#a pause full of philosophy

[pratchettquotes]

"Talent just defines what you do," he said. "It doesn't define what you are. Deep down, I mean. When you know what you are, you can do anything."

He thought a bit more and added, "That's what makes sourcerers so powerful. The important thing is to know what you really are."

There was a pause full of philosophy.

"Rincewind?" said Conina, kindly.

"Hmm?" said Rincewind, who was still wondering how the words got into his head.

"You really are an idiot. Do you know that?"

Terry Pratchett, Sourcery

[godslino]

IN CONTROL | jeongin established relationship. college au. smut. minors dni.

pairing: jeongin x fem!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: explicit content, swearing, soft!dom jeongin, unprotected sex, sex toys (vibrator), public humiliation (kinda), fingering, piv, spanking, creampie summary: jeongin buys a new toy and decides to test it out in the library

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“This is the best idea I’ve ever had.” Jeongin mumbles, his eyes dark, trained on your every move.

Jeongin is a menace, insatiable, constantly finding different ways to turn your sex lives up a notch or two when he has the time. And tonight, he’s trying something new.

Well, you both are.

The library is unusually busy for a Friday night, you realize, as you squeeze your thighs together and pull your bottom lip tight between your teeth. Jeongin’s still watching, probably has spit pooling in his mouth at the sight of you squirming in your chair. He does little to hide the slight upturn of his mouth, and it only serves to turn you on more.

There wasn’t much that could have prepared you for what he had waiting the minute you strolled into his apartment earlier, his eyes sparkling when you planted an innocent, unknowing kiss on his cheek.

“What’s that look for?” You had asked, raising an eyebrow when his smile only grew.

“We’re still going to the library tonight, right?” He asked, hand on your waist as he caged you in against the counter of his kitchenette. His fingers flexed atop the fabric of your jeans, already excited, itching to touch.

“That’s the plan. Unless you don’t want to, but I really need to study for my philosophy debate next week and—wait. What is that?”

“Surprise.” He said, pulling a small box out from behind his back. You let your eyes dart between him and the gift, something like anticipation swimming around in your gut. It wasn’t a holiday, or an anniversary, and Jeongin really only ever got that look in his eye when he—

You pulled the lid off, eyes going wide at the site of a pair of lace underwear sitting in a bed of tissue paper. Beside it, a small remote.

“Is this…”

“Mmhm,” Jeongin hummed, placing the box on the counter so he could pull you in by your hips for a kiss.

Painfully slow, his tongue worked your mouth open with force, cock already pathetically hard beneath his sweatpants at the mere thought of having you at his full disposal.

“You put these on before we leave, and if you show me that you can handle it,” he paused, dropping his voice an octave lower, the resulting growl enough to send a shiver down your spine, “I’ll bring you back to my place and reward you.”

That’s how you found yourself here, seated at a table towards the back of the library, the soft lull of a vibrator against your core as Jeongin controls it with a remote hidden in the pocket of his sweatshirt.

“You seem to be—mmnf—enjoying this.”

Jeongin smirks, wets his lips. Even with the way his hair falls into his eyes, it’s hard to miss the hunger in them.

“You have no idea.”

Despite his outward facing, saccharine sweet demeanor, Jeongin harbors an almost animalistic desire beneath toothy grins and shy rubs to the back of his neck.

When you first met, you found him cute and quiet, too reserved to even spare a glance in your direction for the most part. Not that you were any better, but to say you were shocked the moment you and Jeongin finally fell into bed together is an understatement.

Of course, it took a few times for him to let loose, to feel comfortable enough to let go and have you take him fully, but once he did he couldn’t stop.

Jeongin is all rough hands and filthy words, guttural moans and spit stained sheets from when he gets too drunk on the taste of you that he can’t be bothered to clean it up. The worst part? You love it. You love the praises he whispers and the secret touches he gives when no one is looking, love the way his eyes will find you from across the room and undress you inside and out, your stomach twisting and turning from just a single upturn of his lip. Jeongin throws your world on its head, satisfies you in ways you never thought possible.

“Jeongin—ah.” His name comes out as a broken moan, the vibrator pressed tight between your legs. He must be cranking it higher, the sensation getting more and more intense, the squeezing of your thighs barely enough to contain it.

“What was that?” He asks innocently.

Jeongin leans back in his chair, far enough for you to see the way his hand twitches in the pocket of his sweatshirt, a stronger vibration following immediately after. “I didn’t quite catch what you were trying to say.”

Torture. That’s the best way to describe this. Jeongin’s been edging you for the past fifteen minutes, waiting until the last second, when you look like you’re about to come undone, only to lower the setting and leave you whining behind the screen of your laptop as you hide your face. It was more bearable when he had it set to a constant speed, but now, you’re barely managing to hold it together

You’ve waited too long, pretended to be taking notes for what feels like forever, when you finally decide to beg him for relief. “Jeongin, please, can we—”

“Hey lovebirds!”

The world, seemingly against you, decides that now is the best time to send a crescent-eyed Hyunjin waltzing up to your table. He’s got one hand wrapped around the strap of his bag, hair tied back into a ponytail, and he looks an awful lot like he has enough free time to make small talk. How cruel.

Unsurprisingly, Jeongin’s smile grows. The vibration increases between your legs. Fucking hell, he looks like a kid in a candy store, teeth on full display. “Hey Hyune! What are you doing here?”

“Oh Innie, I ask myself that every time Old Yeller over there tries to sweet talk me into taking her granddaughter on a date.” He jerks his head in the direction of the help desk where Mrs. Jung is already staring at him over the top of her glasses.

Hyunjin rolls his eyes before turning his attention to you, “Long time no see, y/n. Tell Yang to start bringing you along to hangouts so we can talk about him behind his back.” His eyes disappear into his smile, and you do your best to reciprocate.

“She would never.” Jeongin says, eyes narrowing in your direction at the exact moment the vibrator begins whirring with more intensity.

You take a deep breath, white-knuckling around your pen as you fight to suppress a moan, “Mmhm. Sure thing. Sounds fun. I’ll make sure to be there next time.” You pause after every few words, giving yourself just enough time to collect your bearings as Jeongin continues to wreak havoc against your throbbing core.

Hyunjin, bless his heart, doesn’t seem to notice. He smiles—beams even—before his eyes fall to the open philosophy book next to your laptop. “Oh, shit, you’re in that class too? Must be a different section than mine, but I haven’t even started reviewing anything. Seungmin’s going to beat my ass before the debate.” Jeongin’s thumb brings the vibrator up one notch. “Do you mind if I take a peek at your notes for a sec?”

Yes, you want to say. But you can’t, you know you can’t. And, more importantly, Jeongin knows you can’t.

“Yeah sure, I—hah—it’s uh, it’s all in here.” You say quickly, turning your laptop a bit so he can see the screen.

“Fucking bless. You’re a lifesaver.” Hyunjin says in relief, oblivious to your little slip up.

Jeongin saw it though, heard the way the moan almost fell from your lips. He’s been painfully hard the entire time, straining against his underwear, cock swollen from how badly he’s turned on. Hyunjin showing up doesn’t do much to help, only adds to the thrill of it all. You look so pitiful trying to hold it together, trying to hide how good you feel. To hide the way Jeongin is controlling how good you feel.

You’re being good for him. So good. He could bend you over the table right now if he wanted, fuck you so the whole student body can see for all he cares.

You visibly relax when Jeongin brings the intensity down, your legs shaking as you slowly relieve some of the tension off of your aching thighs. The knot in your stomach is still there, sitting on the precipice of release as the dull hum of the vibrator continues. You’re so close it’s almost terrifying, unable to predict what you'll do when Jeongin finally gives you the satisfaction of letting go.

As if he can read your mind, Jeongin’s foot knocks against your shin under the table. You shift your gaze up to him, cock an eyebrow as if asking What? Done for now? to which he replies with a wink. Challenging. You lick your lips. Jeongin’s dick twitches in his pants.

“I don’t know why,” Hyunjin says, squinting at the screen, “But I have this feeling that Professor Kang is going to give our class the question about free will. Like, whether or not we have it. So if I was going to argue from the standpoint of compatibilism, that means I’m only speaking for instances where external constraints are absent, right?”

“Well, yes,” you begin, leaning in closer, “But you have to remember that compatibilism doesn’t mean that humans are free, though. Always make sure that—” Jeongin’s foot starts sliding up your leg, stopping right at the inside of your knee, “—that, uh, you don’t confuse your stance with one of the other three perspectives.”

Hyunjin furrows his eyebrows. “Yes, but, if there’s an absence of external constraint shouldn’t that mean they’re free in a way? The constraints are what’s stopping them, no?”

You blink hard, eyes fixed on the screen as you try to refocus your attention on what Hyunjin is saying. “Y-Yeah, but, sometimes you—” Jeongin’s foot slowly pushes your knees apart until your legs are spread wide beneath the table, enough so that your folds are no longer separating the flat side of the vibrator from your clit. He gives no warning, no time to process what’s happening until your entire body jolts forward from the force of the vibration against your now exposed clit.

“Woah, are you okay?” Hyunjin asks, eyes wide. You let out a few hesitant breaths as you straighten back out. Jeongin’s foot is firm against your left knee, forcing it open as he innocently fiddles with the corner of his notebook.

He’s playing a dangerous game, tiptoeing the line between teasing and just being downright cruel. Jeongin supposes that the ideal situation would not be for you to come undone right here at the table, Hyunjin’s eyes on you as he waits for a response, lips parted in confusion and concern.

“I’m fine I’m just—”

“Actually, we have to go.” Jeongin cuts in, glancing at his watch. “I forgot that we have a dinner reservation at seven. Must’ve slipped my mind. You can email him the notes, yeah babe?”

You blink at him in surprise, swallowing when his foot trails the length of your leg until it’s resting back on the ground. The vibrator turns off, and Jeongin lifts his eyebrows in a silent signal.

“Y-yeah! Of course,” you turn to Hyunjin, “Sorry, I don’t mean to cut it short. You can definitely text me if you have any more questions though.” Your voice is strained, throat tight with anticipation. Jeongin is looking at you like he could eat you alive, and it takes everything in you to not moan right then and there even without the sensation of the vibrator against you.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah totally. I don’t want to keep you guys any longer,” Hyunjin says happily, his eyes taking on that familiar shape, “Have fun you two! Also, Yang, I’m watching you. You’d better invite her out with us next time!” He calls out, pointing two fingers at his eyes before turning them in Jeongin’s direction as he walks backwards towards one of the study rooms. Jeongin gives him a lazy wave before focusing his attention back to you.

“All of a sudden?” you ask, not bothering to lead in with anything else.

Jeongin doesn’t say anything, just starts shoving his things into his bag. You watch him for a few moments, eyeing him carefully. Is he…mad? No, right? There’s nothing you could have possibly done to piss him off. If anything, you're the one who should be mad at him for making you look like a fool in front of Hyunjin.

When it’s clear that Jeongin isn’t in the mood to talk, you slowly start packing up your own things. Your legs feel like jelly once you stand, aching from the knot of arousal that’s still sitting low in the pit of your stomach. Jeongin lets his eyes trail your body before he pushes away from the table.

“Come on, let’s go.” He mumbles, eyes dark. You open your mouth to say something but he pays no mind, just grabs your hand and heads straight for the door.

//

The walk is silent. Jeongin only grunts in greeting at the person behind the front desk of his apartment building, hurriedly making his way to the elevators as you struggle to keep up, his grip on your wrist the only thing making sure you’re close behind. Jeongin doesn’t say anything during the ride up to his floor, either. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t react.

You’re at your limit when he punches his code into the keypad of his apartment, flinging the door open and ushering you inside. You’re about to confront him, about to turn and ask what you did wrong and apologize for whatever it might’ve been when he slams the door shut and yanks you by the wrist, pulling you with enough force to have your back against the wood in a matter of seconds.

One hand above your head, palm flat against the door, Jeongin uses his other to cradle your jaw and slam his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. Your hands fly to his hair immediately, tangling themselves in the softness of it, pulling slightly to elicit a groan out of him just the way you know he likes.

“Did so fucking good,” he mumbles against your lips as he drops both of his hands to press your hips further into the door. “Gonna reward you now, yeah? Gonna make you feel good. Give you what you want.”

You clench around nothing as his words shoot straight through you, nothing but heat spreading throughout your entire body as his mouth works hot against your neck. You squeeze your thighs together for something, anything to relieve your want for more.

“Jeong—fuck, please.” You whine when his hand slips into your pants, and you feel him smile against your neck.

“Look at you begging. Always so good for me, so needy.” His fingers grip the end of the vibrator as he slips it out of the pocket of the underwear and tosses it somewhere on the floor.

You gasp, your eyes flying open. “You’re going to break it.”

Jeongin chuckles, “I’ll buy another one.”

“You can’t just waste money on that.” You groan and pull his head back by his hair, “I bet it was expensive too, wasn’t it?”

“I’d spend any amount of money if it meant I’d be able to see you look that fucked out in public again, baby, trust me.” Jeongin smirks. “Now, can you ride my face or are we gonna continue to argue about my financial responsibility?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, smirking when Jeongin’s eyes flicker to them. He takes it as the okay, drops to his knees, and smiles in satisfaction at the hiss that leaves your mouth once he pulls your jeans down to your ankles and the air hits the wet fabric of your panties.

“Fuck, look at you,” he sighs, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to each of your thighs. Your legs start shaking almost immediately. “Can’t believe you’re mine.” He mumbles as he hooks his thumbs into the waistband and pulls them down your legs, helping you step out of it.

Jeongin cups his hands under your thighs, thumbs pressed to the inside of them, and then spares one last look up at you through thick lashes before he’s leaning in and licking a stripe up your folds. You nearly collapse then and there, but his hands hold you up, grip firm.

“Holy fuck,” you groan. Jeongin hums against you, licking and sucking at your clit like his life depends on it. He feels like it does. He can’t help but pull back and admire how red and swollen you are, sensitive as hell from all the edging, your wetness practically leaking all over his chin. He lets you fist at his hair as incoherent words tumble from your lips, lets you grind your hips into his face as he stiffens his tongue so you can fuck yourself on it, his nose brushing your clit every so often and sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

It’s good, so fucking good, Jeongin’s always known how to push your limits in a way that has you trembling and craving more.

“Right there,” you gasp, your thighs clenching as you shake in his hold, your peak reaching faster than you expected it to. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Jeongin flattens his tongue and begins lapping at you pathetically, bringing a hand up to start pumping two fingers in and out of you at just the right angle. You cum all over his fingers, hot white flashes clouding your vision as your hips stutter, his left arm keeping you firm against the door. He lets you ride it out, sucks lazily at your clit until you’re jerking with every touch of his mouth to your core, too sensitive for him to continue.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before standing up, hair completely ruined and pupils blown wide with desire. He leans in to kiss you, more gentle this time, and he laughs into your mouth when you all but melt into his arms and he has to tighten his grip to hold you up. You moan when he tilts your head back and licks your bottom lip, to which you open for him, and he kisses your own arousal into your mouth.

“Think you can keep going?” He asks.

You don’t answer, just snake your hand in between your bodies and cup him through his sweats. He’s hard, practically straining against his underwear.

“Your turn.” You whisper, walking him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the couch and he falls on to it. He spreads his legs wide, watches with heavy eyelids as you stand before him and remove your shirt, leaving yourself fully exposed for him to see.

“God you are…” he trails off when you move towards him and climb onto his lap, grinding your hips down against him and no doubt leaving a wet spot on the outside of his sweats, “…fuck.” He groans, throwing his head back as he presses his thumbs into your hips to help you press down harder.

“I’m what?” You ask when you begin trailing kisses down his jaw, loving the way his stubble scratches against your lips. You suck at the spot just below his ear, still grinding against him.

“Everything I’ve ever fucking dreamed of.” He sighs.

You pull back until your noses are barely brushing and stare into his eyes for a moment. “What?” he asks as he starts rubbing circles into your hip bone with his thumb.

“Nothing I just…” you trail off, eyes still searching his as he stares back at you with an overwhelming amount of adoration.

“…I just really want to suck your dick right now.”

Jeongin barks out a laugh, loud and punctuated, before his head falls forward onto your shoulder and the remaining giggles are nothing but choppy breaths that ghost your nipples.

“What?” You laugh, hitting his shoulder. “I’m serious!”

He picks his head back up to look at you, eyes disappearing into the smile that’s on his face, and leans forward to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I know, I know, I just—I love you, that’s all. I. Love. You.” He punctuates every word with a kiss, but you chase the last one until his lips are slotted against yours hungrily once again, his hands dropping to cup you from behind.

You inhale deeply before sliding off his lap, dropping to your knees on the floor in front of him. Jeongin lifts his hips just enough for you to help him slide his sweats and underwear off in one fluid motion and then yanks his sweatshirt over his head, leaving him fully naked and sinking back into the couch cushions. With his legs spread wide, cock hard and swollen pink against his stomach, messy hair and wide eyes, you think about just how lucky you are to call him yours, to be able to have him in every way possible.

Without wasting too much time, you rest your hands on his thighs and lick along the underside of him, tracing the vein there with your tongue and then sucking off the precum at the tip. “Shiiiiit,” Jeongin moans, throwing his head back.

You grab at the base of his cock and take him fully without warning, sinking down until he hits the back of your throat. He’s big enough that he fills your mouth completely, spit dribbling out of the sides as you work the bottom half of him with your hand, moving in time with your lips as you bob your head up and down.

“Holy fuck, shit, fuck,” the words tumble from his lips as he keeps a steady hand on the back of your head. You look up at him, a single tear spilling from the corner of your eye. He watches with parted lips for a second before pulling you off of him, a string connected to where spit is pooling on your chin.

“I am not,” he says, out of breath, “Cumming unless I’ve got you around my cock.”

You smile as you scramble up and onto his lap, planting your legs on either side of him. He raises an eyebrow in question, “Aren’t your legs tired?”

“Not for you they’re not,” you say as you reach behind, your hand using your leftover spit to pump him a few times. “Now shut up.”

Jeongin laughs and puts both hands behind his head, arms on full display as he leans back, “Yes ma’am.”

The moans you both let out the minute you sink down on him is so pornographic you’re almost embarrassed. If his neighbors didn’t already know what you were doing, then they definitely do now. Jeongin’s shoulders are firm where you anchor yourself to him, using his body as leverage while you ride him to high hell.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, his hands finding your breasts immediately. Sometimes you forget how big Jeongin’s hands are, both of them cupping you completely, only your nipples peeking out between his fingers as he kneads your chest.

“Bet you liked knowing how wet I was for you while I was talking to Hyunjin, huh?”

Jeongin won’t admit it, but he loves it when you talk to him like this during sex. He likes to feel in control, likes to have his way with you, but on the flip side he loves when you take initiative too. You can feel him twitch inside you at your words, his hips jerking upwards to meet your movements.

“You liked knowing you were in control, that you could make me cum at any second and I’d have to hide it, maybe squeeze my legs to stop myself. And the poor guy, he wouldn’t have a clue. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself if I started whimpering and shaking, would he? And it would all be because of you.”

Jeongin responds by bringing a hand down on your ass with a loud smack, your body jolting forward into him from the force. It only spurs you further, your knees on fire from exertion.

You can feel the mark blooming, a big red handprint sure to be visible by the time you wake up tomorrow morning. Part of you wants to get it tattooed there, to have a permanent reminder of Jeongin on your body, to always know what it feels like to be wholly and unconditionally his.

“God you’re so fucking nasty,” he all but growls into your ear, his mouth hot as he connects his lips with yours, tongue licking eagerly into your mouth. “Close.” He grunts.

Jeongin sees stars when you lean back and prop yourself up on his knees, planting your heels into the couch on either side of him so you can fuck yourself onto his cock at a better angle. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing mercilessly while he bucks his hips up to meet your movements halfway.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Jeongin—!”

The sensation of you clenching around him as you cum makes Jeongin’s own release follow shortly after, both of you moaning and swearing as you ride it out together. He lets you fall into his chest, rubs a soothing hand up and down your back as you both attempt to calm your breathing and reel yourselves back to reality. His skin is sticky with a sheen of sweat, your own forehead damp and legs shaking.

Jeongin sighs and brings a hand up to tangle in your hair while his fingers massage your scalp. You pull back, staring at him in confusion.

“What?”

Jeongin blinks a few times before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “I think you’ve definitely ruined me for anyone else.”

Although he meant it in a sweet, endearing way, you narrow your eyes and poke a finger into his chest. “Why are you saying that as if ‘anyone else’ is even an option?”

He throws an arm over his face, “You know what I meant.”

“No, actually, I don’t think I do—”

“You literally just rode me into oblivion. I bought you vibrating panties just so I could—”

“—I can’t believe that after I just broke my knees for you that’s the first thing you say!”

Jeongin bursts into a fit of giggles when you dig your fingers into his ribs, squealing when he tosses you off of him and you roll on to the side of the couch. “Okay, okay! Let me make it up to you, just stay there.” He says before disappearing into the bathroom. When he reamerges, he’s got a wet washcloth, which he uses to wipe you down before kissing the pout off of your face.

Not long later, when you’re both showered and he’s got you draped across his lap in a pair of his sweats and one of his hoodies, Jeongin chances a tap on your shoulder.

“Hmm?” You hum sleepily.

“So, you never explicitly said it, but on a scale of one to ten…if you were to rate my gift…”

You huff out a laugh, turning so that you’re on your back in order to look at him. “Definitely a ten. Could do without the borderline public humiliation next time, though.”

Jeongin leans down to press a kiss to your lips, smiling when you wrap your arms around his head to hold him there for a while longer. “Noted. As long as you never say one of my friends’ names during sex ever again.”

“Why? You sounded like you liked it.”

“Shut up.” Jeongin groans, resting his forehead against yours. It has to be an uncomfortable position, his entire body hunched over at nearly a ninety degree angle to even reach you. “I was balls deep inside of you when it happened. Completely out of my mind. But then, when I was in the bathroom taking a piss five minutes ago I was like, what the fuck? So yeah. No public humiliation as long as I never have to hear Hyun—”

Jeongin’s phone vibrates a total of three times on the couch next to him, cutting him off. He eyes it for a moment, confused as to why anyone would even be messaging this late, and then laughs when he finally picks it up to read what was sent.

“Speak of the devil,” he scoffs before turning the screen towards you.

hyunjin

yo yang

sorry to bother

you think y/n could email me those notes now?

© all rights reserved. godslino 2024. please do not steal, translate, or re-upload.

[redheadspark]

i had a small idea yesterday for the prompt session! druig with #’s 3, 15, and 18. maybe with reader after the emergence. they’re both EXHAUSTED and even though druig’s hurt, he still wants to make sure his s/o is okay after fighting. you can change things around to your liking ofc!

A/N - YAS! I do like this a lot for Druig! Thanks for requesting this, dear friend!

Scars and All

Summary - Druig seeks you out after the Emergence

Warnings - angst and fluff mixed together

“How is she?”

“I’m more concerned about you since you took a beating from Ikaris on that beach,”

Druig huffed as Phastos was looking him over with some of his equipment, being ever patient but not willing to sit through a thorough exam.  He was sitting on what was left of Phastos’s work table, his armor stripped, and was only sporting his black pants and nasty bruises along his ivory skin.  Phastos and Thena were with him and taking the proper measures to check on him, Sersi was talking to a now-human Sprite in the Meeting Room, leaving Makkari to tend to you in your shared room with Druig.  Although Druig knew that Thena would hold him down in order for him to get checked over and be cleared, he would rather be with you.

You both took a beating on that beach in order to save the world.

Druig took on Ikaris’s beams head-on, thinking for a split moment that he wasn’t going to make it out alive.  It left him both physically and mentally bruised, not to mention the mental fatigue that he endured ignorer to take over the mind of a full Celestial.  Throughout the centuries that he has been on Earth, this was truly the first time he felt beyond tired.  

Not tired, exhausted.

“Your internal organs are still good,” Phastos hummed as he scanned Druig’s backside slowly and with determination, Druig’s leg bouncing on the workstation table as he was sitting Indian Style.  Even his fingers were fidgeting while he was staring dead ahead at the wall.  He was half listening, mostly thinking about you and how you were holding up.  Seeing you on the beach covered in scratch wounds and pale to the touch made his heart sink.  Saving the world didn’t matter to him anymore, nor did stopping Ikaris and stopping Tiamat.  All that mattered was you.

He needed to see you and make sure you were alright.

“The bruises are gonna last a bit,” Phastos explained as Druig was still sitting rather impatiently, Thena was watching like a hawk and not moving an inch while Phastos placed his instruments down and gave Druig a brotherly kind of stare, “I can have Makkiar get some herbs to make a paste and make the bruises shrink down a bit.”

“Not a fan of modern medicine I take it?” Druig asked with a hint of sarcasm, though Phastos cracked a grin.

“Modern medicine is too tame compared to what we endured in the glory days,” Phastos hummed, then pausing for a brief moment before he spoke again, “Plus, we need to be careful since we don’t have Ajak to help us,”

It made the mood more somber in the room, even when it was rue.  Ajak was always there to heal them, from the smallest scratches to the more massive wounds that they would get from Deviants.  The healing was more than the physical, her soothing tones and words of encouragement for every Eternal.  Even Druig, though they both clash plenty of times when it comes to the philosophy of Eternals, admired Ajak all the more and missed her terribly.  

“Thanks, Phastos,” Druig replied with a soft smile, hopping down from the workstation table.

“Get some rest,” Thena instructed him with a small tilt of her head to him.  Druig nodded back.

“Will do,” He replied walking past both Phastos and Thena to the hallways that lead to the living quarters.  He was glad that he was cleared from needing anymore assistance, and he was not thinking about himself at the current moment.  

“Couldn’t gone worse for him if it wasn’t for her,” Phastos said to Thena as Druig was walking away, his eyes going right down the hallway and nothing slowing him down.

“She saved his life, as she should since they were meant for each other,” Thena replied in an optimistic hum, which made Druig wish he could smile from hearing that from the warrior herself.  He might have been too tired to smile, or simply more concerned about you to smile from the comment.  But it still warmed his heart nonetheless, adoring Thena all the more.

Once he made it to your shared room, He carefully and softly opened the door to see nothing but darkness.  Your king-sized bed was against the wall, you were nestled amongst the satin sheets and already sleeping with Makkari sitting by your side and keeping a close eye on you.  

Makkari, still clad in her armor, saw Druig and immediately sped over to him, She’s okay.

“Thanks, ‘Kari,” He whispered to her as he gestured his head over to your sleeping form, “How bad is it?”

Her cuts are deep, but they’ll heal in a few days, She explained to him, I know how to make a paste for her wounds to make the healing go a bit faster.  I’ll make some for you too, I think you two need some rest,

“You might be right,” he agreed, seeing her crack a smile slightly before she leaned over to hug him gently.  He hugged her back, feeling her warmth in the embrace.  Once Makkari pulled away and slipped out of the room, Druig looked over at your sleeping form with both concerns and warmth.  

Warmth that you were alive and still with him in this life, and concern that you took a beating to protect him. 

He loved watching you sleep in the past, seeing how soft and content you were as you dreamed away with nothing haunting you.  There were even moments when he would watch you and be amazed at how peaceful you seemed to be in a chaotic and ever-grieving world around you.  He loved that about you and he wished he had that in himself sometimes.  

You had enough love and compassion to fill the both of you up instantly and overflow.  

Moving without him making a single sound, Druig lifted the sheet to finally see you.  The distinct slash marks along your skin, the deep bruises etched near your neck and hips. It was all too much for him to see.  You were never one to harm a fly or start trouble, it wasn’t in your nature.  Yet now, you looked so broken to Druig that it made his heart shatter. 

Immediately he moved, wrapped you close in his arms, and avoided some of the fresher wounds.  You stirred, your head against his neck now as he hummed to alert you.

“…Druig?” You said in a hoarse tone.

“I’m right here, darlin’.  Go back to sleep,” He mumbled to you since the last thing he wanted was for you to wake up and lose sleep.  You moved your arms, grimacing from the drained energy and the tender bruises along your arms.  

“You okay?” You asked him.  Of course, you would be worried for him and his health, not even worried about your own wounds and exhaustion.  Druig loved you for your selfless heart and need to care for others before yourself, both a blessing and a curse for him to witness as the love of your life.  He kissed your forehead, feeling his own energy draining within moments from being in a safe space with you and being in one piece.

“I’m alright now,” he reassured you soothingly, “We’re both alright now.  Let’s sleep, alright?  I got ya,”

As you both slept and healed together, all you both could dream of was your future together.  No matter that there was no village to go back to, losing some of your own to both the Deviants and Ikaris at the same time, none of that mattered compared to what you two wanted in your future together.  Somewhere quiet and away from chaos, maybe near the sea or deep in the forest.  Just you and Druig against the world, scars and all.

The End. 

September Prompt Session

[fafnir19]

A swimming lesson

It was another typical day at school, and as usual, I found myself in the crosshairs of Mr. Coachman's disdain. My name is Tristan, and I am what one might call an "unsporty" student. Thin, nerdy, and full of useless facts, I was the kid who always got picked last in gym class. Mr Coachman, a former athlete turned sport and philosophy teacher, had no patience for my know-it-all attitude. He believed that my incessant need to correct everyone was hindering the class and, quite frankly, his sanity. One day, Mr. Coachman approached me after yet another unnecessary correction during PE. He offered me a chance to improve my abysmal grades in sports by taking extra swimming lessons with him. Reluctantly, I agreed, desperate to boost my overall GPA. At our first swimming session, Mr. Coachman handed me a peculiar-looking swimming cap. He claimed it would allow me to hear and see his instructions directly in my head. I thought he was out of his mind, but upon putting on the cap, I realized it actually worked. It was a surreal experience, feeling Mr. Coachman's voice and visual cues echoing in my mind as I swam. The instructions were crystal clear, making it easier to perfect my stroke and improve my technique in record time. Weeks later, Mr. Coachman, noticing my progress, approached me with a new pair of swim goggles. He said they would help me focus better in the pool. Skeptical yet willing to try anything, I put them on and dove in. As soon as the water enveloped me, I felt a heightened sense of concentration. The outside world disappeared, and all that mattered was the water beneath me. Mr. Coachman's voice became a distant echo, guiding me through each stroke and turn. It was as if the goggles had transformed me into a single-minded swimming machine.

Mr Coachman observed my newfound dedication and satisfaction. I was exhausted from the intense swim training, which left me with no energy to display my usual know-it-all tendencies in class.

Several weeks later, Mr Coachman's next request gave me pause. He presented me with a slim blue Speedo and promised that it would enhance my speed in the water. There was just one catch—I had to shave off all my body hair. He argued that professional swimmers did it all the time for better speed and reduced resistance. I protested vehemently. "Shave off all my body hair? Are you out of your mind?" I exclaimed, my voice filled with disbelief. Mr Coachman, with a grin on his face, replied, "Of course not, Tristan! It's a small sacrifice in pursuit of greatness. Trust me, you'll thank me later." I crossed my arms stubbornly, determined to resist this outrageous demand. "Absolutely not! I'll wear the Speedo, but I draw the line at shaving my body hair. It's like asking a caterpillar to give up its fuzzy coat!" Mr Coachman's smile didn't falter, and he simply said, "Suit yourself, Tristan. But just remember, the pros do it for a reason." His words lingered in the air as an internal struggle waged within me. The temptation to conform and become the ultimate swimmer clashed with my natural inclination to rebel against such absurdity. In the end, though, curiosity won over. I figured, if I could endure the grueling training and wear these magical swimming items, what harm could a little body hair removal do? With a hesitant sigh, I finally agreed to Mr. Coachman's request. Trudging to the bathroom, I grabbed a razor, examining its gleaming blade with trepidation. As I stood before the mirror, thoughts of caterpillars and metamorphosis floated through my mind. I wondered if shaving off my body hair would truly transform me into a swimming powerhouse. With each stroke of the razor, I felt a mix of excitement and unease. Whiskers and hairs fell, leaving behind smooth, hairless skin. Trapped in my thoughts, I couldn't help but wonder what my friends would say or how they would react when they discovered my newfound aquatic obsession and hairless body. Finally, once all the hair was gone, I took a long look at my smooth reflection. It was a strange sight, almost otherworldly. I felt a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration, like a sea creature shedding its scales and emerging anew. Standing tall in my hairless glory, I slipped into the slim blue Speedo. Ready or not, I was about to dive into the next chapter of this bizarre journey, hoping that my shaved body would indeed prove to be a worthwhile sacrifice in the pursuit of greatness. Emerging from the water for the first time in my stylish Speedo, I had transformed. My physique resembled that of a Greek statue, not an ounce of body fat in sight. I was an athletic swimmer, a force to be reckoned with.

With my old clothes no longer fitting, Mr. Coachman outfitted me with a tight beige chino and a light blue shirt.

As I squeezed myself into the outfit, I couldn't help but complain about looking like a preppy dork. However, Mr. Coachman assured me that it was all about how I wore the clothes. Skillfully, he rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, unbuttoned the top buttons, and stood back to appraise his handiwork. "Aren't you a handsome devil?" he remarked with a satisfied grin.

Surprisingly, I found myself thanking him, swallowed by a sense of excitement and self-confidence that I had never experienced before. Something about Mr. Coachman's approval made me feel alive and validated, even if I couldn't pinpoint exactly why I had become so susceptible to his influence. And thus, Mr. Coachman's cunning plan had come to fruition. Those magical swimming accouterments had not only transformed me into a skilled swimmer but also had slowly but surely chipped away at my once-sturdy resistance. When I wore all three items—cap, goggles, and Speedo—I was utterly beholden to his every command, a true embodiment of the "perfect student-athlete" he had envisioned from the onset. Now a member of the swim team, I had gone from a nerdy outcast to a charming and good-looking athlete, the joy of all my teachers. But deep down, I couldn't help but wonder if Mr. Coachman's methods were entirely ethical. Regardless, I was living proof of his success, and the sensation of hearing Mr. Coachman's voice and visualizing his instructions while wearing the cap and goggles had left an indelible mark on my perception of swimming, forever changing the way I experienced the water.

[dazaisfountainpen]

Map of Athens

Marketplace (Agora)

Metalsmith / Dionysus Cafe / Clothier /

Central Athens

Vendor Stalls with various goods for sale:

The stalls are all bustling with activity – people coming and going, some merchants calling out to passersby, others loudly negotiating prices with customers.

There is a book merchant’s stall, dedicated to selling a variety of scrolls imported from Alexandria. Upon closer inspection, you can see that there is a range of everything from books on philosophy to books full of plays and poetry. The owner of the stall watches you with a friendly gaze, her smile stretching and moving the ink on her tattooed cheek. Unlike many of the merchants calling out to people passing by with baskets both empty and full, she doesn’t try pressuring you to buy anything.

Moving on, you pass a stall that startles you, but only for a moment. There are live chickens and rabbits in cages, and the stall is lined with pelts in what seem like every shape, size, and color. The man sitting on a stool there – presumably the owner of the stall – looks at you. He has pleasant eyes, but there is something about him that urges you to keep your feet moving.

You pause at the next stall, long enough to watch two soldiers pass by. Their demeanor appears leisurely as they stroll among the stalls, but you’ve been told that their job is to guard the city. You’re sure that their outward calm belies their readiness to leap into action if need be. They move out of sight, and you turn back to the stall in front of you. “Welcome!” The woman who addresses you wears a big, friendly smile. She is cutting thick slices of bread heavy with fruit and nuts. “It would be a shame not to enjoy it while it’s hot,” she explains at your look of confusion when she holds the slice out to you. “And if you like it, it means you might come back for more.”

Gulls cry out as they circle overhead. You know that the sea is not far; you can smell the salt in the air. “What’s the point in lookin’ if you don’t plan on buyin’?” She’s a little intimidating, the merchant you’ve happened upon next. Sinewy and tanned, she wears an eyepatch, and you wonder – silently – if she might be a pirate. Her stall showcases strings upon strings of salted fish. From the huge barrels placed around her area, you hear occasional splashing and surmise there are also live fish for sale.

You pause for a moment, taking it all in and contemplating the goods available for purchase.

Encounters

Once per group/session, you may roll a die to determine a background event.

(Click on the alt text for more information)

[babyjakes]

the devil's thirst.

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

summary | stupid little babies who wanna act big need to be reminded how utterly pathetic and helpless they truly are.

pairing | mean!daddy!lloyd hansen x little!reader

warnings | mean!mean!mean!daddy!lloyd like so mean, very cruel!!, denial as punishment (no cumming for a month), lloyd is a sick bastard (canon) and threatens to cut various body parts off, fake soft!daddy!lloyd for a hot minute, my strawberry shortcake trauma insertion, mocking/degredation, restraints (rope), watersports (forced wetting), fingering, black rubber gloves bc lloyd doesn't like messes (whew daddy!!), forced orgasm, squirting (i mean, ,, it's also pee but, ,, ,, you know), pussy slapping/clit spanking, big big crying kink, so much cursing, name-calling (whore, slut, bitch, all the good ones), no aftercare/lloyd makes her clean up the mess D-:, dude wtf even is this and why did i write it :^))))

word count | 2,742

an | idek what to say about this one so i'm just gonna link this hate anon i got about having a piss kink where i responded with piss ari and cursed the haters bc i think it's funny and neat okay byeeee-

Unsurprisingly, when it came to being your daddy, there were certain parts of the job that Lloyd found especially enjoyable. He did it all well, of course- took care of your needs and wants, doted on you, treated you like the princess you were. But he would be lying if he said the darker, more sinister parts of the role weren't his favorite; it was only in his nature. He was cruel, wicked down to the bone, and that meant strict rules, along with even stricter punishments. Considering this, you were never one to act up much.

Much.

When you did end up on Lloyd's bad side, the consequences were usually swift and scathing. One philosophy he held was that it wasn't a true punishment unless he had you in tears. And being the notorious torture fanatic he was, he had plenty of methods to extract those pretty sobs from poor little you. All in all, your daddy was very hands-on with your discipline. So the one time he finally decided to punish you by depriving instead of dealing out, you knew you had taken things too far. But it was too late to do anything about it. Lloyd Hansen gave second chances to no one.

"A month?" you exclaimed in horror, jumping down from your seat on the dark polished wood of his study desk. Hands coming to rest on your hips over your frilly tennis skirt, you stood with shock still clear on your face.

Not even pausing to look up at you, Lloyd nodded as he continued to sort through the paperwork before him. He knew it drove you crazy; that's why he did it. The more worked up he could get you, the better. He loved seeing you pout and fuss. "That's right, princess. A whole month, no playtime. And if you even so much as think about touching that pretty little clit of yours, I'll cut it off and feed it to the dogs."

Grimacing in disgust, you somehow found it in you to protest, "Ew- no, Daddy! You wouldn't!"

Chuckling softly at your outrage, the man nodded, "Oh, I would, sweetheart. Actually- maybe I'd keep it, put it in a nice frame up on the wall. You know how much Daddy loves your little button, wouldn't wanna let it go to waste. Oh- and the same goes for your nipples, young lady. Daddy knows his naughty girl can get off on those alone when she's needy enough."

Huffing softly to yourself, you crossed your arms, stomping the rubber bottom of your platform Mary Jane against the floor. Finally looking up to meet your gaze, Lloyd smiled widely, having gotten exactly what he wanted: a precious, pouty baby. How cute.

"No fair, Daddy," you whimpered, bottom lip puffing out in an attempt to change his mind.

"No fair? Why's that, princess? What were you expecting when you stole Daddy's bike for a midnight joyride, a fucking pat on the back? A new pair of shoes?"

"N-no, but..." Sniffling, your frown deepened. "You never give me punishments like this, Daddy. Always just..."

"Give you what you want? Play rough with you, let you cum?" the man finished your sentence for you as you lowered your head in shame; there was no denying that he was right. "Oh, you'll get that too, sweetheart. This is just part one of your lesson, so quit being a brat and whining about it, or I'll double the time."

"No- please, Daddy!" you were quick to beg, eyes bulging with tears as he did nothing but laugh at your pathetic desperation.

"Good. Now get out of here, Daddy's got a meeting. You might wanna take a walk around the garden, baby. Don't think you're gonna like the sounds I'm about to pull from these bastards."

When the promised day arrived, you were a much different girl than you were only a month ago, any last hints of brattiness and defiance completely put out as you could really only be described using one word at that point: needy. In the morning as he helped you get ready, your daddy dressed you up in your favorite Strawberry Shortcake pinafore with matching pink stockings held in place by pretty lace garters, and of course he let you wear your favorite lingerie set, the baby pink lace with little strawberry patterning just so adorable against your perfect body. With how cute you were looking, it took everything in him not to bend you over your bed and fuck you into oblivion as soon as you were all dressed and ready for the day. "So beautiful for me, angel," Lloyd cooed against your hair as he held you on his lap, running a gentle hand up and down your back. "You remember what today is, don't you?"

Big eyes blinking innocently, you nodded, too busy holding your breath to respond.

"I knew my princess wouldn't forget. Daddy can't wait to give you the rest of your punishment- and some relief, of course." Smiling down at you, he pressed a kiss to your forehead before continuing, "But in order to get all that, you need to be a good girl for Daddy first, okay? I've got some work to wrap up in my office, and I want you sitting pretty on my lap while I do it. Do you understand?"

"Yes Daddy," you nodded obediently, jumping slightly as his other hand came up to rub against your thigh. Cheeks burning in embarrassment, you bit your lip, knowing better than to start begging early.

"Oh sweetheart, you poor thing," your daddy crooned sympathetically as he ran his fingers delicately over your trembling skin. "Look at how badly you need me- are those tears in your eyes already, princess?"

Not wanting to open your mouth in fear of breaking down completely, you simply let out a weak whimper, turning to tuck your face against the fabric of the man's shirt. Chuckling at your actions, Lloyd wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss down on the top of your head. "Okay, okay- Daddy'll quit teasing," he promised. "Now come on, little one. I have a surprise waiting for you in the study."

Lifting you into the air with ease, he was kind enough to carry you all the way from the bedroom to the office, letting you stay hidden away in the safety of his familiar scent and the darkness of his shirt. "Don't tell me you're gonna be a teary-eyed baby all day," he frowned as he flipped on the lights to illuminate the grand room, stepping over a bit and rousing you in his arms. "Hey pumpkin, look- look over on the couch and see what Daddy got you."

Wary eyes cautiously coming out of hiding, you glanced over to the plush brown sofa, a small gasp escaping your lips as you whispered, "Strawberry sodas! Daddy, those are my favorite!"

"I know, my love. That's why I got them for you, thought maybe you'd like a treat for being such a good girl all month for me. You wanna have one while you sit on my lap?" the man offered as he gently placed you down on your feet, smiling as you gave him an eager nod of a response. "Go grab one, baby. Actually, make it two. Daddy'll try one with you, can't remember the last time I had something sweet."

As you skipped across the rug to grab the pretty glass bottles full of sparkling pink juice, Lloyd settled himself down in his black leather office chair, smirking silently at the sight of you bouncing in excitement from the "treat" he had bought for you. "Look Daddy, cute baby strawberry cartoons on the bottles!" you beamed as you made your way back over to him, climbing up to straddle one of his sturdy thighs as you faced in his direction, handing him one of the drinks.

"So cute, angel. Almost as cute as you," he smiled widely as he helped you pop off the cap before opening his own. "Cheers," he sang as he tapped the glasses together softly, trying to keep from salivating as he watched your puffy lips pink with lip gloss wrap around the mouth of the bottle.

Taking a few gulps, you hummed lovingly at the sweet taste. "Soo good, Daddy. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"You're welcome, princess. Go ahead, drink up. The whole box's for you."

"You stupid, stupid baby."

Choking against the wad of lace shoved between your sticky lips, you let out a humiliated whine as Lloyd stood above you, towering over your trembling form with his hands pressed neatly behind his back. "Look at you," he snapped, "couldn't even get through tying you up without the tears starting. Isn't this what you wanted? You were so sad when Daddy wouldn't wreck your pretty little cunt on the spot- remember that, whore?"

Sniffling pathetically into your spit-soaked panties, all you could do was cry harder at the man's degrading words. Sobs wracking through your chest as you stared wide-eyed up at the terrifying man above you, you struggled to comprehend everything that had happened in such a short span of time. Where had your loving, doting Daddy gone? You should've been suspicious when he was so kind that morning, but silly little you, all you had thought was he had woken up in a good mood. Now it was clear that he had much darker intentions settling just below the surface the entire time; it was all a part of his game. He had played you like a pathetic little pawn.

Kicking your legs with what little strength you had left, you tried to struggle against the tight ropes holding you bound and open against the smooth leather of the office chair, but it was no use- you couldn't move more than a fraction of an inch in any direction. Watching you writhe and attempt to escape, Lloyd laughed a loud and mean laugh, his spit hitting your face as he grinned in sick delight. "Poor little slut. Can't get out of Daddy's knots. You know better than to squirm, sweetheart, but I'll let you get away with it this time. I have so much fun in store for you, I don't wanna waste any time on trivial matters like spanking your nasty little fuckhole."

Icy eyes trailing down, the man's gaze settled on your exposed pussy, the soft, delicate petals of your sex puffy from excitement and neglect. "Oh baby," Lloyd cooed, crouching down in front of you as his eyes became level with your dripping heat, "look so sensitive already. Haven't been touched in weeks, and it really shows. Daddy's gonna have so much fun with you. Aren't you excited, angel? Isn't this what you wanted?"

Crying harder against your makeshift gag, you shook your head desperately, a wicked smile forming on his face as your daddy nodded knowingly. "No? Why's that, princess?" Reaching out a hand, he snatched the panties from between your teeth, giving you only a moment to cough and recover from the forced intrusion. "Speak."

Lower lip trembling terribly as you fought back stronger sobs, your voice came out in shaky gasps as you stuttered, "P-please Daddy... p-please! Have'ta- please... h-have'ta go p-potty!"

Pure depraved thrill shone in Lloyd's eyes as you let out your admittance. "Stupid, stupid baby. Drank all those strawberry sodas, how many was it again?" Warm tears rolling down your cheeks, you whimpered with heavy regret, your tummy throbbing against the ropes holding you so tightly in place. "And now look at you, so full- you could nearly burst. Stupid fucking baby. Never use your fucking brain, do you? Time to teach you how tiny and dumb you really are, slut. You wanna know what happens when little girls cum with a tummy this full?" he asked cruelly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a pair of black nitrile gloves, snapping them onto his large hands for a dangerously tight fit. "They piss all over themselves. Like the pathetic fucking babies they are."

The panties being shoved back in your mouth knocked the wind out of you, but it was two of Lloyd's thick fingers piercing into your drooling folds that had your eyes rolling back into your head as you struggled to catch air. Digits pounding brutally in and out of your aching walls, the man quickly made you into a sputtering mess, the friction provided by your slick and the rubber of the gloves sending burning shocks through your gut and up your spine. You begged, pleaded through the fabric wedged between your lips, but it was no use; Lloyd would get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted.

"So fucking wet, little slut- such a fucking mess you're making," he grunted as he increased the speed of his fingers, focusing his attention on the tender spot he knew could get you to snap in seconds. Warmth building up in your tummy, you did everything you could to fight the urge to release, but it was a losing battle. "Needy little whore went all month without getting to cum once- no way you'll last long. Horny little bitch, always ready to take whatever Daddy wants to shove up her filthy little cunt."

Ripping his fingers from your tight grip, he smacked his gloved hand down several times against your tender pussy, dissolving you into a squeaking, sobbing mess as your flesh burned agonizingly from the assault. "Stupid-" smack, "little-" smack, "baby-" smack, "gonna-" smack, "squirt-" smack, "all-" smack, "over-" smack, "and there's nothing she can do about it," he grinned widely as he shoved his fingers back in, his other hand coming up to keep smacking over your throbbing clit, "absolutely nothing. Can scream and cry 'til she's blue in the face, but Daddy doesn't care. Daddy's gonna make you cum, little girl. Gonna make you gush all over yourself, 'n there's nothing you can do about it. So keep fucking crying, you pathetic little bitch. Get those pretty cheeks nice and wet for me- maybe if you're good I'll fuck your face when I'm done."

Speeding up his thrusts once more, the thumb of his other hand settling in to rub tight little circles harshly against your burning nub, there was nothing you could do but lay there and take it as Lloyd brought you to the edge of climax within minutes. Noticing the growing look of terror on your face, the man's crooked smile grew wider as he taunted, "There it is, look at that. Knew she couldn't hold it in. Dumb little babies can't keep themselves from cumming, not when their daddies are finger-fucking their pussies this good. Come on, you fucking whore. Cum for Daddy, make a big fucking mess like the stupid fucking baby you are." With the curl of his massive fingers hitting just the right spot, and the pad of his rubbered thumb stroking painfully against your bundle of nerves, with a broken sob, you heaved as you submitted to your punisher. Your orgasm sprayed out against his relentless ministrations as he laughed cruelly in delight, "That's it. Filthy. Fucking. Baby. Give it to me. Give it all to Daddy."

When the waves of terrible pleasure finally began to subside, you were left gasping for air as Lloyd slowed his hands down to a gradual stop, mercifully reaching up to pull the panties from your mouth to allow you a little more space to breathe. "Dirty little girl, look what a big fucking mess you made," he shook his head heartlessly, rising to his feet as he snapped the gloves off his hands and tossed them to the ground. Grabbing a switchblade from his pocket, he flicked out the metal edge, running it harshly over the ropes holding you in place to set you free.

As soon as your sore muscles were released from their bonds, you collapsed against the sturdy frame of the rolling chair, still struggling to catch your breath as Lloyd spoke to you with disinterest, "Now clean it up. All of it. And throw the clothes away. Stupid little baby, ruined her favorite dress. Covered in piss now, pathetic. Disgusting." Reaching under his desk, he grabbed a roll of paper towels and a bottle of cleaner, tossing them at you, ignoring when you whimpered at them hitting you in the face.

[disappointmentthemusical]

Draco is a racist in the most literal sense. (Well, former – reformed? – racist, that is. He wouldn't identify as one anymore.)

But he'd nonetheless been a racist – literally. He'd subscribed to the Pureblood notion that Wixen and Man are two separate creatures, made distinct by the inherent magic to one and the lack thereof in the other, which made the latter inferior. It'd taken no less than a week of critical thought to rid himself of the philosophy.

Indeed, his stint in Azkaban between his arrest and trial had been rather enlightening. It'd given him the perfect amount of time to grapple with himself, his identity, and the very fiber of the world as he knew it.

In preparation for his hearing, he attempted to shift the blame for his racism from himself. He'd been a child after all. A child very susceptible to the whims and fancies of his parents, as many children are. So, really, it's his parents' faults for impressing upon him their obsession with blood purity, and no one could fault him – sweet, innocent, young Draco – for taking up family business of slur-hurling and the mild torture of innocents.

Yes, he'd be a free man, for sure.

But then he'd unfortunately remembered that his parents had once been children, too. And at what point did the blame shift from them to their own parents, and then the generation before them?

At what point did Draco become responsible for his actions? Was it between second and third year, the transition into teenager-hood? Or was it when he got the mark? Could he blame his parents – his mother who'd begged him not to – for that decision?

What about the cabinet?

What about Dumbledore?

He'd stared at his cell wall for hours, wracking his mind for an answer other than the one he had. None came.

The day of his trial, he resigned himself to a guilty sentence.

But then, of course, Harry Potter had to muck everything up, as he always did – does. Within hours, Draco was not returning to his cell, but standing in front of the Ministry with all of his worldly possessions cradled between his arms.

Well, then.

The next five years were rather boring, full of strife and struggle. He knew poverty for the first time in his life, an experience he never wished to repeat, and despite the horror that was ages 15 through 18, he learned that it had not been rock bottom.

No, rock bottom was much, much worse.

On the bright side, his Wizard upbringing had been good for a few things. For one, his complete ignorance of the concept of sexuality meant that his open homosexuality made him "cutting edge" and "interesting." Secondly, his impeccable aesthetic taste made him hireable.

At 25, he's the most popular stylist at a bougie London salon, and he's made quite the name for himself among the rich housewives of South Kensington. Gone were the days of dumpster diving and petty theft.

Draco Malfoy is, once again, a god among mortals.

And like any god, he is a master of keeping up a facade, which is why he's able to not visibly react when the last person on Earth he wants to see walks through the salon doors.

Harry sodding Potter.

Draco should have anticipated this. Of course, Potter would show up the moment Draco's life was going well – the prick was justice incarnate. He must have a sixth sense for undeserving people experiencing happiness, and like a good hero, he sweeps in to strip the perpetrator of the feeling.

Draco refocuses on the appointment he's in the middle of, thinking invisible thoughts in hopes that it would prevent Potter from spotting him.

As anyone could've predicted, it doesn't work.

"Draco?"

He spares half a glance toward Potter, who stands only a few feet away now, having bypassed the front desk girl. He looks back to the foil in front of him, checking the color.

"Potter."

"What are you doing here?"

He pauses, gives Potter a flat look, and then continues working.

"Oh," Potter says dumbly, "right. But, I mean, um, what are you doing here, like, in, um, this side of London."

It's a lame and fumbled attempt to ask why Draco was in Muggle London, in a Muggle salon, doing a Muggle's hair, and Draco latches on to the opportunity to turn the conversation around.

"What – you think I don't deserve to be here?"

Potter's brow furrows in that familiar way that says he understands that he's just dug himself into a hole, but he hasn't a clue how to un-dig it.

"No," he denies too aggressively. "You know what I mean. I just didn't expect you to work at a place like this."

He winces at his words, and Draco doesn't bother hiding his triumphant smile.

"I'll have you know," Draco's client, a middle aged woman named Siobhan who has that eccentric look that only works on the uber rich, says with a pointed finger at Potter, "that Draco is a very talented young man, and we here are lucky to have his skill. I'm not sure how you two know each other, but I won't stand to have Draco's talents diminished in my presence."

Potter's face turns bright red, and his shoulders shoot up to his ears. "No– I, I– I wasn't trying to–"

"It's all right, dear," Draco says to Siobhan with a hand on her shoulder. "This just shows how far I've come, the success that I've achieved; I won't let others' prejudice stop me."

"Prejudice?!" Ah, there's the outrage that Draco coveted so much when he was younger. It remains unfairly amusing.

Biting back a smirk, he gives Potter a stern look. "If you'll excuse us."

He doesn't wait to for Potter to leave to guide Siobhan to the back wall where the sinks are. Behind him, he can hear Potter awkwardly shuffle out of the salon, and the tin bell above the door announces his departure.

Draco asks one of his coworkers to take over while he has a quick smoke break. Once outside, he allows himself exactly three minutes to panic before straightening his shirt, wiping his tears and heading back inside with his head held high.

If he knows Potter as well as he thinks he does, this won't be the last time they meet. Potter's horribly stubborn like that. So all Draco can do is prepare and hope that the next time Potter shows up, it'll satisfy whatever morbid curiosity he has.

And maybe next time, Draco won't notice how handsome he is.

[freetheshit-outofyou]

A French Soldier's View of US Soldiers in Afghanistan

Edited by Wes O'Donnell, Founder- Warrior Lodge.

What follows is an account from a French ISAF soldier that was stationed with American Warfighters in Afghanistan sometime in the past 6 years.  This was copied and translated from an editorial French newspaper.

A NOS FRERES D’ARMES AMERICAINS

"We have shared our daily life with two US units for quite a while - they are the first and fourth companies of a prestigious infantry battalion whose name I will withhold for the sake of military secrecy. To the common man it is a unit just like any other. But we live with them and got to know them, and we henceforth know that we have the honor to live with one of the most renowned units of the US Army - one that the movies brought to the public as series showing "ordinary soldiers thrust into extraordinary events". Who are they, those soldiers from abroad, how is their daily life, and what support do they bring to the men of our OMLT every day? Few of them belong to the Easy Company, the one the TV series focuses on. This one nowadays is named Echo Company, and it has become the support company. 

They have a terribly strong American accent - from our point of view the language they speak is not even English. How many times did I have to write down what I wanted to say rather than waste precious minutes trying various pronunciations of a seemingly common word? Whatever State they are from, no two accents are alike and they even admit that in some crisis situations they have difficulties understanding each other. Heavily built, fed at the earliest age with Gatorade, proteins and creatine- they are all heads and shoulders taller than us and their muscles remind us of Rambo. Our frames are amusingly skinny to them - we are wimps, even the strongest of us - and because of that they often mistake us for Afghans.

And they are impressive warriors! We have not come across bad ones, as strange at it may seem to you when you know how critical French people can be. Even if some of them are a bit on the heavy side, all of them provide us everyday with lessons in infantry know-how. Beyond the wearing of a combat kit that never seem to discomfort them (helmet strap, helmet, combat goggles, rifles etc.) the long hours of watch at the outpost never seem to annoy them in the slightest. On the one square meter wooden tower above the perimeter wall they stand the five consecutive hours in full battle rattle and night vision goggles on top, their sight unmoving in the directions of likely danger. No distractions, no pauses, they are like statues nights and days. At night, all movements are performed in the dark - only a handful of subdued red lights indicate the occasional presence of a soldier on the move. Same with the vehicles whose lights are covered - everything happens in pitch dark even filling the fuel tanks with the Japy pump.Here we discover America as it is often depicted: their values are taken to their paroxysm, often amplified by promiscuity and the loneliness of this outpost in the middle of that Afghan valley.

(This is the main area where I'd like to comment. Anyone with a passing knowledge of Kipling knows the lines from Chant Pagan: 'If your officer's dead and the sergeants look white/remember it's ruin to run from a fight./ So take open order, lie down, sit tight/ And wait for supports like a soldier./ This, in fact, is the basic philosophy of both British and Continental soldiers. 'In the absence of orders, take a defensive position.' Indeed, virtually every army in the world. The American soldier and Marine, however, are imbued from early in their training with the ethos: In the Absence of Orders: Attack! Where other forces, for good or ill, will wait for precise orders and plans to respond to an attack or any other 'incident', the American force will simply go, counting on firepower and SOP to carry the day.

This is one of the great strengths of the American force in combat and it is something that even our closest allies, such as the Brits and Aussies (that latter being closer by the way) find repeatedly surprising. No wonder is surprises the hell out of our enemies.)

We seldom hear any harsh word, and from 5 AM onwards the camp chores are performed in beautiful order and always with excellent spirit. A passing American helicopter stops near a stranded vehicle just to check that everything is alright; an American combat team will rush to support ours before even knowing how dangerous the mission is - from what we have been given to witness, the American soldier is a beautiful and worthy heir to those who liberated France and Europe.

To those who bestow us with the honor of sharing their combat outposts and who everyday give proof of their military excellence, to those who pay the daily tribute of America's army's deployment on Afghan soil, to those we owned this article, ourselves hoping that we will always remain worthy of them and to always continue hearing them say that we are all the same band of brothers".

Personal Thoughts About the Article:

For much of this article, the various veterans reading will go 'Well, duh. Of course we do our 'camp chores' and stand our posts in good order. There's a reason for them and if we didn't we'd get our heads handed to us eventually. And, yeah, we're in shape. Makes battle easier. The more you sweat, the less you bleed.'

What is hard for most people to comprehend is that that attitude represented only the most elite units of the past. Current everyday conventional boring 'leg infantry' units exceed the PT levels and training levels of most Special Forces during the Vietnam War. They exceed both of those as well as IQ and educational levels of: Waffen SS, WWII Rangers, WWII Airborne and British 'Commando' units during WWII. Their per-unit combat-functionality is essentially unmeasurable because it has to be compared to something and there's nothing comparable in industrial period combat history.

This group is so much better than 'The Greatest Generation' at war that WWII vets who really get a close look at how good these kids are stand in absolute awe.

This is 'The Greatest Generation' of soldiers.

They may never be equaled.

[coconut-cluster]

Logan has never regretted his decision to move off campus after freshman year. He lived in a dorm that first year, by requirement from the university - something about finding a community and getting used the campus, i.e. paying thousands more in room and board on top of tuition to fill the university's pockets - and sure, he'd been excited about it, to some extent. He met Patton and Roman and Virgil from the experience, and he'd gotten lucky with a room that looked out over the forest that surrounded the campus, much to his delight. It certainly could have been worse. But he was an only child who grew up with an entire townhouse mostly to himself - he needed his space. One can only stomach communal bathrooms for so long.

He was on his own when it came to financing an apartment, but after rooming with Patton for a year already and crunching the numbers of his scholarship reimbursements, it was the only logical option. Patton's eye for decorating and his own proclivity for Excel-spreadsheet budgets made the transition smooth, almost comfortable. He's never looked back.

He does, however, regret getting an apartment so damn far from campus.

By the time he's finished with editing the latest batch of articles and desperately craving caffeine, it's late evening, the sunset hidden by trees and a storm rolling over the hills outside his window. He pauses at his desk and hears the distant crash of thunder - it's perfect weather for coffee in front of the window-nook Patton's carved out with pillows and bookshelves. He could brew a pot now and be cozied up before the rain starts.

Patton's in the kitchen, though, with a singsong medley of dishes and off-key humming to the radio that drifts down the hall to Logan's room. Patton never minds company, but Logan minds the loose-limbed energy of Patton's cooking. Too many potholders to the face would put anyone on high alert. Besides, it's Thursday.

It's Thursday, and Logan chose an apartment light years away from campus, so he has to start driving now if he wants to catch the end of the evening shift.

Patton shoots him a bright smile as he cuts through the living room, raincoat and umbrella in hand.

"Going out?" he calls over the radio. Before Logan can answer, he glances at the calendar hung by the breakfast nook, and his smile colors with knowing. "Oh, Solipsis night. Get me a hot chocolate?"

Logan grabs his keys with a nod. "Cinnamon?"

"Yes sir-ee. Be safe on the roads, it's gonna come down real soon." Logan gives another nod, and just before he closes the door, Patton calls out with that knowing grin, "Give Jan a kiss from me!"

Logan slams the door before he can react.

-

Solipsis is, in many ways, a college student's approximation of paradise. It's on the historic main street of the city, where all the buildings are entresol-style and made of old brick - the café sticks out against a row of random university offices, shedding golden light onto the street through a big window with its name painted in big, blocky letters. It's got two levels, connected by a winding metal staircase; the first floor stretches deep into the building, lined with big, oaken tables for study groups or impressive spreads of journals and textbooks and laptops. The second is a smaller loft, dotted with round tables where solo students hole themselves up for hours at a time in relative silence. The whole place is covered in hanging plants and warm bauble lights - it's ridiculously easy to forget how late it is when everything is golden and set to indie folk music. It's a genius business venture in a town full of exhausted college kids.

("It's pretentious," Janus insists, frequently. "Unfinished oak with iron stairs, I mean, Jesus, really? And calling it Solipsis- you can tell it's owned by some uppity philosophy student."

"You're an uppity philosophy student," Logan reminds him every time. He does not remind him that he willingly chose to work there in the first place.

Janus just rolls his eyes. "At least I've got taste.")

Regardless of taste (or lack thereof), Solipsis is a hotspot. Logan steps in just as evening thunder starts a steady beat outside, hardly surprised to see most of the tables occupied by students in various states of distress and exhaust.

Roasted coffee and rain mix as he takes a deep breath past the doorway. Behind the counter, a lone barista mans the espresso machine, pushing stray hairs out of her face and eyeing him like she'd rather he walk right back out the door than up to the counter. He pretends to read the sandwich board of specials and simply waits.

A moment later, the door to the back room flips open and Janus bustles over to the register, arms full of paper cups in neat towers. He ditched the black jacket he'd worn to class for the cafe's uniform apron, with the sleeves of his sweater - as they rarely are - pushed up to his elbows, baring his wrists, where the beaded friendship bracelet Patton made for him years ago sits. His face is set in a focused frown as he sets to restocking the counter.

Logan waits a moment longer at the specials board, giving Janus a minute to finish a stack before he ambles up to the register. Janus looks up - his hair is pushed back in a hurried swoop, a very Roman style that he's picked up in recent months - and the frown gives way to a familiar almost-smile.

"Oliveira," he sighs, grabbing two cups from the fresh stack and scribbling shorthand on their sides. "Come to harass me yet again in my place of work. Never a day's reprieve from your antics."

"I didn't say anything yet," Logan deadpans as he pays, "and I don't think ordering drinks at the ordering-drinks-establishment counts as harassment."

Janus tils his head with a saccharine smile. "You're so creative."

The barista working at the espresso machine takes the cups from his hands, pulling milk and syrups out with practiced speed, still eyeing Logan with thinly veiled disdain.

Janus joins her in mixing the drinks as Logan idles by the counter, with no one else lined up behind him to prompt movement. After a moment, Janus returns to his cup stacks, moving to restock the empty spots on the back wall. Logan eyes the clock above his head.

"You're here late," he comments, and Janus glances back before following his gaze to the time with a grimace.

"I agreed to stay a half hour longer," he says with an unmistakable air of regret. "They had a new hire close last night, and he majorly screwed up waste inventory- surprise, he wasn't trained before they stuck him on the shift, no clue how that happened." The other barista snorts. "Anyway, the manager opened this morning and lost their shit, said they're really cracking down on the closing checklist being done perfectly, whatever the hell that means. I stayed behind to get as much started for Freya as I could before I head out."

The other barista - Freya - looks completely dead-eyed at the prospect of closing, but she sends Janus a small smile regardless.

"Of course, the one night I stick around is the night it starts pouring," Janus huffs. It storms more than the sun shines here, but Logan just nods sympathetically, glancing out the window to find the rain has started up with a crack of lightning. He looks back as Freya slides two drinks across the counter to him, flashing a practiced, split-second smile in response to his nod.

He eyes Janus for a moment, blowing into the little hole on the lid of his drink to cool it down and listening to Janus' barely audible grumbling about his hair and his shoes and his forgetting an umbrella, somehow, until Logan pipes up, "Do you need a ride?"

Janus pauses - grumbling and stacking - and shoots a frown over his shoulder. "You drove here?"

"I always do, if I'm not coming from campus," says Logan. He gets a blank stare in return. "It's too far to walk from my apartment."

Instantly, cup stacking is no longer Janus' top priority. He turns to face Logan again, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. Freya swiftly takes over his task, sending a furtive glance at them as Janus studies him. "You drive here every week?"

"Yes."

Janus stares at him, really stares. "There's, like, five coffee shops near your apartment."

"Six, actually." There's even one on the first floor of his apartment building. It's stuffy and the coffee is always burnt. Cheap, though.

"You could walk to any of those."

"I suppose."

"Why are you wasting gas to come all the way here?"

"It's not a waste," Logan frowns, and Janus' eyebrows shoot up.

"Our coffee's not that good, Oliveira. I promise you can get a mint mocha at the place on 3rd-"

"I like your coffee."

Freya, now refilling lids, shoots a very overt, smug glance over her shoulder at Janus, but he doesn't look away from Logan. The lighting in the café is dim near the counter; Logan must be imagining the pink flush on Janus' face.

"My coffee," Janus repeats.

"Your coffee," Logan says with a nod, and Janus gets that same blank stare as before, uncomprehending. "The way you make it. It's not the same at other cafes." He lifts his cup, pushing the sleeve down with a small smile. "And other baristas don't do this."

Janus' eyes fall to the heart doodled under Oli, and the pink on his face deepens to a pretty red.

"Well," he putters, uncrossing his arms to smooth his apron, then crossing them again, then picking at a loose thread on his sleeve that conveniently tears his attention from the cup. Logan holds it up still. "They might, if you spent all your time bothering them at work. It's not my fault you've chosen me as the target of your idle drivel."

"Oh, of course." Logan entertains the idea of teasing him - there is this barista at the café in my building, they asked for my number once, I guess I could bother them - but instead he just sips his drink and watches Janus with a little smile. "I just prefer Solipsis, I suppose."

Janus unties his apron with a huff. "You're annoying."

"Very creative."

"Shut up."

He disappears into the backroom before Logan can respond, emerging a minute later with his bag and coat in hand. Freya waves goodbye as he stalks out past the counter and up to Logan. Like every Thursday - every Solipsis trip before, coffee in hand and Janus off work and the walk to his apartment a trip Logan silently insists on making with him - he's acutely aware of the stray hair falling in Janus' face, the pink still lingering under his freckles, the smell of coffee and caramel on him.

"Driving here in a storm just to torment me is ridiculous," Janus says, significantly more composed than before, haughty once more, "but lucky for you, walking home in this weather would be more ridiculous. So I will grace you with my presence and take the ride home."

Logan raises his eyebrows. "Oh, but I thought I was annoying-"

"I will steal your car."

"...Come on."

(Living so far off campus, at least, gives him this exchange to look forward to.)

[brainrotallthewaydown1312]

I just watched everything everywhere all at once and it is so good. there is one line that I feel like seems to be underrated though.

"i saw my life... without you. I wish you could have seen it. it was beautiful."

when I heard this line, it was the only time I was greatful that I hadn't seen it in theaters and I could pause. because that line punched me in the gut. and I don't think it hit me how it was supposed to, but I like how it did.

what she meant by saying that in that moment was "i saw my life without you, and i want to show you how much better that was than what we have so that we could both understand where we made a mistake" and i knew hearing it said to him then that that was what she meant.

but when the words hit my brain, I heard them again. "I saw my life without you. I wish you could have seen it. it was beautiful."

and I didn't hear the angry spiteful line she said. I felt it for different people in my life.

I felt that question of what if you weren't there? what if we had parted ways? what if that was worse? what if it was better?

and I realized that for most of the people worth asking that of, for all of the people who I love in any way, no matter what that outcome was, my first thought would also be "I wish you could have seen it"

and that is to me the purest depiction of love. seeing something incredible in the world, or in yourself and your instinctive response to be "i want to share this moment with you regardless of what that means because it is beautiful"

and the fact that that is so far from what was meant by her saying in that moment, but an exact summary of where she ended up as a character and the whole message of the movie is fascinating.

and I think that it's a line that deserves more attention. because in a movie full of existentialism and philosophy and pain, this is the line that will weed it's way into my dreams and make me process things differently. this is the line that makes this move a life changing masterpiece for me. this is the line I had to pause for.

and I know I can't be the only one

[soupthatistohot]

BSD: An Absurdist Analysis - Chapter 2

Atsushi 's entrance exam, a test of will

[BSD 001] [Masterpost]

This chapter is about Atsushi’s entrance exam, which is basically the test of his will and whether he has the moral compass necessary to join the Armed Detective Agency. 

Also, personal sidenote: It’s really funny to read this chapter with the full knowledge that everything about it is completely staged. 

Anyway, we start with one of Dazai’s infamous suicide attempts.

Please excuse the watermarks on some of the pages/panels I provide. The online version of the manga that's easily accessible to me has these watermarks and I’m not going to remove them, nor do I know how to. 

I’d like to take a moment here to explain the difference between something being “silly” and “absurd,” because BSD toes the line of this a lot, and I think this is a good example. Silly is more lighthearted and just plain stupid, whereas absurd is something just plain illogical or insensible. Dazai getting himself stuck in the oil barrel while attempting suicide is silly in of itself, but this becomes absurd when he explains that he wishes to die painlessly.

This is because of the fact that while it’s technically possible to die painlessly and even commit suicide painlessly, it kind of goes against what we consider to be logical or normal. Death and pain live in the same family in our brains, so, therefore, Dazai wanting to die and consistently attempting to take his own life but not wanting to deal with the pain of it is kind of absurd. 

It’s the hypocritical nature of Dazai’s suicidality that lends to absurdity, especially because it’s sort of a “boy who cried wolf” situation (Dazai explains that his coworkers don’t come to save him anymore because of the number of times he has attempted, and even treat him callously when he tries to ask for help). While I’m not a huge fan of this trait of his and how others respond to it because of the lack of sensitivity it’s handled with (especially earlier in the story), I do think it plays into the overall theme. Asagiri’s intention likely wasn’t to make light of suicide or the fact that Dazai’s irl counterpart succeeded in taking his own life, but rather to emphasize the absurdity of such behavior within the framework of absurdist storytelling. That being said, this can also co-exist with the fact that a lot of manga Dazai’s suicide jokes are really insensitive, to say the least.

Anyway, Atsushi helps him (begrudgingly), and they head towards the agency, where Tanizaki is pretending to be a bomber, threatening to blow the place to bits unless he is brought the president of the agency. When Kunikida tries to approach him, he “recognizes” him as an agency member due to his “grudge” against the organization and threatens him. It’s then decided that Atsushi should go out to confront the bomber since he wouldn’t be recognized as an agency member. 

I’m going to pause here and take this opportunity to explain the difference between absurdism and nihilism. While it's true that both philosophies contend that life is inherently meaningless, the difference lies in what we do with this information. The nihilist believes that because life has no purpose, it cannot be found under any circumstances and therefore you can basically do whatever you want. Life is what you make it, essentially. The absurdist believes that in order to find meaning, one must both embrace life’s inherent absurdity and use it as a means to fight back against it. 

So with that context in mind, Atsushi basically tries to tell Tanizaki that there’s meaning in life, to which Tanizaki responds “It’s better if everyone dies!” Atsushi then goes on a self-deprecating ramble, but still ends it with “but I’m desperately trying to live!” 

Essentially, Tanizaki is playing the part of the nihilist here (it doesn’t matter if I and everyone here die), while Atsushi is presenting an absurdist argument (my life sucks, but I’m still trying, regardless). 

And then we get the most important part of the entrance exam: Atsushi throwing himself on top of the bomb. 

I know I talked about suicide being something that absurdists hate in my chapter 1 post, but I will note here that I think context matters! Dazai’s suicidality is different than Atsushi trying to sacrifice himself, because for Atsushi it’s a last-ditch effort to save everyone. 

Realistically, would his body be enough to dampen the explosion? Probably not, but what matters is that he did the “idiotic” (read: absurd) thing, and tried anyway. He didn’t give up hope that he could do something to protect everyone in that room, despite barely knowing any of them. 

Luckily for Atsushi, it’s all fake, and this was a test of his will, basically. Fukuzawa and Tanizaki are formally introduced and he gets offered a job at the Armed Detective Agency… which he basically can’t turn down because otherwise he’s completely penniless. So, Dazai has kind of trapped him there by wanting to hire him, which I think is kind of funny. 

And thus ends the second chapter! As I mentioned in the previous post, I might not be doing one chapter at a time like this as I go, but for some of these earlier, establishing chapters, it feels necessary. I’ll be considering it on a case-by-case basis, pretty much. 

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to reply or send asks, I love talking about this stuff :)

[Previous] [Next]

[skzsauce01]

Stupid Cupid

Synopsis: Some people wear their hearts on their sleeves, but you and everyone else at this party wears them on their cheeks. Thanks, Lia. Thanks, Felix. Thanks, Chan. College AU.

Warning: alcohol

Word Count: 2.4k

Pairing: fem!reader x Bang Chan

You suspect that Lia didn’t tell you the party theme because she knew that if you found out that there was any semblance of romance, you would have opted to stay home instead. She apologizes with her eyes while Cupid, also known as Felix, sticks a bright red heart on your cheek. 

“Remember when I helped you study for the philosophy midterm?” you try to bargain with Felix. You didn’t even know he was in the same service fraternity as your roommate until tonight. His passionate discussion about altruism signaled that he was part of one, but having never heard of Chi Upsilon Rho (XYP) before Lia’s rushing, you assumed it was small and obscure. The large house crowded with guests proudly wearing their own hearts that you stand in now, disproves you completely.

“Sorry, rules are rules. You’re single, aren’t you?” 

You sigh and smooth the sticker, your own scarlet letter for the horrible sin of being alone on Valentine’s Day. After three bad dates and one cult recruitment disguised as a date, you were content with celebrating the holiday with a cheap bottle of wine and a bingeable Netflix show. Last night, Lia framed the party invitation as a thank you for helping her bake macarons for XYP’s Paw-sitively Sweet Bake Sale, and since you recently decided that you should actually start doing college things, you accepted without a second thought.

“Sorry,” Lia echoes as her own cheek is embellished with a purple heart struck with an arrow. Her heart-shaped blush beneath the sticker blends into her skin as a particular boy catches her eye. 

You raise your eyebrows, a knowing smile slowly creeping onto your face, and she turns even redder if possible. One mediocre night of for a month’s worth of teasing material is an excellent trade. 

With his spray-painted gold bow, Felix gestures to the rest of the house. “Find your match!”

“Sorry,” Lia again repeats as she leads you deeper into the house. She keeps one arm behind her to guide you, but even then you’re having difficulties keeping up. Too many people are standing in the middle of pathways, pausing to study the faces of others in their vicinity. You should be doing the same as per the rules, but finding Yeonjun, Lia’s crush of six months, is the main priority.

At last, she stops in the kitchen. Someone pushes a cup full of mystery liquid into your hand, and you readily drink. You can’t place the taste, but it’s definitely cheap.

“I’ll buy you boba tomorrow if that makes you feel better,” Lia says abruptly as she pours herself some vodka, her alcohol of choice when she needs to loosen up. “In my defense, you would have said ‘no’ if I gave you the details. But now you also get to see me embarrass myself trying to talk to him. Ugh, I couldn’t see what kind of heart he had.”

“He’s the only reason why I’m staying,” you assure. You raise your cup in mock toast. “Here’s to you finally working up the nerve to ask him on a date.”

She groans, “No, don’t put this kind of pressure on me!” but smacks her cup against yours anyway before heading out to the terrace. 

While she says hello to her brothers and sisters and random people she seemingly knows, you lean against a wall, eying the endless stream of strangers coming in and out of the house. Your vision swims with shades of red and pink, Valentino to Valentine and everything in between. Boys wearing rosy shirts under sherpa jackets, girls in pastel turtlenecks and corduroy dresses, everyone adorned with markers of availability—this entire party is Valentine’s Day personified. It’s fascinating to see how shy and how bold some people are tonight. So entranced by a pair that are obviously complete opposites, you nearly miss Yeonjun, who you note also has a purple heart on his cheek. He’s too far to discern the details, but you hope there’s an arrow. Felix better have matched up Yeonjun and Lia or else he’ll have to endure lamentations from both you and Lia tonight.

You wordlessly grab Lia’s elbow, and she quickly ends the conversation she’s having. When you tell her about his heart, her eyes grow to the size of dinner plates. 

“Calm down,” you tell her as you pull her to the other side. “You haven’t even spoken to him, and you’re practically hyperventilating.”

“I am calm!” Nonetheless, she sips from her cup and softly swears when she spills vodka on her top. “Should I really ask him?”

“Yes, if only to provide me with entertainment.”

“You’re horrible.”

“I baked macarons for an animal shelter. I’m an angel of being.”

While Lia presumably rolls her eyes, someone steps in front of you, and you make to walk around him until he reaches for your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, “you’re my match.”

The mischievous grin you’ve had on smooths into a more cordial smile as you debate whether you can afford to be rude to him. Does he want to flirt, or is he just saying hello? Will he be offended if you reject his advances, or is looking for any willing person to hook up with? You can never tell these days. He’s wearing the pink shirt from the Paw-sitively Sweet fundraiser—which is unbelievably cute for something made from pre-set graphics on a cheap custom t-shirt design site—so he’s definitely part of XYP. You glance at Lia for help.

It’s her turn to grin. You yell at her with your eyes, but she ignores it. “Chan, this is my roommate. The jam-filled, paw print macarons you liked? She’s the one who made them.” 

So you have to be kind to him after all. Because your parents raised you right, you introduce yourself and graciously accept his compliments. “We’ve got to get somewhere right now, but it was nice to meet you.”

“I have to get somewhere,” Lia interjects as she starts taking small steps backwards. As you’re about to protest, she adds, “I’ll find you when I need you, okay? I’ll be fine.”

She was not fine five seconds ago, but if you put up a fight, Yeonjun will be lost to the crowds again. You swallow the excuses building in your throat and nod. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“You too. Chan, make sure she doesn’t try to leave in the next ten minutes.”

Chan gives her a thumbs-up, and Lia flashes you a smile that serves as both a warning and reassurance before disappearing past a group of boys dressed to the nines in white suits and pink ties. You angle yourself so that you’re watching Lia and pull out your favorite college conversation starter: “What’s your major?”

“Music and biology.” He laughs at your surprise and shrugs like balancing two wildly different and intensive majors isn’t difficult. “If I don’t make it as a producer in the next few years, then I’ll go to med school like my parents want. What about you?”

“Accounting. My parents wanted to be able to do their taxes for free.” 

“Can you do mine too?”

You pretend to mull it over while you study Lia’s winding path through the crowds. Almost there. “I charge by the hour, if that’s alright. And you’re not allowed to complain about how long it takes me.”

“You know what, I changed my mind. Maybe in a couple years.”

Lia has reached Yeonjun now and wedged herself into his circle. You crane your neck to see if her mouth is moving or not, but an extra tall person is blocking your view. As you squeeze your cup in your hands—why did he have to stand right there—you hear herself reply to Chan, “Cool. Music producer, you said you were? What’s that like? Got any songs out?”

That ought to keep him occupied for a few minutes while you position yourself differently to continue watching the K-drama Lia is starring in. As expected, Chan is passionate about music and indulges your increasingly stupid questions. You almost feel bad for not being more attentive, but if he interprets your distance as disinterest, that’s also fine. Lia and Yeonjun are finally talking one-on-one. She hasn’t begun playing with the ends of her hair yet, so she’s relatively at ease.

“Why don’t we move away from the door?” you suggest to Chan during a pause. “I think I saw some open seats over there.”

There are no such seats, but you convince him to follow you closer to where Lia is. Fortunately, she doesn’t notice you, even with how conspicuous you look. “You were saying something about… screwdrivers?”

“Drill, actually. You know,” he says, “I think it’s really sweet that you’re looking out for your roommate, but you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“What?”

“Yeah, Yeonjun’s really nice.”

“No, I know that. She tells me all the time, trust me. It’s just that…” You’re pretty sure it’s against Girl Code to tell your friend’s fraternity brother about her crush, even if half the fraternity already knows. It’s probably even more crass to tell said fraternity brother that no, you don’t actually care about her wellbeing, you just want the details of what’s happening. “I don’t really like parties,” you settle on. It’s mostly truthful.

“Too loud, too many people? I can see why.”

“Not exactly. In my experience, a three-hour party only has two minutes of highlight reel material. The other two hours and fifty-eight minutes are usually me wishing I could go home. Nothing against parties, it’s just me.”

“But you’re here anyway. Let me guess, Lia promised you something?”

In the distance, Lia laughs loudly, twirling the last inch of her French braids. “Something like that.” 

You hold your breath in anticipation and let out a muffled squeal when Yeonjun leans down to peel off the sticker on her cheek and kiss her there. Cheesy, melodramatic K-dramas are nothing compared to real life. 

“That’s going in the highlight reel, isn’t it?” Chan says, his face soft. 

“It’s the entire reel. It’s all I came for.” You sigh happily and celebrate by finishing whatever is left in your cup. “It was fun talking to you, but I’m going to head home. I’ll see you around.”

“You don’t wanna stay? What if something else happens? Besides, I don’t think Lia will let you leave so early.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

You mean it as a joke, not a flirty remark, but he turns a brilliant shade of red and stammers something about Felix bringing out leftover cookies from the bake sale later in the night. Chan is sweet for caring about you and is cute enough that you would agree to linger around the party longer under normal circumstances, but…

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend right now. Sorry for leading you on, but you know”—you tap your matching heart, cursing Felix and his faux angelic demeanor—“rules are rules, and I couldn’t get out of it.”

To your relief, he chuckles. He still resembles a tomato, but he’s chuckling and not upset that you’re not interested in his advances. “Nah, I get it. He’s the one who came up with the idea anyway. If Lia really won’t let you leave, come and find me. I can tell you more about drill since you seemed a little busy then.”

Under normal circumstances, you would have shamelessly admitted that you weren’t paying attention, but your body betrays you as you feel flushed from head to toe. “Thanks. Night.”

You find Lia, who surprisingly doesn’t wheedle you into staying any longer. Suspicious. You suppose she’s too distracted by Yeonjun’s arm around her shoulder to remember that her job as the overexcited inviter is to keep you for as long as possible. However, it’s explicitly against Girl Code to desert your friend at a party, even if said friend is mostly sober and okay with it, so you find a nice corner to languish in. Chan’s offer likely still stands, but after your big speech, the lonely corner feels more comfortable. 

Felix does, in fact, bring out cookies and personally offers them to everyone like a gracious fairy. When he gets to you, your eyes glued to your phone, your body curled up on a battered couch, he asks, “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for Lia.” You show him your screen. “You wanna watch Animal Crossing island tours with me?”

“You didn’t find Chan yet?”

You take a chocolate chip cookie from him and take a ferocious bite. You don’t want to think about Chan right now. Too many embarrassing and confusing thoughts associated with him. “I did, but it’s more like he found me. We talked for a bit— wait, did you set me up with him? Felix!”

He shrugs innocently. “Every time I ask you about your weekend, all you tell me about is the most recent date you went on, and you make them seem really bad. Chan’s a good guy. I thought you would like him.”

“I’m not in the market for a boyfriend. Stop trying to play matchmaker. Cupid,” you amend when you notice that he’s about to correct you about his true title. “Thanks for the cookie. I’ll see you Thursday.”

He leaves you soon afterward, and you think you’re safe from interference, but Chan takes his place minutes later. His offering of a half-empty bottle of wine softens your objections, and you offer what little room of the couch that has not been claimed by an odd stain. He chooses to perch on the arm instead.

“Did Felix send you here?” you say. You palm the cool glass of the bottle, which soothes your increasingly warm skin, and serve the two of you. 

“No, but he mentioned the Animal Crossing videos. Mind if I join you?”

“You really have nothing better to do?”

He laughs even though you haven’t said anything funny. “I’d rather hang out with you than play beer pong. Is it that hard to believe?”

“Considering you’re a frat boy, a little. But we can hang out.” You smile at the floor because it’s easier than smiling at him and remembering your previous behavior. “If you tell me about drill, I’ll listen this time.”

He replies, “Nah, I think Animal Crossing’s more interesting to me right now,” so you press play. It should feel silly for two people to huddle in a corner and coo over virtual items, but instead it’s surprisingly fun. Chan’s commentary keeps your eyes glazing over, and your loosened tongue spills out all of your own plans for your island designs. Then the conversation drifts into real estate into ramen into birds until a drunk Lia informs you that she’s ready to go home. You anticipated this much—cheap wine, a completed K-drama (courtesy of Lia), an emotional roommate—but not the unexpected question on your cheek.

~ ad.gray

craving more valentine's day stories? flowers for you // candy hearts

[prettyboyeddiemunson]

i’m so mad that we were robbed of an eddie smoking scene. like a full one, where he actually does it. not the one we got where he almost smoked.

because can you imagine how hot that would be? him just taking a drag and slowly exhaling, making eye contact with you as he does it. his doe eyes on you, smoke slowly falling in wispy tendrils from his nose. and, if you were comfortable or able, he would offer you a drag of it. watching you smoke from his cigarette, sharing one like that, would turn him the fuck on. don’t ask me why, but if you share a cigarette or a joint? passing it back and forth, watching the smoke unfurl as you exhale? jesus christ, it’s better than p**n for him.

he would fuck you so hard after you finish, too. could also see this fucker smoking either weed or a cig as he goes down on you, pausing once in awhile to take a drag and exhale the smoke over the outside of your cunt. why? because why the fuck not; that’s his philosophy. shotgunning? yep, that’s happening during sex, too. imagine this fucker just railing the shit out of you, and if he wants to be a tease, he stops mid-sex to light a joint (he prefers doing it with weed), and kisses you deeply with the smoke in his mouth. because he’s such a smug and arrogant motherfucker sometimes, he’s going to tell you not to choke on it if you start coughing. he takes another hit before you cum, repeating the process of kissing you and transferring the smoke as he sends you into one of the best orgasms of your life.

then he smokes a cigarette after, and it’s just a vicious cycle. he looks so goddamn hot smoking that damn thing, and you just want him all over again. is he gonna give it to you? oh yes, he fucking is. this man is going to tease you, taunt you, make you much wetter just by smoking the cigarette. and when he’s done, he’s going to pounce on you and fuck you on his fingers until you’re begging him to stop because of how overwhelmingly delicious it all feels.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

I wanted to take a brief pause after VII, just to talk about hallmarks of Dragon Quest as a series. Because we are leaving the era where these games are a driving force in developing the JRPG genre. Like...I know when I do the final ranking I'm going to put II much higher than most. Because I earnestly feel II is one of those very special games that developed so many things that became ubiquitous you take it for granted. This does not mean VIII, IX, and XI are bad by any stretch. I'd compare it to The Simpsons; your purpose has changed in a world full of imitators. What was revolutionary is not comforting and timeless.

Sadly this does mean we'll lose a few elements that didn't translate into the next generation. Eventually the designers behind the series started following norms competitors innovated. So before we go on to VIII and it's massive legacy, a few favorite hallmarks I didn't get to cover:

One of the most iconic features here since the first that's just as fun in XI. Metal Slimes. So many have tried this and none work as well as the original. Rare version of a weak enemy that nets massive experience. The catch? They're quick to flee and while they have only 3-4 HP their defense is maxed out. Enough you might do 1 damage on a hit. Then later games introduce different, stronger varieties. If you need to grind, the metal slime family always feels like a fun little mini-game to shorten it. And the developers are smart about where their hotspots are usually. If you see one in a new area, it's worth it to try and bag a few first pass.

Dungeon Philosophy. I hate this has fallen by the wayside in favor of following Final Fantasy's style. Early on, you had to approach dungeons like an old school D&D module. You're not doing it first try. It's all part of the fun baked into what happens on a loss. You just go back to the last King/Priest you saved at and lose half your money. The dungeons are designed around this, if it's a tower you can just hop off and go back to town. But you'll have to make a few runs at the labyrinth to figure everything out and learn the optimal path. Especially with...

Random encounters having some teeth to them. This has diminished over time but game design in general has gotten easier so I don't fault DQ for it. But in those early ones, yeah random encounters can be brutal. You need to consider spells like sleep or fog that'll spare you some hits cheaply. If you flee and fail you lose a turn like a lot of RPGs but not every monster will go so it's more viable sometimes. All together, simple but tight design. A dungeon in early Dragon Quest feels like a real challenge of balancing resources like MP. This is why I love III so much, the class system plus peak design philosophy makes everything work so well as a total package. Your party comp will determine which parts are hard or easy.

Decisions on equipment. This is subtle but very cool in practice. Unlike a lot of JRPGs, in these early Dragon Quest games you're going to have to grind a lot to get every new piece of equipment you can buy immediately. Which will feel even worse if something is rendered obsolete with a dungeon treasure. You're not expected to. When you first get to town you decide what felt like it needed to be bolstered the most, then go on and start taking on the dungeon expecting to need a few trips. When you're ready to leave, decide if you want to polish it off here or try your luck with a headstart on the next town. Later games have replaced this with a crafting element I like, so it's more of a lateral move.

[mrhowells]

Smallville 5x04

LOISSS MY WIFE IS BACK!!!!

Shut up Clark no one was hoping she'd stay in Europe longer, you just can't deal with her greatness

"Actually, I just ran into Mrs. Kent at the Talon and right out of nowhere, she asked if I'd like to move back into the farm😇". "Yeah right." "...😇" "...Really?"

AHJKHSJS PLS THE FACE JOURNEY

Lois: 1 - Clark: 0

See that's why we need Lois, it immediately turns into a comedy and Clark gets more personality.

LOIS BIKINIJFKSFJAKJK

BRO. HOLD ON. Was the AC actor on b99 as young Scully?? PLS that would be so funny.

the prettiest girl I've ever seeeen🎶 from the cover of a magazineeee🎶

like????????

she's still insulting the guy who saved her I LOVE HER SO MUCH THAT'S THE LOVE OF MY LIFE OKAY

and the Lana/Lois scraps I liveeee (but also, why didn't we get more, where is the humanity?)

"He can swim faster than I can." HEHEHEHEEHEE😈

Professor Milton Fine? I don't think so

He really just compared Lex to Hitler, BRO💀💀

Same Clark, same

"I got a buck." "Yeah? You should use it to get some fashion sense."

lmaoooo

LOIS STAHP I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH FOR THIS

It's actually beautiful, you can see her come up with her next burn in real time

"You know, this, uh, whole orange and green thing you got going? Looks like Flipper threw up."

Gooodd I'm in love with her

SHE CALLED HIM FISH STICK I'M-

"You were turning blue." "It's a good color on me."

LOIS STOPPPPPP I NEED TO BREATHE😭😭

THE WAY HE'S LOOKING AT HER? DUDE SAMEEEE

no because they actually have great chemistry

wdym German philosophy is easy DO YOU KNOW THE TORTURE I WENT THROUGH IN HIGH SCHOOL??? DO YOU??

stop why am I shipping Lois and AC they're so cute together😭

HELP

Lois if he falls into the water, shouldn't you jump in after him??💀

I really feel like they made the change in Lex too abrupt which is kind of a bummer because they had a great setup for it after Lionel tried to kill him at the end of season 3.

"You really don't listen, do you?" "No, I try not to, I find it distracting."

AGAIN, I LOVE LOIS AND THEY'RE CUTEEEEE

some of his pickup lines are really cringy though💀

not me getting invested when I know this isn't going anywhere😭

"LOIS??!?!?"

perfect timing Clark

Clark: 🧍😠

"Lois is all over this guy. And all we know him is that he can swim faster than I can."

jsdkdjHkas HE NEEDS TO GET A GRIP BECAUSE WHY DOES HE SOUND ANGRY AND NOT CONCERNED😭💀

I can't

Chloe: listing perfectly normal things about AC like him being on a swim team

Clark: Does he have a criminal record?😠

"I don't know what it is about this guy but I get a bad feeling."

Mmmhhhmmmm okay yeah...

CLARK DON'T EMBARRASS YOURSELF PLS

Even Lana is so done with his shit I'm crying

"Do you really believe that or is that just a pickup line for the girls?" "Clark!!!!"

RIGHT IN FRONT OF LANA LIKE-

you can't make this up😭

PLSSSSSS

Okay Lois he would totally attack AC because he's jealous (and he kinda did💀) but he wouldn't straight up invent lies about him, come on.

OOOOh is this actually the first time we hear the nickname boy scout? (I don't have the best memory so I'm not sure😅)

not AC calling Lex "bro"💀💀

"One day of college and he's already an activist."

PLSSSSS

Again, I think they could've set up this plot a bit better wrt Lex's reasons for selling that weapon despite the damage that it causes.

I'm sorry but this is kind of funny

OK NOW I'M FULL ON LAUGHING

WHAT IS THISSSS😭😭

"Are you okay?" "WET AND READY BRO."

SHDAJKFHDHGWAUIFGQM W H A T ???

WET

AND

READY

????????

I JUST FELL OUT OF MY BED WHO IS THE LEGEND RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS PIECE OF DIALOGUE I MUST KNOW😭

"Well, you didn't tell him about my pitchfork, did you?" "I defended you."

*brief pause from the comedy of it all to feel PAIN*

the way AC says "bro" takes me outttt

"Maybe we should start up a junior lifeguard association or something."

STOOP THAT'S WHAT BART SAID TOO (not the lifeguard part but you know what I mean)

This just in, JLA stands for Junior Lifeguard Association💀

STAY SUPER BRAH (I'll stop making fun of AC now I prommy)

noooooo Lois😭😭😭

welp, I shipped it while it lasted

(I'm still tagging this post as clois though because we all know who the OTP is😌😌)

"I was just trying to look out for you." If you say so👀

not to be repetitive but...

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HOW GOOD SHE LOOKS IN THIS LIGHTING????

"I've known a lot of guys who want to own the world. I haven't met very many who actually want to save it. How am I ever gonna meet someone like that again?"

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP FALLING TO MY KNEES DO YOU GUYS EVEN UNDERSTAND????

That, exactly that is the reason she loves Clark (or will eventually, whatever) I'M GOING INSANEEEE THEY WROTE HER SO WELL😭

"Lois, I promise, some day... you'll meet someone even more special."

this episode was everything I needed and more