#from the rich text tags as intended

[amadeusgame]

I have spent today working on what i thought would be a simple problem but turned out to be an immense headache. But the issues I encountered in figuring it out actually inspired me to build something fun and cool on purpose!

I'd already coded a mechanic that dynamically shows the text of the game letter-by-letter, and also allows for extra pauses mid-text.

As of yesterday, I started learning a lot more about TextMesh Pro in Unity, and wanted to experiment with changing styles/fonts mid-text. There are specific use cases for this in Amadeus that I think I can have a lot of fun with.

...This is a problem, because with my dynamic text mechanic, it would literally start typing the rich text codes (" <color="red"><font=... ") on screen like it did with all of the other text, and is not interpreted as code until all of the letters of the text codes have been written one-by-one.

^ Not the user experience you want for your visual novel.

So I spent all day completely re-working how my text appearance mechanic works so that it still does the dynamic pauses, still can read rich text tags, and also doesn't show any of the rich text tags (it types them all at once so you don't see them appear). You might think this would be simple but let me tell you: it was not.

Anyway, when I was 90% of the way there I encountered this funky glitch, because I hadn't properly rewritten my new text appearance coroutine. It made this kind of stuttery spooky text appear:

....and I thought it was really cool, although decidedly not what I was trying to do.

I did eventually get it to do what I actually want it to do! [You'll just have to imagine that it is appearing letter by letter, with dramatic pauses, and that the text codes were not drawn on-screen.]

.....but I really thought I might want to keep the stuttery spooky text in my back pocket for later, so I actually created a switch I can toggle if I want to make fucked up text on purpose!

Anyway, I'm not sure precisely where I will actually use this but I fully intend to. [rubs hands together evilly]

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 8.4k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation

series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter < spotify playlist

Year: DECEMBER, 2018

It was yet another night of bringing back Satoru from a party you didn’t know he was at. Another night of watching him mingle too closely for your liking with some random girl. A friend’s house party, he had told you. Satoru had sobered up slightly by the time you dragged him from that rich kid’s mansion back to his estate. Sober, but quiet. 

His quietness would usually throw you off, considering he could chat anyone’s ear off. But with the highs and lows of your disordered relationship, the quietness started to become a good thing. When it was quiet, it meant no one was voicing their opinions. And with no voiced opinions, no fighting, no crying, and no words of “needing space”.

So, you’d learned to treasure the silence, even if it was fragile. Even if it always came with that tight feeling in your chest, like walking on a wire you weren’t sure would hold. You preferred this version of him—hushed, head down, hands shoved in his pockets—over the witty, sharp-tongued man who knew exactly how to break you apart without even trying most times. 

The front door clicked shut behind you. He kicked off his shoes without looking at you, then padded quietly toward the kitchen. You stayed by the doorway, coat still on, watching him pull a glass from the cabinet like it was muscle memory.

“You want water?” he asked after a pause, back still turned.

“No,” you answered, softer than you intended.

He filled the glass anyway, drinking half of it in one go. You watched his shoulders rise and fall, tired, worn. Not from the party. From everything. From you, maybe.

“I didn’t want to go,” he muttered.

You raised a brow. “And yet, you did. And then you were the same one who told me to show up.”

“I’m sorry, I completely forgot I texted you. That was an accident.”

“Seems like everything is nowadays,” you easily quip back, arms crossed. He says nothing, looking off to the side as he finishes his cup of water and sets it on the countertop beside him.  You watch his subtle nervous tics—the way he taps his finger against his bicep, the clenching and unclenching of his jaw, and the way his eyes dart anywhere and everywhere, except your own pair. 

“Who was that girl?” You ask again, voice in a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” he says immediately. 

“Then why were you with her?”

“I was drunk.”

“Did you cheat on me?”

“I already said I didn’t.”

A beat of silence.

Your eyes remain fixed on him, but his still won’t meet yours. Instead, he stares at the sink, as if the answer might be written in the metal grooves of the basin or hiding in the drain.

You take a step forward. “So that’s it?”

He exhales through his nose, almost like a scoff, but not quite. “What else do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth.”

“I am telling you the truth,” he snaps, finally turning toward you, frustration flickering behind his eyes. “Why do you keep asking questions you’ve already made up your mind about?”

Your brows pinch. “Because when you lie, you never blink.”

He flinches, barely, but you catch it. You always do. And for a moment, the quiet returns. Not peace. Just stillness. That dangerous kind of silence—the kind that comes right before something breaks. Satoru runs a hand through his hair, breathing hard now. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I didn’t cheat on you,” he repeats, voice flat. “I danced with her. I talked with her. I don’t even remember half of it. But I didn’t fuck her or kiss her, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You stare at him. He finally meets your eyes.

“That still hurts, you know?” you murmur. “It still counts.”

He doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t apologize. Just looks at you like someone who doesn’t know what else to give. Like he’s already emptied his pockets and come up short.

“Did you want to?” You continue. 

“I didn’t.”

He says it a little too fast. A little too sharply. The kind of defensive answer that tastes more like fear than truth.

You nod slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. “…Right. Just drunk. Just forgot. Just an accident.”

Satoru finally looks at you, and that’s somehow worse. His expression is open, but not apologetic. It’s tired. He’s already lost something and is trying to figure out if it’s worth salvaging. “I didn’t sleep with her,” he says again, quieter now. “I swear to you. I didn’t.”

You believe him. You hate that you believe him. But the ache in your chest doesn’t lessen. Because it was never just about that. Not really.

“Then why’d she look at me like I was intruding?” you ask, arms tightening around yourself. “Why’d she touch you like she had the right to?”

“I—” He falters. “I let her.”

You swallow hard. “And that’s what hurts even more.”

The silence creeps in again. Heavy this time. Not the kind you’d grown to treasure, but the kind that confirmed what you both knew: you were always waiting for the next crack. And maybe this was it.

Satoru steps toward you, slow, hesitant. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You never do,” you whisper. “But somehow, you always end up with the pieces.”

There’s a beat of stillness before he speaks again, voice small. “Do you want to leave?”

You look at him. The man you’ve loved, and lost, and tried to love again. And your voice, steady but hollow, replies:

“Do you want me to?”

He stares and stares, and you resist the urge to look away with a burning onset of fresh tears. Holding your ground is something you’ve learned to do, something he’s helped you do, even if it means using it against him. His lips part, then close. He looks down at your hand before gazing into your eyes. 

He blinks. 

“No.”

The word hangs in the air between you, fragile but heavy.  You swallow the lump in your throat, heart pounding louder than the silence. For a moment, you imagine what it would be like to throw your arms around him, to press your face into his chest and let the tension slip away. To go back to how things were between you before all the mess. But the memory of every harsh word, every cold shoulder, every night spent alone after an argument pulls you back.

Then, his hand reaches out, tentative, trembling even, and you feel the weight of his uncertainty. You don’t pull away. You don’t step back. You let him take your hand, fingers curling around yours with a fragile grip. His other cups your cheek, leaning down to plant a sweet and soft kiss on your lips. His lips linger before drifting to your cheek and down your neck. His arm wrapping around your waist, you feel your body melting into his embrace. 

Your arms instinctively loop around his neck, letting out a wistful sigh, eyes closing. His lips reach a particularly sensitive spot he’s grown accustomed to showing extra attention to. Sucking at the area softly, teeth just barely grazing your skin to where it still feels pleasurable enough. You twitch, a moan rolling off the tip of your tongue, head lolling back. 

A low breath escapes him at the sound, fingers tightening just slightly on your waist as if anchoring himself to you—to this moment. His lips trail slowly back up, skimming along your jawline, reverent and slow, until his forehead rests against yours. “I miss you,” he murmurs, voice raw—cracked open in a way you hadn’t heard in months.

Your eyes flutter open, lids heavy, vision hazy from the heat of the moment and the storm of emotions behind it. “I’m still here,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if you mean it physically, emotionally, or as a plea for him to notice you—really notice you—again.

“For how long?” 

It’s like he’s constantly trying to give you ways out—his sorry attempt at saving you, even if it’s far too late. But there’s still that one part of you that keeps you tethered to this moment—to him. The part of you that doesn’t want to be saved. 

So your simple response is kissing him once more, reaching up to smash your lips into his, hands running through his hair. For a few seconds, he doesn’t move, as if debating something internally. And then, he’s all over you. 

His restraint shatters.

Satoru grips you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, like if he doesn’t hold you tight enough, this fragile thread between you will finally snap. His hands roam your back, desperate and warm, pulling you flush against him as his mouth claims yours over and over. Every kiss is filled with apology, with longing, with a thousand things he never found the words to say. He walks you back slowly, blindly, until the back of your knees hit the couch. You sink down together, his weight gentle but all-consuming as he follows you, lips never parting from yours. Fingers tangle in his hair, tugging, grounding yourself to him—to this reckless moment of pretending everything broken between you can be fixed with closeness.

“I feel like I’m losing you,” he breathes between kisses, forehead pressed to yours again, voice barely audible. “I feel like I already did.”

You don’t validate him. You don’t have to. The way you’re clutching him says enough. 

His hands slow, brushing up beneath your shirt with a familiar tenderness, as if asking—Is this still mine to touch? Are you still mine to hold? You nod, just slightly, barely a breath of motion, as if you’re unsure yourself. He waits a few seconds and then exhales shakily. That tiny gesture is enough to keep him afloat. 

His fingers undo the button of your pants, pulling down the zipper with practiced efficiency. Your own unbuckle his belt, throwing it off to the side. 

The clothes come off with the kind of quiet desperation that only familiarity breeds—not rushed, not slow either, just… necessary. Each layer removed feels like shedding another wall, a final plea to be vulnerable, to be seen. Not just skin-to-skin, but soul-to-soul, even if only for tonight.

Satoru kisses down your sternum, reverent again, almost worshipful. His fingers ghost down your sides, brushing the curve of your waist like he’s memorizing you all over again, or maybe making sure you’re still real. His mouth follows, trailing lower with a gentleness that borders on painful. When he comes back up to kiss you again, it’s softer than before, less desperate, more deliberate. His nose brushes yours, eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing tethering him to the earth. You think he wants to say something—maybe he almost does—but instead, he just presses his forehead to yours again.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you let him in.

Not only into your body—but into the parts of you you’d boarded up. The pieces that still loved him. The pieces that still wanted to love him. Maybe it’s foolish. Maybe it’s dangerous. But in this quiet, trembling moment of two people who never really stopped being each other’s, it feels like the only thing that makes sense. You’re not sure where things will go after this, if anything will change, if the damage can ever be undone, but right now, you’re his again. And he’s yours.

Even if only for tonight.

“Satoru,” you moan softly, back arching off the couch at the feeling of the top of his cock hitting your g-spot so deliciously. 

He groans as you squeeze around him, face screwing up. His heavy groans and pants fill your ear, your legs locking around his waist. “God…f-fuck—this—you.”

“Right there…please,” you whisper, breath fanning his cheek. 

His hips jutt, thrusting his thick cock harder. You cry out, nails digging into his back and scraping smooth lines of red down his silky skin. “Like that. Just like that,” he mumbles.

You cling to him like he’s the last thing tethering you to Earth—fingers pressed against the curve of his shoulder blades, mouth brushing his jaw as breathless pleas slip from your lips. The air between you is thick with heat and heartache, every movement laced with a need that goes far deeper than physical.

Satoru presses his forehead to yours again, his breath shuddering as he moves with a rhythm that feels more like an apology than desire. “I’m right here,” he murmurs, voice cracking at the edges. “I’ve got you.”

Your body reacts subconsciously, but it’s your heart that trembles. Raw, vulnerable, and still healing. Every time he murmurs your name, it lands somewhere deep, somewhere old and aching. The way he holds you feels like he’s trying to stitch the broken pieces back together with every motion, every whispered confession that never makes it fully into words.

His hand pinches and rubs your nipple between his fingers, and you bite hard on your lip. It roams down your stomach, feeling around your ribs before his thumb finds your pretty, puffy clit. With ease, he presses down with the flat of it. 

Your toes curl, eyes rolling back. Your limbs feel loose, brain mushy. He rubs before circling the bud, just how you like it. His eyes are laser-focused on your oh-so-pretty expressions. The expressions he’ll miss. He times the thrusts of his thick cock with the swirling of his thumb, fucking you compeltley dumb and boneless until all you could do is slur out meaningless mumbles, mixed with whimpered pleas of his name. 

Satoru leans in, lips brushing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, his breath uneven against your skin. “You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispers, his tone a mixture of awe and regret. “I fucking love you. I love you so fucking much, you make me—fuck—feel so g…good...”

Your hands find his face, thumbs tracing the curve of his cheekbones. For a moment, everything stills. Just the sound of your breaths, your heartbeats crashing together, bodies wrapped in something desperate and tender all at once. It’s more than lust. It’s grief, apology, love, and all the things left unsaid.

When he presses his lips to yours again, it’s slower this time. Deep. Full of meaning. Like he’s trying to tell you something he’s never been brave enough to say out loud.

His tongue slips into your mouth, exploring the wet cavern with desperation. 

His grip on your hip tightens, fingers pressing deep while his thrusts get faster, harder, more intentional. All you can do is cling to him, panting through your nostrils. When he pulls back, a thick line of saliva connects your mouths. His thumb flicks your clit. 

You squeeze. 

His cock twitches. 

“F-fuuuck. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, g-gonna…yeah—gonna come,” he quivers out, hips snapping against yours in a sloppy motion. 

“M-me too!” You whine, grip tightening into a fistful of his hair. 

You both border on the edge of finishing for more grueling minutes, as it always did when you two had sex. You both agreed it added to the fun and intensity of it all, edging being your second favorite thing. The first was when he’d moan and groan pathetically against you.

But something’s wrong.

You feel it before you hear it—the way his heart thuds irregularly beneath your hand, the way his breath catches not from exertion, but emotion, how his thrusts just barely stutter.

“Y/N…” he murmurs, voice nearly broken.

You shift slightly beneath him, shakily brushing damp hair from his forehead, eyes searching. “What is it?”

His head pulls back, and that’s when you see it. The faint sheen of tears lining his beautiful eyes. It almost breaks you instantly. 

“I…I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know who I am anymore. I know what I want, b-but I know what I don’t…either.”

If he wasn’t fucking you, you would’ve smacked his arm and told him to quit joking. Except he’s not joking, he’s dead serious. It’s almost a little hard to believe him considering he’s confessing in the middle of being balls deep in your cunt, but you assume he couldn’t find any other right time to do so. 

You can’t find your voice, so he continues. The hand that was on your hip traveling up to your cheek, gently cupping it. His thumb swipes the area beneath your eye with tenderness. “…I—I think we need to figure ourselves out.”

“No,” you choke out, unaware of the tears that stream down your cheeks. Your arms tighten around his neck, legs as well. You cling to him like he’s your savior, like he’s the only one you have left. 

And well, he is. 

That’s what makes him feel even more shitty about doing this. 

“S-satoru—”

“I know. ‘M sorry, I’m…I’m really sorry, Y/N.” A tear falls from his cheek down to yours, his thrusts growing slower, but still as pleasurable. 

“Y-you don’t know!” You shout.

His lips tremble against yours, the motion almost reverent now—slow, shaky, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth before it’s too late. He’s still inside you, still moving, but the urgency is gone. Replaced by something heavier. Final.

“Promise me, Y/N. Please, promise me.”

You blink through the tears, breath catching painfully in your chest. “Promise you what?” you ask, voice cracking open like the rest of you.

He closes his eyes as if your question physically hurts him. And it does.

He blinks them open. “We should have nothing to do with each other. I-it’s not doing anything good for us. So…don’t look for me. Don’t do it. And I won’t look for you.”

Your whole body stills beneath him. It’s like someone has pulled the air out of your lungs, out of the room, out of the world. And yet he stays inside you, forehead pressed to yours, as if hoping to stay close enough to soften the blow.

“That’s not fair,” you whisper. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him impossibly closer. “You don’t get to hold me like this, do these things to me, say stuff like that—then ask me to pretend we don’t exist.”

He’s crying now. Really crying. Silent tears trailing down his cheeks, his body trembling ever so slightly. “I know,” he breathes, like it’s a confession. “But if I don’t say it now, I won’t be able to walk away. Neither will you.”

You press your lips together to keep from sobbing. Your chest heaves with the weight of heartbreak, confusion, and the cruel irony of intimacy turning into goodbye. Still connected in the most vulnerable of ways, the silence stretches long between you—thick, suffocating, sacred.

“You’re still everything to me,” you say softly, lips brushing his cheek.

“And you always will be,” he murmurs. “But sometimes love isn’t enough.”

Then, with devastating gentleness, he spurts his seed inside you. He lies still for a few seconds before he pulls out of you—like he’s trying not to break you more than he already has—and gathers you into his arms.

For the last time.

The following morning was the last time you saw him for five years. 

He said nothing, he didn’t cry anymore, he didn’t try to stop you from putting whatever valuables you had at his house in a box before his parents came home from a trip. He just watched silently. He didn’t hug you, didn’t kiss you. 

You wanted to slap him. Curse him. Maybe kill him. 

But you didn’t. You blinked through your blurry vision, hiccuping heaving breaths, hands trembling. 

He stood in the hallway like a ghost—like he wasn’t really there, like you weren’t really there either. Just a moment passing through him. Just a chapter he refused to reread. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the shoebox as you stepped past him, waiting… hoping… that he’d reach out. That he’d do something.

But he didn’t.

Not when you brushed past him. Not when you paused at the door, turning one last time with red-rimmed eyes and a silent plea. Not even when your lips parted to say goodbye, but no sound came out.

Was it really this easy for him? He must’ve been preparing for this moment now for ages. You did this, didn’t you?

He just stood there. A statue. An ending.

So you walked out. And the door clicked shut behind you like the final nail in the coffin.

Five years.

Five years of silence.

Five years of learning not to look for him in every man you talk to.

Five years of learning how to breathe without him in your lungs.

You hated him for making it easier with each year that passed. You hated yourself more for wishing it hadn’t been.

And yet—no matter how much time passed, no matter how much healing you forced yourself through—there was still that part of you, small and bitter and quietly aching, that whispered: He didn’t even say goodbye.

That’s why your eyes tear up five years later when you see the way a boyish smile makes way onto his dimpled cheeks after giving you your housewarming gift after officially moving into the new place he got you and Koji. 

Because after everything—after the years of silence, of rebuilding your life without him, of nights spent convincing Koji that no, there was no one else coming to dinner—he’s here.

Standing in your living room like he belongs there. Like he never left.

And it should make you suspicious. Should make you slam the door in his face, scream every unspoken word that’s lived in your chest since the moment he let you walk away without a fight. 

But then he grins wider.

That same crooked, too-charming smile that used to melt you in the middle of fights. That always preceded trouble. That lit up the darkest corners of your life. He holds out the box wrapped in glossy paper like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “Thought this would help you get back into the groove of things,” he says, trying too hard to sound relaxed.

You take it slowly. Fingers brushing his. A tremble you try to mask as a chill. “What is it?”

“That’s why you open it.”

Your throat tightens at the simple reply. You hate how familiar this feels. How easy it would be to fall back into old rhythms, into old mistakes. You shouldn’t be letting him stand here. You shouldn’t be letting him smile at you like that.

But your hands are already peeling away the wrapping paper.

Inside is a ceramic watering can—cream-colored, minimalistic, just like the ones you always pointed out in those expensive catalogs you couldn’t afford back then. The ones he used to say were “boring” before secretly bookmarking them. Except there’s a painting of what can only be Koji’s work, including his mother, him, and his father, all holding hands. You swallow hard as you turn it in your hands.

“Since you have a little patio now, I figured you could get back into planting. Maybe some tulips, peonies, or purple hyacinths.” He shrugs, hands stuffed into his pockets. 

Your lip quivers before you can stop it.

“Don’t cry,” he says with that soft, teasing lilt in his voice—the one you used to fall asleep to years ago. “You’ll make me feel like I got you a vacuum or something.”

You laugh, but it cracks, just a little. Your eyes sting as you set the water can gently on the counter. And then you look at him. “Thank you, Satoru. I—You’ve done a lot for Koji and me when you didn’t have to. This means a lot to me and I really appreciate it.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he sighs, looking off toward the living room where Koji is already making a mess of his excessive number of toys. “I know our…situation is different, less than ideal. But I still have an obligation to my son and his mother, which starts with a safe home. One where his mom can get back into her old habits.” He gestures to the watering can, looking back at you. 

You nod, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter behind you as if bracing yourself. “It’s a beautiful gift. Koji must’ve had fun painting it.”

“He was insistent that I draw myself taller,” Satoru chuckles, gaze softening. “I told him I’m already the tallest person he knows. He said I needed to look more like a tree.”

You smile, genuinely this time, but there’s still that ache behind your ribs. Like a door that was supposed to stay locked has started to creak open again. Silence settles between you for a moment, filled only by the muffled sounds of Koji’s playtime.

Then, more quietly, you say, “Can…Can I give you a hug?”

Satoru looks at you for a beat too long, the kind of pause that says he wasn’t expecting that. The kind that makes you immediately regret asking. But then his mouth twitches, softening into something you remember—something warm, steady, like the way he used to reach for your hand in the middle of the night without even waking up.

“You don’t have to ask,” he says, already closing the distance.

You meet him halfway, arms wrapping around his middle as his come up around your shoulders, firm and gentle all at once. He holds you like he’s afraid you might disappear, like he’s only just now realizing how long it’s been since he got to do this. And for a moment—just one brief, fragile moment—you let yourself lean into him. Let yourself be held.

You breathe him in. That familiar, dangerous cologne with faint traces of Koji’s toothpaste on his sleeve. The warmth of him against you brings you boosted levels of serotonin. Your hands tighten on the fabric of his jacket.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur into his chest.

His arms tense, then relax again. “Don’t be.”

You pull back slightly to look at him, and his hands linger at your waist like he doesn’t want to let go just yet. “I mean it,” you say. “For the way things ended. For keeping him from you. I thought I was protecting Koji. But maybe…I was just trying to protect myself. I don’t think I can ever apologize enough for what I did.”

Satoru’s smile falters, his eyes scanning your face like he’s memorizing every part of this version of you, this quieter, softer one shaped by years apart and everything unspoken between you.

He exhales slowly, thumb brushing against your side like he’s grounding himself. “You were scared,” he says, voice lower now. “You had every right to be. I was reckless. Arrogant. Hell, I didn’t even know what I wanted until it was too late.”

You shake your head, guilt pinching at your ribs. “No, don’t make this about you. I made choices too. I chose to run instead of letting you try.”

Satoru leans in, forehead nearly resting against yours. “And now?”

You hesitate. The weight of everything hangs between you. The years, the pain, the distance, the child just in the living room. 

“Now…I’m trying to stop running. At least from you.”

That’s when his hand rises, gently cupping your cheek. “Then let me catch up,” he whispers, the plea in his voice trembling at the edges.

Your breath stutters in your chest. This moment, it’s too much, too intimate, too soon. And yet you don’t move. You can’t. But just as his lips barely brush your forehead, a loud crash erupts from the living room, followed by Koji yelling, “I didn’t mean to!”

You both freeze, the air between you crackling with what almost was. Then Satoru pulls back with a quiet, rueful chuckle. “Sounds like our son just broke something valuable.”

You blink at the words—our son—the way he says it so naturally now. You offer a soft smile. “I hope it wasn’t your expensive Lego set.”

“Please. Those are a business investment,” he grins, already heading toward the culprit.

As he walks off to check on Koji, you’re left leaning against the counter, heart thudding. The watering can still sits beside you. A little crooked painting of your family stares back at you. And for the first time in a long time, it doesn’t feel like a dream you don’t deserve.

It feels like the start of something you might be brave enough to hope for again.

“My buddy Nanami says these are good for kids.”

You blink down at the box he’s holding. “Those are literally dried seaweed snacks.”

Satoru shrugs, tossing them into the cart anyway. “They’ve got iron. And they’re crunchy. Kids love crunchy things.”

You roll your eyes, amused despite yourself. “Your buddy Nanami probably meant for kids who don’t gag on anything green.”

“Koji eats crayons, I think we can get him to chew some seaweed.” He rolls his eyes before strolling ahead, pushing the cart like he owns the place.

You follow, biting back a smile. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, and shelves are packed with items that seem way too expensive. Luckily, it’s not your bill. 

“Do you even know what I need?” you ask as you catch up.

“I know you need snacks, juice boxes, and something for dinner that won’t involve me setting the kitchen on fire.”

“So, takeout?”

He gasps dramatically. “Have some faith in me, woman. I can make spaghetti. With meatballs. That’s like…parenting level five.”

You laugh softly, reaching for a can of tomatoes and dropping it into the cart. “We’ll see if Koji makes it past one bite.”

“Mama! Can we get this one?!”

You turn just in time to see Koji waddling over, arms wrapped around a neon-colored cereal box that definitely wasn’t on your list.

“Koji, that’s all sugar,” you warn gently, crouching down. “We talked about this, remember? Something with less…rainbows.”

“But it has marshmallows shaped like planets!” he insists, eyes wide, shaking the box for emphasis. “And a rocket ship toy inside!”

Satoru leans over your shoulder with mock seriousness. “You’re outnumbered. Planet marshmallows are a once-in-a-lifetime culinary experience.”

You sigh, standing and fixing him with a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I’m building morale,” he says, taking the cereal from Koji and dropping it into the cart with a wink. “Also, I want to see what the Saturn marshmallow tastes like.”

Koji cheers, scampering ahead toward the snack aisle like he’s won a war. You watch him go, shaking your head with a reluctant smile. “You’re spoiling him.”

“He’s a kid,” Satoru replies, casually tossing a pack of onigiri into the cart. “Isn’t that our job?”

You hum, thoughtful. It’s strange, standing here like this—shopping for dinner, bickering over snacks, making tiny compromises. It feels…normal. Too normal. Like the calm before a storm. But even as you brace for it, there’s something comforting about how easily he fits into this picture.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you murmur as you walk beside him.

He smirks. “What gave it away? The cereal or the emotional intimacy?”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Definitely the cereal.”

“Not the meatballs?” he grins.

You roll your eyes. “Go look for the rest of the stuff on the list, please. I’m gonna go make sure Koji isn’t raiding the snack aisle.”

Satoru offers a lazy salute. “Yes, ma’am. Anything to avoid being guilt-tripped over cereal.”

You shake your head as he strolls off, already distracted by a wall of oddly-shaped pasta. Turning on your heel, you make your way down the bright aisles, eyes scanning for that familiar mop of messy, white hair and sticky hands. It doesn’t take long to find him—Koji is sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by three open bags of chips and a very confused store clerk hovering nearby.

“Koji,” you sigh, walking over. “Baby, you can’t open things before we pay for them.”

“But I was taste testing!” he beams up at you, crumbs all over his shirt. “This one is too spicy, but this one tastes like pillows.”

A poor teenage employee glances at you, clearly panicked. “Uh—ma’am? Should I—do I need to…get someone, or…?”

You gently place a hand on Koji’s head and offer the boy a tight smile. “It’s fine. We’ll pay for everything.” Then, to Koji: “And you’re not supposed to eat things that taste like pillows. We’ll talk about that in the car.”

You usher him to his feet and start dusting crumbs from his pants. You grab the bags he’s opened with one hand, using the other to hold his hand. “No more snacks, Koji. We need to go to the other aisles now.”

Koji pouts but doesn’t protest as you guide him over to the produce section. Diligently eyeing your next few purchases, ensuring the produce looks right. As you’re leaning over a bin of apples, testing for firmness, Koji clings to your thigh with one arm and gnaws the corner of the chip bag you couldn’t pry from his hands. You’re too focused on choosing between Gala and Fuji to notice the man approaching until his shadow falls over the fruit.

“They really upped the price for these.”

You startle a bit at the nonchalance of the newcomer. Looking to your left, a tall man with brown hair is picking up one apple, inspecting it. He sighs, then gives you a polite grin. “Inflation, am I right? Remember when they were just a couple bucks.”

You offer a polite smile, shifting slightly so Koji is tucked closer to your side as his tiny hands cling to your skirt. “Yeah… everything’s gone up lately.”

The man chuckles, tossing an apple into his basket. He’s good-looking in a clean-cut, office-worker kind of way. Nice watch, rolled sleeves, the faintest whiff of designer cologne. “They say it’s the economy, but I’m convinced it’s just a clever way to make me pay more for mediocre fruit.”

You let out a soft, polite laugh, already glancing back toward where Satoru wandered off to.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” the man continues, taking a casual step closer, clearly encouraged by your response. “New to the area?”

You tense, but keep your tone neutral. “Kind of.”

He nods, glancing down at Koji. “Cute kid. He yours?”

You nod, placing a hand gently on Koji’s back as he reaches toward the display of grapes. “Yep.”

“Well,” the man says, smile widening as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone, “If you ever need help navigating the neighborhood—best parks, cafes, good wine shops—I’d be happy to give you a tour. I’m Mark, by the way.”

You hesitate, blinking. He’s not being aggressive, just… confident. And that somehow makes it worse. “Oh, I—that’s okay. I don’t need a guide.”

Mark chuckles, undeterred by your polite decline. “Sure, sure. No pressure.” He lifts his hands in mock surrender, still holding that easygoing smile. “Just figured I’d shoot my shot. Hard not to when you’ve got such a lovely face.”

You force another tight smile, your fingers brushing over Koji’s tiny waves, grounding yourself. “Thanks. But I’m really not looking for anything.”

“Fair enough,” he says, but then—he lingers. His eyes drag a bit too long across your face, down to your hand on Koji’s shoulder, then flick quickly to your left hand. No ring. His smile flickers with something a little more interested now. “So uh…how old's the little one.”

“Kindergartener,” you reply cooly, looking away and stepping over to the celery and avocados. 

“Ah,” Mark nods, subtly following your side, pretending to look at the same things you are. “Is he albino?”

You stop and look at him, head tilting slightly. “No,” your voice is steady, “his father just has very light features.”

“He said we can’t talk to strangers,” Koji’s mumbled voice speaks up, but he clears it and grabs your hand, leading you a few steps away. 

“Is that so? Well, your daddy must be a smart man.”

“Yep, and daddy’s around here somewhere.” You nod briefly, a silent marker that you’re heading your own way now. 

“Daddy’s right here.”

You jolt slightly at the sensation of a warm arm sliding around your waist, Satoru making his presence known as he stands between you and Mark. Nonchalantly ripping the avocado out of Mark’s hand. He hums and tilts his head before tossing it back into the pile. He feels around for a ripe one. “And who’s this?” He gestures with his head towards Mark. 

Mark blinks, momentarily thrown off. His smile falters just a little—but not enough. “Just saying hi,” he replies, straightening up. “Didn’t realize you were…uh, together.”

Satoru hums, tone light but razor-edged. “Yeah, easy mistake. Not everyone’s bold enough to flirt with a mom while our kid’s holding her hand.” He smiles as he lifts a ripe avocado to eye level. “But hey, you gave it a good shot. Ten points for confidence.”

Mark’s smile falters again. “Wasn’t trying to cause trouble.”

“Mm. That’s good,” Satoru says with a nod, finally releasing the avocado he’s selected and dropping it into the cart, you didn’t even notice him roll over. “Because I’d hate to cause a scene. Produce sections are sacred.”

“I was just making conversation,” Mark says smoothly, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “Like I said, I didn’t realize she was with someone.”

“Yeah, well,” Satoru says airily, squeezing your hip for emphasis, “Now you do, yeah?” He offers a bright, toothy grin—one that doesn’t reach his eyes. 

You huff a quiet breath—amused, relieved, a little embarrassed—but you don’t pull away.

Mark, for his part, seems to pick up the shift in tone. His smile vanishes into something tight. “Right. My bad.”

Satoru hums, finally facing him completely. He’s taller than Mark, having to angle his neck down slightly. “No harm done. Just don’t go getting too familiar with other people’s families.”

Mark meets his gaze for a long beat, the air thick between them. Then he lets out a short, humorless chuckle. “Sure. Good luck with the shopping.” He takes a careful step back. “Nice meeting you both.”

Satoru raises his fingers in a lazy farewell. “Likewise. Try the bananas next time.”

You watch Mark retreat down the aisle, and only then does Satoru sigh, turning toward you with a casual lean. 

Silence lingers for a second. Then:

“I was gone for five minutes,” Satoru mutters, leaning against the cart with a sigh. “I leave and some discount finance bro tries to slide in?”

You exhale, still holding Koji close, trying to shake the edge of unease that lingers. “He was… persistent, to say the least.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “You attract the weirdest types. Like moths to a flame.”

“I think it’s the fact that I don’t walk around swinging like a wrecking ball of intimidation,” you mutter, heart still beating a little too fast.

Satoru leans in with a grin, brushing a barely-there kiss against your temple. “Nah. It’s ‘cause you’re hot and look like you need saving.”

“I don’t need saving,” you grumble, adjusting Koji’s sleeve.

He shrugs and pulls back, pushing the cart as you follow. “Yeah, but it’s more fun when I pretend you do.”

Koji tugs at your shirt. “Mama, who was that?”

“A stranger, baby.” You move some hair out his face. 

Koji frowns in thought. “That man was weird.”

“He was,” Satoru agrees, dropping iceberg lettuce into the cart. “Probably sells fake crypto courses online.”

You sigh heavily, pausing by the parsley. Satoru stops with you, noticing your expression. His voice grows quieter, hand gently patting your lower back. “You okay?”

You nod, reaching to grab a bundle of parsley. “I’m fine. Just weird.”

Satoru watches you for a second longer, his teasing demeanor slipping into something more careful. Protective. He doesn’t say anything at first, just shifts closer, hand still on your back like he’s anchoring you. 

“Let’s get out of here soon,” he says quietly, his voice low enough that only you can hear it. “We’ve got most of what we need. Spaghetti’s easy. You, me, Koji—one normal night.”

You glance up at him, grateful. “Normal sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” He smiles, giving your back one last pat before going over to the checkout with you and Koji in tow. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Go for it,” he responds, opening the cupboard to put the new pots and pans he bought for you away. 

You’re currently storing all the food that could probably last you an entire month in the pantry. You hesitate, unsure of how much of a sensitive topic this could be, but you bite the bullet. “How’s Suguru?”

He pauses, not sparing a glance over at you. He clears his throat and continues. “Fine, I think.”

“You think?” You look at him. 

“Yeah, I think. I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

Guilt shoots up your spine, a frown pulling at your lips. Memories flood you of that dreadful night. The one where you almost kissed his best friend, and you thought you’d have to break up a man fight. Knowing you’re the cause of the small hiatus put on their friendship makes you wish you could turn back time. “I’m sorry.”

Satoru doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps arranging the pans, movements slower, more thoughtful. The air feels heavier now, less like home, more like a pause neither of you wanted to admit was coming. Finally, he exhales through his nose, closing the cabinet gently before leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. “It’s not your fault,” he says, voice even, but his eyes flicker with something more tired than usual. “Suguru makes his own choices. Always has.”

You swallow. “But if I hadn’t—”

He cuts you off gently, shaking his head. “It wasn’t about almost kissing him.” His voice is softer now, but there’s something unspoken threading through each word. “It was about the fact that he didn’t stop it either.”

That stings. You look down at the box of granola bars in your hand, heart thudding with that old familiar guilt. “I didn’t want it to happen. I just… I was in a bad place.”

“I know,” he says quickly. “I know that now.”

You nod slowly, setting the box down and bracing your palms against the counter. “I just wish you two could fix things. You’ve been friends since forever, and now it’s like—”

“Like we’re strangers,” he finishes for you, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. Trust me, I feel it too.”

Silence stretches between you for a beat, and you gauge his expression. “You should talk to him. He’s already set a boundary with me after it happened. But I don’t want to be the reason you guys aren’t close anymore.”

Satoru watches you for a long moment, eyes unreadable, jaw clenched like he’s holding back words he doesn’t want to admit. Then he drags a hand through his hair, sighing hard as he drops his gaze to the floor. “I’ve thought about it,” he says finally, voice low. “More than once. But every time I get close to reaching out, I think about that night… and I don’t know what I’d even say.” His fingers drum anxiously against his bicep. “Like, how do you come back from that?”

You step closer, hesitant. “Maybe it’s not about fixing everything in one conversation. Maybe it’s just… showing up. Letting him know you still care.”

He doesn’t answer right away. You can tell he’s deep in that mental space where his pride and pain wrestle with each other. Eventually, he mutters, “We were supposed to be unshakable, you know? Like, no matter what. And then it got real messy, real fast.”

You nod quietly. “It did. But you’ve forgiven me. Maybe part of forgiving him is just… letting him know that.”

He finally looks at you, eyes softer now, tired but warm. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Maybe.”

You finish putting the groceries away. “Just call him, it wouldn’t hurt, right?” A gentle suggestion. 

Satoru watches you close the pantry door and wipe your hands on your skirt like you’re trying to wipe away the tension, too. You look over your shoulder at him with that soft, hopeful expression, the one that always makes it hard for him to say no. 

He shrugs one shoulder, casual in appearance, but you can tell he’s still turning it over in his head. “Wouldn’t hurt,” he echoes, but there’s a hint of uncertainty in his tone. “Might hurt a little, actually. But maybe that’s the point.”

You step toward him, closing the distance just enough to gently nudge his arm. “Even if it’s awkward at first. Even if he doesn’t pick up. At least you tried.”

He gives a breathy laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “You always make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admit. “But neither is letting someone you love slip away.”

That lands. You can tell by the way his mouth twitches—like he wants to say something else, something deeper—but instead, he pulls out his phone and taps the screen a few times before holding it up in a silent offering.

You blink at him. “You’re calling him now?”

“Don’t look so surprised,” he smirks, though it’s a little shaky around the edges. “I’m impulsive, remember?”

The dial tone fills the space between you.

“Stop stringing her along, okay? I want no drama.”

“I’m not, cousin!” Naoya huffs childishly. 

“Really? So what do you call using her for information on Gojo for our own personal gain?” Toji raises a brow, buff arms crossed over his chest. 

“Look,” he rolls his eyes. “Hana’s a nice girl, what if I like her just to like her?”

“You have higher standards than any woman I know.”

Naoya snorts, shaking his head with a grin. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m just lowering the bar for once.”

Toji smirks, stepping closer, voice low but teasing. “Careful, or you’ll end up stuck with a lifetime supply of disappointment.”

Naoya laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Better than being stuck alone, right?”

Toji raises his hand, flicking his cousin’s forehead. “End it. We don’t need you playing secret agent.”

Naoya winces at the flick, rubbing his forehead with a scowl. “You act like I don’t know how to handle her.”

“That’s the problem,” Toji retorts, stepping back and leaning against the counter with a look that borders on both exasperation and warning. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, but she’s not just some pawn. If she finds out you’re using her—”

Naoya scoffs, but there’s a flicker of unease in his eyes. “She won’t.”

Toji levels him with a sharp look. “You sure about that?”

A beat passes.

Naoya looks away first, lips tightening into a thin line. “She trusts me.”

Toji snorts. “Then all the more reason to quit while you’re ahead.”

The silence that follows is heavier than either of them wants to admit. Naoya doesn’t respond right away, instead pulling his phone from his pocket and glancing at a message from Hana—something innocent, casual. A little too kind for the way he’s been treating her.

A pitter-patter of tiny feet is heard against the polished tiles. Toji’s attention is immediately torn away from his idiotic cousin to his six-year-old son. A smile graces his lips, his scar stretching up. “Sup, buddy. How was school?” 

Megumi’s black spiky hair looks messier than when he left, taking off his school backpack. His uniform has splotches of green paint, arms reaching up for his father. “Okay,” he mumbles back. 

Toji bends down and scoops Megumi up with ease, holding him against his hip like it’s second nature. “Green paint, huh?” he teases, brushing his thumb against a streak on the boy’s collar. “You wrestle an art project or something?”

Megumi nods with a serious little frown. “We painted frogs.”

“Frogs?” Toji grins, walking toward the kitchen table with him. “Lemme guess—yours was the coolest?”

“No,” Megumi says flatly. “Mine looked like a blob. Teacher said it was ‘expressive.’”

Toji chuckles, setting him down on a chair and ruffling his hair. “Well, expressive blob or not, sounds like a masterpiece to me.”

Naoya watches the scene quietly from the side, arms crossed, lips pulled in a tight line, though there’s a flicker of something softer in his gaze. He clears his throat, forcing a grin. “Kid’s got more personality than half the people in this house.”

Toji shoots him a glare. “Don’t start.”

Megumi blinks at Naoya, then turns to his dad. “Is he staying for dinner?”

Toji smirks. “Only if he promises not to be annoying.”

Naoya holds up his hands in surrender. “No promises, but I’ll keep it PG for the kid.”

Megumi huffs, already pulling out a crumpled piece of paper from his bag. “I drew a ninja too. Want to see?”

Toji leans over, genuinely interested. “Hell yeah, show me.” 

He motions to be let down, and Toji complies. He zips open his backpack for the ninja piece. “Mr. Tanaka said we’re getting a new student soon, I can show him my drawing.”

Toji crouches beside him, watching as Megumi pulls out the wrinkled sheet of paper, proudly smoothing it across the table. “Think he’ll like ninjas too?” he asks, studying the tiny stick-figure warrior with a sword and an oversized headband.

Megumi shrugs, not looking up. “Maybe. But if he doesn’t, I’ll show him the frog.”

Toji chuckles, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Good plan. Win him over with options.”

Naoya leans against the counter, watching with a lazy expression. “You’re already working on your charm, huh? Got that from your old man?”

Megumi looks at him unimpressed. “I got it from TV.”

Toji bursts out laughing. “Smart kid.” He ruffles Megumi’s hair again, softer this time, his voice a bit more thoughtful. “New student, huh? Be nice to him, yeah? It’s tough being the new kid.”

Megumi nods without hesitation. “I will. Yuuji and Nobara said the new student could play tag with us at recess.” 

For a fleeting moment, Toji’s expression flickers—something distant and unreadable passing over his face. But it’s gone just as fast, replaced by the usual crooked smile. “That’s my boy.”

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[luckyroll3]

Thank You, Daddy Chapter 1

Masterlist and Summary

Warnings: This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only. Includes explicit sexual content, graphic language, sex work, power dynamics, daddy kink, possessive behavior, etc. Author chooses to not extensively tag in order to preserve some elements of storytelling.

Word Count: 7,496

The sleek black SUV limo glides to a stop on the curb like a shark in dark water, and your pulse quickens—not from nerves, but anticipation. Jisung never keeps you waiting; the door swings open before you can reach for the handle, and there he is, a boyish grin contradicting the wealth that surrounds him. His eyes light up when they land on you, taking in your coral-colored crop top and black skinny jeans, that familiar spark that makes this feel less like work and more like pleasure with a paycheck attached.

"You look fucking incredible," he says, voice dropping an octave as he pulls you inside, the door barely closing before his mouth claims yours.

His kiss tastes like mint and the expensive Japanese whiskey he favors; it’s familiar, intoxicating. Your fingers thread through his soft hair as you settle into his lap, the buttery leather seats creaking beneath your combined weight. Five years of knowing exactly how to touch each other has its benefits.

"Missed me?" you ask against his lips, already knowing the answer.

Jisung laughs, his hands finding the curve of your ass. "Always fishing for compliments."

"It's not fishing when I know I'll catch something."

The limo pulls away from the curb, privacy partition already raised; it’s another thing you appreciate about Jisung: his attention to details that matter. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts through your shirt. “No bra. Just the way I like it,” he says before kissing your neck.

"So," you pull back slightly, "what's this mystery adventure you've been texting about all week?"

His eyes dance with mischief. "Remember when I asked what you did for fun as a kid?"

"And I told you I never really had time for—"

"For childish things," he finishes. "Yeah, you’ve mentioned. Well, today we're reclaiming your lost childhood. Prepare for sensory overload and possibly some bruised pride."

Twenty minutes later, you're staring at the entrance to Velocity Park, an adult playground disguised as a high-end entertainment complex. The place buzzes with energy—couples, groups of friends, corporate team-building exercises all mingling in a space designed to make adults forget their responsibilities.

"You're either very thoughtful or making a statement about my maturity level," you say, eyebrow raised.

Jisung grabs your hand, tugging you toward the entrance. "Can't it be both?"

Inside, he bypasses the line, a quick word with staff guiding you straight to the go-kart track. Not the kiddie version you'd expect—these are custom-built machines with surprising power. Your competitive nature flares instantly.

"I hope you're not a sore loser," you say, selecting a sleek black kart while Jisung opts for electric blue.

He snorts. "That's rich coming from someone who threw her cards at me when I beat her at strip poker last month."

"I was redistributing the deck. Totally different."

The attendant explains the controls, but you're barely listening, already plotting the precise moments you'll overtake him on the curves. When the light turns green, you slam the accelerator, the kart lurching forward with unexpected force.

Jisung's laugh carries over the roar of engines as he pulls alongside you. "Careful, killer—it's not just about speed!"

But it is, and you're good at it. The track blurs as you take each curve with increasing confidence, the rush of competing—of winning—flooding your system. Jisung stays close, occasionally pulling ahead before you reclaim the lead, the back-and-forth adding a delicious tension.

"On your left, slow poke!" you shout as you slide past him on a hairpin turn, the kart skidding dangerously close to the barrier.

"Jesus Christ," he calls back, voice pitching higher. "Did you drive getaway cars in another life?"

You throw your head back laughing, the wind whipping your hair into a frenzy. When was the last time you did something this pointless and perfect? Your clients usually want restaurants, hotels, theater boxes—controlled environments where they can showcase their wealth. This is raw, childish fun, and it lights you up from inside.

Three laps later, you cross the finish line a half-second before him, victorious and breathless.

"You cheated," he accuses when you climb out, legs wobbly with adrenaline.

"How exactly does one cheat at go-karts?"

"By looking so fucking hot that I couldn't concentrate." His hand finds the small of your back, warm through the thin material of your shirt. "Next challenge. Unless you're scared?"

The batting cages await, and here Jisung has the advantage. The mechanical pitcher whirs to life, sending balls flying at speeds that make you flinch.

"Here," he says, standing behind you, arms encircling your body as he positions your hands on the bat. "Elbow up. Eyes on the ball. Swing through, not at."

His chest presses against your back, his breath warm against your ear. The position is deliberately intimate, his hips aligned with yours, guiding your movement in a way that mimics other, more private rhythms. The bat feels foreign in your hands, but his confidence bleeds into you.

"Ready?" he murmurs, and you nod.

The first ball flies past untouched. The second you clip weakly. By the fifth, with Jisung's steady guidance, you connect solidly, sending the ball ricocheting off the back net with a satisfying clang.

"I did it!" You turn in his arms, face flushed with unexpected pride.

His eyes soften. "Quick learner. Always have been."

The comment hangs between you, loaded with five years of history—of learning his body, his preferences, the exact pressure that makes him groan your name. You've been a quick study in all the ways that matter to your livelihood, but Jisung has always appreciated the skill rather than taking it for granted.

"Your turn," you say, stepping aside. "Show me how it's done, big shot."

He takes the bat, shifting into a practiced stance. Three perfect hits later, he tosses you a wink. "Some of us had normal childhoods with Little League and pizza parties."

"Some of us had to grow up fast." The words slip out before you can filter them, more honest than you usually allow yourself to be with most of your clients.

Jisung's expression shifts, a flicker of something deeper before he masks it with another smile. "All the more reason to play now."

The arcade section of the park is a fever dream of neon and noise—classic cabinets mixed with modern racing simulators and virtual reality stations. Jisung feeds a ridiculous amount of money into a machine that converts cash to a playing card, then drags you to a two-player shooting game.

"Winner gets a kiss," he declares, aiming the plastic rifle to select his character.

"And what does the loser get?"

His grin turns wolfish. "A better kiss."

You lose the first round deliberately, earning a gentle press of lips that leaves you wanting. The second game—air hockey—you dominate, grabbing the front of his shirt afterward to deliver a kiss that lingers, your tongue pushing against his before retreating.

"Fuck," he breathes when you pull away. "Maybe I should let you win more often."

Game after game, you trade victories and kisses, each one growing more heated than the last. Between rounds, secrets spill easier—he tells you about a new acquisition his company is eyeing, you share a story about your first client that you've never told anyone else. It's the strange intimacy that comes from knowing this isn't love, this isn't forever, this is just an honest exchange of money and time that somehow, over the years, has cultivated genuine affection, and surprisingly, friendship.

By the time you both stumble back to the waiting limo, your lips are swollen and your body thrums with need. The door barely closes before Jisung is on you, his usually playful demeanor sharpened into something hungrier.

"Tell the driver to take the long way," you murmur against his mouth as his hands work at the button of your jeans. "We're not nearly done playing."

"Already did." His fingers slide beneath the waistband of your underwear, finding you wet and ready.

"Always thinking ahead."

Your jeans and underwear disappear in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter as he positions you on the seat, kneeling on the floor between your spread thighs. This intimacy—his mouth on you—is a privilege you grant to very few clients. But Jisung has earned your trust (and your real name), and more importantly, he knows exactly how to make you fall apart.

His tongue traces lazy circles around your clit, taunting rather than giving you what you need. You thread your fingers through his hair, tugging impatiently.

"Someone's eager," he murmurs against your sensitive flesh, the vibration of his voice sending shivers up your spine.

"Someone's a tease," you counter, lifting your hips in silent demand.

He laughs, then relents, sucking your clit between his lips with just the right pressure. Your head falls back against the seat, a moan escaping before you can contain it. Jisung knows your body like a familiar instrument—when to go slow, when to speed up, when to slip two fingers inside you and curl them just so.

"Fuck, right there," you gasp as the tension builds, your thighs trembling on either side of his head.

He doesn't stop, doesn't slow, his eyes locked on your face as pleasure crests and breaks through you in waves. Before you've fully recovered, he's reaching for his wallet, extracting a condom while you watch through half-lidded eyes.

"Come here," he says, voice rough with want as he settles back on the seat, pants pushed down just enough to free his cock.

You straddle him, rolling the condom down his length before positioning him at your entrance. The first slow slide of him inside you pulls matching groans from both your throats. Your bodies find a rhythm as old as time, unhurried yet urgent, the privacy glass and tinted windows creating a cocoon of shared desire.

"You feel so fucking good," he murmurs, hands gripping your hips to guide your movements. "Always so good for me." 

Words fall away as pleasure builds again, his thumb finding your clit, circling in time with your joined movements. When you cum again, he follows seconds later, his face buried in your neck, breath hot against your skin.

Afterward, as you both straighten your clothes, a comfortable silence settles between you. This is why Jisung remains one of your favorite clients—the sex is never mechanical, never just a transaction. There's genuine connection in the way he looks at you, even knowing exactly what this is.

"So," you say, fixing your lipstick in a compact mirror, "same question as always. Why don't you have a girlfriend yet, Sungie? Most women would kill to date someone like you—fun, spontaneous, and definitely not lacking in certain departments." You raise an eyebrow suggestively.

It's a dance you've done before, this conversation. Part teasing, part genuine curiosity.

Jisung sighs, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "You know why. Every woman I meet, I'm wondering: is she laughing at my jokes because I'm funny, or because I'm worth eight figures? Does she want me, or what I can buy her?"

"I only want you for your money," you reply with a wink, the honesty refreshing after the usual games people play.

He laughs, pulling an envelope from his jacket and handing it to you. "But at least you're upfront about it. That's worth something."

The envelope feels heavy—more than your usual fee, which isn't surprising. Jisung always tips generously. You tuck it into your purse without counting; he's never shortchanged you.

The limo slows as it approaches the nightclub where you're meeting Eva. Jisung pulls you close for one last kiss, slow and sweet, at odds with the heated exchanges from minutes ago.

“Sungie, thank you so much for tonight. I had a blast,” you say before kissing him again.

"I'm glad. I’m out of town for a couple weeks," he says, forehead resting against yours. "Conference in Singapore. But I'll call when I'm back."

"You better," you reply, squeezing his hand before sliding toward the door. "Who else is going to let me kick their ass at go-karts?"

“Yes, that’s the story that we’ll go with; that I let you win,” he says with a grin. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, Mr. Han,” you say with a wink as you slap his face playfully.

His laughter follows you out of the car, a warm sound that lingers even as the limo pulls away and you turn toward the pulsing lights of the club. For a moment, you allow yourself to feel something dangerously close to fondness before tucking it away behind your professional smile. After all, business is business, no matter how good the perks might be.

The club throbs with bass that crawls beneath your skin, a heartbeat you can taste in the back of your throat. Bodies move in the dim light like creatures underwater, slow-motion silhouettes against the strobing blues and purples. As you maneuver through the crowd, you take a peak in the envelope and smile at what you see. You shove it to the bottom of your purse and continue to move forward. You spot Eva at your usual corner booth—one perfectly manicured hand raised in greeting, the other wrapped around a martini glass that catches light like a diamond. Her smile, unlike the manufactured ones you both perfect for clients, is genuine, sharp with the promise of unfiltered conversation.

"Look what the cat dragged in," she calls over the music as you slide into the booth beside her. "And looking thoroughly fucked, I might add."

You laugh, running a hand through your hair that, despite your best efforts in the limo's mirror, still bears evidence of Jisung's fingers. "That obvious?"

"Only to me, darling." She signals the server with a graceful flick of her wrist. "Champagne for my friend. She's celebrating."

"Am I?" you ask, dropping your purse on the leather seat.

Eva's eyes, lined with perfect wings of black, crinkle at the corners. "Well, you're either celebrating getting laid or celebrating a generous client. Either way, bubbles are required."

The champagne arrives in flutes that sing when you clink them together. Eva's presence is always welcomed—seventeen years in the business has given her an unshakable confidence, a way of existing in spaces that suggests the world is lucky to have her in it.

"So," she leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial level despite the music, "tell me about your adventure date. Was it the usual hotel suite and room service?"

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face. "Go-karts."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Go-karts. And batting cages. And arcade games." You take a sip of champagne, letting the bubbles fizz on your tongue. "Jisung decided I needed to reclaim my lost childhood or some shit."

Eva's laughter is rich, unrestrained. "That boy is truly one of a kind. Most of these men can barely imagine women enjoying anything beyond shopping and spa days."

"He's definitely not like the others." You trace a water ring on the table's surface. "He tipped me an extra three grand, too." 

"For go-karts? What would he pay for actual work?"

You kick her shin lightly under the table. "Hey, those batting cages were serious business."

"I'm sure they were," Eva smirks. "Almost as serious as that app he built for you, hmm? The one that keeps all your clients neatly organized and your real identity and info protected?"

The app in question, AuVel, was Jisung's creation, designed for you many years ago after you'd mentioned the difficulties of managing client communications securely. A tech genius with too much time and money on his hands, he'd built you a custom platform where clients could contact you and send payments without ever accessing your personal information. He named it Aurum Velum, the latin for Gold Veil. You loved the name so much, you incorporated it as your official business name.

"It's a good system," you acknowledge. "Wish I could patent it and sell it to every girl in the business."

"You wouldn't need to work anymore if you did. You should talk to him about a partnership." Eva finishes her martini and sets the glass aside precisely. "Clients like Jisung don't come along often, you know. In almost two decades, I've had exactly one who treated me like a person first and a fantasy second."

"Tell me about it. Half the time with Jisung, I forget I'm on the clock." You pause, considering. "It's nice, but also—"

"Dangerous," Eva supplies, knowing you too well. "Start confusing the transaction with real connection, and that's when lines blur."

"Says the woman who married a client and then divorced him two years later."

"Exactly. Learn from my expensive mistakes." She taps her freshly refilled glass against yours. "But seriously, enjoy the Jisungs. They make all the assholes worth enduring."

Your phone buzzes against the table, the screen lighting up with a notification from AuVel. The interface is sleek and secure—one of the many reasons Jisung remains your favorite client. Eva's eyes flick to it, then back to you with raised eyebrows as she reads the name upside down.

"Christopher Bahng," she says, voice lilting with interest. "The new one? The finance guy?"

You nod, swiping to open the message. “Speaking of assholes…,” you mumble.

Christopher is a recent addition to your client roster—only seven sessions over the past few months, but memorable enough. A finance mogul with a reputation for getting exactly what he wants when he wants, he approaches sex the way he approaches business: with precision, control, and undeniable skill.

The message is characteristically detailed:

Friday, 8pm. Wear the black Louboutins, that Versace dress with the low back, and red lace underneath. And use the perfume I bought you, not the one you wore last time. I'll send a car. Plan to stay overnight.

You roll your eyes, unable to help yourself.

The message continues:

Don't make plans for Saturday morning. Last time you were in a rush. I don't like rushes. Remember, the payment structure we discussed. Double for overnights. I’ll also pay extra to cover your additional time on Saturday.

"Let me guess," Eva leans her chin on her hand, "he's telling you exactly what to wear, how to smell, and probably what to think?"

You slide the phone toward her so she can read for herself. "The man has opinions."

Eva's eyebrows climb higher with each line. "Demanding little thing, isn't he? Please tell me the 'payment structure' makes his attitude worth tolerating."

"Usually about five figures per date," you reply, taking another sip of champagne. "Plus gifts. Last time it was a Cartier watch, with diamonds."

Eva lets out a low whistle. "Okay, I withdraw my judgment. For that kind of money, he can have opinions."

"I draw the line at thinking for me, though. If he wasn't hot as hell and fucking fantastic in bed, I wouldn't bother," you say, retrieving your phone and typing a brief confirmation. "He’s like Jisung. He makes sure I cum every time. The control freak routine would be intolerable otherwise."

"And yet I sense a 'but' coming."

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the screen. "There's something about him. The way he looks at me—like he's cataloging every reaction, every breath. Like he's solving a puzzle."

"Or identifying weaknesses," Eva says, voice gentler than her words.

"Maybe." You lock your phone, setting it aside. "Also, he wants me to call him 'daddy,' and it should be creepy but somehow isn't?"

Eva's laugh bursts out suddenly. "Oh honey, you've got a kink you didn't know about."

"Shut up," you mutter, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. "It's just… the way he says it: 'Tell daddy what you need, baby girl,’” you mimic in Christopher’s voice. “It's not infantilizing; it's just... fucking hot."

"The controlling ones often are," Eva's expression sobers slightly. "That's what makes them dangerous. The good sex blinds you to the red flags."

You wave a dismissive hand. "I see all the flags. And I can handle Christopher Bahng. He's no different from any other wealthy man who thinks his money buys ownership. He just happens to be better at everything than most of them."

"Mmhmm." Eva doesn't sound convinced. "Just be careful with the possessive ones. They start wanting exclusivity, then they want to 'save you' from the work, then suddenly you're dependent on them and can't see the cage they've built."

You think of Christopher's intense gaze, the way his fingers wrap around your wrist when he guides you, firm but never bruising. The control in him recognizes something in you—a desire to surrender, but only on your terms.

"Is exclusivity really that bad? Besides," you say, deflecting from Eva's too-accurate assessment, "I've been thinking about scaling back anyway. The daily grind of rotating clients is getting exhausting."

Eva's eyes sharpen with interest. "Scaling back how?"

"Maybe finding one serious arrangement. Going back to sugar babying rather than escorting." You trace the rim of your glass with one finger. "One client who covers all the expenses. Simpler."

"Sugar babying is just escorting with extra steps and fewer protections," Eva says, not unkindly. "You know that, right? You're still trading companionship and sex for money, just with more emotional labor attached."

"But less administrative work," you counter. "No juggling schedules, no switching personas between three clients in one day. Just one man, one set of preferences to learn, one payment arrangement. That’s how I got into all of this anyway." You think back to your high school years, when you let men gift you things simply for being available to them; when your wealthy classmate’s dad was willing to ‘sponsor’ you simply for handjobs while he complained about his spoiled wife, his entitled kids, and his demanding boss.

Eva studies you, her gaze penetrating in the way that always makes you feel transparent. "You're not catching feelings for this Christopher, are you? Because that would be—"

"God, no," you interrupt, too quickly to be entirely convincing. "I barely know him. I've only seen him a handful of times."

"And he's already got you considering exclusivity."

"It's not about him specifically. It could just as easily be Jisung. He’d probably be up for it," you insist, though the image of Christopher's satisfied smile when you call him 'daddy' flashes unbidden in your mind. "It's about simplifying my life. I'm just tired." You sigh. “But not tired enough for a nine-to-five,” you add, the thought making you shudder.

Eva reaches across the table, her warm hand covering yours. "Listen to me. The Christophers of the world don't simplify anything. Men like that—men who need control, who give instructions down to the shade of your underwear—they complicate everything. They're not looking for a sugar baby; they're looking for a possession."

The word strikes uncomfortably close to how Christopher's hands feel on your body—claiming, marking, owning. But there's something else there too, a reverence that feels genuine.

"I know what I'm doing," you say, squeezing her hand before withdrawing. "And if Christopher, or any john, wants exclusivity, he'll have to make it worth my while."

"That's my girl," Eva's smile returns, though concern still lingers in her eyes. "Make them pay for every inch they take."

"Always do." You raise your glass in a toast. "To men who pay our bills without knowing our real names."

"And to women who know their worth," Eva adds, clinking her glass against yours.

The conversation shifts to other clients, other stories. Eva recounts a particularly amusing encounter recently with a nervous tech CEO who couldn't perform until she pretended to be impressed by his cryptocurrency investments. You share the latest update on a long-term client whose wife has grown suspicious and started following him. The night unfolds in comfortable rhythms of laughter and shared understanding that only comes from walking the same treacherous path.

But even as you lose yourself in conversation, your awareness keeps returning to the phone beside you, to Christopher's message waiting for a more detailed response. To the possibility of something simpler yet more complicated all at once. Eva's warning echoes, but so does the memory of Christopher's voice in your ear, the weight of his body pressing you into silk sheets, and the surprising thrill of surrender.

Maybe Eva is right to be concerned. But maybe, just maybe, you're ready for a different kind of arrangement—one with higher stakes and deeper rewards. After all, you've always been good at playing the game. The question is whether you're prepared for what happens when the rules change.

****

You step from the car onto Christopher Bahng's driveway, where even the gravel seems deliberately arranged—each stone in its proper place. The mansion rises before you, all clean lines and angular shadows in the falling dusk, windows glowing with amber light that doesn't quite reach the manicured grounds. Unlike Jisung's playful world of arcade lights and go-kart engines, Christopher's domain whispers of wealth that doesn't need to announce itself—of power that assumes obedience. You smooth your Versace dress (black, the back cut low; precisely as requested) and inhale slowly, the perfume he selected wrapping around you like an expensive collar.

The double doors swing open before you reach them, revealing a foyer of gleaming marble and minimalist furnishings. A crystal chandelier throws fractured light across the space, each piece catching and multiplying the glow into something almost supernatural. Your Louboutins click against the floor, the sound crisp and echoing.

"Well, look who decided to grace us with her presence. Hi Noelle."

The voice using your alias comes from your left, where Hyunjin leans against a doorframe, his long body draped in tailored black pants and a simple white button-down with the sleeves rolled up. His appearance is striking, beautiful in that unreal way, with long, silky dark hair framing his face. Unlike Christopher's rigid posture, Hyunjin always looks like he's seconds away from sliding to the floor, bones made of something more fluid than the rest of humanity.

"Hyunjin," you smile, genuine pleasure warming your voice. Though you've only met him a few times before, there's something immediately disarming about Christopher's right-hand man, a casual warmth that contrasts sharply with his boss' intensity. "Keeping the fortress secure?"

"Always." He pushes off from the door frame with lazy grace, approaching to kiss your cheek. He smells expensive but understated, like everything else in this house. "Chris is finishing up a call. He said, and I quote, 'Make sure she's comfortable but don't get too comfortable.'"

You laugh, shaking your head. "Subtle as ever."

"The man has never encountered a boundary he didn't want to test." Hyunjin's eyes sparkle with mischief. "Including mine. I was supposed to be in Tokyo tonight, but apparently some minor crisis required my immediate attention."

"And was there actually a crisis?" you ask curiously.

"‘Crisis’ is debatable. Especially when it was resolved with a conference call he could have handled blindfolded." Hyunjin shrugs, no real annoyance in his tone. "But he likes his pieces arranged just so. Speaking of which," he reaches out to adjust a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear, "Perfect. Now I can leave without being accused of neglecting my duties." You laugh.

He steps back, calling over his shoulder toward a closed door down the hall. "She's here, looking spectacular. I'm leaving before you find another imaginary emergency for me to handle. Goodnight, Chris!"

A muffled response follows, too low to make out, but Hyunjin seems to understand the words perfectly, from years of similar conversations you guess, and he just rolls his eyes and gives you a conspiratorial wink.

"Good luck," he murmurs. "He's been unusually intense today. Even for him. I think he’s a bit nervous."

Before you can ask what that means, Hyunjin is gone, the front door closing quietly behind him. You're left alone in the vast foyer, save for a maid, Angela you think her name is, who materializes from a side corridor.

"Mr. Bahng will be with you shortly," she says, voice professional and rehearsed. "He's asked that you wait in the blue room upstairs."

When she makes a motion to take your overnight bag, you pull it onto your shoulder. “Oh, that’s okay. I got it, Angela. Thank you though.” She nods appreciatively before turning and walking towards the back.

You follow Angela up a sweeping staircase, past artwork that probably costs more than most people's homes. The house feels both lived-in and museum-like—everything precisely placed but somehow sterile, lacking the casual disorder that marks a space as truly inhabited. Angela leads you to a bedroom done in shades of navy and silver, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city lights below.

"Can I bring you anything while you wait, Miss Noelle?" she asks, hovering by the door.

"No, thank you." You offer a smile she doesn't return before she slips away, closing the door silently behind her.

Alone, you take stock of the room—the same one Christopher brought you to on your previous engagements at his house. A California king bed dominates the space, its sheets so precisely tucked you could bounce a quarter off them. The furniture is minimal but exquisite, each piece looking custom-made and untouched by human hands.

You move to the full-length mirror in the corner, assessing your reflection. The dress hugs your curves exactly as it should, the backless design revealing a teasing expanse of skin. Your hair falls in soft waves, framing your face in a way that looks effortless but took forty minutes to achieve. You reapply your lipstick—deep red, matching the lace beneath your dress as instructed.

Christopher's attention to detail would be unnerving if it weren't so predictable. Every instruction serves a purpose in the scene he's constructing—you're just one element in his carefully orchestrated fantasy. The thought should bother you more than it does, but there's something freeing about the clarity of his desires. No guesswork, no shifting expectations. Just precise requirements with generous compensation.

The door opens without a knock, and there he is. Christopher Bahng in the flesh, exactly as commanding as you remember. He fills the doorway with presence rather than size, his tailored suit emphasizing the lean strength of his body. His hair is perfectly styled, dark waves combed back to reveal his forehead, broad nose, and the sharp angles of his face. But it's his eyes that hold you—intense, evaluating, missing nothing.

"You're punctual," he says, voice low and smooth as he steps into the room, closing the door behind him. "I appreciate that."

Not 'hello.' Not 'you look beautiful.' Just acknowledgement of compliance. And yet, a flicker of heat ignites within you at his approval.

"I aim to please," you reply, watching his reflection approach yours in the mirror.

He stops behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him without touching. His eyes meet yours in the reflection, then deliberately travel down your body, assessing.

"The dress is perfect," he says after a moment, hands coming to rest lightly on your shoulders. "Turn around."

You do, facing him fully now. This close, you can smell his cologne—subtle, woody, expensive. His fingers trace the edge of your jawline, tilting your face up to his.

"And the perfume. Much better than last time." His thumb brushes your lower lip, smudging the freshly applied lipstick. "This shade suits you."

"Thank you, Daddy," you say, the words slipping out with practiced ease that still feels thrilling. A test, to see how quickly you can break his composure.

His pupils dilate slightly—the only tell in his otherwise controlled expression. "Good girl."

His mouth claims yours then, firm but not rough. Christopher doesn't kiss like he's starving; he kisses like he's savoring, each movement deliberate and commanding. His hands slide from your face down your neck, over your shoulders to your bare back, following the plunging line of your dress to where fabric meets skin at your lower spine.

"I had plans for dinner," he murmurs against your lips as he guides you backward toward the bed. "But I find I'm hungry for something else first."

His fingers find the hidden zipper of your dress, lowering it with agonizing slowness. The fabric loosens, slipping down your shoulders to pool at your feet. You stand before him in nothing but red lace underwear and the black Louboutins, exactly as he requested.

"You had me dress up just to undress me?" you ask amused, a hint of challenge in your voice. "We could have saved time if you'd just asked me to arrive naked."

A rare smile curves his lips, softening the sharpness of his features with the appearance of his dimples. "I enjoy the process. The anticipation." His fingers trace the edge of your lace bra. "Besides, you wear clothes beautifully. It would be a waste not to appreciate that before removing them."

There's something disarming about his honesty, about the genuine admiration in his gaze. Christopher might be controlling, but he's never made you feel like an object. More like a painting he wants to study from every angle, uncovering layers and details others might miss.

He guides you to the edge of the bed, the back of your knees hitting the mattress before you sit. With methodical precision, he removes his jacket, folding it neatly over a nearby chair before loosening his tie.

"Leave the shoes on," he instructs as his fingers work at his shirt buttons.

You lean back on your elbows, crossing one leg over the other to showcase your toned legs in the heels. "Anything else you'd like me to keep on, Daddy?"

His eyes darken at the deliberate provocation. "Just your attitude. I enjoy it more than you might think."

This is different from your previous encounters—there's a new tension in the air, an undercurrent you can't quite name. Christopher undresses with the same efficiency he approaches everything, revealing a body that speaks of disciplined workouts and careful maintenance. No tattoos, no unnecessary adornments. Just lean muscle and smooth skin that you already know tastes faintly of salt and expensive, imported soap.

When he's down to his boxer briefs, you uncross your legs. He approaches the bed, one knee pressing into the mattress between your legs. His hand slides up your calf, over your knee, along your inner thigh—a slow journey that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

"Lie back," he says, voice rougher now. "Let me look at you properly."

You comply, sinking into the impossibly soft bedding as he hovers above you. His fingers trace the edge of your lace panties, dipping beneath the fabric to find you already wet.

"So responsive," he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his tone. "Always so ready for me."

It would be easy to fake enthusiasm with Christopher—to manufacture the moans and sighs that most clients expect. But there's no need for pretense when his fingers circle your clit with expert precision, when his mouth leaves a trail of heat down your neck to your collarbone. Your reaction is genuine, body arching into his touch as pleasure builds.

He takes his time undressing you completely, removing the panties first, then the lace bra with careful hands before lavishing attention on your breasts. Every touch feels calculated to draw maximum response—he's studied your body the way he studies markets, identifying pressure points and vulnerabilities with ruthless accuracy.

"Tell daddy what you need," he says against your skin, teeth grazing your nipple just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” you ask with a smirk.

“Technically.” His mouth engulfs your tit, sucking gently. “But I’d like to know, honestly, what you need today.” His mouth moves to the next breast.

"Mmm. You," you breathe, hands sliding into his hair, disrupting its perfect arrangement intentionally. "Inside me. Now."

A flicker of a smile crosses his face. "Demanding. I like that."

He reaches for a condom from the bedside drawer, rolling it on with practiced ease before positioning himself between your legs. The first push inside draws matching groans from both of you—the sensation of fullness, of perfect fit, never diminishes no matter how many times you've done this.

Christopher fucks the way he does everything else: controlled, precise. His rhythm is steady, his angle perfect, hitting exactly where you need him with each thrust. One hand grips your hip, the other braced beside your head, his eyes never leaving your face as he watches your pleasure build.

"Look at you, baby girl," he murmurs, voice strained with effort. "So perfect. Taking me so well."

The praise washes over you, unexpected heat blooming in your chest. There's something about the way Christopher sees you—not as a purchase or a fantasy, but as something worthy of his full attention—that hits differently than with other clients.

Your climax builds slowly, tension coiling tighter with each precise thrust. When it finally breaks, it's with an intensity that leaves you gasping, nails digging into the smooth skin of his back. He follows moments later, his controlled rhythm faltering as he presses deep inside you, a rare, unguarded expression crossing his face.

Afterward, he doesn't immediately pull away. Instead, he lowers himself to press a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth; tender gestures at odds with his usual cold efficiency. When he finally moves, it's with reluctance, his hand trailing along your side as if memorizing the curve of your waist.

The silence between you is comfortable as you both catch your breath. Christopher rises first, disappearing into the en-suite bathroom to dispose of the condom. When he returns, he brings a warm, damp towel, cleaning you with surprising gentleness before setting it aside.

"Stay there," he says, pulling on a pair of sweatpants before moving to a small bar in the corner of the room. "Water? Or something stronger?"

"Water is fine." You sit up, not bothering to cover yourself. Christopher has seen every inch of you already; modesty seems pointless. Particularly for an escort.

He returns with two glasses of water, handing one to you before sitting on the edge of the bed. His posture is relaxed but still controlled, like a predator at rest.

"I want to discuss something with you," he says after a moment, gaze direct as always.

"I gathered as much from Hyunjin's comment about you being intense today. And nervous?"

A slight frown crosses his face. "He talks too much."

"He cares about you," you counter, taking a sip of water. "It's nice. Having someone who looks out for you."

Christopher's expression softens marginally. "Yes. He's loyal, if annoyingly perceptive." He sets his glass down on the nightstand, turning to face you fully. "I've been thinking about our arrangement."

A flutter of apprehension mingles with curiosity in your chest. "Oh?"

"I want exclusivity," he says without preamble. "I want you available only to me, on my schedule, without the distraction of other clients."

The directness shouldn't surprise you—Christopher has never been one for beating around the bush—but the proposal still lands with unexpected weight. Exclusivity. The very thing you'd mentioned to Eva just days ago.

"That's a significant change," you say carefully, mind racing through implications. "And a significant loss of income for me."

"I would compensate you appropriately," he replies, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "A monthly allowance, covering your rent, expenses, and considerably more. Plus continued gifts, travel when I require it, and any reasonable requests you might have."

You study his face, searching for the catch. "And in return?"

"Your time. Your availability. Your exclusivity." His hand reaches out to trace your collarbone, a possessive gesture that sends involuntary shivers down your spine. "No more fitting me between other appointments. No more checking your phone during our time together. No more condoms. Just you and me, on my terms."

Eva's warning echoes in your mind: The controlling ones often want exclusivity, then they want to 'save you' from the work, then suddenly you're dependent on them and can't see the cage they've built.

And yet, there's something appealing about the simplicity of it. One client. One set of expectations. Financial security without the constant hustle of managing multiple relationships.

"I'd need to think about it," you say, watching his reaction carefully. "That's a significant commitment."

Something flickers in his eyes—disappointment, perhaps, or simply impatience. But he nods once, sharply. "Of course. Consider it carefully. I don't make such offers lightly."

You reach for your underwear, suddenly feeling the need to be dressed for this conversation. The red lace feels less like a costume and more like armor as you pull it on.

"Why me?" you ask, genuinely curious. "You could have anyone. There are plenty of women who would jump at this arrangement without a professional background."

Christopher watches you put your bra on with that same intense focus, like he's memorizing each movement. "I don't want just 'anyone.' I want you." His directness is both flattering and unnerving. "You challenge me. You don't simper or pretend. When you call me 'Daddy,' it's with a hint of mockery that I find... refreshing."

You can't help but laugh at that, some of the tension dissipating. "Most men don't appreciate being mocked in bed."

"I'm not most men." He rises, moving to retrieve your dress from where it puddles on the floor. Instead of handing it to you, he holds it open, waiting for you to step into it. "And you're not most women."

As you slip your arms through the dress, his hands linger at your waist, turning you to face the mirror as he zips you up. Your reflection shows a woman who looks collected, professional—but your eyes reveal the turmoil beneath. Part of you wants to accept immediately, to secure this arrangement that aligns so perfectly with what you told Eva you wanted. Another part hears her cautions like warning bells.

"I'll let you know," you say finally, meeting his gaze in the mirror. "I need to consider logistics, expectations, details, rules."

His hands settle on your shoulders, a weight that feels both reassuring and constraining. "Of course. I respect thoroughness." He presses a kiss to the side of your neck, just below your ear. "But don't take too long. I'm not a patient man."

You turn in his arms, facing him directly. "And if I say no?"

"Then we continue as we have been, for as long as it remains mutually beneficial." No hesitation, no emotional manipulation. Just straightforward terms. "But I think you'll say yes."

"Confident, aren't you?"

The smile that curves his lips doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I recognize a good investment when I see one."

As you gather your purse and bag, preparing to leave despite his original request for you to stay overnight, you feel the weight of his proposal like a physical thing—a contract not yet signed but already changing the air between you. Christopher doesn't stop you from leaving early, merely watches as you check your appearance one last time in the mirror.

"Think about what you want, Noelle," he says as you reach the door. "Not what you think you should want, or what others tell you to want. What you want."

You pause, hand on the doorknob, struck by the unexpected insight. For all his control and precision, Christopher sees you—really sees you—in ways that make you feel both exposed and understood.

"I will," you promise, looking back at him one last time before stepping into the hallway, the heavy door closing behind you with a soft click that sounds strangely final. You walk down the stairs and out the door.

As the driver takes you home through the quiet city streets, you replay Christopher's offer in your mind, weighing options and consequences. Exclusive arrangement. Financial security. One client instead of many. Simplicity in exchange for increased dependence.

Eva would tell you to run. Jisung would probably say the same, in his gentle, concerned way.

But as the city lights blur outside your window, you can't help wondering if this is exactly what you've been looking for—a way to streamline your life without leaving the profession entirely. Christopher offers control, yes, but also clarity. Structure. Security.

A beep from your phone pulls you from your thoughts. It’s a notification for AuVel. You tap open the app to see that Christopher has transferred the full payment for your visit, despite you cutting the engagement short by fifteen hours. You send a message back: 

Thank you, daddy. 😘

You place your phone back in your bag and your thoughts quickly turn back to Christopher’s proposal.

The question isn't whether you'll say yes or no. The question is how long you'll make him wait for your answer—and what terms you'll negotiate to ensure you don't lose yourself in the process.

Because if there's one thing you've learned in this business, it's that everything has a price. The trick is making sure you're the one setting it.

[crownedwille]

I'm gonna weigh in and say I agree and disagree on some parts:

I'm sorry but I don't buy the 'no autonomy' thing. We see throughout the show, especially in s2 that Wille does have influence and power to change things and that would very well include the monarchy. He could've understood the privilege and power he has and taken the fate he was burdened with and do something with it that would make him feel less miserable and in control. It's possible and not as unrealistic as the show tries to tell us.

The ending works if you believe he's leaving the "big bad" institution behind and is free and that's all great except he's not. He will never truly "escape" it, no matter what he'll do in the future and when/if he actually officially renounces the throne (which he can't do now bc minors can't make decisions like that for a reason) he will still be a prince then, wealthy and privileged, with his mother being the queen and everything else that comes with it which was already the case in the beginning of the series. And he already had problems back then and was told what to do and had duties and a responsibility. So what the show is telling me (since there can be no change apparently) we would go back to that and I personally don't think he would be more happy with that title instead of being the crown prince. But no matter what title he has, he will never be normal and the "freedom" he chose is an illusion (as pointed out already).

"Wille's feelings didn't change in the course of the show" - and that's my problem. You could argue that his decision at the end was some kind of growth but it's not really. He's been saying he wants a normal life since the first episode and already there his longing for normality is unobtainable and naive. It's a "I want what I can't have" situation and he so obviously (still) has no concept of what a normal life is and never truly will and I wanted his attitude to change and for him to come to the conclusion that his aspiration isn't possible like that instead of encouraging it further (and that doesn't have to mean it's a downer ending and he stays complacent and trapped in his royal life).

I didn't want the same mindset and the same beliefs to stay the entire time and we're still landing on the same thing - he wants to be normal and doesn't like being a prince and is miserable. I wish that could've changed. Where is the growth? Where is the actual understanding?

And no, I cannot take his choice seriously when Wille is still a teenager and has only been crown prince for a couple of months (!!) and has barely had any time to adjust to it and get used to it and hasn't even done much in his new position yet AND has had no actual educating conversation with his mum about what it would really mean if he stepped down and give it up. And this is not something you just give up on a gut feeling without having all the information. Wille has consistently been shown to be very impulsive and to make decisions based around Simon and not understanding and considering the consequences behind his actions and this one isn't something I can support from a current standpoint. Not the way the show presents it to me.

In an interview of LA Times Lisa says “For me, the ultimate conclusion is Wilhelm understanding his position, saying no to it, choosing freedom, and then having this moment with Simon."

Sorry, what? I must have missed the part where Wille understood his position. In the show Wille knows ridiculously little about the monarchy or about being the Crown Prince. Let me do a recap:

~In season one Kristina says that she and Erik had time to be prepared for their role and Wilhelm did not.

~After Erik dies Kristins suggests that Wille should sit in the morning meeting to learn how they work.

~Wille didn't have any idea how to date as a prince and had to ask Nils for advice.

~In season three the court planned a Prince school for him because he hadn't had a chance to grasp what being the Crown Prince entails.

~When Simon asks Wille what he likes about monarchy, Wille gives a very lame school book answer, like he has no personal connection to the monarchy.

It's hard to believe that Wilhelm grew up in this system but was touched by it so very little. Being royal is his family and culture.

At least there is consistency in how out of it Wilhelm is and how little he cares about his duties. And that's fair, Young Royals is a story about a prince who doesn't want to be a prince. But don't try to tell me Wille understood his position.

What's the choise between love and duty if Wille never wanted the duty and didn't even understand what it was?

I can't help but to feel that it made the supposed central conflict of the show quite boring.

[polysprachig]

Hello friend! I just came across your post about filling in old spaces in your polyglot journal via the bullet journal tag… could you say more about how you use your polyglot journal in general and what its intended purpose(s) is/are?

Thank you for the question, @northfaceho! ***(Read orange text for a short summarised version)

The purpose of my polyglot journal is to capture my process of learning languages, both for myself and to share with other people. It was prompted by a secret learning project I did in 2019 to make my other native language skills go from passive to active (and the subsequent desire to subtly strengthen my skills across my main 5 languages). This happened to coincide with my dissatisfaction with the general ‘Polyglot learns X# of Languages - Here’s How + Tips and Tricks’ kind of content you could—and can—find online. And the rich stock at the base of all my griping generally boiled down to one thing:

Fucking notecards.

No shade to anyone in specific—it was more a general trend I felt I noticed at the time—but the idea that someone who has acquired or is learning a football club worth of languages and who, moreover, is able to demonstrate their use of said languages across the 4 skills to various degrees of range and accuracy at their current stage of learning does so by *secret tip: using notecards* struck me as extremely… imprecise and decidedly non-tip-worthy. It’s not that I think these people were lying about using notecards to learn—not at all! The description was just focused on what I learn with not how I learn imho, and it begged the question: Well, what do you do with the notecards?

Because at the time, I only really used notecards in Old English, but not as flashcards for memorisation or playing vocabulary matching games, which I assume was used as shorthand in the content I kept seeing. No, once a year, I would take out some fresh notecards and write Beowulf verbatim from memory for the section I have memorised, then compare it to the orthography in the Howell D. Chickering dual-language translation. (I do something similar with Chaucer, but notecards are too small so I use a yellow legal pad instead. Still, the concept is the same.) And later, when I started learning Italian, I would prepare a notecard to keep on my desk during lessons which listed out the most common errors I knew I was going to make in that day’s class, based on my teacher’s recent feedback (usually incorrect pronunciation/word stress, Greek or French influence which isn’t correct, accidental uses of Latin, etc.).

And so I repurposed what I had hoped would be a travel journal into a polyglot journal and kicked it off with this statement of my intentions forgive the register:

This year, 2024, one of my main goals was to read the rest through, comment on my methods, mistakes, mindset, etc. etc., and fill in the gaps with scraps of loose studies and feedback from my teachers. Oh yeah, and start typing it all up to save my future self some time.

I’ll be posting a lot more from my polyglot journal in 2025, now that I’ve figured out how much time I can commit to it based on my schedule and the writing routine I’ve been testing out these last months. I want to make sharing it an adventure reflective of its many side quests and the actual time and input required to learn.

In essence, the journal reflects the planning, check-ins, learning notes, and process of my quarantine levelling up project and literary/poetic translation portfolio part 1, which are free to read here if anyone is interested:

The Merlin Project (Irish-English)—running with the question all my students asked in the pandemic, i.e. Can I learn a language from just watching TV? by writing borderline Merlin fanfiction

The tragic portion of my translation portfolio (English-German-French-Italian)—literary translations into English from Poliziano, Goethe, Voltaire and Kaiserin Elisabeth (Sisi); translations into German of Lord Byron, Mary Shelley and Percy Bysshe Shelley

The journal is not without silly and serious one-off language escapades as well, which I occasionally ventured out into when taking a break from the more major projects.

Thanks for reading if you’ve made it to the end!

[mojo-bro-tho]

Blood Sugar… Ch. 1

~The Pretty Woman style AU for Emmrook is here! But at what cost? The smutty fun I intended this to be turned into smut with a plot that I am far too allured by to ignore. This is a modern AU, so no magic but all of the races still exist and the places (generally) because I said so, everything else will be just for flavor text. I promise I’ll make a masterlist soon because this is gonna get ridiculous pretty fast, I can just tell. For full content warnings that stay up to date for the fic at large and better descriptions, please check the AO3 tag as I do not wish to be obliterated off the timeline.~

Word count: 6.4k

Content warnings for chapter: Suggestive acts and language, no beta read because who tf would I show this to?, if you’ve seen Pretty Woman then you know at least a little of what to expect here

AO3 link

Checking In

A knock at the door heralded the exact second that Emmrich Volkarin realized he was irrevocably fucked. This was a terrible idea. How did he let Johanna goad him into this? His heart hammered in his chest, spilling out the ribcage. He couldn’t go through with this. This was entirely ridiculous at best and incredibly cruel at worst. He would walk to the door, address the surely lovely woman that waited outside and tell her that he had no need for her services. Yes, that would be for the best.

Surely everything about this was foolish. Called the number Strife gave him yesterday, the shockingly discreetly toned woman on the other end handled his floundering with ease and was able to set up a meeting that same day. It all happened so quickly that he hadn’t even considered that perhaps he was over-dressed for this sort of- Well, it wasn’t as though he would be. For Maker’s sake, he was still dressed as if he was in the classroom. He couldn’t figure out which part was worse, the fact that for a solid two days this nonsensical plot actually made sense to him or the fact that he was worried about how whoever awaited for him on the other side of the wall would perceive the way he was dressed, of all things. This poor woman was simply here to do her job, one he imagines can be quite stressful, she didn’t deserve any of this outrageous machinations.

Emmrich crossed the hotel room’s living space in a few anxious strides and soon found himself before the all white threshold of certain self destruction. Far too sterile and mocking in its mimicry of an apartment he lived in during his college years. The lock was undone with the speed at which one might rip a bandage. His hand reached for the handle, holding it steady and taking a massive breath through the nose before swiftly tugging the door open.

Behind it stood a young woman. Terra-cotta skin that glowed an illustrious shade of pink on her bare shoulders, with flecks of glitter scattered across what could be seen of her arms and collarbones. A strong jawline, shapely nose that dipped low into a pleasant curve, high cheekbones. Lavender irises with unripened strawberries encroaching on the pupils framed by fluttering lashes and pointed liner. Her hair was shorter, cut just below the jaw in a rich black shade that admittedly appeared to be temptingly satiny. Between her full lips sat a thin, white stick that she pulled away with a dramatic pop to reveal a well nursed electric blue candy.

The woman’s inquisitive gaze searched him as well. The coat she wore gathered at her elbows shifted as her other arm dropped from its spot around her ribs. A… tight black dress was revealed to him in the process. It was knee length, nothing particularly revealing in terms of skin aside from the aforementioned shoulders and enough of a glimpse onto her chest that the smallest spill of cleavage made his eyes snap back up to her face. A cheeky smile danced across one side of her mouth.

“My, my. I wasn’t expecting someone like you.” She stated simply, bring the sweet dangling hand to his vest before allowing herself inside.

It was as if his body turned to jello, his bones reducing to collagen in the wake of her determined strut past his temporary doorway. A heeled shoe dexterously knocked the door back closed. Emmrich heard it lock as her free hand disappeared behind her long leather coat. She leaned in close, and Emmrich was caught on the scent of artificial fruit, sugar, and something that reminded him of being in a forest. Her glossy lips inched towards the candy that she pointed towards her teeth, tongue peaking out in a matching shade of blue and curling over what was left of the sphere.

“P-pardon me, but I fear there has been… some sort of mistake.” He stuttered, breath hitching as she licked again. A half giggle got caught on the sticky surface of the sweet.

“Oh? So, you aren’t a ‘Professor E.V.’ with an executive suite, rented out by my employer, in The Lighthouse? Because, if that’s true, Mister… I’m afraid the front desk gave you the wrong key.” Her voice came out in a purr.

Maker, she was better at this than he figured she would be. She examined him closely, making Emmrich feel more like prey than person. The candy stick was caught between her teeth for a moment while her fingers grazed up his chest, plucking at the chain of his pocket watch.

“Well, that is me, yes. But you see-”

“In that case, Professor, you should be more careful about the titles you share to services like ours.” The enunciations came out fuzzy until the sucker pulled away from her lips again and hovered dangerously close to his own. Her fingers went up to glide across the line of his jaw. “I’m sure you worked very hard for a position like that. But you have to be cautious. You’re lucky we’re so nice, with that much info we might be able to find your… personal affairs.”

“Personal affairs?” He asked. Her eyes flicked down to both his wrists.

“A lot of jewelry you got, a few rings too. Just saying.” When she looked back up at his face, she held a deceptively innocent expression.

Oh?

Oh.

“I’m not married!” He clarified, though he wasn’t sure why he felt such an intense need to. Her brow furrowed in a playful sort of empathy he was unfamiliar with.

“Aw. That’s a shame.” Was she… disappointed he wasn’t married? Emmrich felt very confused. “Well, more of you for me then. I like the nervous ones. Usually more interesting.” She teased.

“My dear, I’m afraid you are mistaken. I’m not nervous.” Emmrich attempted to correct, as well as attempted to move her hand away but she hooked him by the collar.

“You seem at least a little nervous, sir. More than a little. A pretty girl shows up your door that you paid good money for and you try to send her away? I’m almost hurt.” She pouted.

His hands surged up, one catching on the corner that would lead them fully into the sitting area and the other going flat against the wall. She went still in response, though their eye contact never broke. In the brief moment of silence that followed his own surprise, he couldn’t help but be somewhat mesmerized. Emmrich wasn’t sure what he was expecting her to look like. He was no stranger to beautiful women, nor men or anyone else that caught his fancy, but she was something else. Her visage made her appear more like a statue at times. A soft, tantalizingly warm statue. And he had to be honest with himself, the forwardness that came with her profession did strike something very unexpected in him. He pushed the thought out of his mind.

“Forgive me, I did not intend to cause offense, Miss…?” Another short laugh softened into his shirt.

“You can call me Rook.” She grinned.

“Rook?” He asked, she hummed affirmatively. “Like the chess piece?”

“Something like that.”

Suddenly, she slinked past him, barely needing to lower her head to duck under his arm. Rook strolled deeper into the living space, not bothering to really take in the scenery. Not like she needed to, it wasn’t her first time being in one of the executive suites. She did notice however that the room barely looked touched. Aside from a chocolate brown blazer neatly laying over the back of the center sofa.

“So, Professor.” She rolled. “I was told you’re looking for someone versatile, a good listener, preferably ‘intelligent’, and can handle some rather unconventional requests. Now, that either means you have a very specific fetish you’d like to explore or you’re actually looking for a therapist.”

The jacket fell away from her shoulders, landing in a heap on the floor that she chose to step around rather than pick up. Emmrich had to fight the urge to follow behind her and hang it in the closet. But her statement began to catch up with him at lightning speed. The perfect opportunity presented itself on a silver platter, punctuated by another pop from her sucker.

“Miss Rook, I sincerely apologize for making you travel all the way out here. But I fear your… services are no longer required.” He explained. That caused her to raise an eyebrow. The sweet rolled to the left side of her mouth, tongue gliding past teeth, as she studied his features carefully.

“You know there are no refunds, right? You paid for two hours up front, so you should probably get two hours.” Rook was used to clients being a bit standoffish if she was their first taste of luxury. But this wasn’t quite that, it struck her as odd. Emmrich clapped his hands together with a relieved smile.

“Oh, that isn’t a problem at all. After all, I did make you come all the way here. That’s work alone!” He said exaggeratedly. Her silver hooped earrings tilted as she turned one pointed ear to the ground.

“You realize you paid more than 2,000 Kings, yeah? You weren’t exactly specific with what kind of service you wanted so you were charged for the standard full package. Plus the consultation fee because of the fact that you were pretty vague.” Rook pondered for a moment before continuing. “Am I not your type, Professor? Do you prefer blondes or something?” She asked.

“Trust me, Miss Rook, that has nothing to do with it.” Emmrich couldn’t help himself from half sputtering a laugh. Something mischievous glinted in the woman’s eye.

“So I am your type. Were you hoping I was a little older?” Rook forced a fake gasp of disgust. “Or even younger? You dastardly fiend.”

The hand that now held the candy raised with a dramatic flourish, lowering herself onto a nearby chair in a mock faint. The joke took him aback. Her age hadn’t even crossed his mind until she pointed it out, he had been too preoccupied. Firstly with how desperately he wanted to be rid of this hair-brained scheme all together and secondly with her striking features. Now that he was thinking about it though, she was noticeably much younger than him. She couldn’t be any older than twenty-eight and that guess was him being generous. Then again, he supposed the original plot did require someone around that age, he just hadn’t considered how this might seem from her perspective.

Her nylon covered legs crossed, raising the dress slightly higher up her thighs. Even while in a lounging position, her body took on the shape of an artist’s muse. Rook looked back up at him through the feathering of her lashes with a playful smirk on her face.

“Come now, we’re both adults. And I’m not exactly shy unless you want me to be. So, go ahead and tell me what your intended plans were for my ‘no longer required’ services.” Her insistence set him on edge.

“Why do you want to know?” He asked earnestly.

“Curiosity.” She replied plainly.

“The real reason.” Emmrich took a few small steps closer. Rook's lifted ankle traced the shape of a circle, he thought she looked suspiciously amused.

“I am curious! But if you must know, I also don’t like people leaving empty-handed. I’m a real bleeding heart like that.”

The remainder of the sweet crunched sharply between her teeth, and she wasted no time in flicking the empty stick into a nearby waste bin. Emmrich found it strangely impressive that she seemed to know exactly where to aim while barely having to look in the target's direction. Rook leaned her head against the arm that rested on the side of the chair.

“Your generosity is misplaced, Miss Rook. I assure you, I am perfectly content with the terms I agreed to as well as stopping this from going any further.” Emmrich insisted, drawing both hands behind his back much like he would during lectures.

Rook took a moment to put together everything she had gleaned from talking to him so far. He was well decorated, dressed well, and didn’t make a fuss over not getting his money back. He was attracted to her, or at least she assumed he was at least a little, as he seemed insistent on not looking too far below her face. Overly polite. Then got defensive when she doubled down. Seemed somewhat naive to how this all worked while also not getting too shaken up by her presence. Experienced in private matters.

Whatever he was wanting, it wasn’t something usual. The request itself was what made him more nervous than her. Rook also recalled Teia’s warning that he supposedly seemed unsure of what he was looking for, at least according to our dear receptionist. Something new that he wasn't sure how to work through. Needing someone with good sense, possibly open minded. Every layer she peeled away at made her all the more intrigued.

Time to put on the charm. Rook gingerly tilted her head, drawing her bottom lip in while looking towards the floor. She fiddled with the edge of her acrylic nails and drew her eyebrows together as if in contemplation. Slow the breathing but make it heavier. The look was easy, sweet and slightly mopey. Some clients liked the needy types. Shoulders slope. Folding moderately on herself.

Of course, Emmrich fell for it. Saw the sad look on her face over his rejection of her request and immediately felt guilty. Rook didn’t need to look up to see it, it showed in the shifting of his feet. Unsure if they should step forward or not. It was almost too easy.

“I’m… sorry.” Look up. Puppy eyes. “It’s just, well, if I don’t stay for the two hours then my boss will wonder why.” Bend over, grab the coat off the floor. Fold it in the lap. “But I get it. I’ll try to think of something-”

“Wait just a moment.” He interrupted. Bingo.

Rook would feel bad about manipulating him, but her own intrigue outweighs that in that moment. Emmrich half paced in a tight line. The multiple ways he could go about explaining this bounced around his mind, none of them feeling quite right.

“It’s just a rather unorthodox request.” He admitted first. There we go, just a little more.

“Trust me, Professor. I’m no stranger to ‘unorthodox’. No judgment here.” She reassured. His mouth formed into a tight lipped smile.

“I would like to teach you about Archeology. Biological Anthropology as well.” That did catch her off guard.

“You want to teach me?” She asked.

“Yes!”

“You’re a professor, that’s your job. And you want to pay me so you can teach more?” Rook’s eyes narrowed. “Do you not get your fix in at work?” She chuckled, Emmrich sighed in response.

“As I said, it’s unorthodox. You see, I found myself in a rather specific predicament. More accurately, my department has found itself in deep water and we require a more… charismatic hand to guide it back to safe shores.”

The professor nearly winced when he saw the shift in Rook’s expression. He knew this plan was utter rubbish. He should have brushed off Johanna’s prodding. He should have laughed off Strife’s suggestion of a solution to the problem and Johanna’s blustering. If he had done the more sensible thing of simply finding another student, a real student, then he wouldn’t be in such a terribly awkward situation.

Expect he had tried that. He had had meetings with every single one of his students in both his advanced and standard classes. None of which were eager to replace Miss Ingellvar. In fact, none of them seemed even remotely interested in the opportunity at all. That had been his entire life these past two months. It was mind-boggling to him that so many promising minds were adamant on tossing aside something that could very well jump start their careers. He even reached out to graduated students who met the criteria and each that had replied claimed to be invested in other projects.

“And naturally there is no one more charismatic than a prostitute.” Rook jabbed, though Emmrich wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not.

“Miss Rook, I would like to make it very clear that I have nothing but respect for your profession-”

“Well that’s a relief, then. Otherwise you would have broken my little heart.” She pouted humorously.

“However.” Emmrich continued. “It is imperative that I showcase someone truly exceptional to my superiors. Someone who not only has the potential to be an expert but can act like an expert. Someone who can keep up with all of the, frankly, pompous individuals who play an unfortunately vital role in the current existence of my department.” Rook’s gaze softened slightly, growing both inquisitive and surprisingly understanding.

“Sounds like you need a miracle worker. Or a fantasy. I guess that explains why you went looking for us.” She mused. His reasoning wasn’t entirely unreasonable in that case.

After all, the tagline wasn’t ‘The Crows rule fantasy and they can set you free’ for nothing. They did it all. Had someone for everything and something for everyone. Escorts, prostitutes, strippers, companions at a price. And Rook was first rate, part of the reason her ‘standard package’ came at such a high cost. To most of her clientele, she was worth the price. But this was definitely new for her.

“Can’t consider this an escort job because there’s more acting involved. Not exactly a companion for hire either, you’re not wanting someone to act as your lover. No sex, so not a prostitute but definitely more labor intensive than you’d typically need from the other two… You know, I’m starting to see why you had such a hard time coming up with what to classify this transaction as, Professor!” She exclaimed. Emmrich wasn’t sure how to take the apparent amusement on her face.

“But as I said, I apologize for wasting your time. I’ve realized how utterly preposterous this all is.”

”So you’ve found someone then?” She asked.

“Well, no.”

“Then The Crows will happily be at your service, Professor.” Rook smiled while Emmrich was taken aback once again.

“Pardon?”

“We provide a service. We make your fantasies a reality. I can give that to you. All I need is payment and a good explanation of the situation and your requirements. We’ll draw up an agreement with my employer and get started whenever you’d like.” She explained confidently.

To say this was an unexpected turn would be an understatement. She spoke so plainly, seemingly unperturbed by his request. It somehow made Emmrich feel both relieved and yet further on edge as well. It was practically unbelievable that she could act so casually about this. Rook gestured towards the green sofa placed diagonally to her chair.

“Take a seat.” She commanded. Emmrich acquiesced, though partially out of confusion. “Start from the beginning, if you can. What exactly do you need me for?” Her body adjusted into a more comfortable sitting position, slouching back into the chair as she brought an Orlesian tipped nail to rest between her teeth.

“I work at Nevarra City University, I’m head of the Anthropology Department. Part of my job is allocating funding given to my department as well as securing said funding and managing grants. We’re a research department, funding is very important.”

“Money makes the world go around.” She remarked.

“A rather sizable portion of our funding comes from the Eluvian Foundation, an international organization that provides large donations to multiple universities every year which more or less keeps my department available to those who require a scholarship in order to attend.” In truth, many of his student body were at least on partial scholarship or financial assistance thanks to said organization. “But at the end of last semester, we were informed that several universities are having their funding either entirely cut or reduced due to a ‘lack of advancement or achievement’. It’s not set in stone yet. As far as I’m aware, the Foundation’s Board of Directors is taking this year to evaluate who gets what. They intend to host a gala where many of the universities are expected to send representatives of their departments in order to subtly flaunt the fruits of our labor.”

“Sounds like they’re sending you to the gallows. Or stand on trial.” That comment made Emmrich huff. Both in exasperation and a twinge of morbid hilarity.

“It certainly feels that way. My department had a student in mind to bring to this gala, Franziska. Brilliant young lady, truly, she made such wonderful progress on her research into The Banner Wars. But over the summer holiday, she had made the decision to not attend. As well as switch to all virtual lessons and not respond to any inquiries surrounding this decision. And I have been unfortunately unsuccessful in finding anyone else willing to take her spot.”

“So what I’m hearing is you’re desperate because without their money you won’t have as many students which could tank your department. Am I getting this right?”

“More or less.” He admitted somewhat begrudgingly. “We do important work. It’s cultural work, good for the community, the country as a whole. And my students, what they do is revolutionary! If there’s a chance I can prevent them from being overlooked in this way, I’ll take it.”

The woman grew quiet, expression calm despite the firm grip her teeth held on thumb nail. Emmrich wasn’t sure what to make of it. But what he had finally realized in the expanse of her silence was that she was not idling within it. Her eyes flicked to different parts of him, evaluating him with an amount of scrutiny that made him once again overly aware of everything. How near she was, the position she sat in, the way her clothes didn’t match said position and seemed to be raised uncomfortably high.

Rook was never one to waste an opportunity. She picked him apart again. He kept himself composed well enough, but the signs of nervousness were there. Sitting with good posture and his knees slightly parted in a casual manner, but his hands secretly fiddled with his rings. It didn’t seem like he was lying, and he did appear to be genuinely concerned. A decision came fairly quick.

She stood rather abruptly, coat falling into her previous spot. Her heels thudded with an uneven amount of sound as one remained on the rug and the other clacked against the hardwood. Passing by the television, she reached the small desk nearby and plucked the often forgotten notepad laying atop it. Carrying the papers back towards Emmrich, she shimmied her body between the sofa and the coffee table until she stood in front of the man.

Rook leaned forward. One of her legs bent against the cushion in between the gap Emmrich’s legs made. Her chest came dangerously close to Emmrich’s chin, providing an ample distraction from her finger’s delving into his vest’s top pocket and slipping a pen out of it. Though, if she was being honest, she mostly did it to see him get flustered. When she retreated, she was surprised to only see a light blush on his face. He was more cool under pressure than she had originally given him credit for.

Once she had the pen, she lowered herself until she was able to sit on top of the coffee table. Knees went up, dress opening a smidge thanks to a split on the backside as she brought her heels to the sofa and blocked Emmrich’s legs on either side. The notepad was pressed into her elevated thigh while she opened his fountain pen and began to write.

“We can either schedule appointments or you can check with my handler to see if I’m free if you need me on short notice. What days are you available?” She asked. Emmrich blinked quietly to himself as he fought the urge to look anywhere but her face once more. Until she shot him an expectant look. He cleared his throat.

“My official hours are 8am to 3pm most weekdays. Though I do have… other responsibilities as well. On Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I have time between 4 to 7. I would have to get back to you about weekends, those are less certain.” He explained.

“Got it. Well, as long as you don’t mind risking me being unavailable after 10 most Saturdays and Sundays then I think we can make that work. We’re pretty flexible with weekdays usually so I’ll write up a potential schedule and run it by you before we proceed. Do you require us to provide a secondary location or did you have one in mind?”

“Um, both? Depends on what we’re focusing our studies on. Libraries would probably be our most typical meeting point but those won’t always be reliable- Maker, I did not think this through all the way.” He said, running a hand over his hair.

“That’s okay. We can update the arrangements later, this is just so I can give a rough idea of the plan to my employer. Locations that we provide will cost you extra depending on availability and necessity. Additional charges may apply depending on method of transportation requirements as well. Any locations you provide will have to be vetted and documented. Safety and all that jazz.” She twirled the pen in faux enthusiasm. “Speaking of which, we’ll need to update your moniker for our files if you intend to be a repeat customer for the time being, Professor.”

“Emmrich. You can call me Emmrich, Miss Rook.” Might as well, he was already in this deep. A playful curl of her lips made him feel somewhat bashful.

“Cute name. Don’t worry, we keep all of our paper and data trails anonymous. ‘Professor E.V.’ is still too identifiable for us, so I’ll come up with something else…” She trailed off, contemplating. “You teach archeology, could call you something like ‘Fossils’ if you don’t mind jokes about your age.” Rook looked up to clock the slight scowl on his face and fought the chuckle it nearly elicited. “Or, we could go with something a little more crass, Bone Daddy.”

“Miss Rook!” He exclaimed in a disapproving whisper.

“Sorry, sorry! Couldn’t help myself. Okay, let’s be serious…” Rook’s eyes narrowed on his choice of neckwear for the day, a skull collar-pin. “How about Lichdom? Nevarra had that whole thing with preserving skeletons and calling them Liches, yeah?” That took Emmrich by surprise, both her knowing about that and the now certain fact that she wasn’t from Nevarra originally.

“You know about our historical burial practices?” He asked.

”Eh, a little bit. Mostly because of Nevarra being a bit ahead of the rest of the world when it came to surgical studies since you preserved organs for study.” She paused for a moment again. “But to be honest, the reason I thought about it was the leftovers from the Bone Daddy joke. Lich-Dom, get it? You just have this vibe about you!”

“What on earth could possibly give you that impression?” He asked rhetorically.

It was impressive how quickly she could change the energy of a conversation. Most people in Nevarra would briefly touch on the history of Lichdom as part of local history. He didn’t realize people may take an interest in it outside of the country. But then she’d say something like that to pull him out of his own intrigue.

“I’m good at my job, I notice things. You buttoned up types are one of two things usually. Quivering submissives who want a break from being so put together all the time or the more staunch Doms who like to feel fully in control because you act put together even if you’re not. I guess you could be somewhere right in between the two. We do have…” Rook tapped the screen of her smart watch, something Emmrich somehow hadn’t noticed she had on until now, and checked the time. “Another hour and twenty minutes give or take to find out. Moving on though, do you have preferences for how I dress during our appointments?” It took Emmrich a few additional seconds to respond as he processed her original statement.

“No?”

“Got it, got it. Leave the Pleasers and pasties at home unless I’m feeling frisky that day.” She joked while making that note. “For simplicity, we’ll consider this a ‘companion for hire’ deal since you just plan on teaching me. Which brings my rate down by quite a bit alone. So that should put you at somewhere around 50 Kings an hour before any additional charges I’ve already mentioned. Two hours a day, potentially three days a week, that takes us to 300 Kings a week without weekends. I might be able to wager a temporary additional discount depending on how the rest of this appointment goes but don’t hold your breath. Does that sound reasonable to you?”

“I suppose it does… Miss Rook, I’m not entirely sure what to make of all of this.” He confessed.

”Yeah, I figured this was your first time with someone in my line of work. You’re doing very well. Just know you’re getting a very good deal with me. Most of my customers are paying… well, what you’re paying right now!”

The notepad met the surface of the table with a soft splat. Rook closed the cap on the pen but kept it between two fingers. In a slow, relaxed motion she leaned back, resting against her elbows and forearms to keep herself propped up. The right heel shifted, dragging up his side and cresting into his torso. The sole pressed lightly into the top of his vest. The black, pointed toe appeared to Emmrich like an arrowhead aimed towards his digastric muscle.

“With that being said, I did tell you there were no refunds. You get what you pay for, Emmrich.” She rolled the syllables of his name teasingly, pressing the shoe into his with a near imperceptible amount of added pressure. Just enough to make him feel the almost hypnotic need to fully lean back into the sofa.

The man swallowed a lump in his throat that he hadn’t realized was there, gaze trying to find a suitable place to settle when even her face seemed too tempting an image. The most obvious space he insisted on keeping his gaze away from was the widened but shadowed gap the opening in her dress made between her legs. A more labored breath went in through Emmrich’s nose. That did not go unnoticed by Rook. There was some level of satisfaction in knowing now for a fact that he was attracted to her, though she’d likely never admit that.

“You have made me awfully curious. What path will you take, I wonder.” Rook mused with a gentle sigh.

This was one of the parts of her job that she liked. People were predictable, and she wasn’t a fool. This Emmrich would either like to be subjugated or subjugate her. A lot of clients who wanted her in charge secretly liked the idea of being dominated by a ‘less valuable’ woman, something like a guilty pleasure. Rich tech-bro types who wanted the object of their scorn to grind them mercilessly into the dirt. Maybe this sweet little professor was frustrated with his snickering students and wanted a young lady to make the experience more tolerable.

The reverse also seemed just as likely. Rook could be the target of his less pleasant urges. All pulling hair, throwing her over a desk or a bent knee and getting it all out of his system. A bit of controlled catharsis. And as his hand came into contact with the undersides of her ankle, running the rounded curve of her calf, she thought she got her answer.

The feeling of nylon was familiar under the ghosting of his finger tips. Beneath her pantyhose and the layer of assuredly smooth flesh, Emmrich could feel an expanse of taut muscle. She had strong legs and even they smelled of that artificial berry and candy he had caught from her earlier. But under that he sensed something more herbal or dirty, like lavender and sweat. She didn’t resist him pulling her to the side in order for him to lean forward. Staunch Dom was the conclusion she came to.

“I believe I made it clear before that those aspects of your services won’t be necessary, Miss Rook.” It was tempting though, in different circumstances he knew he likely wouldn’t have turned down the offer.

Now it was her turn to try and hide a look of mild surprise. And Emmrich found that delightful in its own way. Once that feeling was shaken away, she simply shrugged her shoulders as though to say ‘your loss’. One leg swung over the other into a brief cross before moving to stand and walk in that direction in one fluid motion. The coat was back in her arms and being lifted over her shoulders no more than a moment later. Still, she maintained a polite smile that was perfectly trained.

“Probably for the best.” She remarked, turning back towards the professor. With a ginger hand, she reached for his vest pocket again and dropped the pen back into place, giving it a small pat for emphasis. “Wouldn’t want to muddy the waters too much. After all, I’m fairly certain if we did fulfill the original agreement, you’d have a hard time focusing on teaching me. And you’d probably be out a lot more money.”

Without any fanfare, Rook rounded the table to pull her used sheet from the notepad. She folded it neatly before slipping it into her jacket pocket. It wasn’t as though she was in a hurry, but truthfully an awkward tension did creep up her spine. Oddly enough, Emmrich felt compelled to try and apologize in case he somehow offended her in some way. But Rook once again had another point of conversation in mind to break up his instincts.

“I’m assuming the method of contact you used for us is still viable, yes?” She asked, adjusting her dress and jacket.

“Yes, that should be fine.” He replied.

“Good. We’ll contact you sometime tomorrow, was there a time you’d prefer?” She continued and Emmrich thought for a moment.

“Any time after 5pm should do fine if that’s alright.”

“Very well. My handler will go over the basics of the contract, you just reply with yes or no, then you both will agree to a meet up time and location, and I’ll deliver the documents for you to read over and sign.”

“I never knew these sorts of things were so structured.” He admitted, revealing more of his own inexperience.

“We like to be thorough. Can never be too careful these days, yeah? Occupational hazards around every corner.” Though she was jesting, Emmrich got the grotesque sense that she wasn’t actually joking as much as she’d like him to believe. “Well, if that’s all then I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair. Return the key to the front desk before the two hours are up.”

“I… will do that.”

Rook tied her leather coat around her waist and Emmrich naturally stood to accompany her to the door. Which he then quickly debated if that was necessary or even wanted. She turned her head over her shoulder with another cheeky grin, almost as if she was taunting him to go ahead and try, see what happens. When he didn’t approach further her eyes sharpened deviously.

“I’ll see you soon, Professor Emmrich.” She hummed before her thin heels carried her to the door.

In the wake of her absence, Emmrich felt strangely underwhelmed. Or perhaps he was feeling somewhat devoid of anything. Like being suspended in water slowly brought to a boil and then suddenly removed. Raw but numb. Recalling the texture of her stockings against his skin gave his blood the sensation of flowing through ice laden veins.

Rook strutted back down the hallway and made her way to the elevator. On the way she passed by one of the several housekeepers she knew who worked in The Lighthouse and let them know that the cleanup was going to be minimal today. Once the elevator door closed, she took advantage of the new privacy to tap her watch again.

“Hey C.T.” She called into it and received a gentle chime in response. “Text T. Leaving early, will swing by office to update. Tell V not to blow a gasket.”

“Would you like to send?” A calm voice bounced inside the closed space.

“Yes.” The chime blinked, letting her know the message was sent.

The elevator reached the ground floor not long after. A quick exit from the lift and she unceremoniously crossed the lobby and left the building. Someone near check-in did less than subtly look her up and down as she walked past but that was normal. The company car she took was around the corner where employees would normally park. Which was also on the opposite side of where her new found client’s room was facing. There were never too many precautions, as Viago would say.

Every company car was black, each kept pristinely clean no matter the model. Nothing too fancy for her today, didn’t want it to stand out too much. The door unlocked with a click from inside her pocket. Once she was inside with the door closed behind her, her undecorated hands tapped against the steering feel in an off kilter melody. A long pause came where she debated laying her head against the steering wheel. She shouldn’t, didn’t want to get makeup on it.

“A steady stream of income never hurt anybody.” Rook sighed to herself.

Her heels slipped off her feet and she leaned over to pluck them off the ground and flick them into the passenger's seat. Then she reached below the seat itself to retrieve a worn, faded to grey messenger bag. Riffling through the contents, her fingers finally caught on to one of the objects of her attention.

Life had its simple pleasures for Rook. Her favorite of which was a popular gas station staple. Blue-raspberry flavored Lyri-yum suckers. She made sure the wrapper found its place back in the bag alongside all the others she’d had since yesterday. The stick fixed between her teeth as she started the engine. Just a little something to take the edge of uncertainty off.

Sweet and familiar.

[apilgrimpassingby]

Death of the Author

Tagging @artist-issues (whose opposition to death of the author inspired this post and whose response I'd like to hear), @kaleb-is-definitely-sane and @arcenciel-par-une-larme (who I can count on to have Opinions about stuff like this).

Disclaimer: I haven't academically studied these subjects. However, my archaeology course includes a module on archaeological theory, which included a Postmodernism 101 and correction of some misconceptions about it. Hence, I'm going to make this post about three misconceptions about death of the author and the two films that convinced me of it.

Three Misconceptions about Death of the Author

Death of the Author means that all interpretations are equally valid: "Multiple interpretations are valid" does not mean "all interpretations are valid"; in fact, it doesn't even mean "most interpretations are valid". To adapt an example I heard, a proponent of death of the author would say that The Lord of the Rings is equally validly interpreted as a Christian story about how taking up your cross and rejecting worldly power will save the world, a xenophobic story about how strange eastern hordes are poised to destroy rural England, a pastiche of and homage to Norse mythology, a reflection of Tolkien's experiences in the First World War, and so on, while still agreeing that saying it's a story about vampires or time travel is vacuous gobbledegook. The death of the author still necessitates that you point to elements within the text to justify your interpretation.

Death of the author means that the author's opinion is irrelevant: Death of the author asserts that the author's interpretation of their story is no more authoritative than anyone else's, but also that it is no less authoritative. To continue the above example, a proponent of death of the author would say that Tolkien's view of his own story (a mix of the Christian and Norse mythology interpretations) is an important and valid reading of the text, but is one of several such readings rather than the canonical or singular one.

Death of the author means language has no inherent meaning: See Misconception 1. Multiple meanings is not the same as infinite meanings, or even many meanings. If anything, I see death of the author as a linguistic absolutist approach, since it positions interpretation within the words, tropes, imagery, etc. that the writer used, not within what they intended to use them to communicate.

The Films that Convinced me of Death of the Author

They Live: The film is set in the then-future of the 1990s, when the rich are getting richer while the poor get poorer, the middle class is collapsing and people are being reduced to itinerant labourers to survive (sound familiar?). The protagonist, Nada, undergoes a series of mysterious events (such as graffiti reading "they live. you sleep" that gives the film its title) and finds a pair of sunglasses that, when put on, reveal the aliens living among us who rule the world and that all advertising is propaganda by them. He decides to fight back against them and join the resistance.

You can probably see from that description why conspiracy theorists love this film. However, the director, John Carpenter, has always denied the conspiracy theorist reading and insisted that it was meant to be an anti-capitalist film. My reaction when watching it, however was "you made a conspiracy theorist movie, John, you don't get to complain that conspiracy theorists like it".

2. The Craft: After a failed suicide attempt, lonely teenager Sarah moves to a Catholic school in California. There she meets three other outcast girls - trailer park kid Nancy, African-American Rochelle and heavily scarred Bonny - who practice the occult (the eponymous craft), and collectively form a coven, where they use magic to achieve their wishes. However, it begins to backfire on them.

Everything from Harry Potter to Halloween has been accused of promoting the occult, and I normally think the accusation is pretty unserious. This is one of the exceptions - the writer, Peter Filardi, was a practicing occultist who consulted with Wiccans for authenticity in the spells the characters cast, and Fairuza Balk, who plays Nancy, purchased an occult shop during filming for research purposes. However, the film's narrative tells a different story - Nancy goes drunk with power, rapes and murders Sarah's boyfriend (who had previously been coming onto her aggressively due to a misfiring love spell), and tries to murder Sarah after she tries to leave, and Bonny and Rochelle are implied to have caused a plane crash and with magic (they insist it was simply an illusion, but the film leans towards them having actually done it), and eventually Sarah leaves and Nancy is committed to an insane asylum, breaking up the coven. This paints a pretty starkly negative portrait of magic. In this case, the appeal to death of the author is redemptive in nature - since the film was made by people with mistaken views of good and evil, and an alternate reading exists that corrects the film's morals, isn't it better to ignore authorial intent here?

The people I've tagged and anyone else who's interested, please tell me your thoughts.

[melvisik]

OFMD - TREASURE, LOVE, AND EDWARD

Edited - Possible trigger warnings at the bottom under the gif of Edward and MerStede by @soapbubbles511. Thanks to @agneswarda for pointing this out in the reblogging tags.

Totally joining in with this discussion about the deleted scenes (even though I'm extremely late to the party)...

Source crediting set decorator Lindsey Cantrell's insta at linds_cantrell

Absolutely, Ed is a beautiful hot mess splayed out on the ground pouring whateveritis into his gaping mouth, and we were sorely robbed of some awesome shots (no doubt due to budget/time cuts). Also, the text here somewhat vindicates the fandom's in-depth observations as to the incredible weight of Ed's unhappiness at this point.

So here it comes, because reiterating fandom analyses and interpretations is fun...

One of the key elements we see in season one is Ed's desire for the fine things he's been denied in much of his youth, things his own mother told him they could never have. Mother Teach frames it as it being a matter of providence or even nature, because that isn't who they are rather than accrediting it to unfair circumstances they were born into.

Who can blame her really? The poor woman was a victim of the unfair social class/caste system of the 18th century and she had an abusive, degrading dick for a partner.

Anyway, that fine piece of silk she gives her son is probably one of the biggest symbolic tools in TV history - Ed's fondness for fine things, his wish to be one of 'those kinds of people' (despite the odds) thinking it will make it happy, his connection to affection, his first bond with Stede Bonnet both in camaraderie...

...and in love.

And then, of course we see this...

Well then.

Long before the unhinged binge-raiding, Ed had already accrued more riches than some uppity officer can shake a fucking stick at, but he had yet to find that elusive something he'd been pursuing since childhood.

Source

Cue Stede Bonnet, a constituent of that aristocratic world Ed's been dreaming about and a sweet representation of finery and refinery.

...sorta. Really, they just pass the time so well...

Extremely well, like 'welcome to the family'...

But at the beginning of season two, what Ed came to treasure most is gone, and he can't replace it no matter how many valuables he collects. There's a void in his heart he was on a rampant quest to fill, and just when he thought he'd found someone that can occupy some of that space, he's abandoned by him.

So, afterwards (and after some other stuff) Ed jumps from raid to raid as Blackbeard 2.0, raising hellions and sending them out to play, pillage, and plunder.

But he does this without any sense of care or pleasure. Another day in the life of a pirate. Make the plan, execute the plan, make the plan, execute the plan, and again, and again, and again... so fucking boring.

He's amassed so much stuff that the crew literally has to dump it overboard, and only more is coming in because he's determined never to divert from this strict regiment, whether it's because he intends to incite Ned Lowe into coming after him or to have it serve as a distraction from the unyielding pain.

Either way, he shuts down in a sort of resignation and fully conforms to the role expected of him, because they think it's just who he is...

In the interim, during those all too frequent moments of inaction, he self-medicates with drugs and alcohol and wallows about in misery, sometimes in Stede's old cabin surrounded by riches that are ultimately worthless to his broken heart.

It's a fairly common trope - a gut-wrenching display of unhappiness whilst surround by troves of treasure.

But we see here that Ed takes it a step farther, reverting to an almost childlike state and enacting his fantasy with dolls.

And with those cut scenes, we could very well have seen how he behaves similarly with the treasure, perhaps by playing dress up with the jewelry or admiring these objects that should, by all rights, represent the vast wealth he'd once hoped to achieve.

He's surrounded by the fine things he coveted in his childhood, but now he finds none of it remotely satisfying. He's had a taste of true joy, and all this stuff just listlessly lying around pales in comparison.

Is he having fun? Nope, because this was fun...

Is he basking in the splendor? Nope, because this was splendor...

Does he recognize the value of the treasure at his fingertips? Nope, because you know where this is going...

In fact the only stolen piece that means anything to him is fiscally worthless.

That figurine is a cheap representation of something intrinsically valuable. Just like the jewels, the furs, the gold, and every lifeless item in that room, it essentially means nothing save for the memory Ed attaches to it.

Ed's life has become that dull drag of monotony just like before. On the outset, that life was probably fun for a while and perhaps did initially satisfy his thirst for wealth, acceptance and attention, but over time he basically became married to his work, 'working for Blackbeard,' an unhappy husband to piracy.

This discomfort in a married state only started to alleviate when that bizarre, cheerful lunatic showed Ed that he can absolutely escape his situation and doesn't have to let his past prevent him from moving forward.

Ed was fully willing to give it all up. Stede served as a perfect conduit for this, but falling in love with him altered Ed's aim - he no longer necessarily desires the lavish lifestyle and/or identity of Stede Bonnet, but rather something loads better...

Then we have the sharp turn-around, and Ed is in an even worse state than where he started off.

He's been there, done that, and even trying to reach for an extreme version of Blackbeard just isn't quite cutting it.

Death seems to be the only unexplored avenue left to him. It might not make him happy, but then he was never meant for happiness, was he? He's just not that kind of person. But it can, at least, just make everything stop...

And these scenes could have shown so much of that - the impotence of all the wealth available for Ed's leisure and how spending the day with someone is the better treasure. This kind of treasure later only serves as a sign of Ed's guilt at the atrocities he committed, and it's only useful in helping others throw a big bash or giving other less fortunate kiddies a better chance than he had.

It really wasn't worth all that much to Ed in the end. Just as it wasn't worth all that much to Stede Bonnet either.

The man who sees value in what's thought to be worthless, who discerns fortune in a chest of blue dirt and exquisite detailing in a pile of junk, finds his ultimate treasure.

P.S. The treasure in that scene also possibly serves as reflection of all the 'finery' attributes Ed sees in Stede, the beauty and status he'd once craved presented up in a warm jaunty melody that somehow matches Ed beat for weird beat.

P.P.S. And for the fantastical lovers - Stede's the handsome prince (mer-prince in fact) that helps this beautiful princess escape from the dragon's hoard.

Warning: This post contains implications of suicide, abuse, drug use, and alcohol abuse. These subjects are delicate and complex and I am no expert, so if any information/opinions in this post are evaluated to be erroneous, seem careless, or cause too much controversy, this post will be deleted and apologies given.

Constructive criticism is welcome.

[rose-of-oz]

Pride and prejudice OCs you say....

Tell me everything 🤩

Your wish is my command, Layne my darling!! I hereby introduce you to the Kaur siblings, Ananya and Rohan!! (And I’m also gonna tag my beloved @oneirataxia-girl since I know she’s a fan of these babies. <3)

Now, Rohan is the older sibling and the next in like for his family’s title and small fortune. His and Ananya’s father is a baron of decent means, who met their mother on a trip to India shortly after he inherited the title from his own father and married her (and would have taken her last name if he could have, but settled for allowing his children to take it instead). Their family isn’t incredibly rich or important, somewhere between the Bennets and the Bingleys in terms of money, but they have a decent-sized estate and some good business contacts that Rohan has been trained to take over since he was only ten years old.

The thing is, though, that Rohan doesn’t want to take over the estate once he gets married - he’s never had a head for business or managing relationships. He’s a bookworm through and through, fascinated with history and the pursuit of knowledge itself, and he’d much rather be holed up in the estate’s library all day with his nose in any informational text he can get his hands on than dealing with a bunch of stodgy old nobleman. And as much as his father loves him and wishes he could let him fulfill his dream of being a historian, Rohan is his only son, and his sister has no more of a head for business than he does, so unless he manages to marry a woman capable of running the estate, it’s going to be up to Rohan to keep things going.

Rohan, understandably, is incredibly upset about the whole situation, especially because he doesn’t ever really intend to marry (due to the fact that he is not interested in women at all and is, unfortunately, not allowed to marry another man). But when his parents make the decision to move their estate to Hertfordshire, wanting a bit of a quieter life as they get older, Rohan finds the perfect solution in one Elizabeth Bennet. He and Lizzie become fast friends after meeting, bonded by their love of reading and knowledge in general, and it also doesn’t take Rohan long to notice that Lizzie and his little sister seem to be taking a particular interest in one another - the same kind of interest he and Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy have been taking in each other at the same time. And as luck would have it, Ananya seems to get along splendidly with Mr. Darcy as well, despite their vastly different personalities.

This whole turn of events leads Rohan to think of a (in his opinion, anyway) genius plan: he will marry Elizabeth and Ananya will marry Mr. Darcy. That way, he can leave the running of his family’s estate up to Lizzie, who has much more of a talent for running things than he does, Lizzie’s family will get a better life since Lizzie has married into nobility, and to top it all off, their little group of four will all be able to spend time with their respective lovers with little fear of having to keep a secret and absolutely no jealousy. It’s a bit of a crazy plan, he knows (and Darcy makes it very clear that he thinks so), but still a good one, and so the four of them go along with it. And so Rohan winds up married to his best friend while having nightly rendezvous with the man he loves and that his wife used to hate, while his beloved little sister does the same thing, just in reverse.

And speaking of little sister, let’s talk about Ananya!! She is a genuine ray of sunshine, almost always smiling and letting out the sweetest little giggle every time someone says something she finds funny. She is also decidedly her and Rohan’s mother’s favorite child, a fact which the woman would never admit and that Ananya would never hold over Rohan’s head, but it’s true nonetheless; for the most part, she has always been a perfect little proper lady who needed little training on matters of etiquette and manners, and her mother adores her for that.

But there is still that for the most part, and it lies in the fact that Ananya loves to get dirty in the garden. Despite the fact that her family does have a gardener on staff, she’s basically in charge of the garden both at their estate in the city and in Hertfordshire, and if anyone ever can’t find her in the house it’s a pretty safe bet that she can be found in the garden, soiling the knees of one of her day dresses with her hands shoved into the soil. It drives her mother just a little bit crazy, but she also doesn’t really do too much about it considering the floral arrangements Ananya puts together for the house always get positive comments from visitors.

Still, the countess always tells her daughter, she won’t be able to garden forever once she gets married - which Ananya doesn’t want to do, really, for very similar reasons to her older brother. When the family moves to Hertfordshire and she meets Lizzie Bennet, of course, she very much reconsiders that, and it breaks her heart every time she has to remind herself that she can never marry the person she truly loves.

Of course, Ananya then strikes up a truly unexpected friendship with Fitzwilliam Darcy - they are very much a sunshine/sunshine protector friendship - whose estate has an amazing garden, and Rohan eventually proposes his plan for he and Ananya to marry their friends and meet up with their lovers in secret. Ananya is head over heels in love with Lizzie, with her witty remarks and bright smiles that she seems to reserve specifically for Ananya, so of course she agrees to Rohan’s scheme and accepts Darcy’s proposal of marriage - especially because it will make her parents happy, and especially because Darcy agrees to give her full control over the estate’s garden and she enjoys proving her mother wrong that little bit.

Anyways, those are my two Pride & Prejudice babies!! I will make a proper intro post for them at some point, but for now feel free to ask more questions about them if you want to!!

[bangtanhandholding]

fic like therapy: Spudcity’s How to mend with gold

POV Taehyung

AU: Contemporary American (NYC 2020)

Ship: Kim Taehyung/Min Yoongi

Length: 72k in 9 chapters

Summary: Taehyung has a list of things to do to become a better person, and that's how he ends up volunteering at a queer youth centre. There’s only one problem – Yoongi works there. The same Yoongi who rejected him years ago and hasn’t given him the time of day since.

Themes: Social media and celebrity, consent, LGBTQ youth, anxiety, PTSD

Why it resonates: Written in Taehyung's pov, the text captures the dizzying effort to reconcile one’s murky subjective experience with contrary evidence in other parties’ actions and words. This Taehyung is used to negotiating his social reality, deferring to others when they aren't interested in his perspective and lying when reframing isn't enough to keep it pleasant. Some of these discrepancies are deliberate constructions (influencer image, gaslighting “friend”, impossible mother), others are a misunderstanding or the result of broken self esteem. Taehyung starts in crisis, isolated by these tactics and unable to understand his own hurt. Through the fic, Taehyung learns how to trust himself and others by finding a safer way to live and accepting help from those who care.

Personally: A lot of Tae’s struggles feel familiar. The mindfuck of people feeling entitled to your body, the impulse to smooth over failings that don't seem justifiable, and the emotional wall he has built to keep even good friends safe from his “too much” mess. It's soothing to watch Taehyung break this all down, bit by bit, and heal. Especially sweet is Yoongi’s support, first grudgingly and then gently offering the tools and space for Taehyung to find his feet. Also every time a weird Taehyung is loved for his whole self, my heart grows three sizes.

Warnings: Sexual assault (off camera), Stalking, PTSD, Messed up family dynamics, Drug and alcohol use, Homophobia, Child abuse (off camera), The Idle Rich. Read the full tags and the authors notes per chapter and take care.

Highlights: they/them Hoseok, Drag queen Seokjin, Jungkook as 13 year old brat, gruff guncle, therapeutic ice cream, shameless Taehyung vs stone Yoongi, constructively coercive VMin, literal brothers TaeJoon, and demonstrated character growth (all show, no tell)

fic like therapy: Sometimes stories help us understand ourselves and our lives, illuminating experiences in ways that change the lessons learned. Sometimes, they walk us past familiar traumas to firmer ground. While this impact is not always intended by the authors, but we can still thank them for their art. I'm using this tag to highlight some favourite works in my current fandom corner: BTS RPF.

[jon-withnoh]

100, 121, 129!

100. Your favourite Gothic novel:

It’s impossible to choose just one so I‘ll give you several. I spent a lot of time with Jane Eyre during my English degree and it‘s still one of my favourites. There‘s just so much there! (I‘d also recommend Wild Sargasso Sea and Jane Steele as interesting takes on the Jane Eyre story.) Secondly, people are sleeping on The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë. I actually prefer her prose to Charlotte‘s and she opens up extremely interesting subject matter (a woman fleeing her abusive husband with her son and earning her own living as an artist, to give the briefest of summaries). Thirdly, I do of course have to recommend Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. It‘s an extremely rich text that rewards multiple readings (I am currently on my third reread, armed with book tabs and a pencil). Definitely try to get a copy that has Sally Beauman‘s introduction (or find it on my blog under the rebecca das musical tag, hehe). It gives a lot of context and provides a jumping off point for further research.

121. A book that makes you nostalgic:

Anne of Green Gables (specifically the German translation I read as a child). I „borrowed“ (read: stole) the copy from my cousin, fully intending to give it back but never actually doing it. I‘m pretty sure she never noticed. It had the first two books of the series and I reread it countless times, especially over the summer. It‘s the perfect mixture of a heroine I could really identify with and an atmosphere that fits really well with that endless, sunny feeling of childhood summer holidays (at least in my memory).

Another book that makes me very nostalgic now is Alanna, the First Adventure by Tamora Pierce. I had the first two books of the series in German translation and read them many, many times. (I actually didn‘t end up finishing the series until I was in my early twenties).

129. A book with beautiful prose:

I have to recommend another book connected to Rebecca here (mainly because I just moved and all my books are in boxes, depriving me of visual reminders of the books I have actually read): Mrs de Winter by Susan Hill has very smooth, atmospheric prose that I enjoyed a lot.

I haven‘t read a lot of fiction in the last couple of years because I focused on poetry in my MA, so I also want to recommend a couple of poetry collections:

Flèche by Mary Jean Chan — this collection changed me. I want to memorise it and have it with me everywhere. I‘m stealing this description from the back of the book since words really are failing me: „As complex themes of multilingualism, queerness, psychoanalysis and cultural history emerge, so too does a richly imagined personal, maternal and national biography. The result is a series of poems that feel urgent and true, dazzling and devastating by turns“.

Good Bones by Maggie Smith — you might have read the title poem of the collection, „Good Bones“ that went viral a few years ago. This whole collection is a delight though, with images that appear and reappear in different places in the collection, thoughts on maturing, motherhood, and the feeling of being anchored to — or escaping — the place where you grow up.

No Map Could Show Them by Helen Mort — I recommend this book to everyone who asks me about poetry. I am not lying when I say that this is the book that made me a poet. I solidly thought of myself as a prose writer before I read it. It‘s a collection focusing on present day and historical women mountaineers (with detours into other subjects). What always draws me in about Mort‘s poetry is her incredible gift of getting the imagery and form of her poems work together to really make them sing. I could give a twenty minute lecture on her use of white space alone. I love this book.

[mostafaahmed15849]

Effective SEO Strategies to Boost Online Visibility

Search Engine Optimization (SEO) is an essential digital marketing strategy that enhances a website's visibility on search engines like Google. By implementing effective SEO techniques, businesses can drive organic traffic, improve search rankings, and increase conversions. This article explores key SEO strategies to help businesses stay competitive in the ever-evolving digital landscape. source:رواج للتسويق

1. Keyword Research and Optimization

Keyword research is the foundation of any successful SEO strategy. Identifying and targeting the right keywords ensures that your content reaches the intended audience.

Best Practices for Keyword Optimization:

Use keyword research tools like Google Keyword Planner, Ahrefs, and SEMrush to find relevant search terms.

Focus on long-tail keywords that have lower competition but high intent.

Incorporate keywords naturally into titles, headings, meta descriptions, and content.

Optimize images with alt text containing relevant keywords.

Avoid keyword stuffing, as it can lead to search engine penalties.

2. High-Quality Content Creation

Content is a key ranking factor in SEO. Producing valuable, informative, and engaging content helps attract and retain users while improving search rankings.

Content Optimization Tips:

Create long-form content (1,000+ words) that thoroughly addresses a topic.

Use headings (H1, H2, H3) to improve readability and structure.

Include relevant internal and external links for additional value.

Regularly update old content to keep it fresh and relevant.

Incorporate multimedia elements such as images, videos, and infographics.

3. On-Page SEO Optimization

On-page SEO ensures that individual web pages are optimized to rank higher in search engine results.

Key On-Page SEO Elements:

Title Tags & Meta Descriptions: Use compelling, keyword-rich titles and descriptions to improve click-through rates.

URL Structure: Keep URLs concise, descriptive, and keyword-focused.

Header Tags: Use structured headers (H1 for main titles, H2 for subheadings, etc.) to improve content organization.

Internal Linking: Connect related pages within your website to enhance navigation and SEO value.

Mobile Optimization: Ensure your website is mobile-friendly and responsive. more:رواج للتسويق

4. Technical SEO Enhancements

Technical SEO focuses on improving the backend of a website to enhance its performance and crawlability.

Key Technical SEO Elements:

Page Speed Optimization: Use caching, image compression, and a content delivery network (CDN) to improve load times.

XML Sitemaps: Submit an XML sitemap to search engines to help them index your site efficiently.

HTTPS Security: Secure your website with an SSL certificate to improve trust and rankings.

Fix Broken Links: Regularly audit and fix broken links to maintain website health.

5. Link Building Strategies

Backlinks from high-authority websites signal trust and credibility to search engines, helping improve rankings.

Effective Link-Building Techniques:

Guest Blogging: Write guest posts for authoritative websites in your industry.

Content Outreach: Contact bloggers and influencers to share your content.

Digital PR: Publish newsworthy content to earn backlinks from reputable sources.

Broken Link Building: Find broken links on other websites and offer your content as a replacement.

6. Local SEO Optimization

For businesses targeting local customers, local SEO is essential for improving visibility in local search results.

Local SEO Best Practices:

Google My Business (GMB): Claim and optimize your GMB listing with accurate details.

Local Keywords: Use location-based keywords in content and metadata.

Online Reviews: Encourage satisfied customers to leave positive reviews on platforms like Google and Yelp.

Local Citations: Ensure your business is listed on local directories like Yelp, Yellow Pages, and Bing Places.

7. SEO Performance Monitoring and Analytics

SEO is an ongoing process that requires constant monitoring and adjustments. Tracking performance metrics helps businesses refine their strategies.

Essential SEO Tools:

Google Analytics: Analyze traffic, user behavior, and conversions.

Google Search Console: Monitor search rankings, indexing issues, and organic click-through rates.

SEO Audits: Conduct regular audits to identify optimization opportunities.

A/B Testing: Experiment with different SEO tactics to determine the most effective strategies.

Conclusion

Implementing a strong SEO strategy can significantly enhance a website’s online visibility, attract high-quality traffic, and drive business growth. By focusing on keyword research, content optimization, on-page SEO, technical enhancements, link-building efforts, local SEO, and ongoing performance analysis, businesses can establish a competitive edge in search engine rankings. In an ever-changing digital landscape, staying updated with the latest SEO trends and continuously optimizing your strategies is key to long-term success. also:تحسين محركات البحث باستخدام أدوات الذكاء الاصطناعي

[readingforsanity]

When We Were Friends | Jane Green | Published 2024

By all accounts, Lucy's handled her divorce well. She's finally in the cozy, plant-filled house of her dreams. And although she doesn't fit in with the other divorcees - all busy looking for their next ex - she's excited to get down to earth and savor the small joys of life.

When Lucy meets Elle, a hip younger woman who shares her same passions, their connection is instant. Taking a chance on kismet, Lucy forges a friendship that fills her days with meaning. She and Elle are inseparable, from sunup to sundown, enjoying the immediate ease and familiarity of each other's company.

But as Lucy introduces Elle to her circle, a new side of her friend appears. And try as she might, Lucy can't ignore her misgivings. Who is Elle really? And can their all-consuming friendship survive closer inspection?

Lucy is a newly divorced, 44-year-old single mom to KC. When she and a bunch of other newly divorced women go out to a singles night at a bar, she meets 28-year-old Elle in the bathroom. The two instantly hit it off, exchanging numbers.

Their relationship quickly turns from just friends to best friends, calling and texting each other multiple times a day, spending a lot of their free time together.

But, it quickly begins to sour after Lucy invites Elle to tag along with her to a dinner party at her friends home. Lucy had once been wealthy when she was married to her ex-husband, Simon, living in Connecticut in a large house, though it wasn't something she herself had enjoyed. While Lucy thought the party fared well, Elle explains the next morning that she hated the party, believing the people to be fake, even posting on Instagram how she wanted to "kill the rich".

While this initially put a bad taste in her mouth, Lucy and Elle begin making arrangements work together on a series of children's books together. One evening after Lucy invites Elle for drinks and Elle turns her down, she realizes why: Elle is in a relationship with her ex-husband.

Feeling betrayed by the closest friend she had since Sally while living in London, who she has grown apart from due to the distance and time difference, she realizes that she can never forgive her. Understanding that this friendship breakup is harder on her than the divorce, she begins seeing a therapist in order to work through her traumas. Elle explains later that she had broken things off with Simon, and that she had initially approached her in the bathroom just to see what she was like, not intending anything to come out of their conversation but that their friendship means more to her than any relationship.

Even a year later, she is unable to forgive Elle and is ready to move on from the friendship.

[skylabseo]

10 Technical SEO Issues You Could Be Facing Right Now

As websites and online business grow and change over time, it is easy for technical SEO issues to start move slowly in without you even realizing it. These issues could be slowing down your site's performance and lowering its rankings on search engines like Google. By proactively addressing common technical SEO problems, you can keep your site running smoothly and appearing higher in search results.

In this, we will cover 10 technical SEO issues that could be affecting your website right now without you knowing it. For each issue, we will explain what causes the problem and provide suggestions on how to fix it. Let's see!

Slow Page Speed:

If your website pages are taking too long to load, it is bad for both your users and search engines. Slow page speeds lead to high bounce rates as users get impatient waiting and leave your site. Google also considers speed as a ranking factor, so slow pages can negatively impact your rankings.

To check page speed, use Google's PageSpeed Insights tool. It will analyze your site and identify areas for optimization like reducing image file sizes, minifying CSS/JavaScript, enabling browser caching, etc. Work on the biggest opportunities first to see fast improvements. Consider a content delivery network (CDN) and image optimization tool to boost speed.

Broken Links:

Internal broken links on your site cause a poor user experience. They also indicate to Google that your site's structure and content may be outdated or incomplete. Broken links can deflate your site's crawl budget and restrict Google's ability to properly index all your pages.

Regularly audit your site for broken internal links using a broken link checker tool. Fix or remove links redirecting to 404 errors. You can also use the HTML tag to indicate to Googlebot a link is intended to be broken temporarily.

Duplicate Content Issues:

Duplicate content confuses search engines on which version to show in search results. It can also cause your site to lose PageRank if Google does not know which page to consider the original. Common causes of duplicate content include duplicate product pages or having the same content across multiple domain extensions or directories.

Use a tool called Copyscape to check if any of your website content is the same as content on other websites. Consider using the rel="canonical" link tag or HTTP headers to tell search engines which page is the original. Simplify URLs, avoid parameter duplication, and use 301 redirects where possible to consolidate content.

Lack of Sitemaps:

Sitemaps allow you to inform Google and other search engines about the structure of your site and all URLs you want crawled and indexed. Without sitemaps, search engines have to discover your site through links alone which can be incomplete.

Generate an XML sitemap of your pages and submit it through Google Search Console. Make sure to include any new/updated pages regularly. For large sites, use a Sitemap index file. Also create XML sitemaps for images, videos or other non-HTML content if applicable.

Low Quality or Thin Content:

Websites with pages that have too little content, don't use keywords well, or don't provide useful information might be seen as low quality by search engines. "Content mills" that create cheap, low-quality content can also be a problem. Even though short summaries alone won't hurt your rankings, if you have too many pages with little content on your website, it could affect how search engines crawl your website and how they think you're an expert on a certain topic.

Conduct an audit to identify weak pages. Fill out thin pages by adding more keywords, internal links and rich information from your subject matter expertise. Remove any copied or spun text from content mills. High quality, original content should remain the focus over shallow word counts alone.

Poor Mobile Experience:

As mobile search continues to grow, optimizing the mobile experience of your site is crucial. Issues like slow load times, Non-responsive designs, and missing meta details are sub-par for mobile users. Google uses separate mobile-first indexing and requires every page be accessible across devices for best results.

Use Google's Mobile Friendly Test and PageSpeed Insights mobile testing to diagnose issues. Implement a responsive web design, optimize images, and minify resources. Add important meta tags like viewport. Verify your site across different device make sure it looks and works correctly on all of them. A good mobilized site increased the user experience.

Incorrect Technical Configuration Issues:

Overly restrictive server settings, incorrectly implemented scripts, misconfigured metadata and more can cause technical hiccups that also impact SEO performance. Crawling issues like blocking user-agent strings prevents proper indexing.

Check your HTACCESS files, robots.txt, and server configs for errors. Verify proper implementation of sitemaps, canonicals and XML metadata. Monitor server health indicators like load times and error logs. Ask your hosting provider assistance in troubleshooting any misconfigured aspects impacting spiders or users.

Outdated CMS or Plugins:

When content management systems (CMS) or plugins powering key site functions go outdated or unsupported, new exposure can occur. Older plugins may lack features available in modern version, and outdated CMS platforms could lose optimization capabilities. Not upgrading regularly risks technical or security faults.

Check your CMS version against their official lifecycle policies for end of support dates. Audit all themes and plugins for updates. Make sure to update the important tools that help keep your website secure, fast, and running smoothly. This will help prevent problems from happening over time as the software changes. Consider a newer CMS if yours has reached its end-of-life.

Poor Internal Link Structure:

How you architect internal linking between pages on your site impacts both usability and SEO. Issues like excessive deep links, cluttered menus, orphaned pages, and lack of incoming links to important content can confuse crawlers or signal less important pages to Google.

Audit your site map for conceptual "clusters" of topically related pages. Streamline your navigation and internal linking based on importance and user tasks. Orphan/thin pages may need more incoming links or consolidation. Use internal link analyses to identify opportunities to strengthen the contextual connectivity of related pages for SEO and users alike.

Inadequate Cybersecurity Protections:

Websites that contain harmful software. Infected files, or exploitable vulnerabilities damage user trust and search ranking potential. Security issues that let malicious software actions through also risk manual Google spam penalties beyond just algorithmic drops. Ensure proper protocols are in place to safeguard users and your online presence.

Run security scans to audit for vulnerabilities using tools like SiteCheckup or SecurityTrails. make sure systems have the latest patches and your hosting provider uses SSL/TLS. Review firewall/security configurations.Educate yourself on best security practices and monitor alerts for infection symptoms year-round. Proactive protection maintains both safety and your SEO visibility.

Wrapping Up

No site is perfect, and technical SEO issues are easy to overlook day-to-day. However, focusing on these 10 common problem areas can go a long way in optimizing site speed, structure and safety fundamentals for both users and search engines alike. Implementing fixes for even a few of the highest impact issues routinely should keep your online presence running smoothly and help search engines understand and highlight your web pages properly.

If you are in Patna, think about contacting an SEO company service in patna they have cutomised plan that suit your business needs well. Also, a digital marketing firm could provide strategies that include everything from SEO & content marketing to social media management—all tailor made for improving online presence!

So if any of those signs hit contact Skylab SEO company in patna for getting some fresh SEO services—it could be great for helping future success happen.

[wiseinsights]

Empowering the Web: The Essential Role of HTML in Modern Digital Experiences

Introduction

In the vast digital landscape of today, HTML (Hypertext Markup Language) stands as a cornerstone of web development, shaping the way we interact with content online. While often overlooked in favor of more flashy technologies, HTML is the unsung hero that underpins every website and web application we use. It is the language that makes the internet accessible, user-friendly, and universally understood, allowing billions of people worldwide to connect, learn, and share. In this blog, we will explore the significance of HTML, its evolution, and why it remains a fundamental skill for anyone involved in the digital world.

The Backbone of the Web

HTML is often referred to as the backbone of the web, and for good reason. Without HTML, the internet as we know it would not exist. HTML provides the structure for web pages, allowing developers to organize content in a way that is readable by both humans and machines. This structure is crucial for search engines, screen readers, and other tools that help users navigate the web.

HTML's simplicity is one of its greatest strengths. It uses a straightforward syntax of tags and attributes, making it accessible to beginners and professionals alike. This simplicity does not come at the cost of power; HTML is incredibly versatile, capable of creating everything from simple text pages to complex, interactive web applications.

To know FAQs about HTML, visit https://dinogeek.me/

The Evolution of HTML

HTML has come a long way since its inception in the early 1990s. The language has evolved through several versions, each adding new features and capabilities that have expanded its potential. HTML4, released in 1997, introduced significant improvements such as support for CSS (Cascading Style Sheets) and JavaScript, allowing for greater control over the appearance and behavior of web pages.

The most recent version, HTML5, represents a major leap forward. HTML5 introduced new elements, attributes, and behaviors, allowing developers to create more dynamic and interactive content. Features like the <video> and <audio> tags enable native multimedia playback without the need for plugins, while the <canvas> element allows for the creation of complex graphics and animations directly within the browser.

HTML5 also brought better support for mobile devices, reflecting the shift towards a mobile-first web. Responsive design, made possible by HTML5 and CSS3, ensures that web pages look and function well on screens of all sizes, from smartphones to desktops. This adaptability is essential in today's digital landscape, where users expect seamless experiences across a range of devices.

Why HTML Remains Relevant

Despite the rise of numerous web development frameworks and languages, HTML remains as relevant as ever. It is the foundation upon which all other web technologies are built. Even with the most advanced frameworks, HTML is still required to structure content. Understanding HTML is, therefore, a crucial skill for anyone involved in web development, whether you're a front-end developer, a back-end developer, or a full-stack developer.

HTML's relevance extends beyond just web development. It is a fundamental skill for content creators, digital marketers, and anyone involved in managing websites. Understanding HTML allows these professionals to have greater control over the content they produce, ensuring it is presented exactly as intended. For example, knowing how to use HTML can help marketers optimize their content for search engines, improving visibility and reach.

HTML in the Modern Web Ecosystem

In the modern web ecosystem, HTML works in harmony with other technologies like CSS and JavaScript to create rich, interactive experiences. While HTML provides the structure, CSS handles the styling, and JavaScript adds interactivity. This separation of concerns allows developers to create modular, maintainable code that is easier to manage and scale.

HTML also plays a key role in accessibility, ensuring that web content is usable by everyone, regardless of their abilities. By using semantic HTML, developers can create web pages that are not only visually appealing but also accessible to screen readers and other assistive technologies. This focus on accessibility is more important than ever, as the internet becomes an increasingly vital part of daily life for people around the world.

Furthermore, HTML is integral to the concept of the "open web." Unlike proprietary technologies that are controlled by a single company, HTML is an open standard maintained by the World Wide Web Consortium (W3C). This openness ensures that the web remains a platform for innovation, free from the control of any one entity. It allows developers to create content that can be accessed by anyone, anywhere, on any device.

The Future of HTML

Looking ahead, the future of HTML is bright. As the web continues to evolve, so too will HTML. The W3C and other standards bodies are constantly working on new features and improvements that will ensure HTML remains a vital part of the web's infrastructure.

One area of focus is the continued integration of HTML with other emerging technologies. For example, the increasing use of Web Components and frameworks like React and Angular has led to new ways of thinking about how HTML is used in web development. These technologies allow developers to create reusable components that can be easily integrated into different projects, streamlining the development process and improving code maintainability.

Another exciting development is the ongoing work on making HTML more powerful in terms of performance and functionality. The introduction of features like WebAssembly and the growing adoption of Progressive Web Apps (PWAs) are pushing the boundaries of what is possible with HTML, allowing developers to create faster, more responsive web applications that rival native apps in terms of performance and user experience.

HTML as a Gateway Skill

Learning HTML is often the first step for anyone interested in web development, and for good reason. It is a gateway skill that opens the door to a wide range of opportunities in the tech industry. Once you have a solid understanding of HTML, it becomes much easier to learn other web technologies like CSS, JavaScript, and various frameworks and libraries.

Moreover, HTML is a skill that can be learned relatively quickly, even by those with no prior coding experience. There are countless resources available online, from tutorials and documentation to interactive coding platforms that make learning HTML both accessible and enjoyable. This ease of learning makes HTML an ideal entry point for anyone looking to break into the tech industry, whether you're a student, a career changer, or simply someone with a passion for technology.

The Importance of HTML in Education

As the world becomes increasingly digital, teaching HTML has become an essential part of education, from primary school to higher education. Understanding HTML not only equips students with the technical skills needed for web development but also fosters critical thinking and problem-solving abilities.

In primary and secondary education, introducing students to HTML and other coding languages helps demystify technology. It encourages them to explore how the web works and inspires creativity as they learn to build their own websites and applications. This early exposure can spark a lifelong interest in technology and set students on a path towards careers in STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics) fields.

In higher education, HTML is often a core component of computer science and digital media programs. Students learn how to use HTML in conjunction with other web technologies to create sophisticated digital projects. This hands-on experience is invaluable, as it prepares students for the demands of the modern workforce, where digital literacy is increasingly a prerequisite for success.

HTML and the Global Digital Divide

One of the most powerful aspects of HTML is its ability to bridge the global digital divide. Because HTML is an open standard, it is accessible to anyone with an internet connection and a web browser. This accessibility is crucial in developing countries, where access to technology and education is often limited.

By empowering people with the knowledge of HTML, we can help close the digital divide and create more opportunities for individuals in underserved communities. Learning HTML can open doors to remote work opportunities, freelance gigs, and even the ability to start a business online. It is a skill that can be leveraged to improve economic outcomes and promote social mobility on a global scale.

Conclusion

HTML is much more than just a markup language; it is a powerful tool that has shaped the web and continues to play a critical role in the digital world. Its simplicity, versatility, and openness make it an indispensable skill for anyone involved in web development, content creation, or digital marketing. As the web continues to evolve, HTML will remain at the forefront, driving innovation and enabling new possibilities.

Whether you are a seasoned developer or just starting out, understanding HTML is essential. It is the foundation upon which the web is built, and by mastering it, you gain the ability to create, innovate, and contribute to the ever-expanding digital landscape. In a world where technology is constantly changing, HTML stands as a beacon of stability and accessibility, ensuring that the web remains a place for everyone, everywhere.

As we look to the future, one thing is certain: HTML will continue to empower individuals, connect communities, and drive the next generation of digital experiences. Embrace the power of HTML, and you too can play a part in shaping the future of the web.

[hireseo12]

SEO Expert's Detailed Guide to Mastering Search Engine Optimization

In the current digital era, having a strong online presence is essential for every company. Search engine optimization, or SEO, is essential to guaranteeing your company shows up prominently in search results, given the billions of queries that are performed on Google every day. A proficient SEO specialist can effectively handle the intricacies of SEO, utilizing an array of tactics and methods to enhance exposure, generate traffic, and augment conversions. This article examines the function of an SEO Expert ,essential SEO tactics, and resources needed to succeed in the cutthroat internet market.

What is an expert in search engine optimization? A professional that focuses on improving websites to rank better on search engine results pages (SERPs) is known as an SEO expert or specialist. To increase a website's exposure and generate organic traffic, they use a variety of techniques, such as keyword research, on-page optimization, technical SEO, and content marketing. SEO specialists collaborate closely with marketing teams to create and implement SEO programs that support an organization's overall objectives for online marketing.

An SEO Specialist's Function Enhancing a website's user experience and search engine ranking are two of the many tasks performed by an SEO specialist. Primary duties consist of: An SEO Expert's Function

1.The job description of an SEO specialist is broad and includes many tasks intended to raise a website's search engine position and enhance user experience. Principal duties consist of: 2.Researching relevant terms that prospective buyers are using to find them is known as keyword research. Finding high-traffic, low-competition keywords entails employing tools like Google Analytics and additional keyword research tools. 3.On-page optimization is the process of making certain website pages more search engine friendly. To incorporate target keywords, this entails improving meta tags, headers, and text.

4.Technical SEO: Making sure a website's technical elements—like its speed, mobile friendliness, and URL structure—are search engine optimized. 5.Creating excellent, keyword-rich material that draws in and keeps the target audience is known as content marketing. Creating blog entries, articles, and other types of material that attract organic visitors falls under this category. 6.Link building is the process of obtaining authoritative backlinks from other websites to raise a website's authority and search engine rating. 7.Local SEO is the process of making a website more relevant to local search terms in order to get visitors from certain regions. This entails utilizing local keywords, obtaining local backlinks, and building and optimizing a Google My Business listing. 8.Analytics and Reporting: Tracking progress and making data-driven choices requires monitoring the effectiveness of SEO strategies and delivering frequent reports.

Important SEO Techniques A thorough strategy that incorporates many methods is necessary for effective SEO. The following are some essential SEO tactics used by SEO professionals: Investigation and Enhancement of Keywords

Determine which keywords are high-performing and relevant by conducting in-depth keyword research. To raise your website's search engine ranks, organically include these keywords into headers, meta tags, and on-page content.

Technical Search Engine Optimization Make sure all technical components of the website are optimized, including mobile friendliness, site performance, and URL structure. To improve the website's exposure in search results, use schema markup.

Marketing of Content Provide interesting, high-quality material that speaks to the target audience's requirements and interests. To increase search engine ranks and generate organic visitors, make use of blog posts, articles, and other content types.

Link Establishment btain backlinks of the highest caliber from reputable websites in the sector. To increase the website's authority, use outreach, guest blogging, and other link-building strategies.

Page-Level SEO Enhance each page's meta tags, headers, graphics, and content to maximize it. Make sure every page offers a smooth user experience and is optimized for pertinent keywords.

Regional SEO Using local keywords, establishing a Google My Business page, and obtaining local backlinks will help optimize the website for local search inquiries. Make sure that the name, address, and phone number (NAP) of the company appear consistently on all web pages.

Tools and Methods SEO Professionals Utilize To improve websites and assess the effectiveness of their SEO operations, SEO specialists employ a variety of tools and strategies. Among the necessary instruments are: Google Analytics: Offers data on user activity, website traffic, and conversion rates. It assists SEO specialists in monitoring the results of their SEO campaigns and making data-driven choices. Google Search Console: Provides useful details regarding indexing status, search queries, and any problems concerning Google's perception of your website. It is necessary to keep an eye on and preserve a website's visibility in Google search results.

Tools for keyword research: Ahrefs, SEMrush, Moz, and other programs are used to find appropriate keywords, evaluate competition, and monitor keyword ranks. Tools for SEO Audits: Screaming Frog and Sitebulb are two examples of tools that assist in conducting thorough SEO audits to find technical problems, on-page SEO enhancements, and other optimization possibilities. Backlink Analysis Tools: Ahrefs, Majestic, and Moz are a few examples of tools used to examine a website's backlink profile, find high-quality backlinks, and track the success of link-building campaigns.

Assessing the Performance of SEO SEO specialists concentrate on a few critical criteria to assess the effectiveness of their efforts: Organic Traffic: The amount of visitors to the website that originate from search engines. A rise in organic traffic is a sign of effective SEO campaigns. Target keywords' position on search engine results pages is known as their keyword ranking. Improved SEO performance is shown by higher ranks for pertinent keywords. The percentage of visitors that finish a desired activity, such completing a contact form or making a purchase, is known as the conversion rate. Increased conversion rates show that the correct audience is being drawn in by the SEO approach. The percentage of users that depart a website after just reading one page is known as the "bounce rate." A decreased bounce rate is a sign of interesting content and a satisfying user experience.

A vital component of internet marketing, SEO raises a website's exposure, generates organic traffic, and boosts conversions. Using techniques like technical SEO, content marketing, on-page optimization, and keyword research, an SEO specialist is essential to the optimization of websites. SEO specialists may monitor the effectiveness of their SEO operations and make data-driven choices by utilizing tools like Google Analytics and SEO audit tools. Working together with a seasoned SEO specialist may greatly improve your company's online visibility and make sure it stands out in the crowded digital market. An SEO specialist may assist your company in achieving long-term success in search engine rankings by putting a strong emphasis on user experience, utilizing efficient SEO tactics, and keeping up with industry developments.

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