litters soft kisses along your cheeks and the corner of your grinning lips. “So…still want to quiz me on launch vectors?”

You snort, slapping his chest in playful annoyance. “Only if you plan on using it to get us out of trouble when campus security finds us.”

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dividers by me (please do not repost)

[azzinator3000]

Locked Doors

Word count: 2K 

Content: Friends-to-lovers, secret relationship, intense sexual tension, college basketball AU.

Warnings: None

Pairing: Pazzi

CHAPTER 2: The Ten-Minute Rule

It had been a week. One whole, weird, awkward, spiraling week since she accidentally stayed over at Paige’s. Since she freaked out.

The girls were acting normal. Maybe too normal.

And Paige was… well, Paige. Smiling at her in that way that made Azzi’s stomach knot up, poking at her during practice, trying to be cute after they got into that stupid fight about the game last night.

Paige always thought she was right about everything, especially when it came to reading the court. And Azzi, stubborn as she was, hated being told she’d missed a pass or a screen, even when Paige was usually right.

And Azzi hated being mad at her. She really did. It felt wrong, like a fundamental part of her day was missing when she wasn’t completely in sync with Paige.

But also? She had a paper due. A real, actual, grade-defining, future-threatening paper for Dr. Miller’s Advanced Psychology seminar, and she could not afford to waste another second thinking about Paige’s stupid, perfect face, or the way her blonde hair fell just so, or the infuriatingly confident glint in her light eyes. 

She needed to focus, to claw her way back to academic sanity.

So she was sitting in her room, headphones in, laptop open, trying to focus. Trying to be a serious, responsible person who could just move on and get things done.

Except then there was this knocking.

Bang, bang, bang.

Azzi sighed. Ignored it. Paige could wait.

Azzi stared harder at the textbook, willing the words to sink in, even as her mind kept drifting to the heavy silence of the dorm room this morning, the way Paige had watched her, that intense, unreadable look in her eyes.

Bang, bang, bang.

She didn’t stop. Paige Bueckers, of course, was the most annoyingly persistent person on earth.

It was infuriating. And endearing. Which was the problem. Everything about Paige was infuriating and endearing.

Azzi yanked out one headphone. “I’m studying!” Her voice was tight with forced exasperation.

She knew she was being childish, holding onto this petty anger from the game, but a part of her needed the distance, needed the excuse to not engage with Paige’s relentless charm.

“I know you are,” Paige’s voice came through the door, muffled but still somehow smug. Azzi could almost see the smirk, even through solid wood.

Bang, bang, bang. The rhythmic thudding was almost hypnotic, a physical manifestation of Paige’s stubbornness.

It was ridiculous. They were college athletes, not five-year-olds on a playground.

“Seriously, I need to finish this. I told you I was busy, Paige.” Azzi’s voice cracked slightly, betraying the crack in her resolve.

She just wanted to be left alone, to pretend her heart wasn't doing gymnastics every time Paige breathed within ten feet of her.

“I don’t like it when you’re mad.” The words, even muffled, held a hint of vulnerability that snagged at Azzi’s chest.

Damn it. Paige always knew how to hit her soft spots.

Azzi groaned, burying her face in her hands. She loved Paige, but she hated her sometimes. She grabbed her phone and texted quickly:

I’ll be out in 10 minutes.

The banging didn’t stop. Paige was literally ignoring her text.

The annoyance flared again, hot and sharp. This was Paige, always pushing, always testing boundaries. Always getting her way.

She glared at the door. “PAIGE. GO AWAY.”

From the other room, KK shouted, her voice carrying clear as a bell, “Please let her in! I can’t listen to this anymore!”

Azzi rolled her eyes. Part of her was genuinely annoyed — the part that knew she needed to be a good, responsible student and not let herself get sidetracked by the human hurricane that was Paige Bueckers. But a much bigger part was… what? Touched? Warm?

Whatever. Stupid.

It was just… friendship. Intense, flirty, occasionally-making-out-in-bar-bathrooms friendship.

Nothing that would shatter her carefully constructed reality or ruin her reputation, or worse, Paige’s.

God, this was getting out of hand.

She finally got up and opened the door, arms crossed, trying to look stern even though Paige was already grinning at her like she’d just won something major, like she’d just sunk a game-winning three-pointer.

She leaned against the doorframe, all casual grace and golden blonde hair, those light eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What?” Azzi asked, pretending she wasn’t softening immediately. Pretending her heart wasn’t doing a stupid little flip.

Paige stepped in, closing the door behind her with a soft click, leaning in like she was about to say something deeply important, her breath warm on Azzi’s cheek.

Azzi braced herself for another playful jab about the game. But then—

“Just wanted to say I miss you, baby,” Paige said, stupidly sweet, absolutely unserious, dragging out the “baby” like a fuckboy.

She pulled back just enough to watch Azzi’s reaction, that smug, knowing look on her face.

Baby. It was so casual, so flippant, so Paige. Paige always flirted like this. Always. With everyone, sometimes, but something about this time, this word, made Azzi’s stomach twist.

It felt like a direct hit, straight to that vulnerable, desperate part of her she kept buried deep. She felt a flush creep up her neck.

“You’re so annoying,” Azzi mumbled, turning away, pretending to rearrange books on her desk because she didn’t trust her face not to betray her. Not to show how much that word, carelessly tossed, had actually affected her.

How much she actually did miss Paige, even after a stupid argument.

“But you missed me too,” Paige teased, following her, bumping their shoulders together, her warmth seeping through Azzi’s shirt. “Admit it. You were bored without me.”

“You’re the worst.” Azzi tried for scathing, but it came out more fond than anything.

“You love me Fudd” Paige’s voice was a low hum, confident, absolutely sure. And that was the problem, wasn't it? Paige was always so damn sure.

Azzi sat back on her bed, trying to focus on her laptop screen even though her brain had clearly left the building, flying somewhere over the horizon with Paige’s carefree laughter.

Paige plopped down next to her, way too close, stealing a piece of gum off her desk like she owned the place, unwrapping it with a loud crinkle.

They bantered, like they always did.

Soft teasing, playful shoves, stupid arguments about which movie to watch.

Azzi tried to push for something serious, a documentary, anything to distract herself from the buzzing awareness of Paige’s thigh pressed against hers.

Paige, of course, insisted on a cheesy rom-com, something with explosions and a predictable happily ever after. They settled on something dumb, something easy, and somehow Paige ended up with her head half on Azzi’s shoulder, both of them crammed on the small bed, watching a movie neither of them were really paying attention to.

Paige’s arm was draped casually over Azzi’s waist, her fingers lightly tapping a rhythm on Azzi’s hip.

And Azzi hated that this felt perfect.

She just wanted to finish her paper. She wanted to focus on nationals. She wanted to not be utterly consumed by Paige Bueckers.

Azzi shifted slightly, trying to push those thoughts down, to create a microscopic space between their bodies, but Paige just snuggled closer, like it was the most natural thing in the world, her breath warm against Azzi’s neck.

Paige's fingers tightened ever so slightly on Azzi's hip, a subtle reassurance, a silent claim.

And from the other room, KK’s voice echoed faintly, muffled but clear enough to make Azzi’s stomach clench. “Oh, you ain’t mad now, huh? You went soft Azzi”

The casualness of KK’s comment, the lack of real surprise, sent a fresh wave of panic through her. She glanced at Paige, whose smirk only deepened, completely unbothered, as if KK’s comment was just another laugh line in their shared comedy.

Paige just smirked. “Told you you missed me.”

Azzi shook her head, fighting a smile she was definitely losing control over. “Shut up.”

But she didn’t move away.

“You know, for someone who put a ‘ten-minute rule’ on me,” Paige murmured, her voice a low rumble against Azzi’s ear, her lips just brushing the sensitive skin there, “you’re not very good at enforcing it.”

Azzi shivered, a response she desperately tried to suppress. 

The “ten-minute rule.” It had started as a joke, a desperate attempt by Azzi to carve out some solo study time, a boundary against Paige’s omnipresent energy. 

Just ten minutes, Paige, then you can come in. It was supposed to be her shield, her protection. But Paige had weaponized it, turning it into a countdown to intimacy, a game she always won. She’d bang on the door, text ridiculous memes, send pictures of herself making sad puppy dog eyes until Azzi finally caved. 

It was never ten minutes. It was ten minutes until Azzi remembered how much she loved having Paige around.

“It’s a work in progress,” Azzi mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant, even as her pulse hammered against her ribs.

Paige’s fingers, still on her hip, started drawing lazy circles, sending tingles through the fabric of her sweats. It was an innocent touch, a friendly touch, but it was Paige, and nothing about Paige was ever truly innocent for Azzi.

“Mmm-hmm,” Paige hummed, skepticism thick in her tone. “Or maybe you just like having me around too much to really want me to go.” She leaned her head back, shifting slightly so her blonde hair tickled Azzi’s jaw. 

The scent of Paige—clean and faintly sweet, like the campus laundry detergent mixed with her own unique, intoxicating smell—filled Azzi’s senses, distracting her from everything. 

Her paper, the team, the impending national championship, the entire world outside this small, cluttered dorm room.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bueckers,” Azzi countered, but her voice was weak, wavering. She could feel the smile tugging at her own lips. It was a losing battle, trying to resist Paige when she was like this – soft and playful.

Paige chuckled, a soft, warm sound. “Oh, Princess, I’m not flattering myself. I’m just stating facts.” Her free hand, which had been resting on the bed between them, slowly stretched out, her fingers just brushing the edge of Azzi’s open laptop. 

Azzi instinctively tensed, watching her. Paige’s eyes, still fixed on the movie screen, seemed to hold a mischievous glint. “You know, you could always just admit it.”

“Admit what?” Azzi asked, trying to sound bored, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Paige finally turned her head, her gaze locking with Azzi’s.

Her light eyes were intense. “That you like me. Like, really really like me.” Her voice was a low murmur, just for Azzi, soft and dangerous.

Azzi’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat. She wanted to deny it, to laugh it off

She didn’t 

The movie played on, a distant, irrelevant soundtrack to the silent war raging within Azzi. She could hear the faint sounds of the dorm hallway, a door opening, laughter, the mundane backdrop to their intensely private moment. 

Someone could walk in at any second. The fear was still there.

She shifted again, this time not to create distance, but to subtly lean in. Paige’s gaze dropped to Azzi’s lips, then back to her eyes, a silent question passing between them.

“Paige,” Azzi whispered, her voice barely audible. It wasn’t a denial. It wasn’t an admission. It was a plea. A plea for understanding, for patience, for a moment to breathe.

Paige’s smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more tender, but no less intense. 

Her fingers on Azzi’s hip tightened almost imperceptibly, a silent reassurance, a promise. “It’s okay,” she whispered back, her voice a soothing balm against Azzi’s panicked heart.

And then, without another word, Paige leaned in, just a fraction of an inch, pressing a soft, chaste kiss to Azzi’s temple. 

Azzi closed her eyes, biting down on the inside of her cheek. And Azzi knew, with a terrifying certainty, that she was falling. Hard.

[yamchaisawesome]

Okay fine I’ll update the post. I see you newcomers with your love for the old codger and to that I say welcome in kids!

So this guy somehow got better. Like, the only light in the otherwise bleak as fuck chapter 4. I was going with the theories that bro was going to show up somehow but this? I couldn’t have predicted just how peak it was. This is quite a bit longer than the original analysis but I feel like it will be worth it. I’m also going to assume you’ve gone through chapter 4 already.

Gerson in deltarune, unlike his more seam-esque undertale counterpart, takes the role of a badass old man shounen mentor figure. He starts off unassuming, more like a gag than a character with actual story significance. However, anyone who’s got enough context can already tell this is going to be big. He’s been foreshadowed both by the goner maker and Alvin at this point, and the fact this fairly minor character from undertale is getting this much attention implies yeah this guy has some stuff going on.

What we have going in is that:

A: He’s a dead man walking, literally and figuratively. Literally raised from the dead and likely not going to last that long due to his existence being reliant on a very sealable fountain.

B: If you know anything about Gerson, he knows way more than he lets on.

It is to be pointed out that literally all of this is optional. Someone who just sorta played undertale casually and didn’t interact with much in Hometown wouldn’t know anything going on. As such, Toby makes this guy’s deal clear throughout the story of chapter 4 while still taking advantage of the dramatic irony held by players in the know.

We get our first hint that the Old Man is more than a gag upon him literally breaking the prophecy in order to pave a new way forward. The imagery is pretty clear here as he helps the young’ins defy fate in order for them to get through the hell it has put them in. This behaviour continues as he keeps leading the fun gang “the wrong way” in order to help em solve puzzles and intentionally walks way slower than he can to mess with the gang, Susie in particular. This introduction to The Old Man is tail ended by him breaking another piece of the prophecy. Upon questioning him on this, he hits you with this old sagely wisdom. He believes that “A fairytale is a pretty little thing” but that the best way to navigate those stories is to “go between the lines”.

This idea of Gerson believing the prophecy is a story like anything else, and that it can be read and adapted a countless number of ways is his approach to freedom and feeds into both his wisdom and experience as an author. Let the story serve you and not the other way around, basically. This feeds very well into Susie, whose whole arc has been about shirking narratives about herself. Not just those of the prophecy but more relatable things. Those narratives that she’s not worthy of love, or just not good enough generally are a constant throughout her character arc.

The one she’s dealing with in chapter 4 is about her never being as good at healing as Ralsei. This sort of learned helplessness is likely predicated on her other recent failings, those being her not being able to save Undyne or get the code at the Holiday mansion, and her needing to rely on Ralsei to help one of her few friends in their time of need was just the final straw.

Before we get into the details of Susie and Gerson’s relationship, I’d just like to call attention to the fact that Gerson’s study is the only location that isn’t the signature “bright and blue” colouration seen in the rest of the dark sanctuary.

I’d really like to stretch this and say it symbolizes the literal break from the otherwise bleak narrative that Gerson provides in this chapter but that might be too far.

Anyway, Jackenstein.

I love how this demonstrates Gerson’s background as a teacher and father so goddamn well. He understands the youth very well and instantly clocks the kind of kid that Susie is. His strategy of calling her a “coward” and basically rage baiting her into conquering her inhibitions and beating that narrative in her brain shows a pretty clear grasp on who Susie is in particular. He doesn’t try a fancy speech or whatever like he does with Kris earlier, he just fucking throws her attitude right back at her. Considering they met a total of 20 minutes ago, it goes to show just how good he is at reading people. We’ll get more of this with Kris later but that’s its own section.

He also encourages Susie to push past her narratives of what she can’t do with his letter, but that doesn’t tell us much more about his relationship with Susie. Instead, the letter demonstrates the flaws and regrets the Old Man has- particularly in his relationship with his son Alvin.

In the light world, both in the epilogue of chapter 2 and the prologue for chapter 4, it’s pretty clear that Alvin has a narrative of inadequacy all his own. This is the idea that his writing will never outgrow his father’s, or even be any good at all. Apparently, it’s to the point where he doesn’t even write any of his own sermons, just reusing the work of his father. This could be part of the reason Gerson feels so strongly about breaking that narrative in Susie, in order to atone for what he has done. Given the themes of religion in chapter 4, both his tutelage of Susie and letter to Alvin both could easily be read as Gerson using this miracle in order to redeem himself in his own eyes and cleanse himself of “sin” even in a religion that lacks it. The delivery of the letter is also important. Susie, with her own inexperience, was able to deliver the letter in a way that got the point across better than Gerson ever could. With its unintentional grammar and spelling errors, it demonstrates to Alvin how “Long as you got the point, the words don’t matter” in a way that Gerson’s usual prose simply can’t achieve. Iron sharpens iron, student sharpens student.

Anyway, I know what you fuckers are here for. You don’t want unsubtle literary analysis of a dead old man and his kids! You want hype moments and aura, you want the hammer!

Well too bad, we gotta get through the tea party scene first!

First thing we need to talk about is how in sync Susie and Gerson are here. Like, they’re bouncing off each other and absolutely loving life! Susie might not be a talented writer but, as Alvin would say, she has “a flair for entertainment” and the Old Man loves a good story!

Next thing is Kris. If you let them refuse tea, Gerson offers the poor human an apple, which is known to be a big thing of theirs. There’s also his weird route dialogue, in which he gets that something’s wrong in spite of a general lack of words exchanged and tries to encourage and console Kris. This once again shows his knack for reading and guiding people, and frankly it’s really sweet that he’s trying to help them through our rampage.

But enough of that. You know what time it is!

The Hammer of Justice is ringing!

This is my favorite fight in the game, and honestly the shadow crystal fight that I think is most integral to the story. It’s as easy to learn about as Spamton’s if not easier and makes his turtle ex machina against the titan make a lot more sense.

The more I fought this guy, the more I came to appreciate the lesson he’s teaching. If I have one word to describe this fight, it’s forgiving. Gerson lowering his damage to match Susie’s current HP and banning items in order to get her to heal more and get some practice in just reminds you that this isn’t a fight against some insurmountable threat like the Knight or a crazed omen of what could be with Spamton, but an ally that’s here to help you learn a thing or two.

As an aside, the fight is so goddamn hype. The lore drops and inspiration we get from Gerson’s dialogue, the fact you can skip some attacks if you impress the Hammer enough with your spells, the goddamn rude buster ping pong you play with him, the music, THE MUSIC!!??? Absolute peak fiction, no notes. The fight brings an atmosphere like no other.

It also answers a question that hardcore Gerson fans like myself wondered: how badass was Gerson at the height of his career? The answer: VERY. Bro doesn’t even use the shadow crystal and is still strong enough to be up there with the other secret bosses. A very satisfying moment for all us Hammer lovers.

I legitimately cried when I beat him for the first time, especially after the final dialogue that summarises Gerson Boom as a character: a lover of stories and one that knows just how mutable they are.

Utter Chad right here.

Now to move onto his impact…

The reveal that he is in fact a dead man walking isn’t a surprise for the attentive but is still a shock to the system after becoming so attached to the crusty bastard, especially for Susie. Her clear horror and mourning for a man she technically never knew in life is gut wrenching, and the fact that she basically goes around chasing the guy’s ghost for the entirety of the second sanctuary is reflective of her general fear of abandonment by those she cares about.

This makes his triumphant return at the end all the sweeter. I cheered when I saw him for the first time as I watched him and Susie absolutely wreck the Titan.

I have no idea how Alvin will react to the letter in Chapter 5 onwards, or if Susie will incorporate the Old Man’s motif into her own music at some point, but I hope so. Gerson deserves the legacy, Gerson deserves it all.

Anyway, thanks for reading all this! I saw how much you all liked this old post and wanted to do a follow up that does the new stuff justice!

I feel like Gerson is under appreciated. Like, he’s surprisingly well developed for how little time we get with him.

In undertale, he’s effectively the monster equivalent of an old man doing a massive yard sale, getting rid of shit he doesn’t need. However, due to his old man status “studying history sure is easy” and so he’s the only guy who tells you about the prophecy of the angel and the delta rune, as well as about Boss Monsters.

He also casually mentions he was a war hero back in the day, the Hammer of Justice. Now, two of the items in his shop are the torn notebook and cloudy glasses. These are both items belonging to the human soul of perseverance. Now, he could’ve just picked them up from trash zone, buuut it seems just as likely that he killed that human himself.

This is possibly why he is not in the least bit scared of you on the genocide route. Like, at all. He spits such raw lines as “I wouldn’t buy your chitzy garbage at knifepoint”. He also seems oddly self aware, like more than sans, saying he knows the player cannot kill him while in his shop when threatened. This absolute mad lad will charge you full price for his wares and there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it, and he fucking knows it.

Utter Chad right here.

[cosmogyros]

language-learning advice from a pro

(I started writing this post just now as a message to a friend who asked for language-learning advice. But I’m a GIANT NERD when it comes to language learning, so it got wayyy too long to be a message. So I’m posting it here in the hopes that it might help others as well. I have not edited this or even read through it all yet – it just poured straight out of my fingers – so please let me know if you spot any typos!)

Okay, first of all, there are two parts to language learning: active learning and passive exposure. You can choose to do only one or the other, but you’ll have the most success if you do both.

ACTIVE LEARNING

Active learning is pretty much what it sounds like: actively focusing on the language, learning new words, sounds, phrases, idioms, etc. It’s often centered around a textbook, sometimes with accompanying audio, but you can do active learning in other ways too. For example, you can read a news article online and check a dictionary for every word you don’t know. Or do the same thing with a foreign film – when you hear a word you don’t know (or see it in the subtitles), pause the movie and look it up.

Active learning makes you progress fast, but it also tires out your brain and overwhelms it with new information, making it easier to forget things you’ve already learned. That’s why it’s best to space out your active learning sessions and fill the gaps with passive exposure.

PASSIVE EXPOSURE

The goal of passive exposure is for your brain to randomly encounter words and phrases it learned recently and go “Hey! I recognize that!” This is SO important not only for reviewing and consolidating your memory, but also keeping up your motivation! If the only place you ever encounter your TL (target language) is in your textbook, on some subconscious level your brain will think it’s not that important… because after all, you never encounter it out there in the real world, do you?

Passive exposure can include any of the following and much more: listening to music in your TL; watching a movie in your TL (either with English subs, or with no subs at all and just don’t worry if you don’t understand everything that’s going on); skim-reading a book or a short story or a news article or a blog post in your TL and looking for words you recognize, even if you can’t 100% remember what they mean; finding speakers of your TL in real life and eavesdropping on them; watching instructional YouTube videos or short documentaries in your TL (the visuals ought to help you understand some of what’s going on, even if there are no subtitles); etc.

The idea is to let your TL wash over you without straining your brain at all. Zero effort, just relaxation and fun. You will inevitably notice and understand a few words or phrases, and that percentage will increase as time goes on, but you’re not actively studying when you’re doing passive exposure. Remember the two things you’re trying to achieve with passive exposure: 1) effortless review/practice, by inevitably re-encountering some stuff you’ve already learned; 2) reminding your brain that this language is a real cool thing out there in the world, not just a boring chore located in a textbook.

But there are also two more extremely important benefits to passive exposure that are drastically neglected by most language-learners: 3) picking up the correct pronunciation and accent; 4) gaining an instinct for natural, native-sounding language.

These are two things you will not learn in a language class or from a textbook. You can’t learn them except by doing a LOT of listening and reading in your TL. But the good news is that it doesn’t need to be the “Active Learning” kind of reading and listening; it can absolutely be the “Passive Exposure” kind, and you will still pick this stuff up.

The most important thing, above all else, is to figure out a method of passive exposure that works for YOU personally. This means: do NOT force yourself to repeatedly do something that you don’t enjoy, because you won’t benefit from it. To pick the right method, think of your interests and the things you like to do in your free time: watching movies? reading books? listening to music? writing in your journal? surfing the internet? You can do any of this in your TL, too. Yes, you will encounter a lot of stuff you don’t understand at the beginning. But A) that’s good for you, it helps you learn patience, which every language-learner needs, and B) the internet has free translation tools everywhere you look.

COMBINING BOTH

Personally, I like to pick a well-respected textbook with accompanying audio (Assimil is my favorite; Teach Yourself and Colloquial can also be very good, especially the older editions; Linguaphone used to be fantastic but I’m not sure if it’s still around) and work my way through it, doing one lesson per day if possible. That takes only about 10 to 20 minutes, so that leaves a lot of time for passive exposure. My preferred method is listening to music (I learned a good 50% of my German from just obsessively listening to German pop music in high school), but here are some other things I like to do:

find an internet talk radio station in my TL and put it on in the background

same deal with a podcast

translate a few keywords related to my favorite hobbies/interests into the TL and then paste that text into YouTube and watch random videos in my TL

read a news article in English, and then find a news website in my TL and see if I can find an article about the same topic in that language

watch bad reality TV or soaps in my TL with no subtitles, just trying to guess what’s going on from context

etc.

No Duolingo. No Rosetta Stone. (I’ve written a whole post about the latter here.) You don’t need to spend any money at all, though if you e.g. use a pirated resource to learn and find that it really helps you, I strongly suggest buying it from the original producer after the fact, to say thank you.

MEMORIZATION

This is very much a “YMMV” piece of advice, but: if you’re having trouble memorizing stuff, just don’t. Don’t bother trying to remember anything. Remember that “passive exposure” bit? It does a lot of the heavy lifting in terms of memory. If you keep bumping into the same word or phrase over and over again, you will incorporate it into your body of knowledge almost effortlessly. Of course this is easier with more common words that turn up again and again – but you’d be surprised how well you can get by, especially at the lower levels, with only the more common words!

Intentionally memorizing vocabulary can of course be very beneficial, so there’s nothing wrong with it. But I notice that it’s often one of the biggest pain points for language learners, and I believe language learning should be pain-free.

FROM INPUT TO OUTPUT

Once you’ve gotten a good grasp of the basics of the language, a really effective way to consolidate the knowledge you’ve gained is to use it actively and creatively yourself, in speech or writing (or ideally both!). For speaking practice, besides simply making friends who are native speakers of the language, you can search for a physical or virtual tandem. This is when you meet up with someone who’s a native speaker of your TL and is trying to learn your own language. You can meet for, say, an hour, and chat together for half an hour in your native language, and then half an hour in their native language. So both of you benefit!

Don’t underestimate talking to yourself, too. Whether it’s narrating your actions, complaining to your pet (okay, I guess that’s not technically “talking to yourself”), or simply having an imaginary conversation with someone else, it’s actually a good way to practice.

I also really enjoy writing in my journal in my target languages. The act of hand-writing a word does a lot to help me remember it. If you like writing, of course, you could also look up penpals who speak your TL.

And that’s about it. As always, I am more than willing to answer specific questions on language learning, as this is something of a specialty of mine and I absolutely love to help other folks get started on their own language-learning journeys. Please feel free to drop me a line if you need any concrete advice or are struggling with some aspect of your current language-learning efforts!

[bluebellhairpin]

Thomas Hewitt X Fem!Reader

Summary: Your Pa buys an old slaughter house, intent on using philanthropy to bring the ghost town of Fuller back to life. However that's where his kindness ends. When you have a nasty run in with some travellers, and your father pays no mind, the youngest of the Hewitt family rescues you. (wc.6.3k)

Warnings: MDNI 18+ (minors/ageless blogs DNI, you'll be BLOCKED). Illusions to domestic assault. Implied 'off screen' assault + rape. Canon-typical violence + gore. Blood. Cannibalism. Character death/murder. Implied reader's mum is dead. Reader is fem-body coded (referred to as she/her + called 'girl' + 'daughter') + is looked down on by Thomas (he's over 6'6, he's gonna be looking down on you probably).

Listening to: 'NFWMB' by Hozier - "If I was born as a blackthorn tree I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you, fuel the pyre of your enemies."

Masterlist || AO3 link

Fuller was nothing like Houston. That being said, you couldn’t say you hated it in this small run down town.

Sure, being so far away from literally everything had its downsides, but it was also so peaceful. The fact your father wanted to bring life back into the town almost made you sad. Not that you liked ghost towns, they unnerved you a little bit, it’s just Fuller had a way about it which you thought would be ruined by bringing people back in. For a ghost town, it didn’t seem so bad.

Something about how abandoned it was called to you, made you want to keep it as it was. What was wrong with wanting to keep Fuller how it was? Why did your father feel such a need to bring the city life so far out into the country?

When you moved in, there were only a handful of people still living here. In the last few weeks you’d gone slightly out of your way to try and meet them - some were more receptive to your moving in than others.

The first person you met was Mrs Luda Mae Hewitt, and very soon afterward was her son, Thomas.

There weren’t any working grocery stores in Fuller - there weren’t any working ‘anything’ in town, actually. The only place to go for anything was the gas station on the main road that by-passed the town.

You had a craving for chocolate - a contraband item in your home, thanks to daddy dearest - but the household had also run out of meat. With dinnertime approaching, you offered to do an errand run. Less than fifteen minutes later, you’d walked through the station’s front door.

An older woman sat behind the counter smoking a cigarette. She looked at you over the rim of her glasses, and you saw the tattered magazine she read shifted down. She was giving you attention.

“Afternoon,” you said, putting to practise the manners your mother had taught you all those years ago. You wanted to make a good impression, maybe make a friend, especially since your father had decided to give a negative preceding reputation. “Keeping cool?”

“Electricity circuited out. So no.” she said. You fought back the urge to cringe and wring your hands on your dress.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” you said softly.

“‘prolly be back up in a few,” she suddenly added. Her eyes looked at you like you were something to study. You probably should’ve felt on edge, but instead you just felt like you wanted to meet her standards. “My son’s having at it. He usually fixes it fast.”

“He sounds handy.” you replied, perking up and taking a tentative step toward the counter, eager to keep the conversation going.

“He has good timing.” She said, “He was bringing some meat up right before it shut off.”

“That’s right, I came for some of that,” you said, a reminder going off in your head as you turned on your heel to take in the display fridge you’d spotted on your way in. “Is it all pork? My Pa was hoping for beef.”

‘Hoping’ was a much softer word, in reality it was more like ‘demanded’.

“Tommy was bringing some beef in,” she started, then yelled “Thomas!” - the sudden yell startled you so that your heart started racing. By the time you calmed down enough to turn around and comment, there was a figure lumbering through the back door into the shop.

The sight of him stopped you in your tracks. He was huge. You’d never seen anyone like him in your life. He barely fit in the doorframe, effortlessly holding a box that was almost overflowing with packed meat, and he was looking at you like you weren’t supposed to be there. Like you were a deer in the store rather than a human.

You probably did look out of place.

“Tommy put that down and give the girl some beef.” The woman said. “We grow it special, nothing else like it in the county.” You looked over at her to find she was giving you the same study as before - but more intently.

Thomas made his way behind the display fridge, letting the box go with a loud thump, and then dropped a medium sized parcel from the box on the top of the glass.

You reached over and grabbed the package with both hands, smoothing your fingers over the cool paper, and then smiled as you looked up at him. Now he was standing by the window, you could see his eyes were a lighter brown than you expected.

“Thank you, Thomas.” His head ducked almost shyly, and let out a small gruff grunt before starting to unpack the rest of the box. You almost mimicked him, refraining from also looking away and instead turned back around to the woman.

You fished some money out of your pocket and placed it on the counter, watching as she counted the change. “It’s nice to meet you by the way,” you said, quickly adding your introduction afterward.

“Luda Mae,” she said in reply, then looked up at you with a smile - it was the friendliest she looked since you walked in. “Everyone calls me Mama. You met Tommy.” She nodded to the man behind you.

“Yeah,” you said, breathy. Then you shifted on your feet, eyes searching around the counter but unfinding. “Um, did you have any candy bars too?”

“We only have one kind right now, delivery comes in tomorrow.” Luda Mae, Mama, said. “You could come back.” You sighed. No, you could not come back tomorrow.

“I don’t mind, whatever you have will be perfect.” you said. Then almost before you could think, a large hand slid a wrapped up chocolate bar across the counter next to the packaged meat. Thomas.

You didn’t even hear him come over.

“Thank you. Again.” After you spoke, it looked like he wanted to do something else. He didn’t. You could already guess he wasn’t much of a talker. You didn’t mind.

When you went to pull out more money, Luda Mae tutted at you.

“Don’t worry about that.” She said, “Enjoy your sweets.” You looked over at her, a smile slowly creeping onto your face.

“Thank you,” you said, stepping away and making to leave. “I’ll see you around. I’ll have to have you over for afternoon tea sometime.”

Luda Mae just nodded at you. You caught Thomas’ eye before you left.

“Bye Thomas.”

Thomas watched from the edge of the window as your car drove away. He didn’t really want you to leave, you were very pretty, and you were nice. Nicer than any other girl he’d ever known.

You smiled at him. He loved how he felt when you smiled at him, as foreign as it was.

He was glad Mama knew not to make you pay for the chocolate. He’d have given you the meat for free too if he could’ve. Maybe he’ll try to next time you came in.

“You liked her, didn’t you?” Mama said. Thomas turned to her, looking past the greasy dark hair that fell over his eyes to find her stubbing her cigarette out. “You know her daddy owns the meat factory now. It’d be nice if you could get work back there again.”

Thomas knew Mama didn’t like what they did to the people who stuck around Fuller too long. The nosey ones, the ones in trouble. He still remembered how she looked when it first happened. Thomas didn’t mind the killing and the butchering though, it kept his family safe and fed. It was keeping you fed too, you’d taken some just now - so the factory wasn’t helping you yet anyway.

Until it was working again, he’d have to keep killing to look after you too.

“If you still like her, you should have her over. She’s nice.”

Nice - and pretty. Don’t forget the pretty part. He almost reached out and touched you from how pretty he thought you were, but he didn’t want to scare you away. You didn’t seem scared of him though, people never smiled at him and they were all always afraid.

You were different.

“Better get back to the house Tommy, get the rest of your chores done.”

He grabbed the empty box, then walked out the back of the store. The road was quiet, as usual. His thoughts weren’t though. They were full of you. Maybe he might go for a wander up near the old factory soon. He might run into you there.

Thomas hoped to run into you there.

The second person - or third person really, second time meeting someone new though - was Doreen.

She was a large woman, with a kind round face, and lovely eyes - did everyone in Fuller have eyes that called to your heart, or was it just her and Thomas? In her basket she carried a small tin of tea leaves, and when you opened the door to her gentle knocking, she almost let herself in.

“I brought them so we could sit down for a cup of tea,” she’d said, petting the top of the tin, “They’re the nice kind.” Whatever she meant by that went over your head. Nevertheless you guided her toward the kitchen and put the kettle on the stove.

Your father was out, not that him being home for a first time visitor would’ve been a problem, you just preferred it if he wasn’t around. It was better that way.

“Do you have scones?” you asked, reaching for the tray you’d conveniently pulled from the oven a few minutes ago. “I’m meant to walk some over to my Pa at the old factory, but I can spare some. They’d go well with tea.”

“That sounds just peachy dear,” Doreen said, falling into a chair at the breakfast table. Then after a beat, “I heard you met that sweet boy Thomas.”

‘Sweet’ was a nice word for him, one you agreed with - ‘boy’ felt like a stretch though, there looked to be enough of him to be considered a man three times over.

“I did, he was very kind to me.” You thought back to the chocolate you ate on the drive back home, how it made the roof of your mouth smooth, and how the kindness of the service station employee’s made you feel warm inside. “So was his Mama.”

“Oh yes, they’re both lovely. Luda Mae raised Tommy to be a right gentleman. He looks out for all of us. He likes you, he’ll look out for you too now you know.”

“He likes me?” you asked, almost too quickly. You turned back to the scones, feeling flustered as you heard Doreen giggle to herself.

Daydreaming about Thomas helping you out because he liked you - apparently - was going to go into your day-to-day rotation of wishing for a different life, that was for sure.

As you started halving scones and spreading jam across them, and fluttering about after making the tea, Doreen kept talking. In fact she talked most of the rest of the time she was visiting you. You barely spoke besides the occasional confirmation or denial of the rumours she’d heard about you and your father previously.

By the time she was gone you felt worn out, even though you barely did a thing after making up the scones and tea - but it was a good kind of worn out. The kind that left you feeling like your cup was full.

Then you walked back into the kitchen to see the cooled leftover scones on the stove and the reminder of your father had that content feeling disappear.

Thomas hadn’t been brave enough to approach you - he knew that the days the factory looked like it was running meant your Pa was there, and that you’d come visit him there twice a day to deliver lunch and afternoon tea.

He hadn’t interrupted your walks home yet though, he planned to. When he felt brave enough.

Doreen came over one morning when he was in the basement. Often he paid those visits no mind - ignoring her was less awkward than sitting down and drinking tea with her and Mama - he didn’t fit in that picture very well. But like a trained hound he heard your name, and he slowly creeped to the top of the stairs. Eavesdropping was rude, his Mama said, but he couldn’t help it.

He wanted to know what Doreen said.

She said you liked him.

Thomas’ hands almost flew to the front of his apron, clutching the leathery fabric like a lifeline over his thumping heart. Was she right? Was he hearing things? Did she really say you could like him like he liked you?

It was hard to believe, and Thomas had given up long ago looking for hope that someone might like him. Often there wasn’t a sign of it. But for the first time in years there it was, a light of hope. He grabbed hold of it, and he’d never let it go now.

Lunchtime would be too early to try and run into you - he didn’t want to put you behind on your chores, he didn’t want to make you late for your second errand in the afternoon - so he couldn’t go find you now. Besides, he had chores too.

Yes. He turned and went back down the stairs, determined. He’d finish with his chores here, clean up a little - scrub his hands at least, just in case he got the chance to touch you, or would it be too soon to hold hands? - and then time it to run into you on your way home for the day.

It was the perfect plan.

Your ankle hurt so bad.

Each step along the hot asphalt sent a hot wave of pain up your leg. Were you even going to make it home? You hoped so. Who knows what would happen if you passed out on the road. Heaven forbid they find you again - you didn’t think you’d handle anymore of what those men did to you outside the factory.

There was some god awful throbbing in the back of your head too. You reached back, touching your hair. It was wet, a bit warm. Pulling it back, you looked down to see red blood shining on your fingers. Great. Prefect. More mess to clean up when you get home.

This day couldn’t get worse.

Then a pain shot up from between your legs. It came so sudden that you stumbled on your feet, clutching your skirt as it cramped worse and worse. A yelp broke past your lips, and the basket you were barely holding on to slipped from your fingers, rolling across the road.

What did you do to deserve this? Nothing at all - which was the worst part. You did nothing wrong except being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and those men found you. Cornered you. Used you. They broke you apart and made you bleed, and walked away laughing as if they weren’t monsters.

To hell with them.

Despite it though, the hate you felt in that moment, you started to cry. Quietly tears ran down your cheeks, mixing with the blood from your nose and cracked lip. Slowly you started limping back toward home. But you stopped as soon as you started. Swaying on weak legs, you realized you didn’t want to go home. You’d find no help there, no sympathy either if the dismissal after your father saw you earlier was anything to go by.

You didn’t want to go home.

Thomas stopped in his tracks. It was you walking on the road towards him. Walking in the wrong direction, towards his home and not yours.

Was this a sign? Were you coming to see him like he was going to see you? No, that wasn’t it. He could tell. Something was wrong.

You had to have been confused, and as you limped toward him - unnoticing of him standing on the side of the road - he didn’t need to be told why. You looked like you’d been attacked by wild animals.

It made white hot rage bubble up inside his chest and seep from between his clenched fists, but as you bumbled closer it was soon replaced with a distinct feeling of dread, which settled in his stomach. He was the first thing anyone noticed in any room, yet you still hadn’t looked at him even though you were only a few feet away now.

God, there was blood dripping onto the road. Your blood.

He decided that he would reach out and try and get your attention, try and muster all the gentleness you deserved when he did it. When his hand landed on your shoulder, you stopped walking. You winced, stepping back and almost reaching up to swat away his arm, but you looked up at him.

Your eyes told him you were scared, but then you took him in and for the first time in his life someone’s look changed from fear to relief. You were happy, not scared? To see him, of all people?

“Thomas,” you said, voice hoarse and tired.

Then, almost faster than he could react, your eyes rolled into the back of your skull and your legs gave way. He just managed to catch you, falling to the ground and putting his softer body between you and the hard road. You were limp in his hold. He wasn’t sure what to do. You were hurt, obviously, but he didn’t have much experience in the healing department.

Thomas wanted to help you. Taking you home would be the best thing - but then again you weren’t walking home. Did you not want to go home? He wouldn’t take you back to your home then. You’d go to his home. Mama would look after you, from personal experience he knew Mama was good at helping him feel better, she could help you too. He could even keep you safe from whoever did this to you.

He stood, effortlessly lifting you with an arm under your knees and around your shoulders. Your head lolled on top of his shoulder, and your shallow, warm breaths caressed his neck. He liked it, having you close. He decided then too that he would keep you, have you as his. Maybe it’d take you a while to settle into the idea, he didn’t mind. Even if you had to go home a few times before you felt the same, he’d wait. He was yours too.

So Thomas was going to keep you safe, and he’d kill whoever dared do this to you.

It was hot. Stuffy was probably a better word for it, like you were in a room with bad air circulation. When your eyes fluttered open, you realised it was a room - the stuffiness of the air made more sense then.

Something wet dabbed on your forehead, then slowly moved down from there to under your nose, then your chin. Someone was shushing you, cooing gently, blabbing about how everything was going to be alright now. It made a pang of hurt and longing go through your heart.

“Mama,” your voice was quiet, tired, a murmur in the dim bedroom. If you weren’t aware of your own voice, even you would’ve missed it.

“It’s okay, Mama’s here,” but that wasn’t your Ma’s voice, it was someone else. “You’re safe now. Poor thing.”

Safe? From what? Then, slowly, as you blinked away the blurriness in your eyes everything came back to you. That’s right. The factory, the men, and what they did to you. Even now, in a strange place but a place that felt safer than your own bedroom, the feelings of what happened to you crept up your spine. The fear, the disgust. The anger.

“Hey,” the woman said, grabbing your chin with the bloodied rag. You could focus now, it was Luda Mae. Did she find you somewhere? Decide to take you in and care for you?

That was nice of her.

“None of this frowning now. My boy is dealing with those monsters.” she said. “You don’t need to be upset. Your Tommy will be back soon.”

‘Your Tommy’? Thomas from the gas station? God, the thought of him being yours made your cheeks feel warm. Wait, why were you feeling all fuzzy inside over a man when you were just furiously angry at a group of them? You must’ve hit your head harder than you thought.

Luda Mae started dabbing at your face again, and you looked across at her from where you laid on the bed. Something about this was strange. Off-putting. You’re sure once you found out how you got here that the feeling would subside, but whatever it was was hard to shake.

Or perhaps the feeling, like the ache in your jaw and between your legs and over your hips, was just lingering from earlier. Oh yeah. Earlier. Your mind felt like a pinball machine, bouncing between the horror from before and the strangeness of now. You felt like you’d had a big day.

You settled back into the mattress, head resting back against the pillow, and Luda Mae hummed in approval. Eventually she set the cloth aside. Standing, she took the porcelain bowl she’d been using to clean you up, and looked down at you.

“Rest. I’ll come back up with some supper later.” She said, “Tommy will probably come see you when he comes home.”

“Where is he?” You asked before you could stop yourself. Why did it matter that he wasn’t here, home? Who knows, but you felt like it would be better if he was with you. Not nicer, but safer. Better.

Luda Mae just smiled.

“He’ll be home soon.” she said.

The first thing Thomas did when he came home was go and see you.

Well it was actually the second thing - but as soon as his hands were free that’s what he did. He didn’t care that he had blood all over his apron and up to his elbows, nor did he care that his left temple was hurting badly enough to make his eye squint. He just wanted to see you.

Thomas wanted to see that you were okay.

When he made it upstairs - ignoring any and all comments from Hoyt - he went straight to his room. It was the only place he could bear to put you down after he first brought you home. It felt like the right place to leave you too. He didn’t mind if it meant he gave up his room, he had a spot in the basement he could sleep in the meantime, for all he cared the room was all yours. As long as you stayed.

Pushing the door open to see you up against the headboard, alert and eating, made his chest swell with happiness.

Your lip was still swollen, and you looked uncomfortable where you sat, but when you looked up at him your eyes looked like they had when you saw him in the store. You weren’t scared of him. Even as he watched you take in his appearance from where he stood in the doorway, bloodied and half out of breath, you still didn’t look afraid. He didn’t know what to do.

So Thomas turned and left.

He spent hours trying to ignore it - the feeling - hacking at limbs and flesh, tearing skin from muscle, and hanging carcasses of men who’d rotted before they even died up to bleed out. He tried very hard to ignore that you were upstairs in his bed and unafraid while he was in the basement. He wondered if you’d be impressed at how easily he hauled around what remained of the men that treated you so foully.

They got what they deserved. If you didn’t understand that now, you would one day.

You guessed it was the next day, based on the amount of meals Luda Mae had brought up to you. During that time you hadn’t seen Thomas again, even though you did sort of want to.

You wanted to thank him, although you weren’t completely sure of the reason why - you just knew you wouldn’t have made it anywhere if he hadn’t brought you here, to his home. If he didn’t, you’d probably be in a ditch somewhere.

Thomas’ brother - Uncle? - Hoyt, had visited you between a toasted breakfast and a sandwich lunch. He didn’t venture further than the doorway - maybe Luda Mae had put a ban on entering the room? - and spoke at you for a while as he picked his teeth with a bone. His eyes unnerved you, but he didn’t seem less harmless than Thomas did, and to you Thomas was harmless.

Then dinner came.

The clock by your bedside read ten to six, and you really wanted to get out of your room, so you made your way downstairs. It was a slow process, painful too, but you were quiet and made your way to the kitchen without being noticed.

When Luda Mae turned around, she almost dropped her potato masher.

“Heavens above child. Make some noise next time.” she said. Then, “You’re feeling well then.” You noticed that it wasn’t a question.

“Still… sore.” you said warily, unsure of how much she knew.

“You will be until you heal up properly.” she said. Turning, you saw she now had a bowl of mashed potato in her hands, and she held it out to you. “Put that on the table in the dining room, won't you dear?”

Wordlessly you took it, but lingered near the doorway.

“You’re a quiet one,” she said, noticing your unsureness and eyeing you from where she moved a pot off the stove and onto a wooden chopping board. “Something wrong?”

“Where’s Thomas?” You asked. She smiled as if being let in on some secret.

“Tommy,” she said his name forcefully, as if you ought to call him by the nickname instead, “Is downstairs. He’ll be up in a minute for dinner. Now go.”

Downstairs, you thought as you turned and walked towards the dining room, like the basement? Maybe there was a cellar down there. Turning into the dining room, your steps faltered in the doorway.

“There she is,” Hoyt said, already sitting at the set table with the wheelchair bound, and presumably named Uncle Monty, sitting to his right. “Wobbly legs and all. The boy’s gonna be happy.”

You didn’t know how long passed as you stood there and took in the room, but you know it was a while because Hoyt’s smile changed. It was more forced now, as if his patience was running out. He was being patient though, which was more than you were used to at home.

“Sit down girl.” So, as if by muscle memory you slid the bowl of mash onto the table and sat.

Hoyt hummed at you, his smile changing back to hungry. He didn’t say anything more, just looked at you. Monty did much the same, except his stare was underlaid with traces of irritation. The air started to go thick until Luda Mae came in with a large pot.

“Oh good, y’all are ready,” she said. She sat down on your right, between you and Hoyt, then called for Thomas in such a way that it had your heart racing again just like the first time she did it in the gas station.

There was a loud grating noise from the back of the house, heavy footfalls followed after. The sound made your heart stutter, like it was something to be afraid of. You knew there was nothing to be afraid of though, not if it was Thomas. And of course it was Thomas.

You remembered seeing him earlier, yesterday maybe. He looked horrible, but he made no move toward where you rested in bed so you didn’t panic about it. It seemed like he just wanted to see you. Now he looked better. His hair was still greasy, there were still some suspicious stains on his shirt, and his apron was still shining with some kind of liquid, but in the slowly dimming Texan evening light his eyes were soft and kind.

“Sit boy,” Hoyt said. Thomas sat down across from you, next to Monty. The chair creaked beneath him, and his hands folded on the edge of the table as if waiting for a prayer.

“Say grace,” Luda Mae said, pointedly looking at you - your hands flew into the same clasped position, something about being downstairs in this room had you feeling on edge. As Luda Mae rattled off grace, you decided that no matter what happened you’d play along.

A little learnt voice inside your head told you it was safest for you if you played along.

Luda Mae finished her prayer, and the table got moving. Mash was dished out, and the pot opened to reveal a stew - the ladleful that made it to your plate looked bland, but it’s smell still made your stomach grumble. You hadn’t eaten since lunch, you didn’t realize how hungry you’d gotten.

For a while you ate and mostly kept your head down, only taking moments to look across at Thomas as he ate from his plate like a dog. You felt your head tilting in curiosity - his place had no fork, you realised he didn’t have any other way to eat. Why didn’t his family give him a fork when he was so nice?

A loud bang on the table had you jumping in your seat, dropping your fork onto the plate. You watched Thomas look up at you then look over at Hoyt. You looked toward him too, and found him smiling at you like a wolf.

“Too distracted looking at your man to hear me, girl?” he said, “He did save you I guess. Like that fairy-tale shit huh?” “No cursing at the table.” Luda Mae hissed.

“I’m sorry?” you said, voice quiet, and unsure about what exactly he was meaning.

“We had lotsa fun chasing those guys down for you.” Hoyt said, eyes tracking over your every feature. Your blood felt like it ran cold. Why would he bring this up now? You didn’t feel like eating anymore. “You’re a quiet one huh. Didn’t scream or nothing?”

You didn’t know how you made it into this situation, or how this topic came up, but you were feeling like you wanted, no, needed to run away. Fuck playing along, it wasn’t safe here.

Before you were able to work up the courage to stand and hide back in your room, Thomas sat up. The action coming from such a large man drew attention, and no one was looking at you anymore. He wasn’t looking at you either - he was looking at Hoyt, and his eyes weren’t soft or kind anymore.

“Alright, damn.”

“Hoyt, no cursing!”

“I’ll let her be.” Hoyt’s hands went up in play surrender, but you could tell he wasn’t done with you yet. Soon he was leaning back on the table and picking at your brain again. “And your daddy?”

“Didn’t help.” you mumbled, swallowing thickly, “Never does.”

“Can’t have that now, can we? Not to little Tommy’s girl.”

“That’s right,” Luda Mae said, quietly nodding in agreement.

“Don’t gotta mind those men, not even your daddy. You’re family now, see.” He then said, smiling proudly. “We know what to do with the people who mess with family.” His fork lingered around the stew. As you looked between him and the meat, you could see him watching you figure it out.

Those men were dead. You’d been eating them.

“Oh God…” you mumbled. Then chaos.

“The lord provides dear,” said Luda Mae.

“Helps those who help themselves,” Hoyt chuckled.

“No, no.” you said, head shaking back and forth.

“Girl’s freaking out,” Monty grumbled, “Tommy do something.”

“You worked her up Hoyt,” Luda Mae started, “You gotta be nicer to the poor thing!”

“Don’t blame me for her being so skittish, blame the sonsabitches who fucked her up yesterday!”

That was it.

You pushed your chair back and bolted out the door, behind you chairs scraped against the wood floor but you paid it no mind. You ran through the hallway and out the front door. Your legs barely got you down the stairs for the porch, weakly you stumbled to your knees, but pushed up from your palms to spot the driveway.

You had to get out of here.

Barely halfway down the dirt driveway you started slowing. You weren’t tired, and you weren’t regretting running. A car was coming your way, and you knew that car. It was your Pa’s silver BMW. You couldn’t do a thing except stand and watch as he pulled up to a harsh stop in front of where you stood barefoot in your nightgown.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he yelled, stepping out of the car enough to poke his head out. “You know I needed you at home, why are you here with these inbred redneck bastards?”

You didn’t know what came over you, but after you spent one last moment frozen to the spot, you snapped.

Your feet scrambled on the gravel below, and your hands thrust out ahead of you. Most notable was your scream - high pitched and banshee-like, full of rage. Your father barely had time to close the car door back on himself before you were beside him trying to open it again.

The back of your head was throbbing as you screamed insults at him, and yanked at the door handle over and over.

“I’ll kill you! You selfish asshole, I’ll kill you!”

Thomas knew how to get through the fields of wheat and maize without running into any of the tripwires or bear traps. He did set them.

He’d hoped that when you ran outside that you didn’t run though the fields like many before you had. He’d known you’d have to have been smart, and he was right. You ran up the driveway instead. That was good - you wouldn’t get hurt again, but also he could cut through the fields and catch up to you.

When he finally did, he was glad he went and grabbed his favourite toy before going after you.

You were so quiet, so kind. He’d loved you from the second he saw you because of how sweet you were. This version of you was nothing like the version that was sitting at the dinner table minutes ago.

This version of you was angry, flailing about against the strangers car so hard you’d reopened your split lip. And you were yelling. He learnt a few things from taking some seconds to listen - your vocabulary was less polite than he’d ever imagined, and this car had your daddy in it.

The man who made you walk home was in that car.

Thomas pulled at the cord of the chainsaw once, twice, then it revved to life. It was enough to make you turn and face him as he walked onto the driveway. He clocked the blood that dribbled from your mouth, and the tears down your cheeks, it was enough to make him slam the chainsaw blade down hard on the drivers side roof.

He hadn’t managed to cut through a car on the first try, too much resistance normally, but this was the closest he’d ever gotten. He kept at the door, watching as the man scrambled to the other side of the car. The chainsaw made it through the car though, and there was a sizable enough hole for Thomas to stick it and his arms through to keep chasing him.

He almost managed to get the man's arm before he burst through the passenger side door. He made to run away into the field, but you’d made it around the car and had picked up a nearby discarded fence post. You swung it at his head, and knocked the man to the ground.

Thomas was ready to finish the job when he rounded the car, but just as he was about to rev the chainsaw again you raised the stake. Though the man weakly raised his hands to protest, to beg for mercy, you drove the pointed end though his eye. The man screamed, he wasn’t dead yet.

Thomas set down the quiet chainsaw, and came up behind you. With a quiet but sure and strong arm, he lifted his fist up past your shoulder and head, and landed it on the top of the fence post. With a squelch and pop, the stake went all the way through and into the ground.

Now he was dead.

You looked up along his arm, over your shoulder and up at him. The rage and pain slowly left your face and eyes, and their softness came back as the sun started to set for real.

Slowly, as if worried that he’d run away - he never would run from you - you turned and wrapped your arms around his large middle. His hand that wasn’t on the stake came to your back, pressing you closer through the thin material of your nightdress. It was nice to have you close, this time on purpose - nicer circumstance than last time, even if this occasion did now have a corpse.

He felt you mumbled something against his apron, too quiet and muffled from him to hear. His hand shifted from your back to your shoulder, then neck, finally your jaw. He tilted it up so you could speak again more freely.

“Take me back,” you said, lip quivering with emotion, “Take me back home Tommy.”

He just nodded, grunting softly as he guided you away from the scene. He’d come back and clean it up later. After all, that was his job - you’d never have anything to do with this side of the family business ever again, Thomas would make sure of it.

Then you smiled up at him with blood stained teeth, reaching for his hand and squeezing tight when you wrapped your fingers around his thick ones. You couldn’t tell, but he was smiling behind his mask. You’d be okay here.

Your Tommy would keep you safe.

[jayktoralldaylong]

I wouldn’t say I’m more eloquent or smarter but I’ve been having brain rot about this idiot for three days and I have to talk about him!

Kizaru is truly a pathetic wet mop of a character, and I believe that all of Oda’s characters re intentional to reflect a certain part of the world. ESPECIALLY the officers in the Marines.

We’ve got Garp who’s always talking big about changing the system from the inside but he has been inside that system for nearly 50 years and has changed absolutely NOTHING. 💀 A symbol for the good that allows evil thrive by just doing nothing.

There’s Akainu who doggedly believes that he’s doing the right thing. But in his attempt to burn down evil and narrow it to simple shades of black and white, he is also destroying all the good things of the world and therefore achieving zero success when it comes to ‘Making the world a better and safer place.’

Aokiji/Kuzan is a war criminal. He has done terrible things in the name of the government and justice, but he represents the population that is strong enough to grow the balls needed to walk away. He is staring all of those atrocities in the face, he is accepting them and whatever consequences come from them. Not only has he swallowed the hard pill that he is wrong, he is swallowing the even harder pill of figuring out what he wants to do about it, even after already dedicating so much of his life to the wrong doctrine.

Now Kizaru (I fear this will be long). Kizaru is at the Kuzan stage. He is at the stage where he realizes that everything around him is wrong or bad and so much of their justice is a lie. And although he knows this, he does not accept this.

To put it in simple words, he is running away. 💀

He is not Akainu who doesn’t even realize that his ‘justice’ is just blind dictatorship. Kizaru is fully aware of the people they are hurting, and he’s not cold about it either. Hurting people hurts him too. Yet he will still hurt them. Why? Because he has spent give or take thirty years hurting people.

And to make the choice to turn around, to turn away from that beautiful painted fake lie of justice, and to face the ugly bitter misery that is your legacy…. Ooooh it is tough.

Agh, my thoughts are spinning in circles. I don’t know if I can say it right.

See, he knows the predictable very straightforward path of a Marine which is kill, kill, kill, fight, fight, fight until karma finally catches up with him. He gets paid a decent salary, he has a scheduled time of work and expectations, he has a team that will sort of back him up no matter what (because the Marines is a cult that suffers together). As chaotic as it is to be a Marine, it is an easy and very predictable lifestyle (or at least it used to be).

So knowing all this, when he looks ahead and sees a path where he does not obey the rules of this easy life, it opens to a rainbow of….darkness. 💀 (which is interesting for a man of light). He has obeyed the rules his entire life, because the rules are predictable. Because he has them so memorized that he knows the exact punishment for each time he steps out of line. It is comfortable, it is complacency, it is knowing a system is corrupt and believing there is nothing you can do about it.

Because he KNOWS, the second he steps out of line, the second he disobeys, with his power level, he becomes public enemy number one. 😅😂 And this sense of self preservation is selfish but selfishness is not his inherent trait. His outlook on life seems to be

“I know the rules and I’m following them. If everyone else conveniently did that as well, then I would not need to hurt anyone.”

That’s the first thing he says to Sentomaru. He says they should not have been studying the void, because now they’ve become criminals, and he cannot overlook criminals. It is a clockwork of years spent in a corrupt system and the comfort of the predictability of that system.

Kizaru is the system of people in power that push the narrative that they are powerless. His category is almost as bad as Garp. Garp is worse because he’s not changing shit, he’s actively recruiting, and he’s got family constantly affected by the Marines. I genuinely do not know what Garp is still the Marines. 💀 He should just leave!

That aside. Kizaru seems to have…nothing else going for him. And he’s just used his hands to destroy the only other thing that he could fall back to.

The path of reconstructing learnt bigoted views is not easy. It’s even harder treading that path alone, or as a criminal who will end up right where he started (fighting the friends that he made in the Marines). And Kizaru never fights to kill anyone. All of his interactions with the other characters, he only fights to kill when he is ordered to. But he’ll have to fight to kill as a pirate cause his former friends would definitely be fighting to kill.

The open seas is a place with no support. And there is no possible way that Kizaru will leave the Marines without a bounty on his head. 😂😭 I’m surprised they haven’t drawn one up for Kuzan yet with the way the World Government is.

(All I do on this app is yap)

So yes, he did kill Vegapunk because it was easy, because he’s always chosen the easy thing to do that will cause him the least amount of stress.

But here is the kicker.

This time, it wasn’t easy. This time, even after completing the job, he is still stressed. And now he’s going to live with that stress and that memory and that knowledge for the rest of his life. Some say this might finally be the straw to break the camel’s back and ooooh lord I hope so. I hope this decision haunts him worse than Ohara haunted Kuzan. I hope he can’t close or open his eyes without thinking of Vegapunk, because finally, for the first time in his entire life (because most of his friends are in the Marines or work for the Marines), finally Kizaru has become a victim of the system that he has so doggedly served. And it is eating him alive.

Kizaru is a very fascinating character and I love seeing this example of this type of person.

In the beginning of this arc, he also admitted that he's just a tool of the government and the celestial dragons. It's like, he's fully aware of what he is to the government and to people. He's fully aware of all the atrocities they commit and he commits in their name. He's fully aware that most of what they, and he, do and stand for is wrong and awful. He just doesn't care. Or at least just doesn't care enough to do anything or even think for himself. He's lazy. (Yeah that's the whole thing with his character). Dangerously lazy. It seems like he does have feelings on what the government does, like he doesn't like/want it, he cares about these people who he considers friends, he's sad to see them get hurt. But he chooses to be "a cog in the machine" and never stand up for anyone or fight back.

He's knowledgeable of all the horrible shit the government does, doesn't even like it himself, but does nothing. Actually he does worse than nothing, he does whatever they want him to without complaint, and because it's easier I guess? Easier than fighting back? Easier to just do what you're told than fight for people's lives.

[slightly-knot-insane]

HIIIII OMLL BUT LIKE IMAGINE merman × Fem reader where the merman washed up to the sea and reader takes care of him at her home and studies him bc she's never seen a merman before then during that reader touches a part of his tail and he thinks she's initiating sex and you can do whatever you want with that 🫶

Dehydrated

[ m!merman x fem!reader ]

content: nsfw, praise, blowjob, p in v, squirting

Walking by the sea has always calmed you down. Especially far away from the hot tourist spots, when the sun sets and the shadows grow long. You are a local, so you know many hidden beaches. But you never expected to find one of the merfolk unconscious on one of them! You heard legends of them, but you never believed any of those fairy tales. But even after rubbing your eyes, there was a pretty merman in front of you. And he seemed unwell. Maybe he laid on the beach in the sun for too long.

He is also unexpectedly tiny, barely the length of your forearm. But his physique isn’t childlike. He simply looked like a small adult man - a doll-sized merfolk. 

"Are you okay?" you ask him, but he doesn't respond, his face and scales alarmingly pale and flaky.

With no one around to help you, you pick him up like a sleeping child and start walking toward the sea. You put him in the shallow water and splash him several times. Nothing, still out cold. He seems a bit heavier, though.

You aren’t sure what else he could need, but you are also scared of going back home so late at night - your phone battery is also almost empty. So you decide to take him home immediately, while there is still some light left.

Once you're in your apartment, you place him in your bathtub, because that seems the most logical action. You run to your kitchen to get some sea salt and mix it with the tap water, filling your bathtub. The merman is still out cold, but his lips quickly regain some colour, which is good news. You let your bathtub fill up to his face, making sure he doesn't — drown? Can merfolk drown? Are they more like fish or marine mammals? In any case, you need to change out of your wet clothes.

Once you return to the bathroom, you scream. Instead of a doll-sized person, now there is a huge merman lying in your bathtub, his tail too long to fit the bathtub, and his elbows almost touching the floor tiles. Did he grow? How so? How so fast? But at least he looks so much healthier. He is still asleep, though. You can't hear him breathing, but you can see his gills moving slightly. He looks content.

You approach him to admire his iridescent scales. They are so beautiful, so shiny. You glide your finger across his side to feel their texture, and you explore their edges and curves. And then you find... a slit, of sorts. It is also covered by scales, but in a different pattern. You try to see what is underneath it, and touch a fleshier kind of body part. Suddenly, a webbed hand wraps around your wrist. A wide-awake merman looks at you and smiles with a rather toothy grin.

"I'm s-sorry...", you utter in shock.

"That's okay," he replies as he pulls you onto him. "You saved me and you are curious. Let me introduce myself."

He turns your head toward his not-so-empty-anymore slit. An eel-like phallus, far more flexible than any dick you've ever seen, emerges and bends toward you. You were curious, but not that curious. Or maybe... But you weren't given a lot of time to think - the merman pushes your mouth on his cock.

"I will teach you..." he huffs as his wriggling cock explores your mouth, "everything... you want... about merfolk... Just... aahhh..." He shivers as you actively start sucking him off. "Such a good human... yes... good girl... I will teach you everything to be a good merfolk fucktoy."

Soon, you end up naked in your bathtub, intertwined with a merman you rescued only hours ago. He fucks your mouth, your tits, your thighs. Once he reaches your pussy, he fucks it so good, so hard, you squirt all over him. He is utterly shocked.

"Oh fuck... oh, I'm sorry... it was just so good," you apologize, shaking from your orgasm.

The merman takes you by your hips and, with dark mirth in his eyes, growls: "Again. Beautiful human liquid. I want it more. I was just getting dehydrated again."

Your new roommate stays with you for several days. He quickly learns how to make you squirt. Hard and long. He enjoys it far too much to ever let you leave his embrace without getting him all wet. Even after he recovers and returns to the sea, he insists that you regularly visit him so that he can exit the water to fuck you on the beach and see you climax. And, after your every passionate beach date, you both make sure to rehydrate.

[lovejongseob]

can you do first time with soul? and/or like headcannons with a dancer gf? sorry if this req is weird lolz

Soul First Time hcs

Not weird at all !! Sorry I just did first time hcs, if you put in another req for a dancer gf, ill do that one before continuing the other reqs ^.^ Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy !!

Soul would need a little longer to be ready, but that's not to say he hasn't been thinking of it. He's imagined you in just about every scenario he can, and can't get off if he's not thinking about you. When in practice though, he finds himself becoming more shy. So even though he's wanted to, he might also want some time for the nerves to ease. He's also very perceptive of how you feel, what you want, and would wait forever if you need.

He wouldn't necessarily plan it, but he'd bring up naturally in conversation that he's ready. He will also act like he didn't just drop a huge piece of information on you, but you can tell he's acting more nonchalant to play with you a bit. Doesn't mind if you schedule it, but it would probably end up happening soon on its own.

Super affectionate leading up to it, hugging you, kissing you over your face and body, rubbing his thumb over your hand, and bringing the other to lay on his chest. Holding you a lot, and Soul is only grabbing you tighter when you bring yourself to sit on his lap. Softly grinding you into his hips, and looking at you with pleading eyes.

Soul’s face is so warm, and he asks you if he can eat you out with a shaky voice and lidded eyes. He's pretty shy, especially since he's so inexperienced, but he does a great job just for you. Looking up at you the entire time, studying your reactions and sounds. He controls his movements extremely well, and he's already a little more confident by the end of it.

He'd want you back on top of him as soon as you're ready, and he's trembling with anticipation. Soul lets you take almost completely over, and any anxiety he feels is melting away when you're taking such good care of him. He can barely think when you're being so sweet, holding his face, leaving kisses down his neck, and just making him feel so good.

At his core he's extremely caring, and even through all the fog, he's still trying to read you. When he's not overtaken by pleasure, he's being a little teasing to remind you that he's still there, but also just being super sweet. Lets you know how pretty he thinks you are, and how much he loves you. Of course, Soul is adding in a little bit of pushing his hips into yours, biting gently at the shell of your ear, or lightly dragging his tongue down your neck.

Very thoughtful afterwards, Soul would ask if you need anything, how you feel, how he can help, and more. It doesn't take much to convince him to let you clean up since he's so tired, but he's trying to lure you back into bed at any chance he gets. He might push through and get up to help just so you can hold him in your arms sooner. Falls asleep pretty quickly, but he’s touching and kissing you a lot before he does.

was so sleepy writing this ?? i usually make notes / small hcs, like 1-2 sentences in google docs, then extend on them on tumblr, but i started writing them, kinda zoned out, came back to a full paragraph. but hey it was working so i just kept writing there. proof read but i dont fully know how some of these sentences came to be formed. i always feel like im forgetting something oh my god 💀🙏

[flwrfields]

DISTANT • Y.SE

summary: si-eun started becoming distant, you started becoming confused. you confronted him one day and he couldn't hide his feelings anymore.

a/n: trying to be active on tumblr!! i'm currently making a new smau series that has some good progress. soooo, while i'm working on it, i decided to make a fic that i thought of. I'M ALSO NOT SURE ABOUT THE ENDING💔💔 BUT STILL ENJOY!!!!

warnings: fluff, kinda angst, lowercase intended, distant si-eun, mutual feelings

wc: 1013

you and si-eun are inseparable, attached by the hip ever since you two were kids. well, were inseparable. si-eun started distancing himself from you, he didn't even try to hide it.

whenever you passed him by, he'd continue walking even if you wave at him with a smile. he would keep his head down, walk as quickly as he could to avoid you from stopping him. if you approached him while he was studying at his desk, he'd stand up and act like he needed to go to the restroom.

text him? no reply.

call him? straight to voicemail.

walk up to his desk? he walks away.

you couldn't get any chance to talk to him, no matter how much you tried. all of your efforts are never answered. it felt like there was a brick wall between you and him. an unbreakable one. it only felt like it, though.

these next few days are quiet, colder... lonely. there wasn't anyone you could ramble your day to, there wasn't anyone you could bother. there wasn't anyone to keep you company. you had to admit, you missed si-eun, a lot more than you should. you know it isn't like him to distance himself. you needed answers.

you find yourself standing outside of si-eun's cram school, arms crossed as you look over the crowd of students exiting the building, looking for a specific someone. eventually, you see him — yeon si-eun. you start to move, your legs instantly taking you towards him like it's the most natural thing. he sees you, eyes widening slightly when he realizes he can't walk out of this. you stand in front of him, staring right into his eyes.

god, those pathetic eyes. the eyes that you just adore. the eyes that you can just stare at forever without getting bored. his eyes are like a void, a good void. a void that you'll gladly drown in without hesitation.

you snap out of your trance when you realize how long silence you're being. you let out a long breath, preparing yourself for the conversation.

"why are you ignoring me?" you question, tilting your head while your eyebrows furrow. you can see how si-eun's shoulders tense, as if he's been expecting this question but isn't ready to actually hear it. "i just have some things going on." he replies.

"are you sure?" "yes."

you huff, the huff being a half-laugh and half-scoff. you shake your head as you look down at the ground. "why are you lying to me?" si-eun's breath hitches, hearing the sharp tone in your voice. he knows you want to hear the truth, but he doesn't know if he should say it or not. he didn't want to ruin anything, even though he knows he might be ruining it because of the distancing. but, this is a slower process... he's afraid that he'll lose everything after you find out the truth. he's afraid he'll lose you.

"i'm sorry." si-eun suddenly states, his voice barely above a whisper. it's crazy how soft his voice went, it's unusual, it's new. still, it isn't unwelcomed. you look up at him, seeing that he's staring right at you. "i'm sorry for distancing myself." he repeats, his voice trembling from the nerves. "i'm not trying to hurt you, and i never will. but, it's for my sake, our sake. i don't wanna ruin our friendship. i... i don't wanna lose what we have."

you could've sworn time stopped, like everyone disappeared. your heart skipped a few beats, your stomach started filling up with those familiar butterflies. you never wanted to deny your feelings, but you never wanted to accept it. you didn't want to accept it because you thought si-eun would never feel the same way — but, here you are, standing in front of him, watching as he admits everything he's been bottling up for weeks.

and then, you hear it. the words you've been wanting to hear for years.

"i like you."

you couldn't believe it. you waited all these years, 12 whole years. it was worth it, so worth it. you were silent for a while, processing if everything is real or not. you wondered if this was just a dream. but, you don't remember falling asleep, so you know it's real life. seconds go by, si-eun is still waiting for you to respond. he isn't rushing you, he's patiently waiting.

then, you moved. you moved closer to him, all of your problems slowly fading away. the world slowly faded away. you didn't care. right now, si-eun is your world. you hesitantly interlace your hands together, your touch as light as a feather. you build up the courage to say the words you've been holding to yourself, and it came out of your mouth easier than expected. "i like you too, si-eun."

you could see the corners of his smile shift, curling into a faint smile. you haven't see him smile for a long time, and it felt even better since you're the reason why he's smiling. he squeezes your hands, his smile turning into something warmer.

si-eun lets out a small breath, feeling the huge weight on his shoulders lift. he cups your cheeks in his hands, tilting your head up slightly to look at him properly. "i didn't mean to distance myself from you for this long. i only distanced myself because i thought these feelings were just something else, and i realized it isn't. i was scared to reach out to you again because i thought you were mad at me—" "i'd never be mad at you, never in a million years." you cut him off, reassuring him.

you two stood there for a beat, slowly leaning into each other. once you were inches away, he stops. "you sure you're okay with this?" you nod. "absolutely." your lips meet, a bit of hesitance in it. but, cautiously, you both melted into the kiss, safe in each other's presence.

in that moment, you thought that, maybe, love isn't so bad after all...

© flwrfields

[pastryfication]

pretty world — chapter one

her move to london was supposed to be her fresh start. an opportunity to find herself anew in a place where nobody knew her name. but just as she finds herself settling in, ollie bearman happens. and despite her reservations, he barrels past every one of her well-built walls and ruins her plans.

playlist | series masterlist

The professor was droning on and on in front of the screen. The principle he was enthusiastically explaining had made perfect sense when she learned about it in her native language, but in English, the words seemed to jumble together, and she had given up in following along already at the beginning of the lecture. Now, she was just doodling away in her notebook, trying to look interested in what the elderly man was rambling on about.

Her first week in London had been good. Quiet and uneventful, but good. A few girls from her class had invited her to eat lunch the other day, and just like that, she was starting to grow her social cycle in the British capital.

She had been good at adapting, at figuring out all the new, unfamiliar social cues. All her years of quiet, polite smiles seemed to finally be paying oL in a way that gave her fruition.

When the professor finally started packing up his things, signalling the end of the lecture, she was quick on her feet, moving out the room quicker than anyone else.

The building was busy, students lining all the hallways as she made her way out. She had study hall later, but until then, she was completely free.

For a minute, she considered texting one of her new friends to get a coffee, but she was afraid to push, to overstep in the still new connections, so instead her finger found way to her saved favourites and tapped her brother’s name.

Lorenzo picked up after two rings, a smile evident in his voice. “Hello,” a bit of shuLling was heard on his line. “Did my little sister finally decide to call her favourite brother?”

“Hi, Enzo.” She laughed softly. “Sorry I haven’t called earlier.”

“I was just joking, don’t worry. I’m taking the lack of contact as a good sign. Are you settling in good?”

“Yeah, I think I am.” She hesitated for a moment, looking around her at the grey skies threatening overhead the big park area. “Everything’s so diLerent from home ... and yeah, I don’t really know anyone, but it’s also nice.”

Lorenzo’s voice was soft through the line, and she could almost imagine the overbearing big brother smile he was wearing. “It’s okay to find it hard at first.”

“No, it’s not hard.” She looked down at her worn out sneakers. The tops were getting wet from the damp grass. “I just have to find my place here, I guess.”

He sighed good-naturedly in a way that made it easy to imagine his facial expression. “If you say so... just remember, you don’t have to prove anything. Not to me. Not to anyone else.”

She sucked in a deep breath at his words, but her resolve remained the same till the subject inevitably changed.

-

She chatted with her brother all the way back to her room, revelling in the company, before they said their goodbyes and she promised to call both Arthur and their mother before long.

She was the kind of person who enjoyed her own space, but the silence in her tiny student apartment felt so overwhelming that she almost regretted not signing up for a roommate, just to have someone, no matter how unfamiliar, to fill the silence that threaten to strangle her every time she stepped inside.

As the unwelcome feeling overwhelmed her, the small slip of paper sitting on her kitchen counter seemed to suddenly be the only thing she could focus on. It was a small slip, ripped oL the corner of a napkin and crinkled from being carried around in her pocket. On it was a scribbled number so crooked that it could only have been written by a teenage boy.

Ollie had handed it to her with a crooked smile and a “Call me if you ever get lonely or need a tour guide.”, paired with an awkward scratch at the back of his head.

She was originally going to throw it out as soon as she came home, but something in her had stopped, and put it there instead.

Ollie had been nice. Welcoming and open, but still a bit shy and held-back in a so charming way that she hadn’t been able to stop smiling throughout the night. Had he been any other guy, she would have been over the moon to get his number after such a great evening. But he wasn’t. He was everything she was trying to avoid. Everything she was desperately trying to escape.

It wasn’t his fault that his job and everything it brought was so sensitive for her. It wasn’t his fault that she had been so exposed to the spotlight that she had grown to resent every innocent photographer and fan who just wanted to feel close to their idol.

She hadn’t chosen that life, and maybe because of that, because the only conscience choice she had made was to get away from the high speed, over exposed life of Formula 1, it felt so much more wrong to contact a boy who stood for all that. (No matter how cute he looked with his messy hair and goofy grin)

But still, despite that, she didn’t throw out the slip.

—

Ollie was waiting for a call. He tried to pretend he wasn’t, but he couldn’t stop the way his thoughts kept drifting back to her; to her soft smile, the way she nervously twisted her hair and most importantly, the way he hadn’t stopped smiling the entire night.

He thought they had connected, thought she had felt the same, but apparently not.

Wouldn’t she have called or texted him if she did?

He had never been very caught up in the idea of love or crushes, no, karting had always been his entire life, but this was as if destiny had handed him the perfect girl on a silver platter.

What were the odds of him connecting with the sister of one of his coming colleagues—and on top of that one that had been nothing but welcoming to him? It seemed almost too good to be true. She would be able to understand his world like none of his former girlfriends had.

But it was too good to be true. He was getting ahead of himself. He knew that. But wasn’t that better than not giving it a chance at all? It seemed to be what she was doing, and he would be lying if he said it didn’t make him a bit frustrated.

He was driving to Haas’s location in Oxfordshire with his dad a few weeks later to prepare for the season, but until then, he was staying with some friends in London to get the teenage experience before he started his real grown-up job.

Maybe that was what his frustration stemmed from. Stress. Insecurity.

Why wouldn’t she just call him?

[ibrithir-was-here]

Once there was a fantastic concept, to bring together multiple works of Victorian literature into an epic crossover adventure, and it completely fumbled the ball in terms of characterization or really paying any attention to the source material.

And that happened twice.

Once with "The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen" and again with a trilogy of YA books called "The Extraordinary Adventures of the Athena Club"

One first has already been corrected above and beyond by the excellent @lxgentlefolkcomic

The second, well I got three other comics I need to finish plus a book to write, but here is my humble offering of a springboard. A concept bible if you will

The year is 1892. Noted doctor Robert Matheson has suddenly died, and a young woman training to become the rare Victorian female doctor is given the chance to take up one of his more peculiar cases...

Emlyn Sherringford Verner, training to become a doctor at the London School of Medicine for Women, breadwinner for herself and her sister-in-law Clara Verner ever since the death of her husband Fredrick last year, and yes, cousin of Sherlock Holmes.

Not that the relationship helps her much now, as he fell off a waterfall in Switzerland last year.

Last year was a very bad one for Emlyn Verner.

But now she has a chance to prove herself. One of Dr. Matheson's erstwhile patients is a young girl plauged by odd fits of mania, and Emlyn is determined to do what she can to help the child.

That she finds herself having to protect young Lyssa from mysterious kidnappers who may be part of a ancient cult is just an addendum.

I changed her up from having any personal connection to Dr Jekyll like her Athena counterpart did, as having her be Jekyll's daughter 1. Is completely against his character, and 2. Really brought nothing to the story. And by gum if her greater connection is to Holmes its gonna be familial and not at all romantic :p And since Holmes canonically has a relative named Verner who buys out Dr Watson's practice with Holmes's help, that fit perfectly. And yeah I gave her a unique E name to play into the amusing coincidence of the two best known female relatives given to Holmes having unique E names (Enola and Eurus)

The last year has been equally hard on young Clara Verner. Already an orphan, when her beloved brother died she was forced to leave school and move to England with her new sister-in-law.

Still in mourning and struggling to find her place, Clara takes solace in studying what she can about the mechanical advancements being made in this modern age.

A past time that leads her into making a like-minded friend, a Fraulein Coppel, who has also just moved to England from the German Empire.

A new friendship may be just what she needs to distract her from her grief--and the odd looming presence she keeps feeling is watching her from the shadows.

Surely all the bad luck that has plauged her line back to the Frankenstein family must run out at some point...

So, for a while, I thought I would actually keep the" Justine reanimated as the Bride, but she survives" concept from The Athena Club. But the more I thought about it, the more I felt just kinda icky about it. Like, the poor woman has been through enough due to Victor, and she gets to be left in peace. And since Ernest was left alive, it's totally plausible he'd have descendedants who could become rolled up into the family's dark past later on down the line. If I do keep the Creature alive in this he's also not going to he obsessed with making her his Bride, like in the Athena books. He'had 100+ years to feel remorse/ get some growth. So if anything he'll actually be trying to protect the last of the Frankensteins from the true threats out there.

Lyssa is for the most part like any eight and a half year old girl. She likes to read and roughhouse and sometimes play with dolls and sometimes climb trees.

And yes she may be an orphan but she's at least been lucky enough to end up in a kind orphange. Things would be fine overall--if it weren't for her fits, where she feels like something Bigger and Older then she is keeps trying to break out of her.

And if it weren't for the strange, Wrong feeling people who keep trying to take Lyssa with them. She's managed to avoid being adopted by them so far, but now they seemed determined to take her by any means necessary.

Lyssa thinks they might have done something bad to Dr. Matheson, and she hopes that Dr. Verner won't meet the same fate trying to help her...

It makes sense that Hyde could possibly produce an illegitimate daughter, but I didn't like that the Athena counterpart was like, 100% sassy rude gremlin child all the time, and that's what made her Hyde's kid? Like, that's not really how the potion works? So my thought here with Lyssa is that, yeah she's kinda sassy but that just because of her, and she can also be sweet and kind and rude and selfish just like all little kids are. But, whatever Jekyll did to make that potion, how it affects his offspring is that every once and a while she has these intense, literally Manic fits, where its almost a cthonic Pythoness experience, and she's Seeing into something vaster. Really bring some Alchemy themes into Jekyll's Alchemical like work. He ripped himself apart, and its rippling down into trying to make his daughter a Doorway. Also, at the end of this all I want her to get taken in by Utterson as his god-daughter/ward)

Olimpia Coppel has an old soul. And she isn't meant to have one at all.

About 100 years ago, her Papa Spalanzani made her out of gears and wires and Other Things, with the help of the occult doctor Coppelius--who then soon after kidnapped her.

Of course, Olimpia wasn't much more then a doll then, barely able to speak and only able to move as her clockwork directed. But Coppelius worked on her over the years, until she could move and speak as well as any flesh and blood person--and she could think and feel as well.

But she doesn't let Coppelius and his associates know that. She doesn't know what he'd do to her if he ever found out.

So she plays the parts The Society of the Seekers of Enlightenment asks her to, biding her time, looking for a chance to break free. Her current assignment is to act as Handler-er, Companion, to the Society's newest asset.

But surely there can be some moments spared for a new friend, the first she's ever had...

So in the Athena books, Olimpia'a counterpart was Beatrice Rappaccini from "Rappacinni's Daughter"-- a work that takes place two centuries before Frankenstein does. And the mad science done on her doesn't make her immortal (as evidenced by her dying in the story), just immune to posions/poisonous to the touch. All I could think of the whole time reading her parts was "How are you here??" But you know who could last a hundred years and is also a girl linked to a very likely immortal mad scientist? Our oft forgotten and misnamed robot girl Olimpia, that's who. So that's why I replaced her xD

Three years ago, before she knew what years were, she was captured and taken to the Place of Pain. She was cut and broken and had Things done to her head, things the Cruel Man said that he had done no other Being before her.

The Things Done to her Head helped her to escape, and she killed the Cruel Man. She almost died as well. The Beings around her thought she had. But the Things Done to her Head helped her fool them.

She lived far away from the other Beings and the Other Man on the Island. She watched as the Beings returned to what they were Before. She watched as the Other Man left the Island.

She stayed. And the Things Done to her Head did not go away, but continued to Grow.

One year ago, The New Man came to the Island, looking to Hunt the beasts the Other Man had spoken of. He found her instead. He brought her back to the New Island with him, and the Woman with the Soft Hands changed her shape once more. Not back to what it had been, but she soothed the Pain, and she taught her how to form the Things Done to her Head into Speaking, and the Wearing of Clothes and Wigs.

The Woman with Soft Hands gave her a name "Blanche. Like the little cat in the fairytale that became a princess."

She is not sure what they want of her. She is Hunting for them, she knows that. There is no Whip here. No Room of Pain. But still, the more the Things Done to her Head grow, the more she isn't sure that she hasn't traded one Island cage for another...

So, in the Athena books, Blanche's counterpart is a black panther, which is not what a puma is. Also she is POC coded in the Athena books which I get is to try and get more then just white girls and that's good, but I felt weird having the one POC coded character in the story also be an animal? So I just reverted to what color a shaved puma would be. This led to a very 😳😬😳 moment when, having got nothing but the shoes using "Puma," I attempted to Google "shaved cougar"...do not do that. Anyway, I will attempt to get more diversity in here in any further updates. But yeah Madame Sara is a more obscure character who also appeared in The Strand Magazine. She is a "professional beautifier" who may or may not be using arcane arts and is definitely probably poisoning people.

[specialagentartemis]

from a discussion in the comments of this post:

Learning about things is always valuable; learning how to assess what things are reliable is always valuable; not everything needs academic rigor to be valuable! That's part of what's getting lost here.

It's always good to read critically and ask questions, to think about the logical arguments being made and assess whether they are actually answering the question they set out to answer, or if they provide strong enough evidence for their claim. You certainly don't have to be an expert to do that. And it's a great way to learn.

The idea of academic rigor primarily comes into play if you want to 1) do original research, 2) challenge a scientist or expert and say they're wrong, or 3) give advice in a formal capacity or practice the topic in a formal capacity.

Learning a lot of facts about, say, Ancient Rome, is great for writing a fictional story set in Ancient Rome; academic rigor is necessary if you want to write a nonfiction history of Ancient Rome. Collecting lots of information about local ecosystems is awesome for starting your own native pollinator garden or giving plant cuttings to your neighbors; academic rigor is necessary if you want to start a consulting business giving recommendations to local institutions about rewilding their properties.

I, personally, really love learning about dinosaurs and I consider myself pretty knowledgeable about them, but I'm nowhere near an expert, and that's fine: it mostly means I won't be writing any science books or leading any paleontology research projects or being a Jurassic World science consultant. I can still enjoy it, and get a lot of value in learning about it and understanding it, and know enough to go "hmmm there's probably more to the story" when news articles report that some biotech firm has de-enxtinct-ified some prehistoric animal. Those are all valuable things, even if they don't make me an expert!

And then there are topics like woodworking or sewing or rock climbing where "academic rigor" is not a useful framework for expertise at all, because it operates in a completely different space in which expertise comes in a very different way.

Anti-vaxxers are very enthusiastic about "doing their own research" and still very wrong. This is a huge problem because they are also saying the medical experts are liars and making decisions about other people's health because of it. Graham Hancock is very enthusiastic about archaeology, and very wrong. This leads to him getting a Netflix deal to make a popular tv show where he tells you that the academic archaeologists are lying to you to cover up the fact that Atlantis is real.

Conversely, here's a story about an amateur archaeologist who spent a lot of time studying Ice Age cave paintings... and then brought his observations and theories to academic archaeologists, who worked together with him to test those theories!

Getting an academic degree is not the only path to truth and knowledge. But one of the big values of academia is that it teaches you how to research, how to design experiments, how to read critically and assess information, and how to robustly test your ideas. It also has peer review by other experts who are there to assess your work from an outside perspective and give critiques of it, and it teaches you how to accept critique with an open mind. Those are absolutely skills you CAN learn outside academia! For sure! But you have to honestly assess: are you? before you can make a claim to the same standards of original research, challenging other experts, or giving advice from a place of expertise.

If that's not what you're interested in doing with your knowledge, then learning facts is awesome. Learning about the world to broaden your worldview and understand more about the world around you is always good. And I don't know an academic who will ever claim otherwise.

[n01likeu]

Everything.

MINOR DO NOT INTERACT.

Paring: Choi San x Reader Word count: 6k Genre: Exploring themes of longing, control, and explicit intimacy within a relationship facing external familial conflict. Dom!reader, softdom!san, sub!san. Beg beg beg. Please note: This content is for mature audiences due to explicit sexual themes. It contains elements of emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, and power dynamics, as well as descriptions of crying, anxiety, and self-esteem issues. There are also mentions of consensual, safe, and aftercare. Self-indulgent. Reader discretion is advised. Author note: Please, lovies. Give me a heads up if I forgot to mention something that I needed to add, or if there’s any errors. I am new to this, and it’s my first time uploading my work here. I didn’t fully checked my work, do expect some errors, lovies. English is not my first language, bear with me. Happy reading.

You hate him so much. You despise him. Your coping mechanism is to hate your ex, even though you both ended on good terms. All you can think of are the things he did that made you frown—ick, rather. You loathe San. Oh, not really. You ended things with him because of your grandparents. They wanted you to focus on your future by studying business management to take over their company. You’re sick of this. Your parents can’t even protest; they obey as well. They love San, and they want him for you. Too bad, because they also want a “better future” for you.

It’s almost been a month since you last saw him face-to-face. You’ve done everything you could: visiting different cafes with your friends, going out to a park with your dog, isolating yourself in a library, and trying new recipes for pastries within that month. But in the end, San is still in your mind. You keep thinking that he’s supposed to be with you, visiting those new cafes, playing with your dog out in the park, reading books together in a library (but he’d be looking at you, not even a single glance at the upside-down book he’s holding), and baking with you using his passed-down recipes from his great-grandmother. It pisses you off so bad that every time you think of doing something, there’s always a reserved space for him. You hate him because there’s no other thing that could help you forget him since you did it all with him for over six years. You’re in your second year of college, all fucked up, rotting in your bed. Your best friend Ningning had visited your apartment just a few hours ago to lighten you up, knowing you’re not fully okay after finals and your endless reminiscing of San. You felt sorry for your best friend, but she reassured you it was all fine. Satan must be having fun... fucking my life in every way, you thought to yourself.

You’re staring at your ceiling, and now you’re thinking of your ex. You miss how he used to trace imaginary patterns on your arm when you were lying next to him, how his laugh would fill your apartment, making even the emptiest days feel vibrant. You miss the way he’d pull you into unexpected hugs, smelling faintly of the coffee shop he worked at and his subtle, comforting cologne. You miss his endless patience when you were struggling with an assignment, sitting quietly beside you, offering a reassuring squeeze of your hand every now and then. You even miss his annoying habit of leaving his socks by the bed, because at least then you knew he was there. A sharp pang echoes in your chest. It’s not just the absence of him, but the gaping hole where your shared future used to be. Every dream you ever spun, every “what if” scenario, every plan for five, ten, even twenty years down the line, had his face in it. Now, it’s just a blurry, undefined expanse, shadowed by your grandparents’ “better future” and the weight of their company. You clench your jaw, a bitter taste filling your mouth. This isn’t your future; it’s theirs. And you resent it. You resent them. But most of all, you resent San for being so unforgettable, for being so intrinsically woven into the fabric of your life that even tearing him out leaves a ragged, bleeding edge. You close your eyes, wishing for sleep, for oblivion, for anything that could silence the unwavering echo of his memory. But even in the darkness, you can still feel the ghost of his hand in yours, a phantom warmth that refuses to fade.

The city lights hummed around you, a stark contrast to the quiet ache in your chest. You’d decided to brave one of your old haunts tonight—a small, dimly lit bar with good music and even better cocktails, hoping to drown out the persistent thoughts of San. The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and faint perfume as you nursed your drink, tracing patterns on the condensation of your glass. Suddenly, a shift in the ambient noise, a subtle change in the energy of the room, snagged your attention. You didn’t even have to look up. You felt him. Every nerve ending in your body tingled with an electric awareness. Your breath hitched. He was here. Your eyes finally lifted, drawn across the smoky room as if by an invisible string. And there he was. San. He was standing by the bar, talking to the bartender, but his gaze, hot and familiar, was already locked onto yours. The casual hum of conversations, the clinking of glasses, the music—it all faded into a distant murmur. There was only him. And you.

He started to move, not directly towards you, but as if on a circuit, heading towards the restrooms, a path that would take him directly past your table. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the silence that now enveloped you. As he approached, his eyes never left yours, a silent, potent conversation passing between you. There was no awkward smile, no forced pleasantry. Just a raw, undeniable hunger in his gaze that mirrored your own. As he drew level with your seat, his pace barely faltered. His hand, warm and calloused, brushed against your lower back, a deliberate, lingering touch that sent a searing current through you. It was a familiar ghost, a memory of countless other touches that had promised so much more. He didn’t stop, didn’t speak, but the brief contact was an explosion of suppressed desire, an unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. You watched his retreating back, your skin still humming from his touch. You knew exactly what that meant. And you knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you were going to follow.

As San moved past, the spot on your lower back where his hand had lingered burned like a brand. The air around you crackled with unspoken tension. Your breath felt shallow, caught somewhere in your throat. You watched the line of his shoulders beneath the dark jacket, the way his dark hair caught the dim light. It had been almost a month, but the sight of him, that look in his eyes, the brief, deliberate touch—it had ripped through your carefully constructed walls of indifference. Your mind raced, a chaotic jumble of longing, resentment, and that undeniable, insistent pull of physical attraction. You hated him for doing this to you, for disrupting the fragile peace you’d been trying to build. But a louder voice, a more primal instinct, was screaming something completely different.

Without conscious thought, you pushed yourself to your feet, your chair scraping slightly against the wooden floor. The sound seemed amplified in the sudden quiet that had descended around you. You hesitated for a fraction of a second, a sliver of your rational mind screaming at you to sit back down, to ignore the magnetic force drawing you in. But the memory of his touch, the intensity in his eyes that mirrored your own buried desires, was too strong to resist. You took a step, then another, your gaze fixed on San’s broad back as he disappeared through the door marked “Restroom.” You knew he hadn’t actually needed to use them. This was a silent invitation, a pretense.

Taking a deep breath, the humid night air clinging to your skin as the bar door briefly opened and closed, you followed. The dimly lit hallway leading to the restrooms felt thick with anticipation. The sounds of the bar faded behind you, replaced by a low hum of the air conditioning. You knew what you were about to do. And despite the turmoil in your heart, a part of you, a deeply buried, fiercely yearning part, couldn’t deny the electric thrill of it.

You reached the restroom door and paused, your hand hovering over the cool metal handle. The low murmur of male voices could be heard from within. Taking one last shaky breath, you pushed the door open and stepped inside. San was leaning against the sink, arms crossed, his gaze already on you, that same intense, knowing look still blazing in his eyes. The air crackled. The game had begun again.

He was still leaning against the sink, his arms crossed over the glossy texture of his jacket, the silver chain around his neck catching the faint light from the overhead fixture. His dark hair, slightly disheveled, framed a face that was both impossibly familiar and unnervingly alluring in the muted light. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, devoured you. There was no casual greeting, no “fancy meeting you here.” His gaze alone was a physical touch, tracing every curve, every shadow. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, yet vibrating with an unspoken language only the two of you understood. It was the language of six years of shared history, of bodies that knew each other intimately, of a passion that had never truly died, only been forcibly buried. You felt your cheeks flush, a wave of heat spreading through you that had nothing to do with the humid night. You wanted to look away or flee, to break the potent spell, but you couldn't. You were a moth to his flame, drawn in by the sheer magnetic force of his presence.

He pushed off the sink, taking one slow, deliberate step towards you. Then another. The small space of the restroom felt even smaller, every inch of it shrinking until it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. The faint scent of stale cigarette smoke and generic air freshener was obliterated by the clean, distinct scent of him—something woody and slightly musky, utterly San. His hand rose, slowly, as if in a dream, and he reached out. His fingers didn’t go for your face or your hair. Instead, they settled on the sensitive skin of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your pulse point. The contact was electric, sending shivers down your spine and igniting a fire in your core. It was a possessive gesture, a silent claim.

“You followed,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough rasp that sent another jolt through you. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact, laced with triumph and a raw, carnal anticipation. His eyes dropped from yours, trailing slowly down your face, lingering on your lips. Your breath hitched. Your body was already betraying you, aching for his touch. The fight you’d been putting up for the past month dissolved like smoke. All the reasons you shouldn’t, all the ‘what-ifs’ about your grandparents and your future, vanished. There was only this moment, this man, and the undeniable truth of your shared, burning desire.

“Of course, I did,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible, a confession, a surrender. “Why wouldn’t I?” You leaned into his touch, your eyes closing for a brief moment as his thumb continued its maddening rhythm on your neck. The next move, you knew, would be yours to make, or his. And it wouldn’t involve talking. You snaked your arms on the back of his neck and pressed your lips against him, closing the gap between you and San. His fingers squeeze the side of your neck—enough to make you breathe, even. San’s other hand traveled down on your ass, squeezing it, pulling you closer until you felt his hard, clothed cock. You started to grind your body against him. San let out a low groan against your mouth, a sound of pure pleasure that vibrated through your entire body. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a passionate dance. The pressure on your neck eased slightly, allowing for more comfortable breathing, but his grip on your ass remained firm, keeping your bodies tightly pressed together. You could feel the undeniable heat radiating from him, mirroring the inferno building within you. Every grind of your hips against his was met with an eager pushback, a silent language of escalating desire. The air around you crackled with an unspoken urgency, a shared need that threatened to consume you both. You felt yourself getting dizzy, not from lack of air, but from the intoxicating rush of his presence, the raw intensity of the moment. The world outside of his embrace faded into a blurry background, and all that existed was the pounding of your hearts, the delicious friction of your bodies, and the promise of what was yet to come.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your forehead resting against his. His eyes, dark with desire, met yours. “God, you drive me insane,” he breathed, his voice thick and rough. His thumb, still on your neck, traced the line of your jaw, sending shivers down your spine.

“Oh, really?” You purred back, a mischievous glint in your eyes, a slight smirk playing on your lips. You could feel the frantic beat of your heart against his chest. His grip on your ass didn’t lessen, keeping you flush against him, making the undeniable evidence of his arousal all the more present. Your fingers, still laced in his hair, gave a gentle, possessive tug. He chuckled, a low, husky sound that sent another wave of heat through you.

“Is it now?” He murmured, his gaze utterly devoted. “Because I feel like I’m the one about to lose my mind here... if you’d allow it.” His gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes, filled with an almost desperate plea. “What kind of spell are you doing to me, beautiful?”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “What do you want me to do?” You challenged softly, a hint of steel beneath the teasing sweetness in your voice. You felt him tense beneath your touch, a clear sign of his hunger and his readiness to submit. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly, a serious intensity replacing the playful glint in his eyes, now mixed with a deep, consuming adoration.

“Everything,” he said, his voice dropping to a near growl, a tone of absolute surrender. “I want you to do everything.” He squeezed your ass again, pulling you impossibly closer, his body vibrating with controlled anticipation. “And I want to do everything for you, to you, as you wish.”

You let out a soft, knowing laugh, a sound that held a hint of delicious victory. “Are you willing to do such thing, San?” You murmured, your fingers tightening around the back of his neck, pulling him a fraction of an inch closer until your lips were almost touching again. Your gaze dropped to his mouth, then back up to his eyes, watching the worship intensify.

“Please, love. Let me feel you. Let me fuck you right here, please.” Your hand moved from his neck, trailing slowly down his chest, resting over his heart, which was pounding a frantic rhythm. You felt his sharp intake of breath, a subtle shiver that ran through him. You could feel the undeniable strength of his body, the hard planes of his muscles, yet he was utterly still beneath your touch, waiting.

“Begging already?” you whispered, your voice dropping to a seductive husk. “Then you’ll have to earn it, won’t you?" Tilting your head slightly, a clear signal of your will. “You hear me, San?” The words hung in the air, a silken thread of absolute will.

“Yes. Please, let me touch you…” He spoke in a low tone, grinding on your thighs. Sweating gathered on his forehead and fell down to his jaw as he breathed heavily.

“Fucking insane. I didn’t order you to grind like a dog on me,” you spat. “Kneel.” A last word that followed out of your mouth. San immediately fell to his knees, hands on his lap. Looking at you as a vulnerable piece. The dim light of the restroom played across the silk black dress, highlighting the curve of your back, the enticing hint of your thong visible as you leaned against the sink, supporting your weight.

“Eat me out. Devour me like you own me.” You looked down to San, who was reaching for your ankles, massaging them as his hands traveled up to your legs, kissing them inch by inch, worshipping your body, parting your legs as he went up to your thighs, leaving a mark, and licking them after. His eyes, dark with fervent desire, remained fixed on you as he slowly, deliberately, brought his face closer to your waiting heat. You could feel his warm breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin, sending shivers through you that were a delicious mix of anticipation and absolute control. He paused, just for a moment, a silent question in his gaze, seeking your final, unspoken approval, even as his body trembled with eagerness. You watched him, your own breath catching in your throat, the thrill of his utter devotion a potent potion. Without a verbal cue, but with a subtle shift in your weight and a slight parting of your lips, you granted him permission. His dark head dipped, and then his tongue, hot and wet, made first contact. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your fingers instinctively gripping the cool edge of the sink behind you.

He was everything you remembered, everything you craved, and more. His movements were precise, deliberate, a worshipful exploration that left no inch of you untouched. Each flick of his tongue, each gentle suck, was designed to push you closer and closer to the edge, a master of his craft, completely consumed by the act of pleasing you. You felt the warmth spread, fire igniting in your core, and the world outside the small restroom dissolved into a blissful haze of sensation. His hands moved to cup your buttocks, lifting you slightly, pressing you more firmly against his mouth. The silk dress rode up, revealing even more of your thong-clad rear. You arched your back, a low moan escaping your lips as the intensity built. You could feel his hot breaths, hear his soft groans of pleasure, mingling with your own. He was truly devouring you, just as you’d commanded, lost in a single-minded pursuit of your satisfaction. The thought of your grandparents, your future, and the entire world outside was utterly obliterated by the exquisite reality of San at your feet, making you burn. As he continued his movements, you found yourself twisting, unable to keep still, your fingers digging into the cool porcelain of the sink. Each stroke of his tongue, each gentle pull, was a direct shot of pleasure, spiraling through you. He paused for a moment, just long enough for you to let out a frustrated whimper, before resuming with renewed intensity, as if punishing you for your impatience, yet simultaneously rewarding you with deeper sensations.

“San,” you gasped, your voice strained, barely recognizable even to your own ears. Your head fell back against the mirror, your eyes squeezed shut, the world now nothing but the rhythmic, insistent pleasure he was eliciting. He didn’t answer verbally, but the way his tongue moved and the increased pressure of his mouth told you he heard your plea and was only going to push you further. He shifted, bringing one hand to cup your mound, his thumb sweeping over your already swollen clit, while his mouth worked wonders. The combination was almost unbearable, pushing you right to the edge. You felt a soft trembling start deep within you, growing, consuming.

“Please,” you whimpered again, the word barely a breath. “San... please…” You weren’t sure what you were begging for—was it for him to stop, for him to continue, for release, for more, or for less? It was just a desperate, animalistic sound of pure need. He lifted his head for a second; his eyes, dark and glazed with his own rising passion, met yours. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his lips glistening.

“Beg for it, doll,” he murmured, his voice a low, rough rumble against your skin, just before his mouth closed over you again, sending a jolt that made your toes curl.

A whimper tore through you. “San, I—I need—” Your words broke off into a choked cry as he intensified his service, driving you closer to the edge than you thought possible. “Please... please, I’m almost there…”

He pulled back again, just a fraction, the sudden withdrawal almost painful. You whimpered, reaching out blindly, your fingers tangling in his dark hair. “Don’t stop, San. Please, don’t stop. I need you, fuck.” Your voice was raw, stripped bare of any pretense of control. “Please, baby, don’t stop, I beg you.”

His eyes burned into yours, a successful glint mixing with the absolute adoration. “Say my name,” he rasped, his breath hot against your thigh. “Say you need me.”

“San, baby. Oh god, San, I need you. Make me cum. Please, baby.” Your hips bucked instinctively against his face, a desperate plea for release. You let out a loud moan; you didn’t realized how loud you are. He watched you, a slow, sensual smile spreading on his lips as your desperation grew. He was enjoying every single second of your unraveling, your complete surrender to the sensations he was orchestrating.

“Such a good girl. Begging for me just to fuck her stupid using my mouth,” he purred, the words sending another shiver through you. And then, with a final, deep dive, he pushed you over the edge. A strangled cry ripped from your throat as your body convulsed, pleasure exploding through every nerve ending. You clutched his hair, your nails digging lightly into his scalp as your knees threatened to buckle. He held you steady, his mouth still working, catching every last tremor of your climax, devouring you completely. When the last movements ended and your breathing evened out, he finally pulled away, his face slick with your mutual pleasure. He looked up at you, his eyes still dark with a simmering desire, but now also filled with a profound, almost reverent satisfaction. He reached up, his thumb gently wiping a tear from the corner of your eye that you hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“All for you, sweet,” he breathed, his voice soft, utterly devoted. He then leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to your now-sensitive skin, a lingering, possessive touch. “Always.”

It took a few shaky moments for you to regain your composure, to find your footing again as the waves of pleasure receded, leaving you delightfully weak. San rose from his kneeling position, his movements fluid and unhurried. He didn’t speak, but his gaze, hot and possessive, lingered on your face, reading every lingering trace of your climax. He reached out, his hand gently settling on the small of your back, a silent anchor.

“We can’t stay here,” you murmured, your voice still a little breathless, the words feeling foreign and heavy in the aftermath. The fluorescent lights of the restroom, the lingering scent of disinfectant, suddenly felt stark and unwelcome after the intimate intensity of the past few minutes. San merely hummed in agreement, his thumb stroking your skin. He didn’t need words. He knew exactly what you meant, what you wanted. Your apartment. Your bed. The place where inhibitions could truly melt away. He turned, guiding you gently with his hand on your back, leading you out of the restroom and back into the muffled hum of the bar.

The transition felt surreal. The conversations and laughter of strangers seemed distant, a mere backdrop to the vibrant thrumming between you and San. You didn’t speak a word as you walked past the main bar area, past curious glances, out into the humid night. The air was thick and warm, clinging to your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air-conditioned interior of the bar. He hailed a taxi with practiced ease, opening the door for you before sliding in beside you. The ride to your apartment was a silent symphony of anticipation. Your hand found him in the darkness of the backseat, fingers intertwining, a silent promise exchanged. His thumb drew lazy circles on your knuckles, a comforting rhythm that spoke volumes. The earlier resentment, the carefully constructed walls of hatred, felt like a distant, irrelevant memory. All that mattered was the warmth of his hand, the shared heat in the small space, and the electric hum of what was coming next.

Soon enough, the taxi pulled up to your apartment building. You fumbled for your keys, your hands still trembling slightly, a small laugh escaping your lips. San took them from you, his fingers brushing yours, and effortlessly unlocked the door. He let you enter first, a silent deference that made your stomach clench in a delicious way. The apartment was dark and quiet, save for the faint glow of city lights filtering through the blinds. You kicked off your shoes, letting them fall unceremoniously to the floor. San closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the stillness, severing you from the outside world.

He didn’t turn on any lights. The dimness felt right, adding to the illicit intimacy of the moment. You turned to face him, the faint light catching the contours of his face, the intensity in his eyes. He reached for you, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks.

“My love,” he whispered, his voice a low, rough reverence that sent shivers down your spine. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, then your eyelids, then tracing the curve of your jaw with his lips before finally finding yours. This kiss was slower, deeper than before, a lingering promise. His tongue traced your lips, asking for entry, and you readily granted it, your body already arching into his. San’s hands moved from your face, trailing down your neck, over your shoulders, and then found the hem of your black silk dress. He slowly, deliberately, began to pull it up, his eyes never leaving yours, watching for any sign, any hint of resistance. There was none. The silk glided upwards, revealing more of your legs, the smooth curve of your hips, until the thong beneath was fully exposed. San took a moment, his gaze sweeping over your exposed skin, a low groan rumbling in his chest. You reached for him too, your fingers fumbling with the zipper of his jacket, then the snaps of his shirt. He stood still, a statue of patient devotion, allowing you to undress him. The leather jacket came off first, then his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the taut muscles of his abdomen. You traced the lines of his body with your fingertips, feeling the heat radiate from him, the faint tremor that ran through him as your skin met his. San stepped back slightly and took your hand, leading you deeper into the apartment, as if he lived there, to the bedroom. The soft rug underfoot felt luxurious against your bare soles. In the dim light, your bed looked like an island, an irresistible haven. He paused at the edge, his gaze searching yours.

“May I?” he murmured, a silent question asking permission to continue, even though every fiber of your being screamed yes. You nodded, a shaky breath escaping your lips. He reached for the strap of your dress at your shoulder, slowly sliding it down, allowing the silk to pool at your feet. You stepped out of it, the black fabric a discarded puddle. He then lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed. You gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist as he lowered you onto the soft mattress. He hovered over you, supporting himself on his elbows, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, his voice thick with adoration. “Perfect. So fucking perfect for me and mine only.” His hand found the waistband of your thong, his fingers slipping underneath. He slowly, agonizingly slowly, peeled it down your legs until you were completely bare beneath him. He didn’t rush, savoring each moment, each inch of exposed skin. You reached for the waistband of his pants, pulling at them impatiently. He chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound, and helped you, shucking off his pants and boxers until he too was naked, his hard form pressing against your bare thighs. He settled between your legs, his weight a delicious pressure. He leaned down, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, leaving a trail of hot kisses along your collarbone.

“You have no idea how long I have dreamt of this,” he whispered against your skin, his voice raw with a desperate longing that mirrored your own. "Of being here again, with you, like this.” You threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling his head back slightly so you could meet his gaze. His eyes were dark, almost black, brimming with an overwhelming emotion that captivated you.

“Show me, San,” you whispered, your voice a soft invitation, your hips unconsciously tilting up, pleading. “Show me everything.” He met your gaze, a powerful mixture of adoration and barely contained hunger in his eyes. He leaned in, pressing his lips to yours, a deep, consuming kiss that stole your breath away. This was not just desire; it was a profound connection, a reunion of souls that had been torn apart, now finding their way back to their inevitable convergence. His body moved, pressing deeper, finding that familiar, perfect fit. You gasped against his mouth, a sound of pure, unmixed relief and escalating pleasure. He groaned against your lips, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through your entire being as he began to move. Slowly at first, a deliberate testing of the waters, a teasing rhythm that built the excitement. You responded immediately, your hips instinctively meeting him, pushing back, craving the full immersion. His hands found your waist, gripping you firmly, lifting you slightly to deepen the angle, to ensure every friction was maximized.

“My love,” he breathed, the words muffled against your mouth as he broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your jaw to your ear. “You feel so good. So good.” His breath hitched as you arched into him, a soft moan escaping your lips. The pace quickened, a primal dance that spoke volumes without a single word. The bed beneath you became a tempest, the soft mattress sinking with each powerful thrust. You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him in closer, urging him deeper. Your nails lightly scraped against his back as you clung to him, lost in the escalating storm of sensation. His muscles flexed under your touch, a testament to the raw strength he held in check for you. He was a force, yet utterly devoted to your pleasure, watching your face for every sign, every gasp, every subtle shift in your expression. He leaned down, catching your lips in a passionate kiss again, swallowing your moans, mingling your breaths until there was no telling where one ended and the other began.

The air in the room grew heavy, thick with the scent of aroused bodies and desperate need. The sounds of your apartment, usually so familiar, were now just the frantic pounding of your hearts and the soft gasps and moans that filled the space. The thought of anything beyond this moment, beyond the exquisite friction and the intoxicating scent of San, completely vanished. This was your true future, the one you truly desired, unraveling beneath you in a tangle of limbs and breathless whispers. He pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark and dilated, filled with a burning intensity.

“Look at me,” he rasped, his voice strained, raw with his own approaching climax. “Look at me, doll.” You met his gaze, completely consumed, your body trembling on the brink. You could feel the building pressure deep inside, the undeniable ascent towards another peak. His eyes, fixed on yours, were the only anchor in the swirling of sensation.

“San,” you whimpered, his name a desperate plea, a worshipful prayer on your lips. With a final, powerful thrust, he drove into you, a deep, all-consuming connection that sent you spiraling over the edge once more. A guttural cry escaped you as your body shook uncontrollably around him, clutching him tighter. He groaned, a primal sound of release, as he followed you, collapsing onto you, his body heavy and satiated. The aftermath was a symphony of heavy breaths and pounding hearts, bodies slick with sweat, entangled in the peaceful silence that followed the storm. He buried his face in your neck, pressing kisses to your damp skin, utterly spent, yet still holding you impossibly close, as if afraid to let you go. He lay heavy on you, his chest rising and falling against yours, the scent of him—a mix of sweat, sex, and his familiar cologne—filling your senses. Your fingers, still tangled in his hair, gently stroked the nape of his neck. The frantic rhythm of your heart gradually slowed, syncing with the steady beat of his. The silence in the room was profound, punctuated only by your soft breaths and the lingering hum of satisfaction that resonated deep within your bones.

After a long moment, he shifted, lifting his head from your neck and propping himself up on his elbows, looking down at you. His eyes, still clouded with the afterglow, held a tenderness that made your own heartache in the best way possible. He reached out, his thumb tracing the curve of your bottom lip.

“Are you... Alright, my love?” he whispered, his voice a little rough, a hint of concern in his gaze. He always checked. He always made sure you were okay, even when he was completely lost in the moment. It was a subtle, natural care that had always been one of the things you loved most about him and something you had desperately missed.

You smiled, a soft, content smile. “More than alright, San,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight stubble beneath your palm. “Perfect rather.”

A relieved sigh escaped him, and he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he breathed, the word filled with sincere relief. He rolled off you, but only to lie beside you, pulling you immediately into his side. Your head rested on his shoulder, your leg thrown over his, your bodies still connected by the lingering warmth and the unspoken intimacy.

The city lights still filtered through the blinds, casting faint, shifting shadows on the ceiling. You were both quiet, simply existing in the shared space, in the aftermath of something raw and powerful. You felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over you—the lingering resentment for the life your grandparents had dictated, the sharp pang of regret for the time lost, and an overwhelming surge of pure, unadulterated contentment in his arms.

“I missed this,” you whispered, the words barely audible, a confession that tasted like freedom on your tongue. “I missed you.”

He tightened his arm around you, pulling you even closer. His lips brushed your hair. “I missed you too, more than words can say,” he murmured back, his voice thick with emotion. “Every single day; It was hell without you—even though I can sense that you hated me to death. I know you.”

You sighed, burying your face deeper into his shoulder. The fragile peace was here, in this bed, with him. The outside world, the demands of your family, the future they had planned—it all felt distant, a problem for another day. For now, there was just this. Just San. And the undeniable, aching truth that you were exactly where you belonged. You felt his breathing even out, a soft snore starting to rumble in his chest. He was falling asleep, utterly relaxed in your embrace. You closed your eyes, letting the exhaustion and the profound contentment wash over you. For the first time in a long time, the insistent echoes of his memory were not tormenting you but lulling you into a peaceful sleep.

[viceconnor21]

I don’t know much about Cub and I’m more or less going on what I see in other creators videos and my own AU stuff.

Here’s the short lore!

Cubfan135

Name: Interstellar Hue

Species: Dragon

-Scientist

Studies stella creatura (Star creatures)

Special interest in Ursa majors and minors

Studies how star-based creatures are related and how they interact with the physical plane (like Tantabuses)

-Studied briefly in Canterlot under the guidance of the Lunar Ruler.

The Lunar Ruler holds dominion over the night and dreams, with shared control of the moon and stars.

Magic Studies, with a focus in space and stars, only to find a niche in Stella creaturas studies.

-Was studying Ursa Minors in their natural habitat of the Magic Mountains (The Mountains that surround the Hermit Valley.)

Found an injured pony-like creature that the Ursas were trying to care for.

This pony was Warden Void.

Warden Void is an Equuleus Minor that was stripped from Equuleus Major status after his kingdom/domain fell.

Unlike the Ursa Minors, his body was not able to regulate his star form.

- Interstellar Hue, using his extensive knowledge of space and star magic, plus fallen fragments from Warden’s kingdom that fell with him, to construct a kind of exo-suit to ease some stress this current dimension has on the star pony’s body. (Ultimately saving the his life)

- The fallen god and the dragon become quick friends.

- Interstellar cared for the pony during the rest of his field study

He learned of Warden Void’s trauma and tragedy of his kingdom

- During this time, the pony regained some strength but still required his exo-suit to survive and together they made the suit livable for the long term.

- After Warden Void established his roots in the Hermit Valley and Interstellar's field work was complete, Warden Void asked him to stay,

The dragon was his first friend of this dimension.

- Interstellar agreed and was given free reign to study magic the way he wanted to.

- Interstellar is also looking for a way to help Void’s body remain stable without the suit and/or to help him regain his status of Equuleus Major.

---

Intimidating when people first meet him

Doesn’t smile much but is actually happy

Overall a nice guy

Struggles with social cues

Blunt but is good natured

Will let you when he is not interested in something

Loves experimenting with magic

Loves color and presentation

Wants to find a solution to Void’s need for the exo-suit

Best friends with Terraform

Absolutely Brilliant

Loves the hermits, but also prefers to work alone

Organized

Always taking notes (always has his pencil)

Loves to cause his own type of mischief (corporate mischief perhaps)

Probably could have been evil genius if given the wrong circumstances