#and the problem is i have a really distinct face that looks nothing like almost all anime characters

[toddfrom]

Last night in a sleepy daze i decided im gonna cosplay eugene. Not sure where, not sure when, but i think i have a chance of pulling it off and it would probably be the most fun experience ever

[sanemisstalker]

NSFW// Douma doing pussy inspections to make sure you didn't fuck any of his servants in his absence.

Saw a post talking about a possessive partner doing pussy inspections to make sure you'd stayed loyal and I 🤭

CW// Fem reffered/ AFAB reader/ Breasted / NTR / Cheating/Cuckholding (questionable) / BDSM dynamics / DUB-CON/NON-CON/ Objectification / Reader is reffered to as a 'sow' / is viewed as akin to an animal / Threats of Genital Mutilation / Gore / 24/7 Submission / Sexual Torture.

For all intents and purposes, you never wanted to cheat on Douma. The impulse was exactly that, an impulse. You would have to be dumb or, even worse, unstable, to actively seek punishment from a demon of his caliber. From a man of his social statute.

But, even if you didn't want it, which you would assure you didn't, that did nothing to sooth the pain of the itch. You weren't entirely sure what possessed you once he left your sight, but the idea was always there. Locked away behind bar after bar in your silly little head...

After your first incident with a fellow sow, found with your pussy rubbing gleefully up and down her thigh, Douma figured you were just odd. A bunch of humans are born that way. Just wrong in the head. He'd had a number of attempts on his life through the years.

He had never implied that there would be a punishment for such petty insolence, because he figured you would never be dumb enough to try. After all, the other sow began sobbing, begging for his forgiveness for her desecration and sin. She must've been right in the head.

You were clearly the predator in the situation, not even bothering to appear shameful, just dissapointed. Douma had been entirely perplexed. He had no real urge to harm the other woman. Maybe it was because she was a woman that he felt no real inclination to do so. And he didn't really want to hurt you, either.

The closest thing Douma could compare the feeling to was the curiosity he once felt when he watched too stray cats mate. How odd, that behavior. The need to fuck. Douma never needed to do anything. Want, yes, but that was always very distinct. Douma had never needed to fuck. He figured it was another one of those human things he never quite got around to doing.

He had told you, in a rather lack luster tone, to keep your hands to yourself. It upset you, he could tell. Likely because you were being reffered to with such child-like verbiage, but he felt it had gotten the point across.

The next incident upset him slightly more. He walked in on you with one of his closer male confidants. His face was buried between your legs, and just as quickly as it'd been there, it was gone. The remnants splattered on your thighs and Douma's palm.

The blood had made your orgasm dry out completely. Douma recalled the little huff you made, unbothered by the warm body at your feet. Douma shifted your lifted robes so they would fall back over your legs, patting the fabric into the mess with a tight smile.

"Is there something you're adverse to telling me, hm?" He'd prod, "Is there a quality you find I'm lacking?" There was a tilt to his voice. An odd tone you couldn't quite read. It wasn't insecurity, nor dissapointment. It was taunting, almost.

"I'm not sure." You answered honestly, and he knew, then and there, you must truly be unstable because what an anger inducing comment. He couldn't grasp why you were so... weird.

The problem wasn't your infidelity. Douma could, quite frankly, care less about whether or not you're loyal to him. The problem sat with the human taboo he knew you knew were comitting. One you should feel shameful for, yet you wore nothing but that pissy little look on your face because an orgasm had been stolen away. Nothing to indicate you even registered such a thing.

You had been the one begging him for months to fuck you. Pleading, sobbing, all but vomiting praise at his feet. Nothing but a desperate sow he had willingly invited into his harem, the only one he even had light willingness to sleep with, and now you were defiling his hole with other blood.

Fine. Douma resigned to simply keeping you with him wherever he went. You were allowed out if his sight only for prayer and the bathroom.

The third incident, Douma was quite certain you'd become more than unstable. To let another man bed you on his throne had to be entirely insane on your part. A complete lack of self preservation. Not only had you snuck away from prayer, but you had brought in an outsider. Some random slayer, at that.

The risk was palpable, each time Douma watched the man's cock slide deeper into you-

The man was lucky he finished before Douma's hand reached around his neck. A final pleasure in this world, found in your cunt. Douma flung his body effortlessly against the wall, the corpse folding in on itself with a sickening crack.

"Ah, Y/N, do I need to sew you shut?" Douma would ask in the same sing song voice he always had. "This is entirely disrespectful of your superiors."

"I-I know-" You huffed, winded from the act, pussy aching for your lord's cock. You knew you wouldn't get it. He'd never bother with a used hole.

You couldn't understand it anymore than he could. Why you craved that look in his eye so bad, that unpleasant lilt in his voice. He seemed almost bothered by the whole thing. Almost.

"Please don't... sew me up." Your pussy tingled at the idea- Maybe such pain would fix your ailment, not having your clit exposed anymore, or your needy hole.

Your hand trailed between you thighs, seeking your gape. As you felt a bit of the dead man's seed slip out, you rushed to finger it back into yourself. You feared what Douma might do should a drop of it land on his cushions-

The desperate display sickened him, willing an emotion to the forefront he hadn't felt in a millenia, at least.

Fine. Fine. Fine fine fine.

You were no longer allowed to leave his sight. At all. A leash now rested firmly on your throat. If not held by Douma, held by someone else who he'd calmly threatened to spay if they even so much as consider your constant pleading.

Douma had to make a remedial, somewhat temperamental announcement to his followers.

You were a temptress, never to be trusted. Something on the brink of succubi. Fucking you would lead to great downfall for anyone who fell woefully victim to your tricks. Their sperm would die before it even formed, bedding you would insure a life of flaccidity. You'd curse any womb you ate-

How kind a leader he was to assure the victory of his people by capturing you. A real, honest to god demon.

He decided he was going to fix you. Sometimes humans needed that kind of thing. Fixing. He decided you were sick. In the head. If your ever so present need for cock continously won out over a need to live, then such an illness had to be cured.

He set you up with a chittering little toy. Firmly tied against your clit with pretty red rope. He didn't bother having your hands tied. You loved it, after all, the constant attention (abuse) to the little bundle of nerves.

You realized what he was trying to do the first time your clit went numb. He was certainly trying to sterilize you, make it so you wouldn't even want to open your legs.

Another rod was always tucked inside your pussy. Keeping you constantly wet and always stretched for the once in a blue moon where Douma would kindly make you warm his cock instead. He was never a fan of the uncomfortable tightness the first few times he entered a sow. This was a far preferable sensation. Warm and just tight enough to nurse his cock.

Another would be in your ass, since he'd once again overheard you begging one of his servants for something so grotesque. Any hole would work to satisfy your bizarre appetite, it seemed.

Any time Douma had to leave for an extended time, he'd come back to greet his people, and then you, who he kept tucked behind a slew of pillows to muffle the constant moaning and sobbing you loosed.

He'd always check your mouth first, gentle claws pulling the orifice open so he could slide his tongue in and assault the crevice, seeking the taste of another human on your lips.

And then he'd turn you over, the first time in weeks you'd be allowed to have that toy taken off your irritated, pulsing clit. He'd carefully slip the other toy from between your lips. Your cunt would contract around nothing.

Douma would spread you open with little regard for how puffy your pyssy had become, how even the dull part of his claws were overstimulating. He'd ignore your yaps and cries in favour of burying two fingers in.

He'd bring them out and up to his lips.

"Oh wow!" He'd sing, overjoyed that his drastic measures had worked. "You did so good, Y/N! I can't smell anyone on you! I'm proud! I'm impressed!"

Something about the words made you sob. Your pussy ached, any and every touch felt like you were going to implode. You could barely remember why you were in this situation at all.

Douma would pop the plug from your backside, loosing an all too pleased noise at the sight on your twitching asshole. A finger would probe the wet hole before slipping in with incredible ease. Your toes curled into the plush of the pillows you'd been rested on.

"So good!" He'd mock cheer, clapping as the tightness persisted with a second finger. It was as tight as when he'd left you.

Douma reached up to your head, managing to lift you up by your hair. With incredibly weak knees, you struggled to steady yourself. Thankfully, Douma pushed you back down into the pillows, only desiring to see the arch of your back.

"Can you spread yourself for me?" He'd request. The word 'spread' didn't sound real, but you could hear the shift of his hands and the clank of his belt.

"L-Lord Douma, I can't- can't possibly-" You cried.

"Oh shush, you can." He laughed. With shaking hands you followed his commands, throat too sore to deny him. Your fingers felt cold against the boiling heat of your lips. You pulled yourself apart, presenting your sopping wet cunt to him.

Douma shuddered slightly. He'd melded humans to his will before, but never so quickly had they snapped. Maybe this sex thing could become a want for him.

You couldn't even feel when he sank into you entirely with his first thrust. You took him so incredibly well, his ego swelled at the sight. You were finally a good loyal hole for him to fuck.

A good, loyal, and stable hole for him to fuck.

[honorarysimp]

Chapter 1: Bite Me

series masterlist

Mabel really, really, doesn’t want to be doing this right now.

There’s at least five other things she could be doing right now, but no, she’s doing the one thing she swore she’d never do again.

Is this rock bottom? It has to be.

Charlie, who’s sat in the passenger, has been prodding her with question after question since she told him she knows someone who might be able to help them.

It’s not that she’s dodging his questions per se, but she isn’t entirely sure how to answer them either.

They’re in deep shit right now, no thanks to her, and the predicament reminds Mabel just why she doesn’t stick her neck out for strangers anymore. Not that Charlie is exactly a stranger, she is sort of sleeping with him, and he is sort of her boyfriend.

But this? This is a bit much, even for her, which is why it puts a bitter taste in Mabel’s mouth knowing who she’s having to turn to for help.

In their defense, it’s not like the guys signed up to get a hundred thousand grand worth of heroin stolen from them. Tom had accused her of being the one who ratted them out, which wasn’t true, so she had to act fast.

Being a snitch around here can get you killed, rumors can get you killed.

There’s only one person who stood any chance to helping her put out this dumpster fire.

And when she pulls up in front of a house on the more secluded side of town, Mabel feels the ache in her chest at the familiar porch steps. That swing, the unkept bushes out front, even from where she’s parked the car on the road she can spot a few beer cans littering the wooden rail.

Seems like nothing has changed at all.

“-Mabel”.

Her eyes snap to Charlie, who’s already looking at her, he’s probably been saying her name for a good minute now based on the confused and worried expression on his face.

He let his brother trash on her at the bar, even when he said he believed her, Mabel was righteously pissed at him for not standing up for her. But, that aside, she agree to let him come with her for this.

Charlie is a good guy, a great guy even. There’s something there without a doubt, and Mabel is fairly sure she could grow to be in love with him. She could be happy even, considering all the opportunity having him around will bring.

Is it wrong? Maybe. But Mabel promised herself she’d get out of this goddamn town, away from everything tainted and poisoned.

And for what it’s worth, she actually does like Charlie.

First, unfortunately for her, she’ll have to figure out how to get them out of something that was suppose to help them.

A hand on hers makes her snap out of her thoughts again, Charlie says her name again, softly. But she instinctively pulls away, because she can’t, not when that house sits just over his shoulder out the window behind him.

“Sorry, just uh… it’s a lot” is what she says, and he nods, trying to reassure her with his softly spoken words, but Mabel tunes them out.

She can’t help it, not when her eyes keep getting drawn to that paint chipped black door, and the familiar car parked in the open garage to the left of it.

Has it really been a year?

“Let’s just get this over with” Mabel mutters, cutting the engine and pushing the drivers side door open far too aggressively.

All she can hear as she walks along the path and up the porch steps is her own heartbeat slowly increasing, fidgeting with her fingers at her sides.

She doesn’t knock, she never did before and she won’t start now. Charlie splutters behind her, glancing around with wide eyes as if expecting law enforcement to roll up, Mabel doesn’t wait for him as she makes her way through the threshold.

It almost relieves her when she doesn’t smell that distinct linger of Mary Jane in the air, but Mabel steels herself, reminds herself what happens here isn’t her problem anymore.

Finally she pushes herself forward, wooden floorboards creaking under her boots as she makes her way deeper into the house that was once the closest thing to home Mabel ever had.

It hurts, how much she misses it here. The worn leather couch, the framed movie posters lining the walls, the tv stand she knows has drawers full of CD’s with a variety of film genres. A line of conch shells along the windowsill, those same windows that always stay cracked open to allow in the sound of ocean off in the distance.

And then she reaches the study.

There you are, back to her as you seem to be reorganizing the books on the shelf you face, even then Mabel knows you heard her walk in.

You don’t turn until she wraps her knuckle against the doorframe, hesitantly stepping into the study, it’s only then when she realizes Charlie had followed her inside. Stepping up next to her, his eyes on you with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

When you do face her, it takes everything in her not to buckle, those eyes never fail to make her chest ache.

She fucking hates it.

“Hey sunshine” you say softly, as if you cherish the long lost nickname rolling off your tongue after so long.

“Lucky” Mabel says flatly, bitterly.

You smile, widely, almost charmingly. Mabel glares, unrelenting and jaw muscle twitching as she clenches her teeth.

Your gaze then goes to Charlie, but rather than any emotion Mabel assumes you’d express, you only look amused.

“Looks like you took my advice” you say as you look back to Mabel, who only feels bile start to work its way up her throat.

“That’s not funny, nor anywhere near true” Mabel deadpans, which makes you shrug, smile only growing as you slide the book in your hand back on to the shelf before turning to face them fully.

Charlie looks between you two, once and then again, “you two close?” he tries to gauge the dynamic as he shifts his weight from one foot to the next.

Mabel’s head tilts just slightly, rolling her eyes as her thumb comes up to scratch the space between her eyebrows.

“Use to be” you answer since she doesn’t, tucking your hands into your jean pockets “back in the day”.

Mabel is silent, jaw slightly offset as she runs her tongue along her teeth in her mouth, “Charlie can you give us a minute?” she says as her gaze lingers on you before dropping to the floor. Watching him from her peripheral over her shoulder.

Charlie laughs humorlessly, mouth quirking up only to fall the moment she turns her head to shoot him a look. He looks ready to protest, eyes flickering between the two of you before deflating slightly, sneakers squeaking against the wood as he begins to walk backwards.

The moment he’s out of the room, you trail after him, pausing at the door and then slowly pushing it until only a slight crack remains between it and the frame.

“What’ve you got yourself into now?” You ask as you turn to head back across the room, your shoulder brushing against hers as you pass.

On purpose? Absolutely.

“Now’s not the time to be grilling me” Mabel says flatly, crossing her arms as you move to sit back against the desk behind you, a sight that once use make her knees weak.

You hum, fingers curled around the edge of the desk as you lean your weight back against your palms “you wouldn’t have come here otherwise, am I wrong?”

“God, you really haven’t changed at all, still thinking that you know everything”.

“I think you forget just how well I do know you”.

“You don’t know me anymore-“

“And yet here you are” you say lowly, one corner of your mouth tugging up slightly as you add “it’s good to see you”.

Those words are like blowing dust off an old record, sat on a turntable, needle being rested down as the familiar melody begins to repeat itself again. A song Mabel has tried to forget the tune to, but with you, it’s her guilty pleasure.

A lapse of silence falls between the two of you, and as much as the words taste like battery acid coming out of her mouth, Mabel says them anyways.

You are, after all, the only person she fully trusts in a hundred mile radius. Even after everything.

“I need your help”.

You tense slightly, because of course you wouldn’t tease her for this, why would you? Mabel asking for help is the equivalent of watching pigs fly.

“Fuck Mabel, what’ve you gotten yourself into?”

Mabel clenches her jaw, looking away from you, wondering exactly how she was going to not only break this to you. But also how she was going to convince you to help once you knew the extent of the current predicament.

“Listen, I was just trying to help the guys and I understand being desperate for cash, and Charlie thought-“

You push off the desk, standing up straight which has Mabel’s eyes going back to you. You’re looking at her like you already know, and she’d be more surprised if you didn’t.

“It’s Weeks” she whispers, shifting her weight nervously before forcing her head up high, feigning a collected aura.

“We owe him a hundred thousand for losing a delivery”.

And then there it is, that familiar look of irritation, “goddamn it Mabel- it’s like what I did meant nothing to you? Unfuckingbelivable-“

You walk right past her, ripping the door to your study open, wood groaning under your quick steps.

Mabel is right behind you, not even sparing Charlie a glance as you both pass where he’s stood in the living room, pretending to keep himself busy until the loud burst of voices pulls his attention.

“Don’t you fucking start with me, I never asked you to do that, and the fact you still hold it against me-“

“-that isn’t what I hold against you and you know it-“

“-you shouldn’t hold anything against me considering the bullshit YOU pulled-“

The screen door cracks against the frame as you shove through the front door of the house, Mabel catches it mid bounce and slips through after you. It smacks the frame again, Charlie not being as smooth as he tries to keep up with you both.

“For the millionth time, I was honest with you from the start, are we seriously going to have this fucking conversation now-“

“-you’re the one who caught a goddamn attitude with me, when I was trying to be reasonable-“

You laugh humorlessly, shooting her a look of disbelief over your shoulder as you opt out the stairs of the porch, slipping over the railing off to the side instead. “You? Reasonable? Get the fuck out of here with that shit.”

Mabel is quick to go around, catching up with you just as you reach the garage, rounding the vehicle just as you tug the passenger side door open “you keep fucking talk to me like that I’ll shove my foot so far up your ass-“

“Yo! Where are we going?” Charlie calls as he finally catches up, rounding the house and standing at the open of the garage, hands cupped around his mouth to get both your attention.

“Not you pretty boy-“ you point a finger at him, your other hand still gripping the top of the door of the vehicle, Mabel scoffs and smacks your arm hard before digging into her jacket pocket for her keys.

“Go to home, I’ll have Lucky drop me off after” Mabel says as she tosses the keys to Charlie, he fumbles them slightly, looking between them in his hand and the two of you just as Mabel slips into the car.

“What-“

“Not. You. Go home” you say warningly, a look in your eyes that leaves no room for argument as you give the passenger door a shove to shut it behind her.

He steps in front of you as you round the hood, eyes hard and chest puffed, he’s got a good foot on you but even then you just gaze up at him with a subtle smug expression.

“I’m not a child, and that’s my girlfriend you’re taking off with, I’m coming-“

“Your girlfriend?” You say with a laugh, which only makes the muscle in his jaw twitch as he clenches his teeth. You look through the windshield at Mabel who’s actively trying to act like she can’t see this confrontation happening.

“She’s came to me, so I can help you clean up your fucking mess, do me a favor and don’t make this worse than you already have” you say as you casually reach forward to give his chest a firm pat, pushing him out of your way as you head for the driver side door.

“Which you’re welcome for, by the way. Don’t worry yourself too much, I’ll have her home by her curfew” you say as you shoot him a wink, tugging the door open and dropping into the driver seat.

He takes a few steps back and out of the way as you start up the engine, the rumble coming from it loud from the confined space of the garage.

Mabel keeps her eyes out the passenger window, looking at nothing specific, arms crossed and stubborn grimace etched into her sharp features.

“Do you want him to come?”

A pause of silence, her shoulders tensing just slightly, “just go”.

You don’t offer another word, shifting the car into gear and slamming the gas. The tires screech as you cut the steering, pulling on to the road and fishtailing the back wheels as you speed down the road.

It’s quiet for a solid three minutes, it’s a bit strange, the both of you being back here. Where it all started.

“Fill me in so I know what I’m working with” you say as you slowly release your death grip on the wheel, the white in your knuckles easing as you flex your fingers.

Mabel takes a deep breath in, propping her elbow up on the car door and pinching the bridge of her nose.

But she does fill you in, briefly explaining to you how she’d met Charlie and then found out they needed quick cash to get their fishing vessel ‘Finestkind’ back from the coast guard, fishing illegally in Canadian waters or something.

They needed money, she put them in contact with Weeks and he gave them a job, a job that was a bust. Considering they got jumped and robbed of all the product.

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you” Mabel says after a lapse of silence, you hum and chew the inside of your cheek.

“Yeah, well, he knows better by now not to mention anything to me involving you” you say bluntly, twisting your neck side to side and easing at the satisfying pops.

That makes her scoff, keeping her gaze out the window “committing arson to get laid definitely wasn’t your best moment”.

“Says a lot more about you for sleeping with me than it says about my pyromaniac tendencies” you say pointedly, which begins to pull a genuine laugh out of Mabel. But she’s quick to cover it, opting to shoot you a glare and swinging her arm out to hit your chest.

You bat her hand away, and then your eyes lock, the both of you clearly fighting back a smile.

“Please fucking pay attention to the road, before you get us killed” Mabel deadpans, looking between you and the windshield as she gestures towards it.

You roll your eyes, shaking your head but doing as she asks as, muttering a “bite me” under your breath.

____________________________________________

“I can’t guarantee he’ll listen”.

You push the passenger door shut as she slips out of it, both of your gazes on the familiar building ahead.

“No, but you’re the only person he’ll hear out”.

The Supreme Donut shop, for reasons you still don’t know, is his stomping ground. The donuts aren’t even that good, but who are you to speak on it.

As the two of you approach, you open the door for her and follow her in. The donut shop is a cliché, but it’s nice. Red booth chairs and white tables, wide windows for all the natural light you could ever need, tile floors and the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingering in the air. You step around Mabel just as you spot Marky and Weeks sitting across from each other eating. Their usual table, you aren’t surprised. Talking quietly to one another, but when they see you they regard you with familiarity.

“We’ve been trying to call you, where you been?” Weeks begins, but when he spots Mabel as she steps around from behind you, the sight of you two side by side pulls a laugh of disbelief from him.

“Did hell freeze over? Or did Marky slip something into my coffee” Weeks jokes, dusting the crumbs off his hands as he glances to his older brother, who’s quiet but has a gleam of amusement in his eyes.

“We came to talk to you about the shipment her people went out to grab” you say smoothly, tucking your hands into your jean pockets as you roll back on to your heels.

His eyes go from you to Mabel, a hum of acknowledgement as he leans back into his seat, rubbing the gruff of his chin before pointing at her “we was about to come have a nice chat with you, your ears must’ve been burning”.

“The crew got robbed by fake cops, Tom got his ass kicked by these guys” Mabel starts to explain, “all I’m asking is you hear them out before doing anything that could get someone hurt-“

“Of course I’ll take your word for it. After being such a help for me? But that doesn’t exempt the guys from being reckless with my product” Weeks says as he weaves his fingers together and rests him on his stomach, eyes lacking remorse as he props his feet up in the chair in front of him.

“C’mon Weeks, be fucking for real for a second” you say as you pull the chair out from under his feet, his eyes snap to you as you sit down in it.

“You of all people understand needing money to take care of your people, we all do, they can’t help it they got mugged. Give them a chance to work the shit out before you go killing people” you say quietly, holding his gaze with your own serious yet convincing one.

He stares unwaveringly at first, he and Marky exchanging a look before he takes a deep breath, chest deflating as his eyes return to yours.

“Alright, but if these jokers fuck me over, it’s your head on a platter” Weeks says as he locks his eyes with yours, without looking away he gestures to Mabel behind you.

“Hers too, and this time there is no forgiving or forgetting, no matter who you are to me or what all you’ve done for me”.

You hold your ground, neither of you looking away from each other. But then Mabel is muttering your name under her breath behind you, and your clenched jaw relaxes slightly.

“Thanks for your cooperation” you say as you give his leg a sharp pat, standing and beginning to walk away.

“I think I miss you two being together, you were always so much more tolerable when your bitch had you on a leash”.

It should’ve been expected, he always enjoys getting a rile out of you, which is why he doesn’t flinch when you spin on your heel to face him again.

“Don’t push it, Lucky”, but then Mabel is in front of you, hands on your chest and pushing you towards the door.

“Go. OUT”.

You hold his malicious gaze until she’s got you out the door, swatting her hands away as you beeline for your car.

“Hey, hey! Stop!”

“You got what you want, alright?! So don’t try and act like you give a shit” you snap as you wheel on her, but as always she’s matching you with an unwavering intensity.

Mabel steps forward, her gaze locked to yours, her entire body is tense and her face stoic.

“Stop acting so cold to me.”

“You’re one to talk” you hiss through your teeth, your gaze going back to the building you’d just walked out of, heart pounding unnecessarily fast in your chest. Not out of anger towards her, but out of something you won’t name: fear.

Mabel lets out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders visibly rising and falling, something is different about her reaction to your harsh demeanor. She’s normally snarky and cold right back but now she just seems… conflicted.

“It’s different with you and you know it, don’t try and pull that bullshit on me.”

You clench your teeth, still glaring at the building as if you have a personal vendetta with those walls rather than the individuals within you’d both just confronted.

“You don’t have the right to say that anymore” you mutter under your breath, forcing your eyes to hers, the unspoken year apart between you suddenly becomes loud.

Mabel’s body tenses once more, her jaw set and her eyes are a mixture of hurt and anger. Everything changes in the tone of her voice, going from snappy and annoyed to tired.

“Don’t make this about that. That- that was months ago.” Her voice is shaky but stern, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

It’s not a wonder why this conversation is suddenly diverting towards digging up the past, every single one you two have always seems to lead to it.

Probably because so much of it was left unanswered and unfinished.

You cover the emotions her words bring with a hard expression, eyes sharp as you turn away from her to walk towards the car again.

“Then you’ll be fine when I drop you off at your new pretty and rich boyfriend’s place”.

Mabel’s expression falters further at your words, her body tensing even more, face falling as you turn your back to her and start walking.

“He’s not my boyfri-“ Mabel can’t even finish that sentence as she begins to speed walk next to you, trying to get you to stop as a mixture of anger and… something else start to bubble deep in her chest.

“He’s under the impression he is” you say as you grab the car door, unlocking it and pulling it open, refusing to look at her.

Mabel follows you to the car but she doesn’t get inside, she grabs the window frame to block you from doing so, trying to get you to look at her “stop acting like you care who I’m dating.”

“You know damn fucking well I do” you hiss, shoving the car door shut, yanking it free from her grasp in effect as you fully turn to face her, “and don’t pull that bullshit on me considering you came to me for help”.

“You say that but then you give me the silent treatment every time you see me around town, it’s childish” Mabel retorts, getting in your face, her breath coming out as shaky, and her teeth clenched.

“And don’t even try to pull that bullshit card. You know I couldn’t have not come to you for help”.

“Well you’re clear now, have your boy to get his fucking shit together because Weeks won’t give him weeks to make up for what he lost” you tell her sternly, chest rising and falling from your short cut breaths.

Mabel rolls her eyes, feeling like this conversation is clearly going nowhere. She steps closer, leaning into your personal space, her hands curling into tight fists at her sides.

“Stop being a prick and stop acting like you know what’s good for me. I asked for your help, what I didn’t ask for was your input on my relationship”.

“I do know what’s good for you, that’s exactly why I told you months ago that you needed a rich daddy’s boy since I’m clearly only what you need when you need it” you say lowly, eyes hard and full of unspoken emotion.

Tension fills the little space between the two of you, a chemistry you both use to bask in, but now it’s only suffocating.

Your words sting with a truth that Mabel can’t deny. And it only makes the mixture of anger and sadness bubbling in her chest all the more intense. She feels like drowning, a feeling that’s only reserved for you, or maybe she never got over it. Mabel’s jaw clenches once more and her eyes are full of fire as she stares back at you.

“You always have something to say, don’t you? You don’t get to just give me fucking financial advice and then judge my goddamn relationship months after we broke up”.

“So you are only dating him for what he’s offering” you laugh, shaking your head as you round the car, heading for the passenger side.

Mabel’s face falls, and a pang of guilt runs through her. Why is that your first thought?

Mabel scoffs, following behind you.

“No! It’s not like that, it’s more complicated than that.”

You say nothing, holding her gaze as you open the passenger door for her. So many unspoken things linger in the air, you both know each other far too well, two sides of a coin you use to say.

Too similar, too different, too hot-headed, too compatible.

Your eyes cut to the car, then back to her, indicating she get in.

Mabel stays quiet and just stares back at you for moment. She can practically see the thoughts working through your head. You two always have been a mirrored image, and Mabel hates it because it makes it easy for you both to read one another.

It’s why you worked, and why you didn’t.

Mabel wants to say something, but a voice in the back of her head tells her to just get in the car, this is a fight she won’t win today.

Not that she can blame you, it’s not like you know the full extent of the truth behind what happened back then.

For now at least, considering how bad things are looking right now, it may only be a matter of time. You are helping her after all, she isn’t sure if you’ll hate her more or less if you were to find out the truth.

Mabel finally relents, getting into the passenger seat of the car, and as always you close the door behind her.

You truly shouldn’t be doing this for her, Mabel should’ve just dealt with the consequences, this is her mess.

Somewhere, deep within the confines of her chest cavity where her heart beats under the cage of bones surrounding it, she knows the truth.

To her you were a compass, a guide and martyr, her salvation that kept her grounded.

But Jesus fucking Christ, now you’re the biggest pain in her ass.

next.

[alwayscorvus]

Till we fall apart

Till we fall apart

malereader x Calcharo, slight angst to fluff; shortest short of my life; like not really a post just a thing to think about; imagine;

-I can't believe you finally visited me! I started to think that those promises you made in your letters were just an attempt to pull the wool over my eyes

Your red-haired friend couldn't hide her excitement. It has been... how long? Since your first and last meeting? Three years? Your bond has grown significantly over that time but it didn't change the fact that seeing each other in person brought you both great joy.

-Well… I have to admit that at the beginning it indeed was like that-

You got a solid slap on the head for your words and laughed at it sincerely.

-But I'm glad that fate finally brought us together -you sent a broad smile in her direction- Of course, it would have been better if I hadn't lost my job in the process... -you scratched the back of your neck rather ashamed- But if this is how it was supposed to go, there is nothing I can do.

-I still can't believe they fired you- You worked for them for so long! And it was your first job! -she bit her lips- You took plenty of extra hours… and helped them so much! And they? How could they?! -girl was frankly outraged and annoyed- But don't worry! This is a great opportunity. We will find something perfect for you here!

You looked at Chixia truly horrified. You didn't plan to stay here for long. You had spent your entire life in your hometown, always avoiding leaving its gates. And after this vacations you planned to continue doing so.

-Oh sorry-

-Sorry!

You both said almost at the same moment. You lifted your head up, examining closely at whom you bumped into.

When your heart stopped beating.

Your eyes came across those unforgettable silvery ones.

That distinct Tacet Mark adorning his forehead-… And long white hair flowing in all directions-…

His facial expression didn't say much but his eyes betrayed a sense of horror and unbelief. All in one.

Man passed you with a quick movement and disappeared into the crowd of pedestrians.

-[M/N]? Is everything okay?

Chixia's worried voice awoke you from your trance.

-Yeah, yeah -you quickly put a fake smile on your face- So are we going to get that food?

You've been in Huanglong for about five days now, and have slowly begun to get used it. At the beginning, you met with Chixia most of the time. Accompanied her not only in her free time but in reconnaissance as well. You also met her friends. At that time, you were never bored. Since the last two days, however, this has changed. Big "secret" mission sentenced you to being alone. But you tried not to complain and explore an interesting nooks and crannies of the city in peace. It was going brilliant. You tasted a lot of good food, heard more than one legend and saw breathtaking things.

Everything would have been great if not for one problem. Whatever you did, wherever you went you felt someone's stare on you. Although it didn't happen for a whole day, it was still extremely annoying and creepy.

You tried to discover the culprit many times. But whenever you turned around, you couldn't see anything except a few deserted buildings or ordinary natives.

However, everything was about to change this evening.

You leaned against the railing. Below you an endless sea spread out, illuminated by the glow of stars that adorned the dark, gloomy sky.

-I was waiting for you to finally show up.

You didn't turn around. You knew that your oppressor was standing just a few steps behind and that he had finally decided to reveal himself.

-You shouldn't be here.

That voice… A shiver went through you. Memories came flooding back like an avalanche.

-I'm glad to see you, too.

-You shouldn't be here.

-You repeat yourself.

-You shouldn't be here.

You growled flustered.

-Exactly like you!

You squeezed the railing tighter. Tears began to run down on your cheeks in streams.

-You knew I had no choice- he sighed.

Finally, he took off his mask.

-Yeah… At least that's what you told me ten years ago. When you said goodbye to me. When we were still friends -you spat out sentences full of venom.

-I wasn't right for you. You would have been better without me.

-Pity that you didn't let me decide about it myself.

You began to tremble. You no longer knew whether it was due to emotions or evening cold.

Calcharo moved closer to you and, with a slow movement, snuggled into your back.

-You are not like me. You are someone better. Made for greater things -he spoke to you using the voice from your past- With me you wouldn't have a future.

You snorted.

-You know I just lost my job? I am currently unemployed with no potential to find anything better. I spent my last savings to go here. When I return, I won't even have enough money for rent. And you? How are you doing?

Calcharo furrowed his eyebrows, squeezed you tighter and snuggled his head into the crook of your neck. His hair tickled your bare skin nicely.

-At least you're not doing anything bad.

You ignored this and continued.

-And do you know why I can't find anything else? Because after you left me, I quit school. All I know now is to how forge weapons.

-Many people need that.

-Do you need that? Do you need me?

You subconsciously tried to seize every opportunity.

-[M/N]… You know we shouldn't-…. - his voice was almost pleading.

Calcharo was always cold and hid his emotions well. What you loved about him, however, was that deep down he cared about those closest to him. Mostly he did it in secret, but your parting seems to have knocked down barriers in him.

-If that's so, there's nothing here for me.

You announced in a firm voice. And pushed away from a railing, trying to slip out of his embrace. Calcharo, however, refused to let you leave.

Frustrated, you let out an excess of air.

-Will you find a place for me in your life?

He didn't answer so you laughed bitterly.

-Since you don't want me, there is no point of me being here now. I'm going back.

Despite your words, you made no move. You were waiting in anticipation.

-Stay with me one night.

Your laughter was endless.

-My one night equals a lifetime.

You finally turned toward him as he slightly loosened his grip. Calcharo took a few steps back.

He looked at you clearly beating with his thoughts.

He had to come with a solution fast. He knew that you were stubborn in your decisions. That's why he abandoned you back then without listening to your arguments.

Yet, minutes passed and your anxiety grew.

-Alright -he stretched his hand towards you.

And you? You reciprocated the gesture.

In the end it wasn't so hard to convince him. He probably missed you, too. He probably couldn't find his place on earth without you either…

I'm not really proud of it but I just heard "People you know" from Selena and had to write it.

[vixensbrainrotts]

Could u write one for baji where he has sort of a black cat gf? Like they're dynamic is: "staring into someone's soul" gf and "stares too just bc his gf is staring" bf

Opia - Keisuke Baji

Content: FLUFF

Warnings: a fight (relationship, external) mentioned, not proof read

Tropes: Black cat! reader, (kind of golden retriever! Baji), established relationship

Summary: You observe everyone maybe just a bit too closely for most people's liking, but Kei really doesn't mind.

Vixens two cents: I don’t really write for Baji but I’ll take the challenge, sorry if he feels a little out of character! Thank you for requesting and let me know how this is! If you find yourself enjoying this, please please please feel free to request something cause ASKS ARE OPEN!!! yeah, alright, now enjoy some fluff!

"OPIA" - verb, emotive

" The ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can be simultaneously invasive and vulnerable. " --

Baji knew you had a staring problem, he knew before he started dating you. Alone your dead-looking eyes was one factor in the equation, but since you had a distinctively bad case of „resting Bitch-face“, all scores were multiplied by ten. He was used for your glossy eyes to be staring dead at people, things, sometimes nothing even, just sorta dissociating out into space. At first he was a little confused, concerned even that maybe you weren’t getting enough sleep, or eating right, but upon asking you he found out that it really just was the way you were.

He thinks back to how he confessed to you: spilling some ill-rehearsed, grammatically poor lines of poetry he had smushed together over the past week after he found out you liked literature. You looked him dead in the eye the whole time, watching him fumble with his big hands and stumble over his words over and over again, because fuck the way your eyes were piercing his soul made him nervous, but your deadpan face didn’t move a bit until he finished with an embarrassing account of „Yeah so basically i was hoping you and I could maybe go out some time?“.

Then, your lips curled up into a small, sweet smile and you looked down at your desk and the letter and the little charm he presented you with. „Ok.“ was all you said, hands reaching up to the charm and securing it around your key-chain and looking back at him inquisitively. „Wanna ditch and go now?“ You actually isn’t give a damn, and he thinks that its one of the most attractive things about you.

And just like that, your first date was spent in a little cafe you suggested because „it has a great view onto the main-street“. So, over a creme-cake and a macchiatos you spent hours just people watching, which Keisuke came to find out was one of your favorite activities. When you first told him, he almost slumped together in his seat because who the fuck watches people for fun? But after you started pointing out little things to him; like the way that man was wearing two different shoes, or the way that that couple over there is passing for the third time already, he starts to see why you find it so interesting.

Soon enough after figuring out that you really didn’t mean any harm to the people you were staring at, Baji often caught himself turning to look at what caught your attention too. To his surprise, it often payed off, you had an eye for interesting, pretty, kooky things, so he made it a habit to look at whatever fell into your line of sight for too long.

This time, it was whilst the two of you were supposed to be studying at your place. Both of you were sort of failing the current Math topic, and with an upcoming test, you had decided to invite him over to yours to tackle the topic together. However, after around 45 minutes of hardcore struggling, you had lost a good bit of will and now chose to spend your time looking out of your window. Baji had noticed that the hypnotic rhythm of your pen scratching the square paper had stopped, so he turned to at you, half-expecting you to have fallen asleep.

When however he found your gaze fixed on something outside, his interest was piqued almost instantly. He found himself tracing your line of sight to see what you were seeing. Scanning the area outside your building, his eyes immediately found the hook.

There was a couple standing just outside your window, in the shelter of the bus stop that stood across the street. There was lots of articulation and hand motion going on, the man swinging his arms wildly as the woman tousled her hair and stomped her feet in retribution.

"They're arguing." Keisuke states into the comfortable silence between you two, but the words don't disrupt the atmosphere. A few moments pass in which you both watch them shout at one another, the woman now furiously pointing her finger all over the place, the man slapping a hand across his face almost comically.

"They have been for a while." you say back, head still resting on your folded arms, eyes trained on the scene.

"I wonder what it's about." Keisuke pondered, listening to the rhythmic in and out of your breathing, accompanied by the occasional crackling of a scented candle that sat on your windowsill.

A few more paces passed before you answered him. "I think its about a missed date." Kei hums in response, eyebrows furrowing as he glances to you. "How are you so sure?"

"Hmpf." You huff and shrug, the movement making your shoulders pop. "Just got a feeling about it... And look at the way she's moving her hands, pointing to something on her phone- looks like a serious thing, but not serious enough for something extreme like cheating."

He listened intently to your voice, but he didn't turn back to the scene, choosing instead to scan your body closely. The way your hair fell, the stretch of the shirt's fabric over the expanse of your back, the way your jewellery glimmered lowly.

Keisuke folded his arms akin to yours and lowered his head to rest right next to yours, finally getting a good look at your face. "That wouldn't happen to us, no?" he whispered to you.

Finally, you looked at him with those piercing eyes, and despite all the times he's looked into them, a shiver still ran down his spine and he felt his cheeks tinge with warmth. Your face was as blank as your eyes, but still you shook your head.

"Never." you whisper back to him, turning your head to lay on your arms like Baji's did. Kei felt a smile tug at his lips at how serious you sounded. "Good." he replied, voice still hushed as he came in closer to you, nuzzling both your noses together before giving you a tiny, soft peck on the corner of your lips.

When he pulled away and lay on his arms again, he saw your eyelids flutter to a content close and watched as your straight lips curled into a small, happy smile as you breathed deeply and allowed yourself to relax next to him.

Keisuke watched your breathing even out for a while longer, the gentle rise and fall of your ribcage, the occasional sleepy sigh and the sometimes rapid fluttering of your lashes as you seemingly drifted into sleep.

Kei allowed himself a bit of peace too, satisfied with how you've adapted a regular breathing pattern, and closed his eyes, intently listening to match the pace of his breath to yours. Right then and there Baji decided that perhaps people watching really is something wonderful when you're watching someone you love.

[whumpshaped]

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, psychological whump, intimate whumper, forced comfort

"Whatever is the matter with you?"

Beck shrugged a little. He still barely even looked at Helle, let alone engaged in their banter. "I don't know. I'm sorry."

They gently took him by the chin, turning his head towards them so they'd be able to look him in the eye. They didn't seem concerned, just confused and annoyed. "Is it me? Am I the problem? Are my insults and mockery getting less... gutting?"

Beck thought he might be able to sense some semblance of care behind the joking tone, but he was too exhausted to pay too much attention. "No, that's definitely not it," he said honestly. "They're... they're definitely pretty gutting. I mean, if, if we're being honest here– they make me wanna cry half the time."

The vampire let go of him and leaned back, still fixing him with a suspicious look. "Okay. So... whatever is it, then? You barely react. Our of the two of us, you seem more dead."

"I'm tired, Helle," he admitted, and averted his eyes again. "I'm sorry. That's– I think that's just it. I'm so tired of being... afraid, and hurt, and angry. I just can't do it tonight. I bet that's very frustrating, since that seems like the only reason you even keep me around in this way instead of enthralling me and whisking me away to your mansion or whatever, but I just... I can't. I can't do it every night. I'm tired."

The silence that stretched between them wasn't a necessarily uncomfortable one. It was almost peaceful, contemplative. Beck used it to simply zone out and stare at the TV in front of him — despite the fact that it wasn't even turned on, and he was just looking at his reflection. Only his. And Helle? Helle used it to think about whatever the hell vampires thought about, when they weren't thinking about blood and torture. Maybe they were thinking about blood and torture. There was no way to know.

"I do keep you around for those tasty little emotions," they said eventually. "It is quite fun to see you react to whatever I am doing. But I think..." They grabbed him by the arm and pulled him closer, positioning him so that he was laid across the sofa with his head in their lap. "I do not have to pull from the negative ones all the time. Especially if they are a limited resource."

Beck would've lied if he said the situation didn't scare him. He felt numb, yes, but he wasn't dead. Or emotionless. His muscles still tensed up at having to navigate unfamiliar territory, and his breathing and pulse quickened. But he couldn't react in the way Helle wanted. He didn't have the energy to protest and beg.

They began gently petting his hair, like one might do with a cat. It felt... nice. It wasn't comforting, but it was objectively pleasant, and... Helle was right. It was different, and different made him feel.

"I could make the distinction differently," they murmured. "I could simply make your days bad and worse, have your brain switching between dread and more dread."

Oh, it was a foolish question, the one on the tip of his tongue; but it was a justified one. Should he risk it? Or should he keep quiet and enjoy the break?

He was never going to learn to keep his mouth shut.

"Why don't you?" he asked quietly.

The vampire scratched his scalp with sharp nails, and Beck once again felt like he was nothing but a pet. But it was so good. It felt so nice. He couldn't help but turn his head a little, lean into the touch, and even though he managed to stifle the pleased hum that threatened to breach his aura of indifference, the way he arched his back to be able to push against Helle's hand probably told them everything they wanted to know.

They smiled sweetly. "It is an odd thing, really. Sometimes I look at your adorable little face and I want nothing more than to ruin it with tears and bruises. And sometimes... sometimes I come here with that exact intent, and yet you manage to say or do something... and I just change my mind out of nowhere. Sometimes I want to see you like this."

"Like a dog."

"Like a happy dog. Relaxed, content, lazily wagging his little tail — wagging it specifically because I scratched him behind the ears." Beck felt his face heating up at the comparison, even though it was the same one he'd made a moment ago. It was different, coming from Helle. "But it does make me wonder... How would you react if I were to take it all away?"

Beck tensed again, waiting for them to do just that. For their fingers to tighten in his hair, for the claws to draw blood. For Helle's gentle expression to turn cold and cruel. He found himself desperately hoping it was merely a hypothetical.

"There it is," they whispered. "That fear. That uncertainty. That pleading look I treasure oh so much." They continued petting him, satisfied with how he was unable to relax at all now. "A little hope and kindness goes a long way, I suppose."

~

taglist: @whumpsday @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night @delicateprincepaper @whumppmuhw @florissimps @nicolepascaline @oliversrarebooks @the-cyrulik @pirefyrelight @there-will-always-be-blood @pigeonwhumps @echo-goes-mmm @whumpycries @morning-star-whump

[voxofthevoid]

For the ten(10) people who wanted to see Yuuji calling Sukuna slutty and to compensate for my very pissed-off posts about the latest chapter—behold, Yuuji being Weird enough to creep out a literal demon.

He tightens his hand around Sukuna’s ankle with every intention of dragging it away to somewhere less delicate—or maybe the right kind of delicate, says his dick—but like his hand’s got a mind of its own, it slides up—and up and up, till the leather gives way to…skin?

“Huh,” Yuuji says dumbly. “You’re not wearing pants.”

Sukuna blinks slowly. “You have worse problems right now, brat.”

“Didn’t say it was a problem,” Yuuji mutters, squeezing an obscenely thick calf. God, he can feel the individual muscles. “Are you wearing anything under this?”

“You—”

Yuuji checks for himself before Sukuna can really reply. It’s not like he was going to be helpful anyway.

First, there’s only darkness, the dim lighting barely reaching past the shaft of the boot and thick fabric not allowing any of it filter in through it, and Yuuji’s not really making it easier for himself by sticking his whole head in there. But his night vision comes in handy though, the shadows resolving into very obvious shapes.

He touches too, just to make sure. Shapely calves, bulging thighs, then—

His fingertips brush something soft and warm. Something that dangles pretty distinctively.

There’s a shift in the air, a tension Yuuji can feel in the muscles pressed up against his arm, and he wraps his free hand around Sukuna’s foot right as it tries in earnest to crush his throat, and it’s surprisingly easy to slip out from under it, a rough shove unbalancing the bastard enough that Yuuji can push his leg away and sit up—further into the shroud of shadows under his clothes.

He gets a faceful of balls.

From somewhere above, there’s a strangled sound.

Sukuna kicks him away, the force of it making Yuuji skid back almost to the edge of the platform. His chest hurts like a bitch too, his breaths coming out thin and wheezy, but it’s worth it for the way Sukuna backs off with a disbelieving expression.

The back of his legs hit the altar; he sits down, hard.

“What is wrong with you?” he asks Yuuji, offensively sincere.

“Me?” Yuuji sits up, grimacing when his ribs protest. He heals pretty fast, but he can tell he’ll still be feeling this tomorrow. “You’re the one walking around with nothing under that! Pervert!”

“You goddamn piece of—”

“That’s blasphemy,” Yuuji cuts in. “I think.”

“Do you?” Sukuna asks scathingly.

“I’ve been reading,” Yuuji says, nodding with way more confidence than he actually feels. He read maybe three articles. Most of them. Alright, maybe he skipped a part or ten. But he’s still sure— “You’re a very bad priest.”

Sukuna bares his teeth in what could pass for a grin if Yuuji squinted and ignored all of his common sense.

“I’ll ask again, brat,” Sukuna says, flashing those gleaming teeth in between every word, “who are you going to complain to? Your god?”

“Pretty sure it’s your god,” Yuuji says. “I’m not really religious.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a god.”

“You’re literally a priest.”

“Such delusions you have,” Sukuna murmurs, his voice and expression much calmer all of a sudden, “about the men of god.”

“Sure, whatever,” he says, choosing not to mention that he didn’t spend more than two seconds thinking about churches or priests or gods before coming here. “What I'm saying is—you’re pretty slutty for a priest.”

Sukuna’s facial muscles look like they’re having a seizure.

Yuuji scrambles onto his knees, rolling his shoulders and flexing his chest, ignoring the fresh flare of pain. He briefly considers standing up before deciding to just crawl. It’s not exactly dignified, but he kinda likes how Sukuna’s eyes widen and then narrow, boring into Yuuji with an intensity that makes his skin spark all over.

He crawls all the way to the altar and straightens into a kneeling position, putting his hands on Sukuna’s thighs for leverage he doesn’t need but wants, the power pulled taut in that flesh more seductive than Sukuna’s hooded eyes or plump lips.

Sukuna watches him like Yuuji’s a bug on his kitchen floor, but it doesn’t translate into any real violence, only a sneer that’s still slick with their mingled spit.

“I don’t mind,” Yuuji says, honest but probably a little crazy. “It’s kinda hot.”

[adobe-outdesign]

Just realized I don't think you've reviewed the Caterpie line? From what I've seen at least.

A lot of gen 1 Pokemon are just real-world animals with basically no changes, and the same applies to caterpie. There are a few different caterpillars it could be based on, but my mind goes straight to the Spicebush Swallowtail, which is also green with large eyespots and osmeterium (osmeterium are the red antennae; the 'dex mentions these are smelly, which is also accurate to IRL caterpillars. They're yellow on Spicebushes but red in other species).

And... yeah, that's about all there is to say about it. I like how the rings on the body match the eyes and the colors are nice, but otherwise, it's pretty forgettable if you know what it's based on.

Though as a side note, I kind of wish Caterpie and Metapod had been purple to match Butterfree. It would've given them a little something more unique and increased the coherency of the line.

Metapod is also just straight-up a real crysalis with few changes other then the eyes being outside the shell instead of inside. (Pictured: Spicebush Swallowtail chrysalis).

And yeah, nothing to really say about it beyond that. It exists, that's for sure.

Butterfree is thankfully a more original design, at least to a degree; the wings kind of look like either a Rice Paper Butterfly or a Black-Veined White, but thankfully it doesn't straight-up copy either of them entirely. (Though side note: the vein pattern in Butterfree's wings is surprisingly accurate.)

The face is also cute, sporting compound eyes and little fangs. It doesn't look too much like the rest of the line unfortunately—maybe the rumors about it and Venonat being switched at some point early on are true, or maybe it's just Dragonite syndrome kicking in. Still, while Butterfree's not that exciting, it's at least more interesting than it's pre-evos.

Gigantamax Butterfree is the best in the line as far as I'm concerned. There's not a whole lot to work with due to the line having no real theme, but it ends up really emphasizing that flying typing by gaining absolutely massive wings in what's probably a Mothra reference.

The giant wings are not only more interesting visually and give it something distinct compared to other assorted butterfly and moth 'mons, but I also really like the fact that they now have green edging; this fixes the problem the line had previously with Butterfree being completely different color-wise. I also love the details of the scales falling in the animation, the little swallowtail tails added to the ends of the wings, and the more intricate pattern. Likewise, the the longer green antennae work well with the wings and the scalloped pattern in the center emphasizes the body. It's nothing overly fancy in terms of concept, but it's a good improvement over the original and quite pretty looking.

Overall, this line is fine but kind of bland, both due to lack of a theme and because everything is almost 1:1 with real insects save for Butterfree to a degree. Butterfree's g-max design is the only real standout, having a pretty design with large wings that makes it more memorable than anything else here.

[magisteramentia]

The Maid’s Debt - Chapter Four

<-Prev - Next->

Cindy could not sleep. She twisted and turned in her bed, in frustration and lust-fueled fear. Cindy could not sleep. She twisted and turned in her bed, in frustration and lust-fueled fear.

She waited for the door to open, for Mr. or Mrs. Ramirez to walk up to her bed, pull the covers, and see her with her hand between her legs.

She waited.

But they never came.

She checked her phone and found that it was almost five in the morning.

She closed her eyes, but inside her mind, Cindy envisioned a girl wearing nothing except for a latex hood. She was tied and bent over by the waist. Her legs were spread, and she kept whimpering, moaning and strands of drool dripping from her gagged mouth.

She went past the threshold, her feet creaking on the wooden floor, “Elizabeth?” She said, almost in a whisper.

The girl’s nipples were erect. She approached, she could smell the lust and desire, almost taste it.

With one hand, she reached for the hood and pulled it slowly.

It wasn’t Elizabeth. It was her own face ecstatic with pleasure.

She felt a latex clad-hand slide down her chest from behind, a sexy voice whispered hot air into her ear, “So nice of you to join us, Cindy.”

“Cindy?” Came the voice with a soft knock.

Cindy opened her eyes and groaned. Her fingers were coated in her juices, she cleaned her hand on the bedsheets and fixed her panties before finding her pants.

“Just a sec!” She said as she threw the covers over the vibrator, “Come in.” Cindy said trying to act as if she was making the bed.

Elizabeth walked in, under the long maid outfit, Cindy could tell she was wearing a new latex outfit, a white one, judging from the visible gloves covering Elizabeth’s hands.

She made a curtesy and smiled, “Good morning, Cindy.”

Elizabeth’s smile unnerved Cindy.

“Good morning,” Cindy replied and tried not to stare at the maid.

Elizabeth took another step inside the room, Cindy took a step back, “You don’t need to do that,” She said and helped Cindy make the bed.

“Also,” Elizabeth bent down, “you forgot to unplug it,” and pulled the vibrator wand from under the bed by the cord. She giggled.

Cindy laughed too, nervously.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Masters about last night,” Elizabeth made sure the bed didn’t have any wrinkles and then looked directly into Cindy’s eyes, there was a fiery lust burning in Elizabeth, “That is, if that’s what you want.”

Cindy’s mouth was agape. Then Elizabeth winked and turned around to leave.

“Yes, thank you,” Cindy mumbled, “I mean, no, please don’t tell them. I really appreciate it.”

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder, “Don’t mention it.” And walked forward, the distinctive sound of her heels clicking on the floor, she stopped under the door, “The breakfast will be ready soon, the shower here can be a bit tricky to handle, old pipes and all, it can be too hot or a bit cold for this weather, tell me if you have any problems.”

Her hips swayed as she moved down the corridor. Cindy stared at the coming and going, she could picture the maid without her uniform, wearing that white latex outfit…

“Or if you prefer, you can use the one in my room. I just came out of the shower and the water is quite hot over there.”

The maid walked down the stairs and Cindy felt like she could breathe again.

“These people are nymphomaniacs,” She muttered to herself and slid to the floor, “Perverts.”

And a thought kept going inside her head.

“Why then haven’t I quit?”

The house was quiet, except for the sounds of Elizabeth’s cooking downstairs. Taking a towel and clean clothes with her, she rushed into the bathroom next door and tested the water.

The pipes creaked and vibrated, only for a trickling drop of water to come out from the shower head.

A second later a freezing-cold gush of water fell on Cindy’s face. She rushed to close it and dried herself.

“That won’t do.” She said shaking, covered only with a towel.

She peered over the corridor. Elizabeth was occupied cooking. The door of the Ramirez’s room was still closed shut.

Cindy tiptoed all the way to Elizabeth’s room, and steeling herself she opened the door.

She expected to see chains and bondage furniture throughout the room. But during the day, it was quite different.

“Did I dream all of that?” Cindy said to herself closing the door behind her.

Then she saw the discarded latex suit, extended on the bathroom door.

“I guess I didn’t.” She said and rushed to the shower.

Elizabeth didn’t lie, the water was warm and relaxing, and it was easy to forget all her worries. She stretched and felt the water warm her body and soul, the water droplets sliding off her body like caresses over her skin.

It was almost painful to get out of the shower. Like the moment she stepped out, her exhaustion and sexual frustration dragged.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Cindy noted the dark circles under her eyes, and her untrimmed bush, but most of all, she noted her erect nipples.

She was cold, but despite the lack of sleep, she felt sexy.

Next to the mirror, Cindy found something very interesting.

The latex hood Elizabeth wore last night. The gag was next to it, and then, there was the lipstick.

Cindy touched the shiny and smooth mask. It felt cool to the touch and her fingers glided over it. Then she reached for the gag, getting a feel of it. A single finger subconsciously went and touched her lips.

“I wonder what it feels like.” She said to her reflection.

Finally, she grabbed the vibrant red lipstick…

After getting dressed, Cindy rushed out of the room. She found the Ramirez having breakfast together, Elizabeth served her a plate as soon as she sat down. Pancakes, buttermilk pancakes that smelled delicious and looked even better. Whipped cream, jam, and fruits. She even handed her a delicious freshly made cappuccino.

“Now that the storm has subsided, I’m going to go back into town today, go to the office, get some documents to work from home, provisions, we never know what’s going to happen with this storms. Do you need anything?” Mrs. Ramirez said to her husband.

“I don’t think so, Elizabeth?” Mr. Ramirez looked up and handed her his empty plate.

“I’ll make a list, Mistress.” She bowed and stepped away.

“Also,” Mr. Ramirez touched his wife’s finger before she left the table, “Would you mind giving Cindy a ride back to town?”

Cindy almost choked on the fluffiest pancake she ever tasted and gulped down coffee to pass it down and be able to speak, “You don’t have to worry about me, Mr. Ramirez.” She coughed, “I can still work.”

He shook his head, “My wife is right, these storms are unpredictable, I would rather know you are safe home, if you want, you can do some remote working. You would not be able to take sensitive information but you could keep working on the data dump.”

Was this her punishment? She barely learned anything and if she stayed, maybe he would trust her with that secret project, it would be a step up in her career.

Her eyes darted across the room, everyone was frozen in place. Then she met Elizabeth’s eyes. She was smiling and she nodded.

“I would rather work from here, you said that I could spend the night if you needed me to work? Being under your tutelage I can learn more and you can supervise me.”

He looked at her wife’s face. She shrugged her shoulders.

“I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’re trapped here with us. Besides you don’t have another change of clothes don’t you?”

“She can wear some of mine,” Elizabeth said raising a hand, “Master.”

Mr. Ramirez raised an eyebrow.

“If she is okay with it.” The maid added.

The married couple looked at Cindy.

“Yes, of course, that’s fine by me.” She said, sipping her coffee as if it was a shield.

“If that’s what you wish,” Mrs. Ramirez said, Cindy could not read her expression, “I don’t see why not.”

Mr. Ramirez massaged the back of his neck, “Very well then, is there anything you need that my wife can get? Take into account, that it could take days or weeks until we can drive you back.”

“Can’t think of anything right now,” Cindy said she wasn’t sure this was the right answer, but something inside her was telling her she needed to stay. That if she left, she would miss something, and lose an opportunity, “I will tell you if anything comes to mind.”

Mrs. Ramirez grabbed her bag and the car keys, “Very well, tell my husband and he will text me.” She leaned down to kiss her husband and before she left she met Elizabeth who she kissed as well. It was even more tender than with her husband, touching the side of her face.

Cindy saw Elizabeth clench her fists, she blushed, and when they were done she avoided looking at Cindy, rushing back to her tasks.

Mrs. Ramirez smiled, “If she is going to be staying a few days, there is no point in hiding it.”

Mr. Ramirez shrugged it off and pulled out his phone.

Cindy looked at her coffee, she felt flustered, but she also felt nervous. Did she notice her last night?

“See you tonight, Cindy.” Mrs. Ramirez said and left.

Cindy’s mouth felt dry. Her heart was beating fast, did she make a mistake? Why did she choose to stay? How is staying after last night a good idea?

Last night…

She wanted to know more, that’s why.

Mr. Ramirez placed his mug on the table, “Well, time to get to work.”

The thread holding her thoughts snapped, and just like that he had her full attention.

“Yes of course,” She said taking a gulp of her coffee and attempting to get up.

“Don’t worry, finish your meal, when you are done you can join me upstairs.”

Cindy nodded, she had a mouthful of pancakes in her mouth and sat back down.

As he left, Elizabeth rushed to clean his spot at the table. “I like your lipstick,” She whispered and winked, “I’d like to try it sometime.”

Before Cindy could say another word, the young maid was already by the kitchen sink washing the dishes and humming a familiar song.

For the rest of her meal, Cindy focused on the maid, her motions, and her nonchalant attitude. She seemed to enjoy this life.

And an idea began to float in her mind. Maybe I would like this too.

She sipped the last of her coffee, practically licking the plate clean, “that was delicious, thank you.” Cindy said and picked up her plate.

“You’re welcome. Don’t worry I will pick it up.” Elizabeth dried her hands and approached Cindy, “I can give you some cooking tips if you want.”

“I’d love that,” Cindy said, “But I will take you on the offer of the dishes. Mas- Mister Ramirez wants me upstairs.”

Elizabeth giggled, “Don’t worry about it, it’s my job, you should do yours.”

Cindy left Elizabeth to work and walked upstairs. Memories of the previous night flooded her mind with every step she took over the stairs.

The spanking, the lust, the sex. The desire.

She clenched the neck of her blouse. Unsure of how she felt, except that it was intense.

She knocked on the door of his studio.

“Come in,” Came Mr. Ramirez's voice from the other side. He sounded different, his voice was deeper and commanding, or maybe it was always like that. Maybe she just didn’t notice it before.

Taking a second to breathe and compose herself she opened the door, “Ready to work, sir!” She said in the chirpiest voice possible.

Immediately she regretted the last part.

He lowered the screen of his computer and sighed, “Is there anything wrong, Cindy?”

“No, nothing, sir.” She went and did it again. Her face tightened in a grimace and rushed to her spot, opening her laptop and hiding behind it.

Mr. Ramirez pushed himself away from the desk and got up, “Cindy, do you remember the rules?”

Cindy gulped, “I- I do, yes.”

He approached slowly and pushed the laptop’s screen down.

Cindy could see his expression. It wasn’t anger. It was worse, disappointment.

“I told you, anything outside the studio stays outside this office, if you are worried about staying over, I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”

She blinked several times.

“No, it’s not that. Not completely at least.”

He was pensive, paying attention to her. His eyes were so deep and focused. Like he could see past her.

“I can’t have you making mistakes because of something external, come, let’s take a break and figure this out.”

He tapped on the desk and turned around, he made some space by the window, removing books and documents. He fixed some cushions and made a comfortable space.

“Come, sit.” He said and sat on his chair.

Cindy followed along, uncertain of what was going to happen.

“This used to be a place where I would treat patients. Before I focused on the applications of my research.”

She sat down, still tense.

He smiled, “try to relax, get comfortable.”

Cindy wiggled in place, but try as she might, she could not unstiffen herself.

“It’s okay, I’m going to help you out with a relaxation technique. You might fall under, like when using hypnosis. Is that okay with you?”

She shuddered but nodded. What the hell, might as well try.

“Very well, breath with me, slowly.” He motioned and said, “Close your eyes,

His voice was soft and deep.

She followed his voice attentively.

“I’m going to grab your hands, is that okay with you?”

Cindy nodded.

His thumbs touched her palms, her hands rested on his fingers.

“Try to let all the tension melt from your body,” He pressed the mounds on her palm, massaging them in circles.

“Focus on my voice, relax your back, the tension sliding from your shoulders, down your arms. Let it drip like melted wax. Slowly, relax.”

“Breathe in,” She inhaled.

“Breath out,” She exhaled.

“Your body grows limp with each exhalation,” Cindy felt her body relax, getting lost in his voice.

It was a pleasant feeling.

“Breath in,” He said.

“Breath out,” And she obeyed, her body growing more and more relaxed.

His voice grew distant with each breath.

She tried to follow it, but it was nothing but a mere echo inside her head.

Then she fell herself fall forward.

It was comfortable, like a hug. Like cuddling.

There was his voice, resonating, vibrating all around her. She breathed out.

And she fell deeper.

Nothing else mattered but listening to his voice.

Why was are you nervous?

Because I saw them last night.

What did you see?

I don’t know.

Relax, breathe, you’re safe.

She felt herself fall deeper, She could see them again. He was using her, Elizabeth, and she was enraptured in the pleasure. Lost in lust.

And what did you do?

I watched.

Did you like what you saw?

I did.

Is that why you are feeling like this? Nervous?

Yes. No. Maybe.

Did you break the rules?

Yes, no? I dunno.

Do you want to be punished?

I dunno.

Would you like to know how it feels?

I dunno.

Are you curious?

Yes.

Is that why you wanted to stay?

Yes.

Curiosity is not a reason to be punished. Follow that curiosity. You might find something out.

Yes.

And next time, come to the office, relax, and you can come back to this place in your mind. You won’t remember, but you can talk and be open about yourself, about how you feel.

Do you understand?

Yes.

There was a moment of silence inside her mind. Around her. The echo. The voice spoke.

Good girl.

And Cindy felt a pleasant shiver go through her.

Did you enjoy that?

Yes.

Yes I did.

Would you like to feel that every time someone says that?

Yes.

Then, you will enjoy that, you will remember that feeling, and thank whoever praises you for being a good girl.

Something like a purr, a moan, escaped her lips.

Thank you. sir.

Do you want to keep referring to Mr. Ramirez as Sir?

Yes.

Good girl, Cindy, And now, slowly come back. Breathing in brings you closer, makes you feel good, and a bit more awake.

You can follow my voice.

Growing closer.

“More present.”

“More real,”

“And you can wake up, more relaxed, And ready to get back to your daily life, to reality.

“Breathe in,”

“Breath out,”

“Breathe in,” He said, “Become more aware of your surroundings.

“Breathe out,” He said, his voice was soft and almost a whisper.

She felt his touch on the back of her neck.

“And when you are ready, open your eyes, and get up,”

Cindy breathed in and opened her eyes.

Her forehead was on the shoulder of her boss.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

Slowly she pulled back and sat comfortably on the cushion. It was a weird experience, and she didn’t remember most of it.

But she didn’t feel anything wrong, if anything she felt better than ever. Like she had slept for hours.

“Yes, I’m okay, much better, thank you,” Cindy said pulling back and stretching her body.

“You’re welcome. Are you ready to get back to work?” Mr. Ramirez said getting up.

“Yes, sir!” She said with excitement, there was nothing weird about it. He was her boss after all.

“Good girl, let’s get to work.”

Cindy felt her body shiver with pleasure and delight. It felt amazing to be praised by her boss.

She was ready to tackle the days ahead.

———

If you like this story, why not read the latest chapters over at my Patreon. The next two chapters are ready on the draft level, just need to clean them a bit. Or you could also help me out by inviting me a coffee. I would really appreciate it and both the patreon and the tips help a lot.

[rishiguro]

09; APOLOGIES

your drinks have been finished and paid for when iwaizumi took a hold of your hand and the two of you started to wander across the park. neither of you said a word, distinct chatter and the sounds of gravel being squashed underneath your shoes filling your ears.

turning your head you looked at your date. while he seemed relaxed, you could see his unoccupied hand fidgeting and flexing at this side.

after a few more minutes of silence, you decided to speak up. "what's on your mind? you seem kind of absent"

his head immediately whipped towards you. "oh, sorry." he apologized, shaking his head slightly with a smile on his lips, “i didn't mean to"

immediately after he fell silent again, his brows furrowed. you could basically see the gears turning in his head. "is something bothering you?" you tried again, nudging his shoulder.

the two of you stopped shortly before iwaizumi dragged you to a nearby park bench. "kind of?" the man said, letting go of your hand. balling his hands into fists, he shoved them into his pockets.

¡waizumi's face was still turned away from you, staring at the ground. “i’m trying find a way to apologize without sounding like a total dick head"

you tilted your head. "why would you have to apologize? did you kill someone?" you asked with a goofy smile on your lips, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

he immediately let out a breathy laugh. "i don't think an apology would suffice after murdering someone, so no"

"then how bad can it be? did you break any of the geneva conventions?" you tried again, raising an eyebrow at him.

you were sure that he had no reason to be so worried. what's the worst thing he could've done after all? probably he just worried over nothing.

hopefully.

that was when iwaizumi started laughing out loud, hunching over as he shook his head at you. "gee, what kind of person do you think i am?"

you shrugged. "you're the one who suggested that you're a serial killer, so obviously i'°d go with it"

"and yet you're still going out with me, huh?" he grinned, quickly shooting you a glance. "you must love the thrill"

or was he planning to stop whatever the two of you had going on? but then why would he drag this out so long? you were sure that he was someone quite pragmatic, preferring to get to the point directly.

"what can i say, i always loved the hot villains" you shot back, punching his arm lightly.

"that might get you killed one day" iwaizumi replied slyly, turning back to face you.

e'm fine with that"

silence fell over the two of you again. you leaned back, closing your eyes as you felt the last sunbeams of the day being soaked up by your skin.you shoved your hands into the pockets of iwaizumi's jacket.

after some more minutes if comfortable silence, the dark haired man took a deep breath before speaking again. "listen, i'm sorry for cancelling our plans so often lately." he began. you turned your head to look at him, noticing how he still refused to face you. his lips were pressed into a tight line when he stopped. he laughed embarrassed. “i know it fucking sucks"

you hummed in response, waiting for him to continue.

"don't know, it's-" he sighed, shaking his head at himself, before cursing under his breath. "fuck it" iwaizumi say up straight, finally allowing himself to face you, while his leg was bouncing impatiently. "you know, i have problems with my pancreas. it's chronic. i can't really do anything against it besides taking my meds and taking care of myself" he explained slowly, an almost sad smile on his lips. he shook his head, hand going through his spiked up hair. "and while i know that this shouldn't affect you and i shouldn't burden you with it, i feel like you should know"

you nodded slowly, understanding. "lately my episodes are more frequent and yeah" he continued, shrugging. "sorry, i shouldn't ramble, it's not really something pleasant"

after a couple of moments you looked down. "well, it certainly makes sense now"

looking back at him, you gave him a reassuring smile. thank you for telling me and trusting me, iwa. it means a lot"

in a weird sense it was comforting. comforting to know that there was somebody else in your circle, somebody you liked and talked to so often, that understands your struggles. someone that isn't perfectly healthy and someone that might feel as betrayed by their body as you did some days. someone to confide in, in a way.

you wanted to punch yourself for thinking that way. you were way over that pity parade, or at least you should be. you thought you had made your peace with the situation, after all it's not like you could change it. and most days you did. so why were you feeling almost relieved?

"you're not- i don't know, mad or anything?" iwaizumi looked surprised.

"no. i get it. i wouldn't want to be around anybody on a bad day either" you replied. "especially when they're terrible enough that you can blow up at anybody just for breathing or sighing in your direction'

might as well tell him, right? you were confident that you had this mutual understanding and trust in each other. it would only be fair.

and frankly, you wanted him to know. as simple as that.

“i have some chronic health problems myself, you know" you looked away from him. now it was you that stared at the ground. "my body decided to fuck up my lungs though, not my pancreas" iwaizumi chuckled. "we're both fucked, huh?"

you looked back at him, a playful grin on your lips.

"match made in heaven"

"so, i take that as you accept my apology?"

you laughed. “yes, you dickhead”

evanescent

/ɛvəˈnɛs(ə)nt,iːvəˈnɛs(ə)nt/ — “soon passing out of sight, memory, or existence; quickly fading or disappearing.”

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taglist: @ninjamomo @not-another-ackerman @midnight-drives-with-sunarin @bloombb @jewlmin

[leclsrc]

hey! congrats on 1000 💓

need some angst so could you do a drabble of carlos and reader already broke up for a year bcs of some problem (but not cheating pls) and they finally met again and realized both still have feeling towards each other so they decided to start the relationship again, thanks!

saving grace — cs55

genre: angst, drabble, 1k celebration. title from this

There’s a sticky note tacked onto your living room corkboard, buried now under fresh reminders and receipts and grocery lists. You sometimes pass it by and forget it, but when you catch the orange peeking out from underneath the bits of life you’ve stuck atop it, you pause and remember. Tonight is the first time you seek it, fish it out from a trove of daily memories—coffee receipts, coupons, birthday cards—and hold it in your hand. You stare.

June 17, it reads. Anniversary dinner.

The memory of writing this out refuses to purge itself from your brain, along with many other memories of years past. The bad and the good ones stick themselves inside your brain like stubborn mildew, unrelenting, even a year after you stopped making them.

Lewis’ wedding reception is colourful, vibrant, and you’re half sure it’s Drake at the DJ booth—all telling of the kind of fun, sociable person Lewis is. You’ve gone around greeting and kissing people in a half-daze, having been stupefied by the sticky note earlier today, drowning the loudness of the thoughts with wine. It’s dark outside the venue, populated by cars and some staff, when you dip out to smoke a cigarette.

Your heels crunch against the gravel as you light yourself one and press it to your lips. And, as if conjured by your inexorable thoughts of him, Carlos’ voice penetrates the quiet midnight air. “You never could kill that habit,” he says, a few paces in front of you. You puff out a billow of tobacco smoke and smile.

“It’s gotten a lot better,” you say. You’re right: post-breakup, smoking was one of the things you turned to the most, and in an effort to make a change, you’d stopped doing it regularly. “I only do it when I need to.”

He nods, walking slowly toward you. “Why do you need to?”

When you see Carlos up close, you find nothing much has changed in the past year of his absence. His face is the same, chiseled, so very Spanish. His voice is the same, distinct and, when with you, comfortable enough to slide into occasional phrases of his own language. His hair is a bit longer, and he combs it back with his fingers, waiting for your response.

You pause, weighing your options. You could go the polite route, steer this conversation somewhere different, but that’s not what’s pulling at you. Yanking, almost, begging you to say what you wish to really say. So you do, in a breathless confession. “It’s June 17.”

Briefly, Carlos looks surprised, but it settles into a neutral expression. “I didn’t think you’d remember. Hace mucho tiempo que no hablamos.”

“I found a Post-it from two years ago. I wrote our anniversary dinner reminder on it.” 

“We…” He pauses. He could use a cigarette, if he’s being totally honest with himself. “We made a lot of good memories.”

You’d be lying if you said he was wrong. Together, the memories feel like home, even when they’re of bad or forgettable moments. Your memories are waiting for the coffee to brew in the morning, washing race suits and getting bubbles of soap on your nose, mockups of a house you planned to buy together, faded photographs that went from being on the fireplace to being in a box, date night dresses, hungry kisses when you’d been apart for weeks, loud fights that are monitored by Pinon.

Carlos’ memories are folding laundry so you have extra time to sleep in, designing a nursery (red, he said, for Ferrari, and you claimed you would find another father if it went that way), warming up to cats, couch sex when neither of you wanted to get to the bedroom, cooking competitions that, despite his best efforts, you always won, tackling you onto the carpet when he finally got to be with you again, family dinners where nobody asked him anything and were too busy focused on you, realizing you were moving out.

Both of you realize that these memories, no matter how good, how concrete, how bad, are memories. They’re things gone. “Why did we stop making them?” He asks quietly, a follow-up to his own sentence. 

You drop your cigarette and kill it. “I think we needed to, if just… for a while.” Sometimes, you think you’re tied to Carlos, fingertip to fingertip, a string always keeping you tethered. Loosely tied, infinitely long, stretching from New York to Spain, Rome to China, wherever to wherever. A totem of your connection, your relationship; a thing of the past, something lost. Something gone.

“For a while,” he echoes. You’d both been so caught up with work that the relationship took the backburner, and eventually, neither of you felt like putting out anymore. Domestic life was no longer a priority once work became more demanding, gave you both more success, and in the end that’s what you chose. Both of you. Work. And so you lived days out alone, and in clumsy moments, you’d say something intended for Carlos. It took weeks for the habit to die. For you to realize that, however much you wanted a reaction, it wouldn’t come.

But a while is just a while. A blip. A learning period. There’s a stretch of silence and the leftover tobacco. “It was nice talking,” you say with finality. Your brain swarms with these memories still, imperfect and impulsive ones.

As you turn, he speaks again, even more quiet. It stops you in your tracks. “I’ll call you.”

You smile. “I’ll pick up.”

[skylarmoon71]

Lance Sweets (Bones) - Oneshot: Extra

“There’s three guys in there!”

Hodgins sounds a bit panicked. When Booth brought the two of you to the most recent crime scene, you hadn’t actually expected assassins to show up. You’re all hiding in the bathroom.

“Booth, did you see any guns?”

He shakes his head.

You nod, reaching for the knob.

“See you on the other side.”

When you dart out the door, Hodgins looks at you as if you’ve grown another head.

“What is she doing!!” Hodgins asks quietly.

He doesn’t get an answer. Booth shakes his head when he hears the many grunts and punches. There’s a distinct sound of a table breaking. It finally quiets down.

“We’re clear.” You call.

Booth holsters his gun, pushing the door open. Hodgins follows behind, still a bit hesitant. When they break the corner, all three bodies are on the ground. One of them has his head stuck through the broken glass table. The others are groaning on the floor.

“That last one put up a fight.” You state as you rotate your arm.

“Are you freaking Wonder Woman!?”

With a shrug, you bend down, reaching into their pockets. There’s no surprise that they lack identification.

“You should probably call this in, we’ll need to question them.”

Booth just walks away with a grumble as he pulls out his phone.

“I could have helped.” He mutters dejectedly.

You smile, and Hodgins is still trying to wrap his head around what just happened.

By the time you all make it back to the lab Hodgins is telling some crazy story about what went down. You all have the three men in custody as the bureau continues to work at their identities.

“I swear it was like a freaking movie. She took out all three of them.” Hodgins exclaims. Angela laughs.

“You shouldn’t mess with women, am I right?”

Brennan nods in approval.

Camile chuckles.

“I guess we all have our specialties. You’re going to have to show me some moves sometime. Given how often we tend to get breached, it might come in handy.”

She’s not exactly wrong.

Your eyes stray for a second when you see the suit. You assume it’s Booth, but when you spot the face of a certain psychologist, your once confident stance changes.

“What’s the occasion?”

He jokes when he spots the small group. His eyes take a moment, but the second he sees you, his gait slightly changes.

Your silence to his question catches the attention of everyone present. Angela and Hodgins exchange a look. Camille smiles. Brennan is the only one who looks a bit unclear of what’s happening.

“I just remembered that we have to go do something. Don’t we?” Angela questions. They all nod, but Brennan still looks lost.

“What thing?” Brennan asks.

“Oh sweetie, just follow me.” Angela takes her arm, leading her away and the rest of the following suit.

Now it’s just the two of you. Your pointed glare follows your friends who have undoubtedly betrayed you.

It’s impossible to make this any less awkward.

“I should get going. Booth probably needs a hand interrogating those guys.” You finally work out.

“O-Of course, they aren’t going to interrogate themselves, am I right?” His laughter is obviously to cover up the uncomfortable atmosphere. You just give a stiff nod, turning with the intention of walking away as fast as you possibly can.

“(Y/N), wait.”

He reaches over, taking your wrist softly to stop you. The action makes you pause. You’re overly conscious of the warmth from his hand. You look up and he guides you to the side, out of the main view of others. Once he does, he seems to realize that he’s still holding you. He releases almost immediately.

“I feel like we should address this matter. The longer we prolong it the worse it’s going to get. It doesn’t exactly make for an efficiently functioning work environment.”

He’s right. But what exactly does he want you to say?

Maybe you should just pretend.

“I don’t really see a problem.”

He looks a bit confused, then he smiles.

“I see what you’re doing. By avoiding the problem you think that you could rationalize that there’s nothing between us.”

“There is nothing between us.” You reason.

“Really?”

“Really.” You confirm.

Sweets takes a step forward, and you find yourself backing up. You stumble against the wall, and his eyes search yours.

“I’ll admit that given my profession I should have seen it sooner. If you’d like to pretend that you don’t feel a thing then I can’t force you to admit it. I just want you to know that I do have feelings for you. As unprofessional as it is, I have to be honest about how I feel. “

You gulp, it’s easier to deny it when you assume these feelings are one sided. But what are you supposed to do now that he has admitted that. Sweets takes another step,and you press your hand to his shoulder, lips quiver.

“W-Wait..”

You need to be the voice of reason. If he gets any closer that won’t happen.

“We..” You take a breath to calm yourself down.

“We work together. Y-You can’t..w-we can’t…”

“That statement implies that you feel the same way.” He adds.

“I-I don’t.”

“Then you should probably push me away. You easily took down three guys, subduing me should be simple.”

So he did hear.

That’s a bit infuriating.

Why was he testing you right now?

“Damn psychologists.”

He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Push me away (Y/N).”

He whispers.

You bite your lip, gripping the collar of his shirt, you pull him down for a kiss. He’s obviously caught a bit off guard, but he reciprocates, sliding one hand against the wall as he draws you closer.

You should not be doing this. There’s so many reasons why this is a bad idea, but you’ve been dreaming about his lips for too long to stop now. Your hand moves from his collar, sliding over his chest. A soft sound escapes your lips at the feel of him, and his mouth opens as his tongue slips past your lips. You welcome it, meeting him halfway. He’s the one that moans this time and you’re almost positive you’ve never heard something more beautiful.

“Sweets?”

Booth’s voice pulls you out of your daze and you push Sweets back. He staggers, and you stare, clearly shocked. Booth pretty much gapes, and you press a hand to your lips.

“I-I have to go.” You say hurriedly as you rush past Booth.

That’s apparently your trademark now.

Running away.

“H-Hey wait sorry I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

His words fall on deaf ears. Booth turns back to Sweets who is licking his lips, clearly still a bit thrown by the kiss.

“Really, (Y/N)? You know she can snap you like a twig right?” Booth’s words aren’t fully acknowledged.

“I have to go.”

Sweets is clearly distracted. He just walks away.

“Come on!!”

The rest of the day you try your best to limit your interactions with Sweets. You’re at least a bit grateful for Booth’s discretion. He hasn’t spread your little incident to a certain group of nosy scientists. Not that they are ignorant to what’s going on.

“So, are you going to avoid him forever?”

Booth had swung by your office, no doubt to torment you.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on, I was there. I saw you shoving your tongue down the guy’s throat.”

You blush, sending him the most venomous look. Booth lifts his hands.

“Hey, I’m just saying what I saw.”

You hate that he’s right. Even more that you haven’t been able to think about much but that kiss. How good it felt. Not just to touch him, but to have those feelings reciprocated. The both of you have been working together for a few months, almost a year. In all that time you can’t believe you never noticed. Maybe you just didn’t want to. Somehow pretending to be blind made it easier.

“Sweets might be a handful, but he’s a good guy. You should give him a chance.”

“Really, you’re giving me relationship advice.”

“I give good advice!” Booth defends.

“Mhmm.”

“Whatever, you could say what you want, but you must have it bad for him. Otherwise you would have floored him the second he even got within an inch of your space. Honestly I can’t believe I didn’t notice before. I guess this explains that little fight in the office last time. All that pent up frustration.”

“Do you want me to hit you?” Booth smiles.

“All I’m saying is that you should give it a shot. You never know what could happen.”

You hate it when he actually makes a reasonable point.

It’s irritating.

You intend to say just that, but there’s a knock on your door and someone enters. You both turn your focus.

“Hey.”

Sweets look a bit awkward, and unconsciously, you cross your legs under the desk. The heat of that kiss has returned.

Booth smirks.

“I’ll get out of the way of you two love birds.”

Booth moves to the door, giving Sweets a pat on the shoulder.

“Don’t mess it up, shrink.”

Nothing else is said. The door closes and you stand. You feel like you should make a run for it again.

“I’m sorry.”

His apology wasn’t where you saw the conversation going.

“I shouldn’t have made a move on you like that. It was unprofessional.” He runs a hand over the back of his head.

“I was the one who kissed you.”

He nods, a bashful smile on his face.

“You did, but I didn’t exactly stop it.”

You fidget.

“I’m glad you didn’t.” You finally admit.

He looks at you, and you can tell just from his expression that he’s picturing it. Kissing you, touching you. Your face must look quite the same.

Just looking at him seems to be too much. You clear your throat, breaking contact.

“Listen, I like my job. It’s the first time in years that I feel like I’m doing something good that doesn’t compromise my values.”

He knows you’re referring to your time in the navy.

Sweets nods.

“I understand. I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

You shake your head, and you will yourself to take a step closer. He meets your gaze when you’re directly in front of him.

“I’ll admit that everything about this, it terrifies me. But someone wise just told me that it’s better to take a chance. I’d like to give this a try, if that’s something you’re interested in. “

“I am!”

His immediate response isn’t what you expect. Sweets swallows, running a hand down his tie.

“I mean I’d like to see where this goes too.”

You smile.

“Whatever happens from here on out, I just need to know that it won’t affect our work. It’s not like I’m planning for this to implode in our faces. But we need to be realistic. This job needs to take precedence regardless of what happens in the future.”

“I agree. No matter what, we always get the job done.”

Sweets holds out his hand for you to shake. You can’t stop smiling at the gesture.

“I guess I know why you’re called Sweets.”

His brows furrow.

“Why do you think they-”

You step forward, grabbing his cheeks as you pull him in for a kiss. His eyebrows shoot up, hands automatically going around your waist. You grin against his lips and he spins around, pressing you against the door. The collision has you humming, and his expression softens and he slides both to your cheeks, trying to taste as much as he possibly can from your lips.

You have absolutely no complaints. 

[koinotame]

otome game ocs (old)

word count: 2.7K content warnings: unhealthy relationship dynamics, nsfw (not explicit), unreality? (heroine is self aware she's in some story), reader is implied to have trouble both at home and school + some sort of skin disorder, yandere typical levels of violence

a/n: this is a repost (unedited)! basic idea: if you know those villainess isekai stories, yeah. that but yandere. under the cut for length + this is badly formatted. originally called villainess isekai, but otome game fits it better & is a bit more distinct from gacha isekai lol. i think i mention the story being a novel but um. don't mind that i'll revise it when their new intros get posted =w=b

quick note: the villainess is a girl, and is treated as such by society, but no comments are made about reader’s gender or body. the villainess’ gender isn’t mentioned much or really important to anything, but she herself will be referred to femininely while reader is entirely neutral.

ok so the basic premise is the same as most of the villainess stories. you get reincarnated into the body of some noble girl, except you very quickly learn that she is, um, know for her attitude problems. nobody likes her. it’s sad. your (her?) father seems very loving, at least, and he seems a bit surprised when you’re polite but doesn’t comment on it. she’s also… engaged to the crown prince, who she hassled into marrying her. her father seems almost relieved when you ask if you could possibly annul the engagement because it’s very clear he doesn’t love her… except when you go to do so, he gets on his knees and starts begging you to punish him and put him in his place. and then spends the rest of the time you spend there trying to convince you to take him back. this alone is enough to give you a headache—but when the heroine makes her appearance, you’re unsettled. despite the fact that the villainess was allegedly bullying her, she’s all smiles and sunshines and… almost seems to enjoy being around you more than the supposed love interests? and that’s when it dawns on you. that’s the heroine of that popular villainess novel you remember reading years ago and remember almost nothing of. and suddenly the previous owner of your body is trying to contact you, wanting her body back—but also wanting you beside her.

the crown prince danger level: 4/5 type: worshipper

the crown prince doesn’t care about his fiancé. she’s bratty and annoying and he doesn’t like how clingy she is. the less time he spends around her, the better. despite that, he can’t deny that the disgusted gaze you give him one day has excitement pooling between his legs and deep in his gut. he’s not sure how you found out about his tastes, but if this is an attempt at seducing him, it’s working. the more uninterested and uncaring you seem around him, the harder it gets to ignore how much he likes the treatment. so when you call for him specifically, he’s excited. that comes crashing down when you tell him you’d like to annul your engagement, and for a second he looks hopelessly lost and seconds away from spiraling into panic—until he realises. ah! he understands. you’re going to play around with him, aren’t you? he can barely contain his excitement, shaking as he kneels down and tells you he’s been naughty and you need to punish him and put him in his place! your face contorts and he assumes he’s not doing enough, so he starts kissing your feet. you make a noise that he can’t hear over his pounding heartbeat and kick him down and then just… leave. the thought of being lower than dirt to you makes his body feel like he’s on fire.

the more you treat him with disdain, the more he’s head over heels. the idea of you treating him like nothing more than dirt… he’s practically drooling whenever he thinks about you. he starts offering to pay for you and buy you whatever—anything!—you want and it’s the best decision he’s made in his life. others are amazed when they see the two of you out in public—the usually stoic and reserved prince following you around like a puppy, the roles reversed for once. if he didn’t have a public reputation to keep, he’d outright ask you to lead him around by a leash. he also adores the way you call him your little piggy bank mockingly, and he daydreams frequently about the time you pulled him close by his tie when he displeased you.

at first, he was mainly enamoured by the way you treated him, but over time he’s started to care for you, too. a… bit too deeply. if anyone talks badly about you in his presence, he has no hesitation in telling them off. he’s not above threatening them but he also just goes off on tangents about how great and wonderful you are, and everybody learns that the easiest way to avoid them is by not being mean to or about you. you’d say you appreciate the fact that people are nicer to you now, but you’re getting tired of his presence in the first place. a simple "shut up" from you is enough to silence him, though. you appreciate the quiet and he’s elated that you’re paying attention to him at all. and… has he been bad? do you… want to punish him? put him in his place? call him names? degra—no wait, wait, come back, please, darling—

incredibly clingy. has to be with you at all times and will seek you out if you try to avoid him. doesn’t take no for an answer and can be incredibly pushy. partially because he loves you that much and partially because he’s hoping you’ll finally put your foot down. adores showing off for you—you telling him off is wonderful, but your praise really gets to his head. also loves calling you sweet names and doing generally couple-y stuff. let him sit in his lap while he feeds you (or sit in his! he’s not picky), let him kiss your hand every time the two of you see each other, let him call you all the sweet pet names in the world. hey, you know what? the two of you will be wed anyway. why don’t you sleep in the same bed? no? aw, okay… are you sure? he won’t do anything directly against your wishes (apart from, you know, not leaving you alone) and doesn’t want to make you hate him (any more than you already do, anyway).

eventually he gets more desperate, though. he wants to be your toy, but he doesn’t want to be your toy because he forced you to be his owner. he wants you to choose him on your own… but you won’t. you barely even look his way without all his theatrics, and the thought tears him apart. he’s not stupid. changing himself won’t help, and as much as he hates it, he can’t live without you at this point. you’re as essential to him as breathing, so even if it means you’ll hate him, he can’t let you go. he’ll give you everything else you might want, though, so please don’t abandon him…?

whatever you want, just, please… don’t throw him away.

the heroine danger level: 3/5 type: obsessive

there’s always been something surreal about her life, but it’s not until she started reading that she realised what it was. she’s perfect. too perfect—uncomfortably so. people fawn over her even when she hasn’t done anything to deserve that. her life almost seems scripted—from the way she dresses to every encounter she has. it seems straight out of a fairytale. she stopped caring about how story-like her luck and life seemed from a young age. why does it matter? if that’s the way things are, that’s the way things are and there’s not much point in trying to change them. it’s when she starts reading, pouring through book over book, that she realise she might actually be in a story. the thought doesn’t make her feel empty, and it doesn’t make her feel full. what does get to her is the idea that she might’ve been made for someone—not someone in her universe, but someone far away. someone who’s watching her, who she’s meant to exist for. who she’s meant to impress. who she, more than anything, wants to impress.

once she realises that, she plays up her act. no longer is she the uncaring girl who goes along with what the universe has in store for her. no, she’s honing her acting and personality to be exactly as she imagines you’d like. maybe this is scripted too, some part of her whispers, but she doesn’t care. the idea of being a mere character, a doll meant to entertain someone she could never touch… it’s exhilarating. she loves it. she doesn’t know much about you, so she’ll have to make do. studying becomes her favourite thing to do, but it’s studying meant to impress you and not studying meant to be helpful in her life. what type of protagonist would you prefer? the naive, innocent type, or the one who takes charge more? should she be able to cook or bake? or maybe both? what type of love interest would you prefer to partner her with? her mother watches all of this unfold, unsure if she should be concerned about what her daughter is dedicating time to or happy about her finally having some real motivation in life.

then one day the thought occurs to her. what if… what if you wanted to see everything firsthand? surely seeing a live play unfold in front of your eyes is more enticing than just reading a book? she’s never been an expert in business, and she’s not gifted with magic, but if there’s something she’s good at it’s seduction. finding a suitable body for you (that annoying daughter of one of the most powerful dukes in the kingdom… ah, maybe you’d prefer to have a rival? no, if you’re there then you could decide that) proves easy, and finding a mage who’s willing to help her out is even easier. her mother comments on how she’s even peppier than usual after she learns of the sudden personality change. it’s worked… she spends some extra time while you’re adjusting to prepare so her entrance will be perfect.

but it isn’t. you barely recognise her, and you seem uninterested in having anything to do with her. you seem completely uninterested in one of the love interests, your fiancé, too. that’s fine… until she realises you couldn’t care less about her either way. that has her frantic… until she realises that works just as well. why put up an act when there’s no need to? she’ll fawn over you, instead. and fawn she does. she follows you everywhere, content to just watch and not converse, and always insists on sitting next to you or partnering up with you. and she stares. it’s almost a bit creepy. she doesn’t mind if you find her creepy. being entertainment to you was fine, but if you don’t care about her then she’s going to take the opportunity to be in your presence as much as possible.

she has a shrine for you. there’s no beating around the bush—her entire life revolves around you. you’re sacred to her, and now that she’s got a shot at interacting with you directly she’s most definitely going to take note of everything you say. her memory, when it comes to you, is impressive, but she still writes down everything important (which is…. literally everything) about you into a little notebook she carries everywhere. and she likes keeping your things. of course she’d never dare steal from you! but a napkin or fork that you threw away aren’t things you’ll notice. she spends most of her pocket money on buying things she thinks you’d like. she’d like to give them to you directly, in person, one day, but for now they’ll have to make do in her shrine.

you gave her life meaning, and she’s enamoured with you as a result. she’ll do anything for you, whether you want her to or not.

the villainess danger level: 2/5 type: doting

smart and calculating as she may be, the villainess has always been bratty and spoiled. it’s not until she’s thrown into someone else’s body in a completely foreign universe that she sobers up a bit. she has complaints about everything, of course, but she’s never been the type to sit on her butt and wait for things to solve themselves. your room is a mess, for starters, and what are these? clothes? they’re rags. she needs a better wardrobe, even if she’s planning on getting back as soon as possible. your parents? she’s good with words. whatever they throw at her, she’ll throw back double and leave them speechless. the five overdue assignments? ugh, she needs to get used to modern technology anyway. and she’s bored. she might as well. your teachers might think you’ve cheated from how well she’s doing them. she also absolutely insists on taking proper care of your body. she’s living in it now, and she won’t deal with these pesky skin problems. or, at least, she’ll minimise the discomfort as much as possible. she’s meticulous, if nothing else.

it’s through doing all of this that she starts learning about you. the more she uncovers from files on your computer or through anecdotes from your family, the more she starts finding some strange form of comfort in you. at first, the idea of it weirds her out. she must be feeling this way because she’s in your body, right? right. that’s it. there’s no way she’s finding solace in some nobody like you. but the more time passes, the more she realises that’s just not true. she does like you. she does spend a lot of time wishing she could talk to you directly. and she has started scouring over everything you’ve left behind trying to understand you better and know you more fully. she feels almost protective of you. she’s living your life, and you’re possibly gone forever. the thought makes her feel weirdly empty inside. she ignores the thought that you wouldn’t like her as much as possible.

it doesn’t take her too long to realise that she didn’t die, and neither did you. researching swapping bodies is… nigh impossible, with the way magic doesn’t seem to exist here. so she turns to her dreams, attempting to contact you through that. she has a fair idea of what you’re like, so it’s not too hard for her to visualise you and reach out. the first time the two of you talk, it’s nothing special. you’re so sleepy you’re kind of delirious, and she’s doing nothing but ranting about how your life is all sorts of terrible and you better be taking care of her body. or else. you hear her? the more frequently you talk, the less bite there is to her words. and the more attached to you she gets, to the point where she starts thinking that, perhaps, fate is real. fate is real and the two of you were always meant to cross paths like this. the thought has her feeling unusually giddy, and at this point her previous fiancé is all but forgotten.

she wants to be with you. she never wants to part from you. she wants to hold you and brave the world together. you’re special and she wants to get to know you intimately. she’s not particularly interested in monopolising you… mainly because she knows those other two aren’t even competition. or, well, she doesn’t know that since you don’t really mention them, but if she did she wouldn’t care. she’s your friend, and what can those two claim? nothing. she, unlike those two, is normal. mostly. she respects your wishes. for the most part. she— the list goes on. she does put you on a pedestal, but it’s different from the other two. you’re special and wonderful, but that doesn’t mean you’re unreachable for her. you’re not untouchable—you’re just you. that’s what she enjoys the most about you.

don’t misunderstand. she may be the most normal, but she’s still haughty. you’re on her level and she enjoys doting on you, but anyone else? they’re beneath the both of you. she’ll gladly create a throne out of corpses and daintily help you sit, then seat herself next to you. she’s cruel, just not to you. you’re the only one able to reign her in anymore, and she loves you for it. the two of you were meant for each other, and she’ll bring the whole country down with her before letting you go. nobody else deserves you—only she does. and you deserve only the best… namely her.

she loves you, more than anything. more than even herself. and she wants to give you the entire world, just as you deserve. for pulling her out of that dark spot, and for existing.

[anne-bsd-bibliophile]

Originally published in 1960.

"It is rather that even a theoretical knowledge of other cultures helps up to understand our own, because we can attain some clarity and objectivity about our own social institutions by comparing them with others."

"When a psychiatrist asked a Zen master how he dealt with neurotic people he replied, 'I trap them!' 'And just how do you trap them?' 'I get them where they can't ask any more questions!'"

"The individual no more acts upon the world than the world upon the individual. The cause and effect turn out to be integral parts of the same event."

"Would it really do to find out that our game is not serious, that enemies are friends, and that the good thrives on the evil? Society as we know it seems to be a tacit conspiracy to keep this hushed up for fear that the contest will otherwise cease. ... Imagine how the Christian conscience would react to the idea that, behind the scenes, God and the Devil were the closest friends but had taken opposite sides in order to stage a great cosmic game."

"Opposites and differences have something between them, like the two faces of a coin; they do not meet as total strangers. When this relativity of things is seen very strongly, its appropriate affect is love rather than hate or fear."

"...in Buddhism liberation is called awakening (bodhi) just because it is release from social hypnosis."

"The philosophy of wu-wei or noninterference implies ... that people must accept themselves as they are. This will disturb the social order far less than splitting themselves apart to strive after impossible ideals."

"It is, however, possible to see that his comparative [societal] 'rat race' need not be taken seriously, or rather, that if we are to persist in it at all it must not be taken seriously unless 'nervous breakdowns' are to become as common as colds."

"The difficulty of Zen is the almost overwhelming problem of getting anyone to see that life-and-death is not a problem."

"The disturbed individual is not so much the historical throwback in whom sufficient ego strength somehow failed to develop; he is the victim of too much ego, too much individual isolation."

"The Eastern ways direct their students to 'look within,' to find out the self, only to dispel the illusion that it is inside as distinct from outside."

"Not caring is the parody of serenity, just as worrying is the parody of concern."

"This is the loneliness of liberation, of no longer finding security by taking sides with the crowd, of no longer believing that the rules of the game are the laws of nature. It is thus that transcending the ego leads to great individuality."

"But to say, 'You must be spontaneous' is the flat contradiction at the root of every double-bind."

"At this point the patient simply stops pretending. He does not learn to 'be himself' as if that were something which one can do; he learns rather that there is nothing he can do not to be himself. But this is just another way of saying that he has ceased to identify himself with his ego, with the image of himself which society has forced upon him."

"The ways of liberation make it very clear that life is not going anywhere, because it is already there. In other words, it is playing, and those who do not play with it have simply missed the point."

[weloveakechi]

As Dreamers Do Chapter 6

At last, Goro gets to do some investigating! And meet up with some characters we haven’t seen yet!

Content warning for this chapter it does include two scenes of implied/referenced suicide. Those take place just after Goro finishes speaking with Yoshizawa, and right after he’s done talking with Ryuji and Akira (the second scene is the last in the chapter). Please take care when reading.

First Chapter | AO3 Link

~

“Thank you so much for being willing to let me come ask some questions.” Goro’s best television smile is firmly in place as he shakes the hand of Principal Kobayakawa, head of Shujin academy in his office. It’s a few days after his conversation with Kurusu and Sakamoto and he’s finally managed to get a meeting set up. 

Kobayakawa’s smile is as false as Goro’s, if for a different reason. Goro is here investigating, while the principal just wants to get Goro to join the school, “It’s not everyday we have interest from one of Japan’s finest! I can’t quite believe it myself, the next Detective Prince, interested in our school!” 

Goro’s chuckle is light, disarming, “You have quite the reputation. Even the students at my current school can’t stop talking about Shujin’s volleyball team.” 

The lies fall easily, smooth as butter. Feigning interest in the school is the quickest way for him to get his foot in the door, ask a variety of questions, and make his presence known without causing too much of a stir.

This is the kind of situation he needs to be delicate about. He can’t just burst in demanding answers about the rumored abuse the school's star coach is inflicting on his students. That would get him nowhere. Especially if the teachers and Principal are on his side the way the others believe. 

“I’d love to see the gym, and even sit in on one of Mr. Kamoshida’s training sessions. I have to admit, I’m a bit of a fan.” His tone is just on the side of shyly interested to help make the lie more believable.

He knows he’s succeeded as soon as Kobayakawa nods, a wide smile on his face, it makes him look almost like a frog, “He is quite the player. We just knew hiring him would take our volleyball team to the top.” He checks something on his computer, “It looks like the team is in the middle of practice, why don’t I walk you over now? Then I’ll have one of our teachers give you the full tour. If you’d like, we’d love to have you sit in on a class or two.”

“I’d be delighted.” 

There’s little special about the gym itself when Goro finally sees it. Not that Goro thought there’d be anything particularly unique about the location. It’s only been recently that they’ve started to shine in the world of sports. The only team that had ever really done notably well was the track team until Kamoshida was hired, since then the spotlight switched to volleyball, and the track team was dismantled. Learning that, and who was on it, gave Goro quite a bit of insight into Sakamoto’s reasons for being so focused on the man. Another victim in a long line of them, but one at least trying to do something about it.  

As a school, Shujin is a good option for potential students. They turn out a higher than average graduation and acceptance rate to good colleges than many in their distinction. His research told him that students from Shujin often go on to be rather successful, which is another point in its favor. In fact, it’s a school Goro would have seriously considered in the past. 

That said, some further digging indicated that despite their good standing, the school’s had a slight downward tick in graduations over the past couple years. It’s nothing too detrimental presently, but if not corrected will end up hurting the school’s reputation. 

It’s surely why Kobayakawa has pushed so hard to put the school in the news, from hiring a gold medalist coach, to pushing a new honors student, and even taking in a troubled teen to give him a second chance. None of that solves the actual problem of failing grades or better providing for their teachers. 

It does however, make complete sense as to why they’d turn a blind eye to Kamoshida’s blatant abuse of students. 

The man in question is in the middle of shouting orders as they step into the gym. Facing away from them, he’s too busy pointing out flaws in various team members’ performances to notice the two people who have walked in. 

“Umm, Coach–” One of the boys says.

“I said start again.” Kamoshida snaps, “Stop wasting time.” 

Principal Kobayakawa clears his throat, “Excuse me.” He finally announces them. 

Kamoshida turns on them, the annoyance on his face instantly wiping away as he catches sight of the visitors, “Principal Kobayakawa, what a surprise. Who is this with you?” 

“This is Goro Akechi, he’s touring the school today as a potential transfer student.”

“Another one, huh.” Kamoshida says lightly, as he puts a hand out, “Looking to join the volleyball team?”

Goro takes it, Kamoshida’s grip on his hand is firm, almost too much so.

“I’ve heard so much about the team I had to take a look.” 

Kamoshida laughs —a self assured sound if Goro’s ever heard one— before he leans over with a wink, “You don’t have to say it, I can read it all over your face, you’re a fan. Good to see you here. You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like and observe.”

“We were going to do a more comprehensive tour after this.” The principal hedges, a little hesitant. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll have one of the team escort him back your way when we’re done. That way he can get his full tour.” Kamoshida waves off his concern.

“Well, if you’re sure.” Kobayakawa turns to Goro, “I’ll leave you in Mr. Kamoshida’s capable hands. By the time you get back I’ll have a teacher lined up to walk you around.” 

Goro gets little from the practice. Kamoshida’s on his best behavior with a stranger in the room, even if he doesn’t seem to realize just who Goro is. Some of the students do though, he catches a number of eyes lingering on him through the practice. 

Even with no major hiccups, it’s not wasted time to be there. In fact, Goro’s done exactly what he set out to do: be seen by the volleyball students. If they want an opportunity to tell someone about their coach, he’s making himself as available as possible. 

One of the girls volunteers to take him back to the front office, and after a nod from Kamoshida sidles up to Goro with a shy smile to take him back. 

It turns out that no teachers are readily available to tour him around the school, a fact Goro could have told him before he’d left. Really, how someone so completely inept has stayed in Shido’s good graces so long baffles him. 

Instead of a teacher, he called in one of the student council members. The president in fact. 

Goro can’t help but shoot Sae Niijima’s little sister, Makoto, a wicked grin as she steps into the office. 

“Hello, Niijima-san.” He gives her a little wave, deeply amused by this turn of events. 

He won’t call what he has with Makoto Niijima a rivalry. It’s not that. But it isn’t nothing either. They pick at each other, prodding for weak spots, and viciously tug when they find one. It started as him teasing her a bit when she got jealous of how much time he spent with her sister, and over the years it’s evolved. If he were feeling gracious, he might label it almost akin to being siblings vying for a parents favor, with Sae-san as the parent. 

“Akechi?” In her surprise she drops her normal insistence on honorifics. 

Kobayakawa looks from one to the other before he nods, “Good, good. You both are already acquainted. I’d appreciate it if you’d continue Akechi-san’s tour of the school for me.” 

“Tour, sir?” 

Goro gives her a blinding grin, “I’m considering transferring here. My current school is being difficult regarding my schedule and workload as a detective. As I’d like to graduate, and continue working, I’m looking for options more amenable to my lifestyle.”

“I see.” She narrows her eyes in a way that screams doubt, but she can’t call him on the blatant lie here in front of Kobayakawa. Instead she matches his smile, all teeth and sarcasm, “Let’s get started.”

The moment they’re out of the office, with the door closed securely, Makoto spins on him, hands already on her hips, “Now tell me, what you’re actually doing here.” 

He goes for the lie again, giving her a wide look as if to say ‘what are you talking about?’, “I told you, I’m observing the school as a potential transfer option. I’ve heard great things, and the overall caliber of student is–”

She throws up a hand, interrupting him, “It doesn’t make sense to switch in your last year.” Her interruption is refreshing. That’s something he likes about Makoto. No matter what good girl act she puts on for the rest of the world, she’s got a mean streak hiding, and he loves pulling back the cover to make it show. 

“There’s obviously something else going on. Tell me, maybe I can help.”

He considers it. While she’s not on the team most impacted by Kamoshida, she is the Student Council President. She has clout with students, and might have already heard something. Still, it’s a little early to bring her into the investigation. 

So he holds up a finger to his lips, winking, “I’m conducting an investigation. It’s still early, but I’ll be sure to consult you if the need arises.” 

This seems to appease her somewhat, “Does my sister know about this?” 

“No. I have yet to bring in either the prosecutor’s office or police. Students reached out to me about the issue, and until I have more I’d rather not complicate things.”

That gives her pause, enough that she stops in the hallway to glare at him. Her eyes flash, a theory developing about his investigation. Before she can press further, another voice cuts in. 

“Akechi-sempai?” 

They turn and find a first year student, hair bright red and pulled back into a ponytail that swings as she walks. She’s stepping out of an office, and heads towards them, face alight with recognition. 

“Yoshizawa-san.” Goro greets, giving her a softer smile than he’d given Makoto, “I didn’t realize you attended Shujin.” 

“Oh! Yes.” She perks up, “I just started on an Honors Scholarship.” Ah, so she’s the new honors student, he should have guessed.

They aren’t close. Goro knows Sumire Yoshizawa only in passing really. He’d met her and her sister through her father, and they’ve spent a little time stuck together on sets. Her there to visit with her father, Goro for shooting. There’s a lot of time between takes or news segments, and when there’s so few people in the whole building even close to the same age to talk to? You chat. 

This Yoshizawa is in stark contrast to the one he’d seen recently. That girl couldn’t look Goro in the eyes, voice distant and broken, body curled in on itself like she was trying to disappear. It had been so similar to how he remembers looking the few times he’d let himself look at the mirror after his mother’s death, it had sent him reeling. 

Experience tells him she shouldn’t look this good. Shouldn’t sound so normal. He doesn’t wish that kind of grief on her, but he knows better. 

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Makoto Nijima, the student council president.” Makoto holds out a hand for Yoshizawa to take, “If you need anything at all, Yoshizawa-san please feel free to reach out. Starting at a new school can be difficult, especially with all the expectations heaped on an honors student. I’m always happy to lend an ear if you need it.”

The other girl bows, hair swinging over her shoulder as she does so, “I’m honored, Nijima-sempai. Thank you so much!” 

When she straightens, she tilts her head at Goro and asks, “Excuse me for asking, but why are you here, Akechi-sempai?” 

“I’m also considering transferring to Shujin. Nijima-san has been gracious enough to give me a tour.” He tells her.

Yoshizawa clasps her hands together, face bright and delighted, “That would be wonderful, Senpai! I’d love it if someone I know also attends here. It will be such a great opportunity to get to know each other better.”

“How do you two know each other?” Makoto asks, her tone more pointed than curious. 

“We met at the tv station my father owns. Akechi-senpai has been interviewed a few times there.” She turns back to him, “You have another coming up soon, right?” 

He nods, “I have to send in my approval for the questions this evening.” He rubs the back of his neck, “It can be quite a lot sometimes. I’m grateful for your father’s support.” 

“I think he’s taken a liking to you.” Yoshizawa says, clapping her hands together. 

The false modesty got him what he’d wanted to hear, “I’m glad to hear it. I’m sorry to take up so much of your time, it has been wonderful to see you.” 

“Likewise. Even if you don’t transfer to Shujin, we should talk more. Maybe I’ll see you at the interview?” Yoshizawa asks.

“Perhaps.” Is all he allows. 

They have only barely started the real tour when the hallway begins to flood with students. Doors crash open, and shouts echo around the once quiet halls as students and teachers alike fly out of classrooms and down the hall. 

“Did you hear? She jumped.”

“I hope she’s okay.”

“What are we going to do?” 

Makoto’s eyes flash and she grabs a student by the arm, yanking him back, “Who jumped? Where?”

The boy shoves a finger in the direction of the wave of students, “Some volleyball girl. Out there, by the courtyard.” 

It is chaos, but both Goro and Makoto make it through the throng of students and teachers, pushing and elbowing their way to the courtyard. The noise is on the verge of being overwhelming. Goro’s stomach is clenched in a way that promises he’ll be sick if he stops to think about the girl’s actions too long. 

He hasn’t worked a suicide case in his entier career as a high school detective. 

He tried only one time.  

“Move please. I’m on the student council.” Makoto says, trying to push through the wall of people in the courtyard. But they’re not budging, rooted to the ground as they play witness to the tragedy before them. 

“Out of the way.” Goro snaps, the anger in his words clear and authoritative enough to send the students in front of them scrambling. Good. It’s obscene to stand around and watch something like this. The teachers should be doing a better job getting students back into their classrooms. Unless, the lot of them. 

He ignores the sudden flare up of whispers about police and detectives as students begin to recognize him. If anything, he’ll use his fame in his favor if he needs to in order to quell the chaos a bit. For now, his focus is the girl. 

He makes himself a shield to push Makoto through the crowd, along with himself until they drop into an open area, ringed by shocked students. A teacher, perhaps even a nurse, is kneeling by the fallen girl. Her hair is a different color from the one who took him to the office, which for some reason is a relief to him.

“Everyone take a few steps back.” He starts snapping orders, whirling on the crowd, “Open up a path for the paramedics to get through. Time is of the essence. You don’t want to be at fault for delaying help arriving.”

The whispers of his fame have done their work, weaving their way through enough of the crowd his words penetrate the awed spectacle of it all and has the crowd moving to follow his directions. A further explanation of his job as a detective gains him the allyship of a few teachers, and soon he’s managed to get the crowd under control. 

As Goro works the crowd, he looks everywhere but the fallen girl. Guilt pools in his stomach like acid, bubbling and sharp. He’s certain he won’t sleep tonight. 

His eyes catch on Kurusu and Sakamoto in the crowd. Sakamoto’s shock is clean on his face, along with outrage. Kurusu on the other hand is shattered, grief etched across his features in a way that Goro doesn’t think he’s ever seen before. Like he’s to blame for all this. Before he has time to gnaw on that particular piece of information, his attention is dragged aside again.

“Akechi, could you give us a hand?” 

The next hour feels indeterminately long. He keeps busy making sure the girl, Shiho, and her friend, Ann, make it into the ambulance. He takes statements, and has to shoot down Principal Kobayakawa’s attempts at interference. Nothing will save the school’s reputation in his eyes now. 

Not that it’s ever really mattered. The investigation is his main goal, and he hates how things have turned out so far. Goro might be willing to do a good many things that paint him as irredeemable, but that doesn’t mean he wants to see an innocent girl pushed to her limit like this by someone like Kamoshida. 

The temptation to pull out his phone and use it to take him to the Metaverse where he can put a bullet between the eyes of Kamoshida’s Shadow is all too strong. The man deserves worse than that. Goro wants to take him apart piece by piece and listen to his screams as he begs for mercy. He can feel Loki humm at the thought, agreeing wholeheartedly. 

He realizes he’s got his phone in his palm, as he turns it over and over, the device slipping easily against the smooth leather of his glove. It makes a little swishing noise as it moves. He wants to leave it face up, to wake up the screen and tap the MetaNav, the others had told him the keywords already, all he has to do is enter them. 

He can feel Loki agreeing with the sentiment, buzzing and burning with the need to destroy. To step into Kamoshida’s life and turn it upside down. 

A message buzzes through, stopping him from making any rash decisions.

Kurusu: Meet us in the courtyard by the vending machines.

Goro: On my way.

When he finds Kurusu and Sakamoto, the blond is pacing between a bench and vending machine, steps so loud Goro can hear them at a distance. He can hear the swearing whirlwind Sakamoto is whipping up as well. The boy has some truly creative expletives. 

Sakamoto storms over to him the moment Goro’s close enough to be noticed, “We have to do something now!” He looks about a second away from shoving Goro, “I can’t let that monster hurt anyone else.”  

Goro holds his hands out, trying to placate him, “Calm down.” 

Sakamoto spins and slams his fist into one of the poles by them, metal ringing out with a hollow echo, “Ain’t no way I’m gonna calm down! If we had any doubts about going and changing his heart they’re all gone now. You get that right?” 

“I do.” He says it as soothing as possible, tone gentle, understanding, “However, you agreed I could investigate him first.” 

“And you spent all day doing that right? That’s why you were wandering around campus?” He drops his hand, and steps back towards Goro, “Well? Did you come up with anything concrete to nail that bastard?” 

Goro’s lips press into a hard line, he knows what he’s about to say isn’t going to go over well. 

“These things take time. I started—”

Sakamoto explodes, “We don’t have time for that! That’s what I’ve been saying this whole time! He’s hurting people, Akechi. Are you so heartless you’ll let that happen?!”

“You are very much wrong if you believe I do not care about his victims.” Goro’s voice has dropped to something dangerously quiet, “I did not become a detective for the fame. I did it to stop men like him from abusing their power and hurting more people. Imply I do not care again, Sakamoto and I will prove to you just how much I do.” 

The other boy takes a few involuntary steps back, swallowing, “Sorry, dude. I know you do, you wouldn’t be tryin’ to help us if not. I’m just—” His face is red, hands balled into fists by his side, shaking, “We couldn’t do anything! Feeling so powerless effin’ sucks, especially when we have the power we need to force that scumbag to admit to all his crimes!”

Throughout their exchange, Kurusu has been surprisingly quiet. Goro turns his attention on the other boy, examining him with a close eye. He looks lost, gaze distant, somewhere far beyond them, the courtyard, and probably even the present. 

“Kurusu?” Goro asks, “I understand what happened was shocking. If you need a moment—”

Even Sakamoto seems to pick up on Kurusu’s mood now, but has a different answer for it, “I think he’s also shocked about Kamoshida’s threat earlier.”

“What?” Goro snaps. 

The other boy swallows, “Akira and I went to confront Kamoshida about what happened.”

Goro wants to throttle him, “A decidedly stupid idea.” 

Sakamoto ignores his bottled fury, plowing forward with the explanation, “Us and Mishima. He’s on the volleyball team. Said Kamoshida called Shiho to his office this morning. Apparently she came out lookin’ white as a ghost.”

Goro can only imagine what kind of conversation might have taken place to drive the girl to attempt what she did today. He desperately wishes it had only stayed a conversation. 

“That asshole all but confessed to abusing her and the others when we confronted him about it. Only we don’t have any proof so the creep decided to report us for assault at the next board meeting to get us all expelled. Akira here is on parole, if he’s expelled for something like that? That’s it for him.”

Parole? Goro takes that bit of information and tucks it away. It’ll make searching Kurusu’s history all the easier for him when he finally carves out a single second to actually do the thing. It makes a strange sort of sense, considering the sudden transfer and Kurusu’s caginess around it all. 

Through the explanation, Kurusu hasn’t moved at all. Goro’s kept half an eye on him, even while fuming over the idiotic decision to confront Kamoshida. Looking a little closer now, it’s not shock on his face, but fury. Burning behind those gray eyes, a flame that won’t be snuffed. 

Kurusu moves at last, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw in a way that promises a fight if Goro dares argue even a moment, “I’m sorry Akechi, but we’re going to change Kamoshida’s heart.” 

His tone isn’t sorry at all. It’s everything Goro has seen on his face and more. There’s no changing the resolve that has settled over the other boy, or his own need to see justice met at his own hands. Goro can understand that. He wishes he can change his mind, stop them all going down this path. Doing this will make things harder in the long run.

But he can’t say he’s not looking forward to facing Kamoshida’s Shadow and carving into him with his own two hands.  

“I understand.” Goro nods, and Kurusu looks shocked, eyes going wide like he was ready to fight Goro tooth and nail on this. 

Kurusu’s face relaxes into something thankful, “Good. Good, let’s go.”

“Tomorrow.” Goro insists, “You’re exhausted and emotional. Going in like this will only cause problems.”

Kurusu opens his mouth to argue and closes it again with a sigh, “Okay, tomorrow then.”

But he doesn’t have time to linger on it, Sakamoto and Morgana are already discussing a meeting time and location for the next day and Goro steps in to indicate that he should be able to meet at the school again. 

Then, after they’ve settled on a time and place to meet. After he’s lingered long enough to make sure Kurusu actually leaves for home. After he tells the principal he’ll be back for a further investigation. That’s when Goro goes home. 

That’s when he falls apart. 

The shaking starts in his hands as he closes the door to the apartment. Fingers slipping on the lock as he attempts to turn it. It’s moved to his shoulders and back by the time he makes it through the living area towards his bedroom, and the attached bathroom. 

By the time he reaches the bathroom his whole body is shaking. 

He shakes and shudders as he drops to his knees and retches directly into the toilet. It’s mostly bial that comes up. He hasn’t had anything to eat today beyond an apple snatched at the station on his way to the school. He forgot a proper breakfast, and hasn’t been hungry since Shiho —that’s her name, that’s who he saw today collapsed on the ground, barely breathing— since she jumped. He’d hardly had any time to help her. 

The retching doesn’t stop even after his stomach has emptied itself. Goro can’t stop it. Every time he thinks he’s done, he can’t help but see her again. Her dark hair, body crumpled, unmoving. It’s the girl until it stops being her.

It’s her until it’s his mother. 

He flinches away from the shower curtain hanging beside him. Behind it, he knows what he’ll find. Tub full, water a murky pink as his mother —his mother— he retches again, chest heaving, stomach trying to turn itself inside out as he dry heaves, over and over and over again. His throat is raw. Tears stream from his eyes from the effort of it all. 

At last, his stomach stills long enough for him to sit up a bit. As he does so he watches a tear slip from his eyes to hit the edge of the toilet, leaving a shining drop on the porcelain. Sweat beads at his forehead, and his chest hurts so bad he feels like he’s broken a rib, or pulled something. Blindly he reaches for the toilet paper and rips off a wad, rubbing first at his eyes and then his mouth. 

He balls it up in his fist and leans back against the wall, chest heaving. Goro drags his knees up to his chest, and lets his head drop between them as sobs rattle his chest. 

[nirikeehan]

TGIF! I went down the rabbit hold of the pick a title list and thought maybe Schuldgefühle (feeling of guilt) for Cullen & Samson would be really interesting!

THANK YOU MEL this was the perfect opportunity for me to noodle around with these two some more.

Please enjoy this installment of Kirkwall Kops

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 988

CW: Descriptions of a dead body; references to suicide

---

The apostate hung by the neck on a high lantern post, twisting slowly in the breeze blowing off the Lowtown harbor. The Kirkwall docks always smelled like vaguely rotten fish, and the stench of the corpse was doing nothing to improve it. Cullen brought his mailed fist to his nose to block the smell as he and Samson stared up at the grisly sight.

“Poor sod,” Samson muttered. 

Cullen couldn’t help but agree. They’d been assigned to the summons from the City Watch, whose missive reported a dead body that matched the description of one of their recent runaways. The Gallows held hundreds of mages, few of whom had made an impression on Cullen in the few months he’d been stationed in Kirkwall, but the crime had blurred this one’s features beyond recognition, even if he had. The face was bloated, the neck blackened, and the days had been especially warm lately, making messy work of the body. If it hadn’t been for the Circle robes and a distinctive tattoo winding up the apostate’s arm, he might never have been identified as one of theirs. 

“What was his name again?” Cullen asked. He felt bad that he couldn’t remember. 

“Trystan.” Samson sighed. “Trystan Marsh. All right lad. From Starkhaven originally, I think. Never had much to say.” 

Samson talked more with the charges than Cullen did; but then, he’d been here much longer. Trystan’s big escape had happened a couple weeks earlier, when he and a few other unhappy mages combined bedsheets, an ajar window and lax nighttime supervision to great effect. This one hadn’t been able to hack it in the outside world, apparently. There was no indication what had become of the other apostates.

“Did he give any indication he wanted to… you know?” Cullen didn’t know why it was so difficult to say. He felt guilty for a reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint. He certainly hadn’t been the knight on duty when Trystan and the others had escaped, but something about the volatile nature of so many of the Kirkwall mages brought up complicated feelings in him.

He had made his peace with the reality that they weren’t all Uldreds in the making, and fearing so was overreaction. However, despairing mages were dangerous mages, whether to others or themselves. For every clever caster who made it off the Gallows, there were several more desperate bids for a different kind of escape. The problem was getting so bad Meredith was considering putting bars on all the windows, even the ones several stories above the bay. 

Cullen harbored few illusions about this. It was difficult to make mages lives’ bearable when they were confined to a bleak rock in the middle of the water, in a structure full of narrow nooks and dark crannies. It depressed him at times, and the Templar barracks got most of the day’s sunlight. If the public safety benefits weren’t so obvious… 

Samson gave him a sharp look, one eyebrow cocked so high it was almost comical. “You think he did this to himself? Look with your eyes, kid.”

Startled, Cullen turned back to the hanged man. He’d been absorbed in the tragedy of it, ignorant of certain signs that suddenly presented themselves with disturbing clarity. The lantern post protruded from the side of a building, one with no discernible ledge beneath it to stand on, and the cobblestones below were empty. His wrists, hung limp at his sides, were chafed raw, as if he’d been bound. 

Cullen’s throat tightened. He dropped his hand and stared at Samson. “He was already dead when he was put up there.” 

Samson let out a slow breath. “Sure seems like it.”

“Why?”

“Fuck if I know.” Samson’s grey eyes went unfocused as he gazed toward the mouth of the shadowy alley.

“We have to report this,” Cullen said, a nervous sort of excitement encroaching on his voice. “It’s murder.”

Samson seemed to be barely listening. “Meredith won’t like it.” 

“So?” Cullen retorted. “Since when have you cared about what Meredith thinks?” It was, in fact, a favorite pastime of Samson’s to complain about their Knight-Commander and the various ways she found his very existence offensive. 

“That’s not what I mean.” Samson returned his attention to Cullen. He had an intensity to him Cullen found rare in people. When Samson looked at you, he seemed to really see you, and care about what he saw. There were also times when his gaze meant he wanted you to see something the way he did, and Cullen was usually anxious to oblige. “She’ll try to bury it. One less apostate to reckon with? She’d probably shake this sick fuck’s bloody hand.” 

“I don’t think she’d go that far,” Cullen said, though even as he said it, he felt uncertain. Meredith had taken a certain liking to him since he’d arrived in Kirkwall, with frequent check ups to gently steer him in the right direction since his disastrous exit from Kinloch Hold. He had noticed a through line in their discussions were her concerns about security in the Gallows and the ongoing threat of blood magic. But would those concerns trump murder? Cullen couldn’t picture it. 

Samson shook his head. “She’ll take it from us for sure. Two miscreants in charge of a murder investigation?”

“Speak for yourself,” Cullen quipped. 

“From her point of view. You’re a miscreant-by-association, at the least.” 

Cullen sighed. “So what are you suggesting we do?” 

“Don’t know yet.” Samson rubbed his unshaven chin; his joints cracked as he worked his jaw. “Who wants escaped mages dead is a question. And it what it means to string ‘em up like that.” 

Cullen glanced uneasily up at Trystan Marsh’s body. “To send a message,” he said, feeling a chill despite the heat of the day. 

“Right. But to who? Other mages?” Samson’s gaze joined Cullen’s, lingering on the tight knot of the noose. “Or to us?”