#i hope its readable as well

[chatlote]

I Remember. As promised to the Anon who requested more dreamshare AU submas!

[bacchuschucklefuck]

official finish-this-sketch-how-you-want post idk what to call thisSAMPLE TEXT

hi! I miss drawing with people in a café and some folks mentioned they'd like to mess with my sketches themselves and that sounds cool so this is now a thing. if u play gartic phone this is basically the complement mode! but without the fucking ring noise that freaks you out right when you're getting into the flow of it

few things are 1/there's no hard deadline! take this at ur own pace if u do, but 2/I'll also be finishing this sketch and I estimate it to take around uhh 3 to 4 days? from the time this is posted. so if that's a structure u like then let's aim for something done in that timespan as well! and 3/if u finish ur piece and post it and want me to see it the best way to do that is to @ this blog! above all we go into this one determined to have fun and enjoy. I already bought u a matcha latte with oat milk sorry if u don't want that

here I got u today a sketch that's supposed to be Riz Gukgak (SY) (grey bg version and transparent version for ur ease of peruse)

remember to have fun & be urself & finish ur drink & see u in 4 or 5

[mimocrocodilelol]

Was inspired by the song below, I think it has major morgott vibe

[shesmore-shoebill]

well. surprised and pleased(?) to report we've got some 2.6k words of fic written about the apple watch amangela thing hanging out in my notes (and then moved to gdoc bc i hit character count limit).

will be published once i figure out some more of the scene transitions and how to like. end it. (and have edited it at least once.) so. 👀

[glowingreverie]

.

[kira-the-whump-enthusiast]

Tell me about an oc that is on your mind! Who are they, what do they do, what's their deepest secret?

Thank you!! So much for the ask!! I was so happy when I saw this in my inbox :D

So there’s this OC that’s pretty much constantly living in the back of my head. He’s one of my favorite blorbos you know lol :D and his name is Zack! Just Zack, no surnames or anything.

Before I get into the rant: content warnings for attempted suicide, a lot of torture, serial murder, general bad times with very little comfort, cannibalism, and there might be more that I’m missing.

I do not have a decent visual ref of Zack yet so!! Here’s a brief description: he’s Chinese-American, has pale skin, silver upturned eyes, black hair that’s a little wavy, and he’s pretty much average height. He has a penchant for men’s suits straight from the cities of 1920′s America, with hat and all. Zack also wears a lot of silvery, snake themed accessories.

And he does have a pet snake too! It’s of a fantasy species, because I wanna have the snake be wrapped around some part of Zack’s body at (mostly) all times and I’m pretty sure you can’t do that with like. Real snakes. The snake’s name is Jörmungandr :D she’s an albino snake and also very long. And very cute ofc <2

Anyways! Zack is an AU of. My OC Zach. Yeah. Sorry about that. I’m not changing it tho. Pretty much I just took Zach and I was like “okay but what if he was immortal and everything was worse?”

Zack has never really had a good life. He grew up in 1950s American style suburbia as a transgender kid, in a household with manipulative and distant parents. It really really sucked, as one might guess. He didn’t have any friends, and he coped by developing an ego. It wasn’t enough to sustain any sort of peace of mind, though. Zack was isolated and trapped in this town, in his body, and in his painfully monotonous life. And one day, he couldn’t take it anymore, so he tried to kill himself.

He probably should have died from his attempt, but he woke up afterwards, and he was completely fine. No injuries or scars or anything. Shortly after, he realized that it was because he was some sort of immortal.

And yeah! It pretty much works by like, if he dies, he will come back to life after an hour! His body will also reset to the state it was in an hour before his death. He also doesn’t age. 

After Zack realized he was immortal, he decided to skip town. No point living in a place that made him want to die.

Zack probably could have had a decent life at this point. Found some friends and people who cared about and respected him, and pursued his own passions. But the thing about Zack is that any sort of intimacy is completely off the table for him. He is terrified of it, because he doesn’t know it, and also because it leaves him too vulnerable. In his childhood, he learned that if you got close to someone, or trusted them, then they would use it against you or break it the moment it was convenient to them. So he actively avoids making any friends, or getting even a little bit close to literally anybody. 

He has this manner of speaking where he often minimizes really serious things, but he also has a penchant of being really melodramatic over tiny misfortunes like getting a paper cut (it’s over-exaggerated for the humor lol).

Zack is also a really callous person. He doesn’t really see other people as like, people. Mostly because he believes that’s he’s above them, as an immortal. He’s going to live forever, and that is infinitely longer than any human lifespan. It doesn’t matter what he does to a person, because they’ll be dead in a century at most! No one will care, eventually.

And he also has a complex about being remembered. He doesn’t want to be a guy in the background forever! He deserves something better. He wants people to remember him more than anything. But he won’t make any lasting relationships with people, he’s too callous to try doing good for the world, and he has no desire or passion for the sciences or the arts.

So all these traits converge to lead Zack to find his preferred method of making his mark on the world: serial killing.

The way he sees it, people have such a fascination with serial killers, especially ones that killed their victims brutally, that if he captures someone’s fascination enough, he’ll always be remembered. And he can repeat that for as long as he lives.

And the worst thing was that he was right about it, in a way. A lot of people have discussed and speculated over his murders. In detective offices, in podcasts and blog articles, in daily conversation. And Zack has done some honestly horrible things to people. He convinces himself that it’s okay, though, because they die at the end. They don’t have to live with the pain for the rest of their lives.

(Although, sometimes he leaves people alive at the end and lets them go. Just in the hopes that they’ll remember this and him. For the rest of their lives.)

All the serial killing has absolutely gotten him in some hot water before, though. He’s let himself die numerous times to escape the authorities or a prison. Sometimes he chooses his victims wrong, and then he ends up with vengeful person after him, because he killed someone close to them.

He ended up tortured because of that, once. Zack murdered a woman’s only friends, and she hunted him down. She was just going to kill him, but then she realized he wouldn’t stay dead. So she decided to make him suffer :)

No one came to help him, afterwards. He had to patch himself up.

And sometimes, the person he’s trying to kill is a lot more dangerous than he realizes. Case in point: once, he chose a victim at random, and broke into the victim’s house. That victim ended up killing him, and he woke up in the guy’s basement.

He targeted a cannibalistic serial killer without knowing it. Yeah. Anyways, the cannibal cut off Zack’s left arm, cooked it, and forced him to eat part of it, just because he wanted to. Zack eventually died from the blood loss, but not quickly enough. He woke up with his arm still gone, since it was cut off over an hour before his death.

Eventually he did escape, though, and he got a prosthetic. I’d actually say that the origin of his prosthetic is one of his deeper secrets. Whenever someone asks, he just makes up a new story. He will never tell anyone the real story.

Another one of his deep secrets is definitely. All the serial killing he’s done. He’s not very inclined to tell anyone, since he doesn’t want to rot in a jail for the rest of eternity, and also, part of what makes his serial murders so memorable to people is that they don’t know who committed it. He won’t ruin that for himself!

Deepest secret though? That he needs a friend. Or just someone close to him. He honestly needs people. But the thing is, he doesn’t want people. They’ve hurt him too greatly. He doesn’t deserve it. So he very much denies his need for intimacy. This is a secret so deep that it’s secret even to Zack himself.

Zack is one of my favorite characters, and honestly it’s just because he’s so miserable all the time, but honestly a lot of it is his own doing but he won’t change anything he’s doing because he’s too scared of the alternatives :D

[sutorus]

THE GRUDGE PROFESSOR!GETO for KINKTOBER 2023!

DESCRIPTION: everybody loves professor geto, and judging by the thousands of viewers you get on every live, a lot of people love you, too. but you and professor geto hate each other. you’ve had enough of his humiliation rituals, and decide to do something about it.

PAIRING: mean professor!geto x student!reader

WC: 5.3k i am an unstoppable beast

WARNINGS: 18+ MINORS DNI. fem reader, afab reader, teacher/student dynamic! adult age gap! (reader is in college, unspecified age), sw/camgirl!reader (don’t like don’t read! no shaming 😤), strong language, dirty talk, pet names (sweetheart, baby, angel, darling), reader calling geto "sir", unprotected relations, creampie, afab reader and terms

A/N: this switches between povs a lot so i hope that’s okay or at least readable lol! also i set out to write him so much meaner but he’s just kind of a simp... enjoy?

reblogs are very much appreciated i'll uwu for u :pleading eyes emoji:

it is said that those who cannot do, teach. 

geto suguru could have done many things. he had the brains, the muscles, the features, the traits. the ambition to succeed in any field he desired. satoru says in a world ruled by the strong there is no place for humility. 

but humility is not why suguru became a teacher. neither is ineptitude. no, he’d become a teacher because it was the right thing to do. 

to use his gifts to help shape new generations, help unlock potentials long dorment and buried deep under years of a lackluster schooling system. geto suguru prided himself, above all, in being a righteous man. 

but japan’s most upstanding citizen for 28 years in a row held a shameful secret. a secret in the shape of you. 

he saw the darkest sides of himself on your face (eyebrows scrunched, eyes shut tightly, jaw slack as you—), your voice (higher in pitch with desperate moans that sound almost scared on the brink of your—), your body (taut and plump in all the right places, glistening with sweat, bouncing up and down on a—). 

when you walked into his classroom that fateful day, the world tilted on its axis. his first thought was, fuck, then, it can’t be, then, most embarrassing of all, i’ll finally find out what she smells like. 

(he did, when you went up to his desk to hand over your test. a whiff of vanilla, argon oil shampoo. too sweet, too youthful. and he’d watched you leave, tennis skirt flowing like a water lily, dick already chubby in his pants.)

it was slowly starting to consume him.

the first time you spoke in class, he knew he hadn’t been mistaken. it was really you. the cute, slutty girl he’d been milking his cock to for the better part of a year. 

god, when you finally said his name. you would never in your wildest dreams think that he’d been imagining those words coming out of your mouth, of him coming out of your mouth, dripping out of you, all over you—

he was losing it. this was not like him. this was never supposed to happen, and he has to put an end to it. 

everybody knew of geto suguru, the prodigy professor. already getting a phd despite not even being 30, handling the administrative slack for the department while managing office hours every day of the week, promoting student events, helping organize spirit weeks and charity drives. 

everything he did, he did for others. those not as capable as him — which was most people. in other words, it was really, really hard to hate him. 

but you damn well managed to. 

and to think you were excited to take his class. everybody told you to run, not walk, to sign up for his twentieth-century Japanese philosophy chair. 

“oh, professor geto is just the best,” they’d said. “he makes it sound so interesting and engaging, he gives the most life changing assignments, he really cares about us.”

bullshit. 

the first time you stepped into that classroom, suspiciously full for a philosophy class, you felt a shift in the air almost immediately. 

and sure enough, professor geto suguru was eyeing you down like he’d just seen a ghost. it made you self conscious, like he’d taken one look at you and decided right then and there you were too dumb for the class. 

it made your blood boil. sure, you stood out a little bit from the actual philosophy majors, but that doesn’t mean he gets to judge you. he literally doesn’t know you!

but fine, first impressions are tricky like that. for all you knew, you could’ve been misjudging him right there. 

however, with each passing day, you grew more and more assured in your suspicions.

you knew the man had it out for you, always calling on you to answer when he knew you weren’t paying attention, never grading your papers above a B even though you did everything right, somehow managing to fucking avoid you during his excessive office hours. 

his looks were almost the most infuriating part of it.

his beautiful face constantly set in that nonchalant look, his big veiny hands always gesticulating, his huge fucking arms straining the fabric of those dress shirts, his ear gauges and man bun contrasting the prim and proper image the rest of him conveyed. 

under different circumstances, he’d make your mouth water. under different circumstances, you’d imagine him going down on you all night long, singing praise about how good you taste and how tight you are. 

but in this timeline, you absolutely loathed him. and he loathed you too. why? you didn’t know. 

but you knew for a fact that it was personal. 

“i don’t care,” megumi said around a mouthful of meatball, cutting your monologue short. “i’m not doing it.”

you sigh, melting into your chair. “megumi. please. i am literally begging you, i just need some hard evidence so i can go report his ass.”

he eyes you curiously. “report him for what?”

“i don’t know. bullying? sexism? whatever the hell his problem is,” you pick at your food, huffing in annoyance. 

“you’re overthinking it,” megumi replies, dismissively. 

“okay, how about this,” you lean forward, putting an elbow on the table. “if you write the assignment for me, i’ll get your dog that expensive halloween costume you’ve been wanting.”

megumi lifts an eyebrow. 

“you need to get one for each,” he says simply. 

you grin. “deal.”

suguru really does give it his all to make your life with him a living hell. pulls out all the stops, years of friendship with gojo satoru paying off as he comes up with ploy after ploy to get you to drop his class. 

it feels bad, being mean to you. but for the hidden, twisted parts of him, it feels delicious. 

watching you huff and puff, all hot and bothered when he corrects your answers on the spot. watching you nibble on your pen at the increasingly difficult exams he hands out. letting himself wonder if you missed a stream this week because you were too busy cramming for a make up test. 

he knows he’s pushing you to your limit, and even if there’s some sort of sick satisfaction in seeing you so agitated at his hands when it’s usually the other way around, he doesn’t enjoy upsetting you. 

the problem is, suguru knows it’s either he gets his shit together or he continues tormenting you, and, well. 

the spirit is willing but the flesh is so, so weak. 

he knows it’s getting worse, too, because he’s not infatuated by you only when you’re undressing on his screen, or all dolled up in class. 

when you tie your hair up in a ponytail, when you suck on a hangnail, when you lick your thumb to erase a smudge on your paper… all of it drives him wild. 

he can’t teach with a permanent half chub anymore. this has to end, one way or another. 

you sit down in front of your computer, adjusting the camera before turning it on. soon, viewers start trickling in, little dings notifying you of their messages. 

you smile, waving at the screen. 

“hi everyone! i know i’m a little bit late today, i hope you can forgive me…” your eyes scan the chat, giggling at the compliments. “‘you look tired, sad face’, ah. i’m sorry. i guess i’ve been a little stressed lately.”

your robe falls over your shoulder as you readjust your position. a few donations come in, accompanied by supportive messages.

“you guys are so nice. it’s not a big deal, it’s just this dude giving me a hard time at college.” 

you absentmindedly trace your collarbones, reading what your viewers are saying. 

“you’ll kill him for me? that’s so sweet,” you joke. “nah, it’s not a student. it’s a professor. exactly, ynlover444, a grown ass man picking on me!”

you sigh deeply, allowing your body to finally unwind and relax on your chair. you prop a knee up against the armrest, giving your viewers a little peek in between your legs. you’re wearing one of your favorite sets, trying to get in the mood after the week you’ve had. 

“ugh, sometimes i wish i could just…” you suck in a breath, clenching your hand into a fist before releasing it. “sit on his face and get him to shut up, you know?”

you laugh at the countless me firsts that flood the chat, bringing a finger to your lip. 

“anyway! enough about that horrible man,” you reach beside you to grab a box your viewers know all too well by now. “let’s get to the fun stuff, shall we?”

as always, satoru is no help. 

“why don’t you just fuck her?” he asks, eyebrows arching above his sunglasses. “ya gotta just fuck her.”

suguru clears his throat before taking a drag of his cigarette. “i’m not fucking a student.”

satoru shrugs. “everybody does it. besides, you basically already do.” 

suguru wonders, not for the first time, why he ever told his friend about his situation. about your streams, that he’d stumbled upon randomly and innocently and had gotten instantly hooked, about you barging into his classroom like an angel at hell’s gates, about you you you you, everything about you. 

“that won’t fix anything.”

satoru clicks his tongue, swirling his soda inside the can.

“poor, naive suguru. did you not just tell me about what she said on her stream?" and yes, regrettably, suguru had told him. "it’ll fix everything.”

suguru doesn’t even let himself consider it, except he does.

at this point it’s no secret that he’s thought about being inside you, but now that you’re here it’s just too real and too risky and completely fucking wrong. 

it goes against the entire life he’s built for himself. 

he’s lost. he wants you so fucking bad, wants you close, wants you so far away, wants to ravage you and never have to see you again. 

it’s fight or flight. if he got you alone, it could go either way, he realizes that. 

suguru wonders what part of him will win by the end of all of this. 

your heels clack on the linoleum floor of the hallway as you approach professor geto’s classroom, megumi’s graded paper clutched tightly against your chest. 

the thing about megumi is that he's a star student. he’s never gotten anything below an A on any of his essays, makes the dean’s list every year, tutors his seniors. so the big, bright B- on the page tells you everything you need to know. 

damn right it’s personal. 

you don’t even bother knocking, slamming the door open while still trying to contain your indignation. 

geto is sitting at his desk, piles of papers sprawled on top. he has his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and a surprised look on his face that would be cute if you didn’t want to slap it right off. 

he says your last name like he’d been expecting you all his life.

“to what do i owe the pleasure?”

your jaw clenches as you take a few loud steps towards him. you slam megumi’s paper down on his desk, leaning over. 

“professor geto, i demand an explanation. a real one, this time.”

the man takes a deep breath, lips twisting disapprovingly. he smoothes the paper over.

“as i already explained in my notes right here, the structure is fine, but i couldn’t help but miss a more in-depth analysis of the four nodal concerns of philosophy that we talked about in class, such as—“

“no,” you interrupt. “just no. you know you’re bullshitting me and i’m sick of it. this paper deserved an A!”

“miss—“

“what’s your problem with me?” you spit out. your eyes finally meet and there’s nothing in geto’s that could answer your question. your chest is heaving, lips wobbling and hands shaking, trying to contain your anger. 

geto clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable. “like i said, your paper could’ve used a bit more—“

“no it fucking couldn’t have, because it’s not my fucking paper, it’s fushiguro’s fucking paper and the only reason you gave it a B is because i was the one who handed it in!”

he sits up, straightening his posture.

geto sounds austere when he asks, “do you realize how much trouble this could be for both of you if i reported it?”

you can’t believe this man. he’s been picking on you the entire semester and when you finally confront him about it this is what he chooses to focus on. 

“are you fucking kidding me?” that earns you a stern look from him, eyebrow raising taller than that fucking high horse he sits on. “professor geto. what did i ever do to you?”

there must be something earnest in your voice because geto sighs, getting up from his chair. 

he walks until he’s standing in front of you, leaning against his desk and crossing his feet. 

“do i bother you?” is all he says. it surprises you. 

you jut your chin out. “as a matter of fact, you do.”

the man hums. 

“i bet that’s really difficult for you,” he speaks like he’s sympathetic, like he understands. he sounds almost sheepish when he says, “i bet sometimes you wish i would just shut up.”

you blink rapidly. “no, it’s not like that. it might shock you but i genuinely do enjoy your class, it’s just that—“

“or maybe you wish you could shut me up,” he continues, ignoring you. “maybe going as far as to say that you could… sit on my face to get me to shut up.” 

your mouth goes dry.

before your brain can fully process the shift in the atmosphere or the fact that your professor is maybe possibly hitting on you, you realize where those words are coming from. 

it’s what you said. about him. on stream. right before fucking yourself on your hot pink dildo. 

you can’t speak, can barely even look in his general direction. 

you had really thought things couldn’t get any worse. had barged into his office with nothing to lose, almost hoping he would cordially invite you to remove yourself from his class permanently. 

but now? now you have no idea what’s going to happen to you. 

“i…” you start, the words dying in your throat. geto chuckles, crossing his fat fucking muscly arms across his chest. 

he says your name, low and syrupy. “is it true? you’d like to?”

you can feel your face flush hot in embarrassment, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, wishing desperately that you’d never walked into his classroom. 

you have half the mind to apologize to him, right now.

“it’s just a figure of speech,” you try. geto clicks his tongue. 

“what a shame.”

your wide eyes shoot up and meet his. “w-what?”

he smiles sweetly. 

“it’s a peace offering. you can take it, or we can forget you ever said anything,” and isn’t he just so slimey, actually, when he’s the one who brought it up. he had said it, and now… 

now you can finally allow yourself to look at him.

those delicious, broad shoulders, the ever-present bored look, the stubborn fringe that falls out of his bun. 

you could so easily forget what you came here for. 

“so, like, a truce?” you ask, taking a daring step forward. geto nods, uncrossing his arms. “and you stop treating me like i’m fucking dumb?”

he tilts his head. “i think you’re a very smart young lady. determined. entrepreneurial…”

“geto—“

“professor geto,” he corrects you, hands reaching out to graze your hips. “you’re intelligent. i just like to push my students.”

you both know that’s a lie, but it’s okay, because now you know exactly why you got under his skin and it makes your own burn. 

you run a hand down the line of buttons on the front of his shirt, looking up at him through your eyelashes. 

“then… push me, professor.”

it’s so incredibly lame, the porn line you hit him with, but to your surprise it works, a low groan rumbling deep in geto’s chest. 

he swiftly closes the distance between the two of you, grabbing both sides of your face and crashing your lips together. 

it’s ravenous, the way geto dips his tongue inside when you gasp in surprise. you moan against his mouth, slipping a leg in between his two. 

he’s half hard already when he rubs up against your thigh. 

geto picks you up with ease and sets you down on his desk, and it’s so fucking cliché, the papers crinkling under your weight, the pens clattering to the floor. but it turns you on beyond belief. 

you share a few open mouthed kisses, an exchange of tongue and moans and hot breaths between your lips. 

if you were honest with yourself, you'd admit that you've fantasized about it before. a silly idea, at first, something you'd just blurted out mid-stream.

but that little seed had been planted, and when you got yourself off that night, you might've imagined for a moment that it was your mean professor's cock squeezed tight inside you, making you come undone.

geto slips his hands under your skirt, grabbing your ass and pulling you closer to him. you line up your crotch with his, moving your hips in tight little circles that make the both of you groan. 

his fingers are tugging your underwear down, down, the soft patch sticking to your gooey cunt. he lets the soaked fabric dangle from your ankle, grazing the back of his knuckles on your core. 

“mmm, fuck,” geto breaks the kiss, swallowing. his pretty lips are flushed and shiny, parted around his panted breaths. “you always get this wet or am i special?”

he’s smirking, the bastard, leaning back in to kiss your neck.

god, you smell so good, like lotion and perfume and sunshine and sin. 

“shouldn’t you know?” you sneak your fingers up into his bun, pushing your chest against him. he works his lips expertly on your skin, using just the right amount of teeth, of pressure.

geto hums against your neck, kissing a line up to your jaw. he snakes a hand under your skirt, thumb pressing down hard to rub on your clit, two fingers slipping inside. 

you immediately clench, a soft, drawn out mewl leaving your lips. 

the slide of his fingers against your walls send a chill down your spine, filling you up so perfectly. you feel the thin skin at your opening stretch around him, burning at the friction as his fingers plunge in and out of you. 

“god, look at that,” he rests his forehead on your shoulder and pulls the hem of your skirt up. “do you hear that, baby? so fucking wet for me.”

you whine, hands cupping his jaw so you can kiss him again. 

“please…” you mumble against his lips. “more…”

you wonder how much of what you can say he's heard before, which exact words have left your lips and sent him over the edge. it makes you self conscious, oddly, like he can see right through you.

not-so-kindly ignoring your request, geto removes his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth.

you watch as his eyelids flutter in pleasure, a hum rumbling low in his throat. 

he looks so good like this, just edible.

you pull him in for a kiss before he can, relishing in the surprised little noise he lets out. your knees are wobbling, feet dangling from your seat as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

he swallows your moan hungrily, forearms trembling with the need to hold back.

geto knows this is wrong, so wrong on so many levels, puts both your positions in jeopardy, it makes him feel perverted and primal and so fucking alive. 

he’s been watching you fuck yourself on those silly toys for god knows how long now, knows every spot that makes your hips buck, knows exactly how to make you cream like a debased slut around a cock. 

it should feel unfair, how easy it’s going to be for him to make you cum, only if it weren’t for the fact that your mere presence is enough to get him hard as fucking diamonds. 

“tastes good, huh?” he whispers, thumb caressing your chin. you nod, smiling devilishly. 

“tastes better on your tongue, prof.” 

geto groans low like a starved animal, holding your throat in his hand with a loose grip. he’s overwhelmed, that much shows, not knowing what to do with you or where to start. but there’s one thing he’s sure of. 

he presses one last kiss to your spit-slick lips before dropping to his knees. 

you can hardly believe it. sulky, big bad bully professor geto suguru on his knees for you. you prop a foot up on his desk, your sole skidding on a piece of paper. 

“scoot closer, please,” he asks, cordial even like this. you bring your ass to the edge of the desk, your dripping pussy hovering over his face. 

he looks so good under you, hair already disheveled, a delicious tent in his tailored pants. 

you tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistline so you can watch as he sucks your clit into his mouth, moaning like he’s fucking relieved. 

you throw your head back, fingers buried in his silky hair as geto’s fingers find their way back inside. 

he fucks them in and out of you lazily, pushing out strings of slick. geto slurps it all up, spreading your wetness all over your clit and sucking it back in his mouth. 

god, his cock is straining in his pants but he doesn’t dare touch it, can’t until he’s inside you. you taste like fucking heaven, like all his fantasies, like he always knew you would. 

you’re whining softly, bucking your hips into his face almost shyly, as to disrupt his pace.

you sound so much better in person, although he can’t wait to have you moaning into his ear without needing the headphones. 

“god, this perfect pussy,” geto mumbles into you, his breathing labored. he runs a thumb all over your cunt, gliding it over your soaked lips. “been dreaming about it for so long.”

“yeah?” you ask. “tell me. tell me how you stroke your cock to me every night.”

and every night might be overselling it. geto is a busy man. 

but your words do make him realize that no girl he’s had since he found your stream has satisfied him quite like you do. your flirty smile, your moans, the way they sometimes turn into uncontained giggles as you stuff your pretty cunt with a dildo. 

so he tells you, blush spreading across his cheeks. 

“fuck, i do,” he tongues your clit, tracing lazy circles. “i do. just look what you do to me.“

and there it is, that cheeky, slutty giggle, directed at something he said this time. 

he takes his fingers out, spreading your opening with both thumbs as he licks you all over. 

geto gulps, tongue dipping inside of you, sucking your clit into his mouth, sliding down to your entrance, every clench of your pussy pushing out more and more slick for him. no one's ever eaten you out as thoroughly as this.

“oh, fuck, sir,” it slips out casually, the way it would were you talking to any other professor. but given the circumstances, you revel in the deep moan geto buries into your cunt. 

you trap your lips between your teeth to keep anything else from tumbling out, but it’s useless.

“please, sir, i’m so close—so close just keep doing that, yeah just like that—“

“fuck,” he mumbles, pulling away to suck in a desperate breath. then, “fuck,” sultrier, right into your core. 

you grind against his face, finding purchase in his hair as a final few flicks of his tongue push you right into the crest of a mind-numbing orgasm.

it’s so good, so much better than when you're alone. the friction so perfect, his long, thick fingers plugging you up last minute to viciously fuck into you. 

“god…,” you breathe out, legs trembling as he runs his hands up your thighs. 

his chin is glistening, bubbles of spit and cum gathering in the corner of his mouth. he looks so good like this, like he was meant to please you and nothing else. 

geto feels like a fucking teenager, so goddamn close to busting in his pants at the sight of you. his dick hurts, balls tight and the head throbbing where it’s tucked into his underwear. 

“please, sweetheart,” he can’t hold himself back any longer, slick fingers already undoing his belt. 

you get to work on his zipper, pulling his pants down along with his underwear and damn. 

you figured he was big. he was a tall man, broad shoulders, shoes the size of a yacht, and the bulge in his trousers was a pretty good indication. but it couldn’t have prepared you for the sheer size of him. 

longer than it is thick, cleanly shaven, pretty veins and ridges and standing angry red in attention. god, you want it inside you. 

he notices you looking. 

“do you need more prep? i can—“

“no, fuck no, suguru, need it inside me now,” you wrap a hand around him and he hisses, caging you in with his arms on the desk. 

he huffs out a laugh, blowing the fringe framing his face. “what happened to sir?”

you kiss down his jaw, squeezing right below his tip. 

“sorry, sir,” you say against his ear. “are you going to punish me for my slip up?”

geto groans, pulling on your hair hard and making you face him. 

“take your shirt off for me,” he instructs, and you obey, maneuvering around his tight grip on the back of your head. 

his spirit is so unbreakable.

here you are, teasing him, coaxing him to rough you up, push you around, relieve both your frustrations properly once and for all, but he’s just so… adoring, and hungry, and just so irrevocably into you, and you find out that’s so much better. 

geto relents his hold on you to unclasp your bra, cupping your breasts and sucking a nipple into his mouth. you whine, caressing his hair. 

“so fucking perfect,” he massages your tits, looking mesmerized. 

“yeah? they haven’t gotten old to you yet?”

he laughs, so cute, and you can barely remember that just hours ago you hated the sight of him. you stroke his cock up and down, squeezing harder at the tip trying to milk all that delicious pre he’s been wasting on the inside of his boxers. 

“no, f-fuck—never gonna get old,” he pushes your boobs against each other, imagining his cock sliding in between them, his balls nestled underneath, his load blown all over your pretty face—

fuck, he’s gonna cum if he keeps going like this. 

he rips your hand away from him, ignoring your knowing smirk and pushing his tongue into your mouth. 

“i’m gonna fuck you now, okay, sweetheart?” you moan, nodding, shimmying your hips so he can have the perfect angle. 

a big hand clasps your thigh to wrap your leg around his hips as his tip pokes around your entrance.

you’re whining in anticipation, clenching around nothing, nails clawing his clothed back. 

when he slips in, it feels like coming home. you’re like warm honey around him, cunt pushing him out but clinging to him at the same time, with every stroke. it’s fucking maddening. 

“ahh, g-god, sir, ‘s too big—“ you swallow around the lump in your throat, feeling the tip of his cock in your guts. 

he’s huffing, concentrated, bullying his cock into you inch by inch with shallow thrusts until he finally bottoms out. 

“fuuuuck, angel,” he grips your waist with both hands, like he could just fuck you up and down his length if he wanted to. “took me so well, look at that.”

you do, dropping your heavy head to look at where you’re connected. you clench around him and he whines, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. 

the metal legs of the desk skid on the floor, papers and pens raining down to the floor as geto starts roughly plunging in and out of you. 

you let out little ah, ah, ahs in time with his strokes, the ache deep in your stomach finally starting to fade. 

“f-fuck, you’re gonna—topple us over, suguru, go easy—“

“can’t,” he chokes out, wheezing as he pushes his cock in as far as it can go. 

he gives shallow little thrusts, his length straining the fine skin at your entrance so good, hitting a spot inside you over and over that makes your head spin. 

your fingers twist into the back of his shirt, pulling him in to whine right into his ear.

he’s so big, stretching you out so thin that you feel every ridge and vein, can feel both your heartbeats inside your cunt. 

“ohhhhh fuck, fuck sir, please please touch me—“

he grabs your ass before you can even finish your sentence and presses you flush against his hips. 

geto’s tip is kissing your cervix now, his balls sticky and creamy against your ass, your clit grinding against his pubic bone as his thrusts violently shake the both of you. 

“fuck, wanna do it so fucking loud but i can’t, we can’t, what if someone walks in—“

you moan wantonly at his words, expecting to be chided, but geto seems to love it despite his worries because his cock kicks deliciously inside of you.

“look how loud you’re being, listen to yourself,” he grunts out, the belt pooled around his feet clanging with every stroke, the absolutely lewd squelches from your pussy resonating in the entire classroom. 

you two sound so good together, better than you’ve ever had, better than he could’ve ever imagined. 

“so loud, so wet on this cock,” he spits out, sweaty strands of hair sticking to his forehead. “do those toys make you feel this good? this full? answer me.” 

“hahh, n-no, no one but you,” you can’t think straight, head thrown back in pleasure and eyes squeezed shut. “only you, sir.”

geto whines like he’s aching, pounding into you mercilessly and making a mess under the two of you. 

“fuck yeah, that’s right. i’m making you feel good, baby?”

“mm-hm,” you mumble, tongue lolling out. geto's going so hard now, has you pressed up so tight against him, body caging you in, fucking every breath and thought right out of you. “close.”

“yeah?” he speeds up his effort slightly, and you’re sure he’s going to have desk-edge shaped bruises on his thighs tomorrow. “gonna cum on my cock? cream all over me?”

you let out a long, drawn out whine, tits bouncing up and down with the force of geto’s thrusts. 

“let me see your face when you cum, darling,” he cups the back of your neck, breathing hard through his nose. “keep your eyes on me. that’s right, sweetie, so good, you’re doing so good.”

you preen at the praise, feeling suddenly self conscious with the man's laser focus attention on you. 

you coo out little noises, growing in desperation, holding onto his biceps for dear life as his hips piston in and out of you. 

your pull him into you closer and rub your clit against him, grinding helplessly as your orgasm creeps closer and closer. 

the moment you open your eyes and meet his hungry ones, you’re cumming. your walls spasm around him, making the glide of his dick impossibly wetter with your release. 

geto chokes on a sound, his cock hostage of your pussy’s vice-like grip as your greedy cunt milks him for all he's got. 

“f-fuck, baby, look so pretty when you cum, always look so fucking sexy so fucking perfect that you’re gonna make me bust, i’m gonna cum for you god gonna cum inside, gonna blow my load all deep inside this pussy—“ 

it’s the most desperate he’s ever sounded, speaking through clenched teeth and a soaked mouth. you moan in return, letting him use you. 

he slams his forehead down your shoulder when he thrusts once, twice, three times and cums, his balls drawing up so tight that it hurts. he fucks it into you with shallow thrusts, panting, almost wheezing in pleasure. 

it feels like it lasts forever, his orgasm. like all of the blood in his body goes straight to his balls to push out the thickest, most satisfying nut of his life into the prettiest girl he's ever seen.

you feel it fill you up so good, hear it, too, squelching and sticking to both of you. 

geto’s body slumps against yours and you stay like that for a while, catching your breaths. there’s cum sliding out of you, down his balls, onto some poor student’s essay you have your ass on top of. 

when he pulls out of you, he takes a beat to watch it spill out of you some more, his face and chest red, his smile groggy. 

“god, this,” geto has to fight the urge to say thank you for letting him fuck your brains out. he swallows. 

“yeah,” you blink away the haze, feeling sore and fucked out. “this.”

“…is probably going to happen again, right?”

he knows it shouldn’t. he knows it will.

maybe both parts of geto can learn to coexist.  

you grin, touching the tip of your tongue to his lips. 

“well, i still haven’t made good on that promise of sitting on your face, have i?” 

the next morning, in class, the students erupt in happiness at the news that professor geto had an accident that ended up ruining most of last week’s graded papers he had in his possession. 

so he decided to give everyone an A for their troubles. 

and finally, finally, there was peace in the world.

[izvmimi]

ember - izuku x reader

cw: spoilers to the end of the manga. reader with vaguely described quirk. izuku and reader are married. short and sweet. a/n: establishing my own new canon, tyvm.

On an evening out in September, six months after you tie the knot with Izuku Midoriya and three years after Izuku returns to active Pro Hero duty, you find out three crucial things about him.

One, Izuku meant it when he said he loves you possibly more than life itself; two, Izuku might not have lost all of the embers of One for All, after all, and three, Izuku is a fucking idiot.

Your body feels unbelievably rigid as though you were in a car accident, and in a way, you were, and your guts should be strewn all over this sparsely populated street if not for the fact that you’re wrapped up, safe, cocooned in your lover’s protective hold, his back curved over yours, and the truck that should have crushed you both instead is partially crumpled itself at its front end, metal twisting around Izuku’s raised forearm. The two of you are panting heavily, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you the sensation of having just run a marathon, and he’s looking at you with frantic eyes, scanning you for safety. That long familiar green spark in the air surges around him like electricity, the glow in his green eyes, fading quickly.

“Are you okay?” he asks, breathlessly, not out of exertion but out of shock.

“I-Izuku, you’re not…”

He still hasn’t realized what has just happened, focusing on the fact that you’re alive and okay and didn’t turn into roadkill right in front of his very eyes. Unwedging his somehow intact forearm from the grille of the truck, he turns his body completely to you, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, and helps you rise to your feet. The static feeling emanating from him slips away second by second and your lips wobbles as you’re at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” he repeats again. He’s patting you over quickly, looking for broken bones, bruised skin, and your mind is still racing, computing what just happened and why you’re still alive.

He shouldn’t have been able to cross that distance so quickly - you were just waving to him from across the street, the road clear when you looked before crossing, and in seconds the vehicle had barreled at full speed out of nowhere; he couldn’t have moved before screaming your name fast enough, maybe years ago when you were both teenagers with impossible superpowers but not now, years later with superhuman gifts dwindled to nothing. 

He couldn’t have, but he did. 

“I-Izuku, the suit… you’re not wearing your suit,” your voice carries shakily, and as you see his eyebrows unscrunch and raise instead in surprise, he turns, and sees the stopped vehicle, the broken glass and distorted metal, a man hurriedly jumping out of the passenger seat and shakily apologizing, and finally his torn jacket sleeve and it occurs to him.

“Oh, fuck, I’m not.”

—

You watch Mei type on her computer, not bothering to try to decipher her thoughts from her facial expressions, knowing full well that she’s never been readable before. Even years after high school you find that this continues to be true, but the blank but friendly and entranced look on her face is somehow pleasant the more you think about it, and you let yourself let out the breath you’ve been holding.

It’s been just a few weeks since the night Izuku’s Quirk - at least some of it - flickered back into life for the first time, and after you’d berated him for using his literal body to shield you from a danger that could have killed you both, you’d taken the time that evening to use your own Quirk to see if something about his body had gone haywire. To both of your surprises, you’d gotten a flicker of something similar to the old him, but unsure and unwilling to get either of your hopes up, you’d decided to consult with Mei and other experts who worked with Quirk pathophysiology and augmentation (a few of which you’d taken courses with yourself years ago), and now you were back in Mei’s laboratory, trying to see if you could get to the bottom of this.

Since then, the following strange things had happened:

You’d dropped a plate and Izuku had dove for it, the wisp of a Blackwhip tendril just brushing it before it ultimately crashed to the ground, the two of you too stunned to speak.

A group of Izuku’s students heckled him as he leaned in to accept your kiss outside UA, and all of you ended up in a purple haze before you knew it.

Izuku’s midday nap on the couch found him face to face with the ceiling when you finally discovered him, and

A sudden unintentional use of Fa Jin made things very interesting in bed.

“I guess my baby’s doing a better job than I thought it would!” Mei grins. You hunch over her screen, while Izuku’s too hooked up to a tangle of wires to get a good view of the screen himself, and she compares Quirk levels from the beginning of the suit’s conception to now, a previously long-standing flat graph with a steadily rising bump. 

“A miracle,” you whisper under your breath.

“I find that personally offensive.” Mei replies, her facial expression lacking the cheek to compare to her statement as she watches Izuku watch you from behind the glass. She presses a button on the intercom; Izuku grins at you while Mei gives him the instructions to try to activate Blackwhip one more time, and you can feel warmed all the way through. 

—

Slowly but surely, over time, the Quirk levels start to recover, and you, Izuku and Mei try your best to keep it under wraps.

Of course, Katsuki finds out with direct questioning, the purple haze event showing up on an anonymous internet forum propelling him to show up at your doorstep and demand personally that Izuku tell him if he got his quirks back or not.

“We’re not sure how permanent this is, Kacchan,” he offers. Katsuki might as well spit on the ground before him in protest but you’re seated in the living room, and even Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight has enough decorum to not make a mess in someone else’s home.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Midoriya!”

“It’s not a lie!” Izuku insists, and he turns his gaze to you for backup which you swiftly provide.

“Listen, we’re not sure yet, and they’ll probably never get back to normal, but he’s doing his best.” Katsuki grimaces, which annoys you further.

“You’ll get your damn rematch, be patient.” you add, rolling your eyes. Katsuki leers, and his partner pats him on the shoulder.

“He’s just excited,” she translates for him, and Katsuki mumbles something about not needing her for translation every time which doesn’t waver her smile one bit.

“Excited to get his ass beat,” you murmur, reaching over to pour her some more tea. Izuku and Katsuki both stare at you, Izuku with nervous concern and Katsuki with irritation, and just like old days, you and Katsuki’s arguing match begins anew. 

—

As the two of you brush your teeth and prepare for bed, you do your nightly routine of checking how strong Izuku's reawakened Quirk is with your hand on his chest, and he presses his free hand over yours.

“You know, my favorite part of this is you’ll finally start to worry less.” He chuckles and squeezes your hand gently.

You let the water run and clear spittle from the sink, and gargle before you answer, your hand still captive by his, then look at him.

“To be honest, I’ll never stop worrying about you, Izuku. Even if you become God.”

But you understand what he means. You’ve had many a nightmare about suit malfunction, only a few of these you’ve shared with him, among other things that have to do with being a Pro Hero in the capacity he insists to be in. This is a small help. 

A small bit of providence.

He expected this answer, lips pulling into a smile as he takes your hand fully and pulls the fingertips to his lips to kiss them. 

“I’m glad that won’t change,” he replies.

Moments later, you’re laid in bed together, and as you both muse on the potentially altering future in quiet, love-flushed cheeks and hands intertwined, he turns to you suddenly.

“There’s one thing I’m still missing,” he says.

Your eyes refocus to him. He’s pensive now, not sad or upset, but thoughtful. You move closer to kiss him on the lips once before nodding for him to continue.

“What are you missing?”

“Danger Sense,” he says.

“But everything else is back,” you reply. He nods, letting his arm drape around your waist.

“Yeah, but I think I liked that one the most.”

You snort lightly. “Not being able to lift a train, or fly, but 'Super Anxiety' was your favorite?”

You’re making light of the issue to keep the mood from getting too heavy, but he frowns, and you frown back, apologetically. 

“Well, ‘Super Anxiety’ made it so that I knew when bad things were about to happen, and often these bad things could involve you.”

He has the tiniest scrunch to his eyebrows, one that in another situation would have compelled you to rub out with your fingertips, but now is not the time to be playful.

You twist your mouth to the side and a few more moments pass between you, before you add:

“I don’t think you need it, though.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you press a kiss to his forehead.

“All this came back because you wanted to protect me,” you remind him. “You moved without thinking, for me, as always, like you knew I needed you. That's better than Danger Sense by far.”

His face softens as he cups yours in his hands. You're thankful that you've reached him.

“Always for you,” he says.

Even if this miracle is transient and despite your best efforts, his quirk levels fall back to normal instead of steadily growing, the love he has for you, and the love you have for him, will never, ever burn out.

[needfantasticstories]

“Many places I have been

Many sorrows I have seen

But I don't regret

Nor will I forget

All who took that road with me”

-The Last Goodbye by Billy Boyd

This is an Adjuration by @not-freyja, after 86 chapters, 300k words, and 10 months of joy, laughter, tears, heartbreak and love, has finally reached its end. 

Adjuration is a tragedy that is nothing short of an act of love. That much is clear in the passion and dedication put towards the story, the characters, and the message Freyja is trying to convey. This fic will teach you about love. About death. About the inevitability of existence and why despite knowing it will all come to an end, there is still meaning in trying and hoping and loving each other. In loving yourself. You will laugh, you will cry, you will hope and you will despair as you read this story, but you will not be able to put it down.

It’s hard to say goodbye to something that has been so important to and loved by so many people. So we won’t. Instead, we will say thank you for this incredible journey and the community this fic has built. For the friendships that have been made and the endless inspiration you have given us. Thank you for wanting to tell a story, and for letting us join you around the campfire to listen.

Thank you.

(If you like Linked Universe and haven’t yet read Adjuration, see below for spoiler free reviews of this fic and artist credits.)

This is an Adjuration is the kind of story you fall in love with, the kind of story you think keep thinking about long after you put it down. The kind you keep finding hidden details in after you think you’ve got it figured out. 

The characters are distinct and people with their own voices, motivations, relationships and histories. You’ll have your favourites but love them all. They influence how you’ll see the characters in everything else. 

It’s full of moments where everything clicks and everything before is recontextualised in a way that’s so satisfying and make the whole story very re-readable. A time travel story where all loops are already closed, where you can know but not yet understand what will happen. It’s long, complex, and beautifully, meticulously planned and detailed. It’s clever and considered, funny and heartbreaking. 

A story that whispers ‘it matters’ over and over. It is worth it to love, it is worth it if it doesn’t last forever, it is worth it to give someone a little more time, it is worth it to fight. It’s about loving others and your world and finding grace for yourself. 

It’s loss and tragedy and the cruelness of fate. It is the sacrifice and the breaking. 

Full of heart to both fill yours and break it in the best possible way. 

It’s about love. Always.

By @toyouhellohowareyou

Sometimes, it’s hard to explain to others why art moves us.

I could tell you This is an Adjuration will make you cry, laugh, and sit at the edge of your seat in anticipation. And it’s probably true - I did all of that as I read, often with a coffee in one hand, early in the morning as I got ready for the day. 

But that’s not the reason why I’m writing this.

The real reason is how it followed me during the rest of the day.

You see, at a certain point I realized this isn’t a story about Links going on adventures. Well, it does feature Links, and they do go on adventures, so let’s talk about that for a minute.

The first thing that caught my attention about this book was the characters. Each individual is unique, interesting, and exciting to follow. Not only are the Links individually compelling, but one thing that stands out in Adjuration is how the relationship between each Hero and their own worlds matter, and these connections shift, evolve, break and grow as the plot progresses.

Freyja does an incredible job of bringing together impactful storytelling with humor and heart. This is an Adjuration starts with an interesting premise, and then twists and turns in directions you wouldn’t expect. It’s rich in thought-provoking moments, soft joy and intense action, blended in with carefully crafted time travel and magic.

Adjuration sucked me into the world it builds, combining believable characters with fascinating stories, an unnervingly devious antagonist, plot twists, and lovingly crafted details that slip unnoticed until you’re surrounded on all sides. It made me cheer for characters I feel as if I’ve known intimately for years, made me worry for their safety as I would for that of a loved one, kept me hunting for hints and hidden references, pulling on a thread to try to find the end only for it to twist and loop into itself and show me a completely new side to the story.

Yes, This is an Adjuration is a fanfiction piece that explores the winding river flow of the Legend of Zelda timeline and how the stories of each Hero merge into each other. It also stands out for its heavy emotional content, and it doesn’t shy away from angst and hurt.

But to me, Adjuration is an epic journey that taught me how the choices we make, make us in turn. It’s a tragedy that deals with pain and healing, and it bares naked the non-linear nature of grief. It’s a celebration of the things that make us unique, of our flaws, an essay of the impact of little acts of love. Indeed, it’s a story about love.

I can tell you now, This is an Adjuration moved me. It still does. It has a special way to surface in my mind in unexpected ways at seemingly random times, from something as simple as tossing an apple core, to watching a lightning storm in the distance, or finding a picture of an old friend.

And every time, without fail, it makes me think about love.

By @sunny-porridge

This is an Adjuration is a wonderfully and beautifully crafted story about love, loss, and choice as the various incarnations of Link come together and travel through time. Freyja seamlessly weaves a tapestry of setup and payoff across different timelines and loops, in the best-constructed time travel plot I’ve ever seen on page or screen. Even at its surface, Adjuration is an emotional rollercoaster involving tragedy and the soft moments that make that tragedy worth it. But the deeper you look, the more meaning you can pull from every chapter of this amazing work. This work has made me cry, squeal with delight, and think more deeply about its themes all while having an absolute blast reading it. So in summary: READ IT. READ IT. READ IT NOW. YOU WILL NOT REGRET IT.

By @life-in-winter

While I love that every chapter is emotionally enthralling, with carefully woven, visceral tension you crave in any good story, yet Adjuration is more than that, and you feel it in the careful weave of each character and plot point. Nothing is lost or unanswered. It's the kind of story that, by the end, makes you stop and take a hard look at your own life. Are you appreciating the now? Are you savoring joy? Are you so wrapped up in fear that you can hardly take care of yourself? Do you know who you are?

This story is more like an external experience. It's riding atop a tsunami. How do you handle that ride, Link?

There aren't enough words to describe how amazing this fic is.

@needfantasticstories

Artist credit

Legend: @gia-d

Hyrule: @bittirsweeteer

Time: @toonblade

Sky: @noorahqar

Warriors: @whitewinterstar

Wild: @weavingstarlight

Twilight: @bluury2

Wind: @thewitchdoctor39

Four: @lunaopus

Red: @peepthatbish

Blue: @glowingmin

Green: @winterfen

Vio: @waterfallstream

Shadow: @deleetrix

Wolfie: @linkiscool333

Fierce Deity: @awildsilver

Ravio: @lele5429

Malon: @tooner-tastic

Dink: @passerinesoncaffeine

[beomiracles]

It’s a little early for Halloween concepts, but I cannot get Ghostface! BF! Yeonjun (or literally any member either this concept) out of my head!

Imagine Ghostface! Yeonjun who is so obsessed with his girlfriend, but he gets so jealous seeing her around people other than him and his friends (who might also be Ghostfaces who he works with) 👀👀👀

⌞ 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐄 ⌝

DREAM RECALL Your boyfriend wasn't the only one dressed up as Ghostface on Halloween ⎯ Lucky for you, he knows how to play the role.

wc -> 3.4k

pairings ghostface!yeonjun x fem!reader warnings drinking, easily jealous yeonjun, attempted sexual assault, violence but not very harsh descriptions, yeonjun assaults someone, rough sex that turns into soft sex, unprotected + creampie, fingering, marking, ft. beomgyu as yeonjun's friend.

#serene adds ✎ this took a ridiculously long amount of time and I'm not even that proud of it but oh well, can't win every one of them ! and no it's never too early for halloween babes :3 I changed the plot up a little but I hope it's still readable, kisses from serene ꒰>﹏< ꒱

The house is quiet, save for the monotone sound coming from the lousy rom-com movie playing on the Tv in the living room. Your fingers drum against the marbled countertop and you glance in the direction of the microwave, counting down the seconds on the timer as you heave a sigh. — So much for a thrilling halloween, you thought as you groaned into the palm of your hand. 

Your phone vibrates in the back pocket of your jeans and with little enthusiasm you fish it up. The lines on your forehead only deepened as an unknown number flashed on the screen. “What the fuck”, you scoff, ready to shut your phone off, when you suddenly hesitate. Something feels off, call it your subconscious speaking, but you find your thumb instinctively swiping to accept the call. 

Bringing the device to your ear, you remain silent as you wait for the person on the other line to speak. When they don’t, you call out for them. “Hello?” There’s a pause, followed by a small crackling sound, either their connection was absolute shit, or they were outside, walking on a dirt road. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glance toward said road, leading to your lonesome house, but there was no one there. 

“Hello?” You repeat, this time with a bit more suspicion. There’s another small noise on the other line and soon a voice speaks up. “Hello”, it’s raspy, your name rolling off their lips in a low drawl. You scoff, shaking your head as you walk over to the microwave, plucking your bag of popcorn from the small machine, hissing as you almost burn yourself in the process. 

“Who’s this?” You ask as you bend down to grab a bowl. The person on the other line chuckles and the frown on your face only creases further. “Doesn’t matter who I am, only what I am about to do to you..” The voice drawls and you freeze as you set the bowl down on the countertop. — “Come on now, that’s not how the movie goes.” You snort as you reach for the discarded popcorn bag. 

You catch the voice muttering something under its breath and you’re unable to resist the giggle that escapes your throat. “Really, Yeonjun? Calling on an unknown number?” There’s a brief pause before the guy in question replies, “fuck off, how’d you know it was me, babe?” You roll your eyes as you dump the finished popcorn in the bowl, shoving a handful in your mouth as you chew. “You’re a terrible actor”, you muse and your boyfriend groans on the other end of the line. “Alright, whatever”, he grunts and you smirk as you swallow yet another handful. 

“What do you even want? I thought you would be busy hanging out with Soobin this weekend?” You question as you grab the bowl of freshly made popcorn, walking over to take a seat on the couch. “No, he caught the flu”, your boyfriend shrugs the matter off as if it were nothing before continuing, “so we’re going out!” — You almost choke on your popcorn, “we?” You repeat, sounding almost baffled. 

“Yeah, we, who else?” Yeonjun scoffs to which you groan. “Do I have to?” Sure you had complained about the dull halloween evening, but the thought of going out didn’t exactly entice you either. — “Oh come on”, he practically whines, “I can’t show up without my date can I?” When he’s met by a most deafening silence he tries again, “it’s a halloween party! Everyone will be wearing costumes.” Well that certainly didn’t help your case. 

“Yeonjun, I don’t even have anything to wear”, you complain as you flop down against the cushion. “Sure you do! I’ve seen your closet”, your boyfriend chimes and if you could, you would’ve slapped him through the screen. — “Besides, you can always wear that little piece of red lingerie that I love so much.” He hums and you hear him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth suggestively. 

“Nice try.” You huff, grabbing the remote control as you flip through the available movies. “Wait, what? You’re seriously not going?” He whines and you emit a tired sigh, “I’d rather stay home and watch movies.” — “Uh-uh, we can do that tomorrow, please, I’m almost outside.” It was near impossible to change Yeonjun’s mind once it was set on something. 

“Fucking hell”, you grumble as you click to turn off the Tv, rising into a sitting position as you place the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table. “Fine, give me thirty minutes.” 

⸝⸝

The black dress you chose was all but covering, and when paired with the small cat ears on your head.. It was safe to say that Yeonjun’s hands had been all over you on the way to your destination. Your eyes narrow as your boyfriend steers you toward a small rundown building, “here?” you question to which he nods. “You’ll see”, he drawls, lips pressing a wet kiss to your shoulder as his hands slide down to rest either side of your waist. 

He wasn’t lying when he said that it was going to be a party, and the place’s neglected interior only added to the eerie vibe of it all. The viridescent lights basked the open room in blue-green hues, much different from the usually purple strobes seen at nightclubs. The music was, too, fitting as it played dark and melancholic songs whose lyrics made little sense. — “Stay close to me, yeah?” Yeonjun murmurs, his breath is warm against the shell of your ear as he guides you through the crowded dance floor, packed with people dressed as all kinds of horror movie villains. 

The bar was located by the very end of the room, unsurprisingly filled to the brim with thirsty customers. You wanted to ask where he was headed but your boyfriend seems to have his mind set as his gaze fixates on something ahead. — By the very corner of the bar, sits a lonesome guy, you thought you might recognize him but it isn’t until you’re face to face with him that the familiar brown eyes were paired with a name. 

“Finally, I was beginning to think I was being stood up”, Beomgyu huffs as he sips on his near finished drink. Yeonjun tsk’s behind you as he greets his friend, “I’m beginning to think I should’ve.” — “Piss off”, the younger retorts. Beomgyu was a part of your boyfriend’s rather large circle of friends, he was however the one you had grown the closest to, you think it might have something to do with his excessively forward personality; something Yeonjun strongly disliked. 

“I see you brought my favorite girl along!” Beomgyu suddenly exclaims, his brown eyes shifting over to you as he sends you a not so subtle wink. You had to bite back a small giggle as your boyfriend’s hands on your waist squeezed you firmer. — With a small tug Yeonjun pulls you onto his lap, his fingers skimming over your bare thighs. “Yeah yeah, don’t cream your pants”, he mutters, clearly not a fan of his friend’s blunt advances. 

If his comment offended him, Beomgyu didn't let on to it as he ordered your small party a round of drinks. “What are you even supposed to be?” You wonder as your gaze flickers over the red tie around his neck, paired with a black suit. He seemed to have splashed a bit of fake blood on the collar of his white shirt, matching that on both his cheek and chin. — “Oh come on, you can’t tell?” He huffs to which you shake your head. 

“American Psycho”, he states it as if it were obvious and you can hear Yeonjun snort behind you. “Really?” He frowns, causing Beomgyu to shoot him a small glare, “what are you portraying then?” — Your boyfriend grins as he holds up the iconic ghostface mask and his friend makes a small grimace, “as expected, you never stray from the classics.” 

Their banter went on for another couple of minutes, only interrupted by your drinks arriving, and after taking his first sip, Beomgyu’s attention was back on you. “But who are you dressed as? Except the most beautiful girl in the room of course.” His slick compliment makes you chuckle as you shake your head. “She’s dressed up as my girlfriend”, Yeonjun spits behind you as one of his large hands splay across your stomach, pulling you flush to his chest. Beomgyu rolls his eyes as he sends you a look of sympathy, “always so cynical.” 

Your boyfriend mutters something under his breath before his lips reattach themselves to your neck. “Let’s go dance”, he murmurs, eager to get away from his tipsy friend. With the small roll of your eyes you nod, letting him lead you to the crowded dance floor as you bid farewell of Beomgyu. 

⸝⸝

It took a fair toll on your pride to admit that your earlier words had been a lie, you were actually having a good time. Being cooped up at home for so long made you realize just how much you missed being out, especially being out with Yeonjun. — His slender fingers are on your hips as he keeps you close, not letting as much as a speck of dust come in between the two of you. One of your hands climbs up to run through his bleached hair, pulling him down for a kiss as you taste the liquor on his tongue. 

Under the blue and green lights he appeared almost ghostlike, his lips pulling into a wide smirk as he trails his hot mouth against the juncture of your neck. He had taken the mask off a while ago, complaining about it being too hot and not getting enough air in it. You didn’t mind, in fact you think you liked it better when you saw his beautiful face. — Though it’s with much reluctance that he leaves you half an hour later, excusing himself to the bathroom. You give a small nod as you watch his tall frame disappear amongst the crowd, the blond mess on his head easily standing out amongst the many. 

Honestly, you thought your boyfriend was a bit dramatic at times. But you supposed that his near extreme protectiveness over you was sort of charming too. Besides, a few minutes alone couldn’t hurt right? You didn’t think so at least, and as the minutes ticked by you occupied yourself with dancing along to the eerie beat alone. — You’re so immersed in the music that the sudden hands on your waist takes you by surprise and you jump. Though your worries are quickly soothed once you turn to see your boyfriend behind you, his hands skimming along the sides of your body before settling back on your hips, albeit a little firmer than before. 

“Mask back on?” You question with a small grin as you eye the white plastic covering his face. He nods, pulling you flush against his chest. Taken aback by his unusual demeanor you merely shrug before brushing it off again, he might’ve been a little tipsy. You continue to dance, bodies pressed together, but it’s barely been five minutes when he impatiently tugs at your wrist, urging you through the sweaty crowd. 

“Hey! Yeonjun– slow down!” You yell for him, but he doesn’t reply, intently trudging forward and your eyes land on the green exit sign ahead. Your lips twitch as you realize what he was trying to pull and you let yourself be dragged out of the worn down building. — The crisp night air casts goosebumps over your naked arms and legs as you step out into a dark alleyway. “Here? Really? How romantic”, you giggle as your boyfriend pins you against the brick wall. 

His hands shift from your waist and to your thighs as he slowly inches your already short dress further up. “Oh come now, let’s just wait until we come…..home..” The words die in your throat as your gaze flickers to the hands on your body, the rough and calloused hands…The hands that most definitely did not belong to your boyfriend. 

You freeze, because what else were you supposed to do? The realization that this was not Yeonjun but a mere stranger hit you like a truck. With your heart in your throat, you glance back to the masked man in front of you. Before you can think, you act, grabbing a hold of the plastic as you try and tug it from his face, but he’s quicker and much stronger. The same large hands pin your wrists above your head and you let out a terrified shriek as the dangers of your situation dawn on you. 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

Your words come out as a yell and you struggle against his grasp. The man only chuckles, and you wondered what kind of sick freak lay buried under that mask. “Let go of me you fucking cree-” A large hand covers your mouth, preventing any sounds you might make and your eyes widen as you feebly shake your head. 

You wanted to tell him to piss off, you wanted to knee him in the groin, you even considered trying to bite a finger or two. Then you would run, would you run back inside or continue down the road, you didn't know, that didn’t exactly matter. All you knew was that you had to get out of here, and fast at that. But before you can set any of your plans into motion, the clicking sound of the door you had walked through just moments prior, fills the narrow alley. 

“Babe, what the fuck is this?” 

Yeonjun looks almost baffled as his gaze flickers from the strange man before you, down to his tight grip on your thighs before traveling up to your horrified expression and the hand on your mouth. — At first you thought he looked almost mad, angered, as if he had caught you doing something wrong, you wanted to tell him that it was most certainly not what it looked like. But your boyfriend’s eyes quickly narrow as they settle on the masked man. 

“Fuck man, are you wearing the same costume as me?” He huffs as he reaches you in three long strides. His fist connects with the stranger’s face and the sound of plastic crackling is almost deafening. — Fresh air fills your tense lungs as soon as the man’s hand leaves your lips and you slump against the brick wall. He tumbles backward before the harsh kick delivered by Yeonjun sends him to the ground. 

The masked stranger doesn’t say anything, only grunting in pain as he writhers on the pavement. Your trembling fingers link around your boyfriend’s arm as you plead for him to leave with you. “Please, please let’s just go..” You whisper, tugging him toward the door he’d emerged from. But Yeonjun only shakes his head as he shrugs you off, crouching down to come eyelevel with the man. 

“That’s my girlfriend you were feelin’ up just now.” He states as a matter-of-factly, his brows drawing even further together as he leans forward. “Why the fuck would you do that?” The stranger doesn’t reply, only emitting ragged breaths as he tries to meekly create space between him and Yeonjun. “Come on, let's go back..!” You seethe as your eyes desperately dart between the men in front of you and the door leading back to safety. 

“But he hasn’t even apologized yet, don’t you want him to apologize to you babe?” Your boyfriend murmurs as he tilts his head to the side. You wanted to argue that such a thing was most unnecessary but before you can do so, Yeonjun rises to his feet. “Alright”, he mutters, watching as the man’s shoulders visibly slouches in relief at your his retreat. 

And just as you think this whole mess was finally about to draw to an end, Yeonjun sends a final kick to the man’s chest causing him to fall back with a groan. Long and slender fingers hook around the plastic of his mask as he tears it off, revealing a guy a fair couple of years older than the two of you, his face already beaten bloody thanks to your boyfriend’s previous ministrations. 

“That’s still my costume”, Yeonjun grunts as he crushes the bloodied mask beneath the sole of his shoe. 

⸝⸝ 

“F-Fucking piece of shit asshole.” Your boyfriend huffs as he snaps his hips against yours, causing the bed to squeak with each harsh thrust of his. You had lost count of how many rounds you’d gone as Yeonjun continued to abuse your spent cunt, thick cock stretching you as he continuously fucks his cum back into you, not leaving a single moment for you to catch a break. 

“And what’d he do next?” He asks, brows furrowing as his jaw twitches. “G-Grabbed my…my leg”, you breathe, on the verge of going cross eyed from the pressure of his thumb on your throbbing clit as he circles it. You had already repeated the story to him so many times, yet each time you described how it had happened he only seemed to grow more infuriated, his pace increasing with each bitter sentence that spewed from his mouth.  — “Here?” Yeonjun wonders as his hand moves to squeeze the flesh of your thigh and you meekly nod. “Fucking lowlife,” he spits, the grip on your thigh gentle as he massages you softly. 

“S’okay, I’ve got you, I’ll make sure something like this never happens again.” He murmurs, but if anything it seemed more as if he was trying to convince himself. “H-ah, I-I know”, you gasp as he twitches inside of you, the head of his cock brushing against you in ways that made your eyes screw shut. — “M’close”, you whine, nails raking across his back, in turn making him shudder as he connects your lips in a contrastingly tender kiss. “That’s okay, that’s okay, cum on my cock yeah? As many -fuck- as many times as you want okay?” 

Your boyfriend often became a chanting mess whenever he was close, always saying the first thing that came to mind as it became relatively blank; his words still made you clench around him almost uncontrollably as you cried out. — “Fuck, so so so pretty, mhhn, prettiest girl ever”, he moans as he fucks you through your high, hips jerking forward before he, too, spills inside of you for the nth time that night. 

Just as you think he might make you go again, he pulls out, causing you to wince as your beyond spent cunt throbs, your mixed fluids dripping from your glistening folds. It was almost as if the air had shifted because instead of flopping down next to you with a tired sigh like he usually did, you feel his cheek on your thigh, soon followed by his lips as he places light kisses along your skin. 

A quiet wail slips from your tongue as his slender fingers leisurely drag across your sensitive cunt, reveling in the way it fluttered beneath his touch. The small pecks to your leg grow from sloppy and light to deliberate and rough as he sucks your flesh between his teeth, leaving your red and purple. “I’ll make him disappear”, he murmurs, his words muffled against your thigh as his index and middle finger gently spread your folds. 

“Only me, s’only gonna be me”, he mutters, shifting between one leg to the other as his teeth scrape across the places where that man had grabbed you. Your hands in his bleached hair makes him groan as your nails tear the last pieces of jel from the blonde strands. — “S-Sorry I didn’t c-come sooner, didn’t protect you sooner..” He slurs, tongue dragging over the reddish hues blooming on your skin as his index finger works its way inside your cunt, eliciting a sweet moan from you. 

It’s not until he makes you finish on his hand that he finally gives it a rest. His head is on your stomach as he draws light patterns on your thighs, relishing in the fact that they would occasionally twitch if he blew on your soft and puffy folds. — “M’gonna take good care of you, don’t worry”, he sighs.

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[pearlfeline]

the world's best tour guide

peter parker x fem!reader/stark!reader

word count: 2.6k

tw: none

a/n: made this longer to make up for the last one but then i went so far i didn't know how to end it lol hope its still readable because i don't think so :') enjoy ALSO HOCO PETER CALLBACK BC I MISS WATCHING THAT MOVIE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MIDDLE SCHOOL OH GOOOOOOOOD

“There needs to be somebody else with me!” Your father exclaimed.

“Oh, well maybe you should’ve thought of that before making this fraudulent internship?”

“It’s… real. It’s real to me.” Your father gazes at you longingly.

“Soooo people are supposed to believe I have to work my way up through this internship despite the fact that we share a last name and address?” You look up from your laptop for the first time during this conversation.

“There’s celebrities out there that don’t give their children even a penny, you’re lucky.” Tony shrugs, popping a grape in his mouth.

"Plus, it makes perfect sense! You're a little builder like me aren't you?" He says in between chews.

“Those are mine,” You snag the bowl back to your side of the kitchen island. “and I’m adopted!” You shove two grapes in your mouth to one-up him. “Do you know how effed up you would be to cut off my only source of income when I’m adopted?!” You were muffled by the grapes in your mouth.

“Don’t curse.”

“I said eff I didn’t say fuck.”

“DON’T CURSE.” Tony warned.

“Ugh, where’s mom? I wanna complain about you.” You groaned, taking yourself and your laptop upstairs.

“Leaving at 11:30!” Tony shouted through the stairs.

You waved him off, rushing to your room. You continued working on your computational model simulated lab that Bruce designed for you to play around with.

“Bam.” You say to yourself as you let the 3D models crash into eachother.

“Knock knock.” Your mom says quietly.

“Mom, don't say knock knock. Just knock on the door.”

“Honey, let’s get off the computer for a second.”

Pepper closes your laptop gently. “Just go with your father hon. He’s just using this as an excuse. He wants you to work with him more he loves you.” She crouches down at your eye level, taking your hand.

“Everybody knows how smart you are, they want to work with you. Okay? Okay. Great, get dressed.”

“It's not that I don't want to go, it's the fact that I'm probably not allowed to touch anything fun or follow dad anywhere cool. Also your pep talks are getting shorter and shorter.” You huffed.

“I’m hungry. I want lunch. Maybe your dad should’ve waited for me to make my toast before asking me to come up here.” Pepper takes one last look before leaving the room. “Be ready in 5 minutes.”

You begrudgingly come downstairs.

“You look great honey.” Tony clasps his hands together.

“I didn’t even change.” You said flatly.

“…Okay. In the car.”

Pepper gives you a look with many meanings behind it. If you had to guess, her expression meant “Be nice”, “He’s trying his best”, and “Shut up don’t complain”.

You give your mom a half-hearted thumbs up before leaving.

After a little while of driving, Happy comes to an abrupt stop.

“Dude what the-” Your phone dropped to the bottom of Happy’s seat in the process.

“Here’s the kid.” Tony says, trying to hide his smile. It was evident even from the backseat.

A boy with a linty hoodie and a beaten down bag waved to the car, a matching grin plastered on his face after he realized who was inside.

“Mr. Stark!” He exclaimed.

Your dad gets out of the car, exchanging words with the boy.

Tony opens his door. “Yeah go sit back there. Now, I trust you know not to bother my daughter.”

As if on cue, Peter opens the door to see you with intimidation in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“H-Hi.” Peter sits in his seat stiffly. He extends a hand and reels it back realizing what your dad had just said.

“He’s just kidding.” You shake your head, chuckling. “…I’m allowed to greet people.”

Peter swallows a lump in his throat. “Right. Of course. I’m just not sure if I can greet people.” He wipes his sweaty hand on his sleeve before extending it out again.

“Peter.” He looks up with a shy smile.

“Y/N.” You nod, shaking his hand.

“I saw you on youtube. The robot you built? The one that could project a hologram five times its size? So cool.” He gushes.

You smile shyly, having to look away from embarrassment.

“I’ve seen you on youtube too.” You grin subtly.

"...Oh god. I was only ten, my solar system was supposed to orbit around slowly. I used paperweights instead of styrofoam balls and the battery I used was high powered, they weren't supposed to fly out like that. I even paid for the school's camera with my Christmas money-"

"Uh- no.. I meant like the spider thing?"

Dumbfounded, Peter looks over to Tony through the rear view mirror. Tony meets his eyes and gives him a wink.

"Oh... I didn't know you knew about that." Peter sinks into his seat.

"Don't be embarrassed. I think it's cool." You smiled.

Peter unconsciously smiles back at you. "Thanks.. I…try." Peter cringes at his attempt to reply to you normally.

You lessen the distance between you and him and look at him fascinated.

"How do you swing around? Lab-made fibers? It looks.. almost organic."

Peter tries not to flinch and holds his breath. He should've brought his breath mints. What if his breath stinks? He ate a string cheese before he left the apartment.

"I-I uh- I make them myself. It's web fluid. When it flys out of my web shooters, it solidifies into that flexible, strong stuff." He pulls up his sleeve to show you.

"Woah, how many cartridges do you need?" You run your fingers along the band around his wrist, staring curiously.

"They last a while, but I switch them out like every few weeks-"

"We're here." Happy yawns, taking the opportunity to stretch his arms.

"Thanks Hogan." You pat his shoulder from the backseat and get out of the car.

Peter blinked and all of the sudden, everyone filed out of the car. He frantically steps out, his eyes having a hard time adjusting to the sun.

"Here." You push him three inches to the side, bringing a shadow to shield the sun from his eyes. A really big shadow.

Peter can't help but let his mouth hang open.

"Just as flashy as I remember it dad." You said before stealing his sunglasses from his face and running to the doors.

"Hey, GENTLE! They're Dita! VINTAGE!" He shouts.

You giggled as you tried to frantically slide your keycard into the scanner that unlocked the doors.

"I'm gonna tell the receptionist they're a gift!" You yelled back before rushing inside.

This makes your dad quicken his pace, rummaging his pocket for his keycard.

Peter had never seen Tony like this before. There was someone who was alive, very real, and actually had authority over him. His child. Peter slowly catches up to Tony who's waving his credit card around the sensor.

"Sir.. I don't think that's the right card." He mumbled.

Tony looked down at his gold card, his brain short-circuiting for a moment.

After composing himself and taking out the correct card, Tony almost flung the door open, his eyes locked to you leaning over the front desk.

"Y/N!"

You turned around, the sunglasses nowhere to be found.

"Yeah?" You tilted your head innocently.

The receptionist takes this opportunity to go back to her typing after you finally stopped talking her ear off. She wasn't wearing them either.

Peter stood awkwardly behind Tony. He stared at the high ceiling and the enormous fish tank that stretched across the wall with fish he had a hard time telling if they were real.

"Gotcha." You reveal the sunglasses behind your back, handing them back to your father.

"Not my style.. Also probably not her's either. Right, Erin?"

The receptionist only shoots you a glance, her fingers never stop clacking on the keyboard.

"Kid, this way." Tony sighed, gesturing Peter and following you to an elevator.

Peter shyly makes his way to the corner of the elevator and staring at the array of buttons. He's never been in a building with over five floors, let alone a hundred.

"So... What are we doing exactly?" You asked your father.

"I thought I'd give the kid a tour." Tony says while he scrolls through his phone.

Peter fiddles with his hoodie's strings, unable to make eye contact as he's being mentioned.

"Oh." Tony stops.

"What?" You asked warily.

"I need to approve something. Something either dumb and obvious or an array of important decisions." Tony looks through his missed calls and rings a number.

"Tour my ass." You mumbled.

If superheroes do anything, they double book. Constantly.

The elevator dings and you and Peter file out. You turn around and Tony doesn't step off.

"You've been promoted to tour guide. Okay bye." Tony closes the elevator doors and you watch him descend to a lower floor.

"I went from being a child of nepotism to a tour guide? I don't consider that a promotion."

Peter was visibly dumbfounded. He was intimidated by Tony by some degree yes, but he already knew him. He's never been to the tower, and now he's alone with his child that could make or break his reputation here.

"...Dude?" You wave your hand over his face. From your perspective, ever since your dad went downstairs, Peter had been blankly staring at the floor.

"Hm?" Peter's eyes didn't leave the floor.

"Wanna meet Dr. Banner?" You smiled. It reminded Peter of a cat that knew it was doing the wrong thing.

Something about your expression told Peter you wanted to bother Bruce more than you wanted to introduce Peter to him.

After a string of trailing after you in hallways that looked like they were from the future, you slid open the keypad, and rapidly drew a complex pattern into it.

"Hey Dr. B."

"Woah." Peter's eyes wander throughout Bruce's lab. Holograms fill a lot of empty space.

"Hey mini Stark, hand me that slide rack will you?"

You were all smiles. Peter could see you were finally in your element.

"What are you doing now?" You peer over Bruce's shoulder.

"Not too close, unless you wanna put on a coat and some goggles." He says, eyes locked on the microscope.

You immediately run back to the doors, a nervous Peter Parker blocking the coat hanger.

"C'mon Peter." You enthusiastically put on a lab coat and fasten the glasses over your face. Without hesitation, you put another pair on Peter's face and throw him a coat.

You grab him by the sleeve just as he put on the coat and run back to Bruce.

"Dr. Banner, this is Peter." You smiled.

Bruce looks up from his microscope and gives a small wave.

"From what I've seen, I think he might be one of us." You chuckled.

"...And maybe one of you guys." You give Peter a teasing smile.

Peter let out a small and odd noise before clearing his throat.

"Dr. Banner, I'm a huge fan." Peter gushes.

"Hey, show him your webs." You pull his sleeve back.

Bruce’s eyes studied the webshooters.

"He's the spider guy." You say proudly.

Peter tries not to shake uncontrollably from a mix of embarrassment and excitement.

"Oh.. You made these?" Bruce blinks curiously.

Peter nods and tries to conceal his growing smile.

“He’s one of you guys. I told you.” You wink at Peter, only for him to see.

“That’s… how? How did you make these?” Bruce chuckled in disbelief.

“Can I borrow your whiteboard?” Peter asks.

After writing down the entire formula for the polymer he used for his webs, Peter finally slouches over. His work takes up a majority of the board.

Bruce stares in awe of Peter’s creation.

“Basically this is it.” Peter scratches the back of his neck.

“Visit any time kid.” Bruce chuckled, speechless. He gives Peter a pat on the shoulder.

“How about a snack?” You asked Peter.

“If you’re gonna pass this little audition with my dad, you should probably know where the kitchen is.” You sighed, pulling the goggles off your face.

“Are you sure you’re not just hungry?” Peter asks.

“Oh, I finally got the boy to let his guard down? Telling jokes now huh?” You laughed.

Peter shakes his head, smiling to the floor.

“I just met Bruce Banner.”

“Mhm.” You trail down a long hallway, to a shiny pair of doors that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The kind of doors Peter would visualize any person having a hard time opening.

Behind the doors was a kitchen area bigger than the living room of his apartment. The marble top island was like his dining table.

“Take anything.” You said casually, fetching two spoons from a drawer.

Peter walks in like he’s just attended his own surprise party. When he opened the pantry he didn’t expect a wall of snacks.

“I like these.” Peter points to the bag of mini reese’s cups.

“Then bring the bag dummy.” You snorted and opened the freezer.

“How about some ice cream?”

Peter and you somehow moved all your snacks to the balcony and you started tearing away at them almost immediately.

“You brought a lot.” Peter unwraps a peanut butter cup while you sink your spoon into your coffee ice cream.

“What are you hinting at man?” You give him a glare.

“NO! God, no I meant I don’t want to eat all this food, it’s- it’s not mine I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.” By the end of Peter’s sentence he pops the candy in his mouth, defeated.

“I’m messing with you. Dig in. Seriously though Cap is on a new diet he found on this dumb blog. I never should’ve gave him an iPad for Christmas.” You rolled you eyes.

“It’s mostly my snacks now. Sometimes Natasha eats with me when I bother her enough.”

“Cap? Cap as in?” Peter knew the answer but needed a confirmation. There was no way he could be convinced he’s in the very building where all these heroes roam around.

“Captain America.”

“And Nat?”

“Oh, Black Widow.” You say in a sultry voice.

“That’s my lady. We watch dumb movies when I come around here.” You added.

“That’s.. wow. You see them often?” Peter takes a spoon and digs into the ice cream too.

“I guess.” You shrugged.

“Just so you know, they’re all lame like me. Not as cool as you think.” You grinned at the memories you had of them hanging around.

Peter shook his head.

“You’re not lame. You’re cool. I don’t think anyone else can mess with Tony Stark like you can.” Peter chuckled.

You look down and take another scoop of ice cream.

“…Not that he’s the only reason why you’re cool. You’re so smart and really funny.” And really pretty. But he wasn’t going to say that.

“Thanks. You’re pretty cool too.”

Peter let out a dry laugh.

“No. I’m not. You should see me at school seriously. It varies from being invisible to being a-”

“Don’t call yourself a loser or a nerd before I do a flip off this balcony.” You groaned.

“Besides, what’s a nerd if not a person in the wrong environment?” You give him a nudge.

“This is an environment where nerds thrive… And the occasional superhuman.” You added.

“Then why aren’t you getting recruited possibly, like I am?” Peter asked.

“My parents won’t ever let that happen.” You sighed, opening a bag of spicy chips.

“Maybe in the future, I’ll be one of these guys, we’ll be older, and we can convince your parents.” He said.

“You’re so innocent.” You laughed. “But yeah. If you somehow land a spot here, you have to help me get in too.”

Peter held out his pinky.

“..What are you doing?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I…pinky promise.” Peter held a stern expression. For the world’s best tour guide, he was willing to keep his word.

“Okay, swear?” You held out your pinky.

“Swear.”

[wszczebrzyszynie]

Hello everyone. Today i bring you the Space Mining au masterpost ... this is somehting i planned on doing for a while now, as space mining started becoming more and more fleshed out and my answers to your questions started getting more convoluted. Answered one question created 5 more kind of thing. So here is a timeline i made and a lot of links to different asks explaining even different-er things. Its a lot of loredumping but i tried to make it as clear as possible. Normally its the kind of thing youd learn by reading the story but im not planning on making a comic and i will never write a fic so this is how it has to work. average bartek story treatment

Despite humanity spreading all over the universe in post-space colonisation era, the only other life form ever found was a fungi-like, small organism living in giant colonies, which by their appearance resemble earth minerals. it can be found deep below the surface of different, seemingly unrelated moons and planets, desperately hiding from all forms of light; most of it is long dead, found in its rock-like form. commonly known as sculk, it is the newest and most important discovery in recent human history, although very little is actually known about it. Tango is a former HASA engineer, one of the people who revolutionized space mining, renowned for his work on the nature of sculk, and currently a wanted terrorist on the run, after he blew up a chunk of callisto, one of Jupiters moons, durning an illegal sculk mining operation. Completly unfit for the criminal lifestyle, its a miracle he hasnt been caught yet, especially with many bounty hunters and criminals alike on his tail

I tried to include the absolute most important parts. Doesnt look very well but i hope its at least readable

* Everything starts when Tango blows up a part of callisto. He worked there on a practically illegal sculk mining site; everything was meant to be kept secret, obviously, so when it turned out that the sculk is actually alive, parasitic and infecting everyone at a rapid pace, there was little help they could get. The outbreak was catastrophic but with HASA being a govermnent organisation that set up an illegal mining site not only outside of their controled area, but also in the solar system (which was and still is considered something like a buffer state... in space. At the time of the story lots of people from different places live there because its considered peaceful enough) there is no way they would get involved. So the few remaining survivors chose to blow up the mining site to save themselves. It both did and didnt work as intented, destroying a chunk of the moon and succesfully sealing the cave system, but also killing the remaining miners, with Tango being the sole survivor. Despite being a great asset to the company (he is, despite it all, considered the father of modern space mining), everything that happened was swifly pinned on him, with HASA claiming everything happened behind their back. Tango became a wanted terrorist in one day. An important note about the worldbuilding is that everything is corrupted and not good

More information to be found here. I havent linked every post ive ever made about it, just the ones i think are the most important! every space mining related thing can be found in the space mining au tag. This part will be updated with new information whenever i post it!

Designs:

Tango and Jimmy / Scar / Hotguy Scar / Grian / Pearl (+ info) / Joel / Martyn / Skizz / Impulse / Scott (+ info) / Bdubs and Cleo / pre-retirement Cleo, Lizzie and Gem / Ren / Doc

About:

Character relationship chart (not everyone is included) Desert duo/Ranchers/Imp and Skizz relationships More about desert duo / more about the ranchers / more about Impulse and Skizz + space mining as a whole More about Scott and Jimmy + space stations Etho and Bdubs (and Cleo) / more about Etho Cub (and the burning of the ranch) More about Grian Pearl (+ design) Martyn Gem Doc

Zeds full reference/design isnt included because it isnt up to date.

[clansnaphance]

Skins & Accents: Never be unpleasantly surprised by resizing ever again

I'm making this as a separate post in addition to a reblog reply, in the hopes more people will see it.

So, you've worked on a skin and you've poured your heart into it, worked at a high resolution, and rendered all the nice details... and then you resize to 350 x 350 px and half your details disappear, others look pixellated, and some things that looked great at full size are now way too cluttered.

Wouldn't it be nice to have a way to avoid this pain entirely, all while working at full size and never having to zoom out while you're in the flow to check on the details?

Well, I've got the hottest tip for you.

Start by upscaling your canvas to 2800 x 2800 px. When zoomed out to 12.5%, the canvas will appear as 350 x 350 px. You can also choose other resolutions, the important bit is that one of those resolutions results in an image appearing as 350 x 350 px when zoomed out at one of the default percentages (50%, 33%, 25%, 12.5% etc). We are not going to zoom out on the working file, however.

(This is my accent Thought we had a deal, which you can find in my accent shop)

Then it's magic time. This works in Clip Studio Paint and Photoshop, I don't know about other programs.

Window > Canvas > New Window in CSP:

Or Window > Arrange > New Window for [file name] in Photoshop:

This will open the exact same image in a different tab. Click the tab, hold to drag and it will float above your working image. Zoom out to 12.5%, grab the bottom right corner (it will appear where the green arrow is) to scale down the excess frame:

And voila, you will have a live version of your accent at its print size, regardless of how much you zoom in in the larger version:

Yes, that's right, live version, it will update as you draw! You can tell right away if a detail you add will show up at print size or not, if it will be readable or not.

Never be surprised by resizing again!

[alottanothing]

This is for @twola, who, about a week ago was having a bad day and wanted someone to write a snip of Arthur beating the shit out of someone who made the reader cry; with the addition of some smutty goodness, of course.

Well, this is the first time I've written publically for our dear cowboy Arthur Morgan. And I simply cannot write anything considered a 'snip'. So here's what my brain calls a snip; over 5k words just for you, twola. I hope this makes up for the bad say you had last week. :)

And shout out to my partner in writing crime, @itswormtrain, for making this readable!

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, smut (18+ MDNI), oral (f!reader receiving)

The sun was beginning to set over the peaceful hills and sprawling trees of Cumberland Forest. Those lingering traces of daylight caress the rugged terrain with whimsy, casting shadows that dance over the dirt path under the hooves of your young stallion. Nature seemed to pause in reverence as the sun gracefully lowered itself behind the distant mountains; the only sound was that of your horse's steady walk and the murmuring babble of the Dakota River in the distance.

It had been too long since you’d enveloped yourself in such tranquility, seemingly always at the receiving end of Miss Grimshaw’s scalding. Any anticipation of exploring the wilderness or going on jobs with the guys was always overshadowed by the necessity of chores.

When you’d joined the ranks of the Van der Linde Gang, you had hoped you’d garner a little more excitement than a seemingly endless cycle of laundry, cooking, and mending. Sure, the mess in Black Water and the threat of the law constantly at everyone’s heels was a form of excitement, concerning, but still excitement. Though, things had died down since all that, and Horseshoe Overlook was truly an awe-inspiring place to call home for the time being. Even so, camp chores remained deeply understimulating.

In truth, you were just antsy; you always were when Arthur was away for more than a couple of days. Your mind always thought the worst, despite knowing your handsome outlaw was more than capable of handling himself on jobs and in the wilds. But that nagging concern never ceases to occupy your mind. His absence at camp was never more cumbersome than when Grimshaw was barking out instructions, or when Uncle’s drunken singing was so off-key, it scraped against your brain like a rusty old knife. You simply couldn’t stand it anymore; you needed peace and quiet—something to scratch that itching thought in the back of your head.

Admittedly, you hadn’t planned to venture so far from camp, or any sort of civilization for that matter. The towering ramparts of Fort Wallace were in your sights before you decided to turn back. Were it not for the shotgun secured in its holster on your saddle, the late hour would have left you feeling considerably more anxious. Arthur had taught you well, and instilled in you enough confidence not to worry as you trot down the dirt path toward Valentine.

There wasn’t a single soul to be seen for the majority of your journey; your only company that of your horse and Mother Nature’s comforting embrace. You almost hated the far-off glow of a town in the distance, over the crest of a hill. Soon you’d be back at camp with nothing to do but laundry and fret over your lover's absence.

“Pardon me, miss.” You nearly jump from your saddle hearing the strange man’s voice. “Thank god for you, would you mind – too terribly – giving me a ride back to town?”

Your heart skips a warning in your chest as you look around, where did he come from? The question dances in your head as you fight to form the words you want. This was O’Driscoll country—a notion you were suddenly very aware of, and your eyes glance at the rifle still tucked securely in the holster on your saddle.

“I was thrown from my horse, ya see—wild beast took off without me. ‘Fraid I hurt my ankle when I fell.” He explained, garnering a wave of sympathy that clouded the caution in your gut.

The stranger wasn’t dressed in the usual black and green of Colm’s gang: just simple trousers and a dirty work shirt and boots. What could it hurt?

“Yeah, alright,” you said, giving the man a faint smile.

“Oh, bless you, miss. Bless you,” the look of relief on his features did well to settle the remainder of the apprehension swirling in your stomach.

With a firm grip, you steadied your horse so the man could climb on, offering your hand to help him up.

And that act of kindness was your mistake.

His grip on your wrist was like a vice, painful, as he yanks you from your horse's saddle, your boots nearly getting hung on the stirrups. A sinister laugh echoes through the tall trees, splitting the serenity with the jagged sound of malice. Your stallion rears and cries, spooked by the abrupt movement, but the stranger is quick to steady him, forcing your horse into a full gallop toward the glow of Valentine leaving you where you fell.

When the shock wears off, you aren’t sure which was stronger, the wave of anger that envelopes you, or the sudden fear of solitude that brings forth the steady stream of tears down your cheeks. Both feelings were justified, you figure. That, and how utterly foolish you feel for trusting a stranger.

You knew better. Your time with the Van der Lindes taught you not to trust anyone, at least not someone on the side of the road pretending to be hurt. That was the oldest trick in the book. One you’d used several times to con someone out of something. Now, you were out a horse and a shotgun.

When the landscape grew darker as night fell, those shadows that you once looked on with awe and majesty, now loom sinisterly.

Stupid! You scolded yourself, more tears searing down your face. It would be dawn before you made it back to camp on foot; if you made it back to camp at all.

Without the security of your shotgun at hand, your confidence in making it home unscathed was growing short. Animals lurked in the trees around you; monsters both beast and man would undoubtedly set their teeth on you if they found you alone and without the means to protect yourself.

A shiver surges through you, a combination of the onslaught of fear and the chill from the mud you’d landed in. If you’d been riding with Arthur, no one would have the gall to steal from him. And if they did, they surely wouldn’t live long enough to get far out of reach.

You wipe the mud from your hands to your skirts before swiping at the tears staining your face. Maybe someone from camp would notice you hadn’t returned yet and send someone looking for you. Why hadn’t you asked someone to ride along with you, Mary-Beth would have, and she would have appreciated the quiet you wanted. But no, all you needed was the shotgun… How foolish you were.

With a sigh, you work yourself to your feet, boots, and skirts caked with mud and dirt. Even with the weight of self-pity beckoning you to stay planted on the side of the road, the rage put fire in your steps. You would make it back to camp, feet surely blistered, if only to lessen the embarrassment of being robbed.

Anger proves to be a useful motivator as you trek down the road before you, lit only by the white light of the moon. The tears had stopped, but they threaten to spill again simply from how much your feet hurt. That glow seemed to have tricked you; Valentine wasn’t close at all. All there was was trees and rocks and dirt in every direction. You were utterly alone; lost in the wilderness with only thoughts of your naivety to keep you company.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves pounding against the earth resonates through the stillness of the wood, sending shivers down your spine and provoking a new wave of tears. With every nearer beat of the rider’s approach, anxiety constricts your heart, sending a whirlwind of possibilities into your mind. Images of dark strangers conjure in your thoughts, each with a fiendish smile and a revolver on their hip, a green bandana tied around their neck. All your anger drains, as you feel fear creep deeper into your being. You wish you still had your shotgun.

“You need a ride, miss?”

Relief crashes into you like a wave against stone; you know that voice, deep and comforting—kind (to you, at least). This time, it was joy bringing tears to your eyes.

“Y/N?” The look of surprise was to be expected on Arthur’s face as he beholds the sight of you, muddy, with tears staining your face. “Darlin’, whattaya doin’ out here?”

Immediately he jumps from his horse, warm hands gently holding the tops of your arms as he gets a better look at the state you’re in. All traces of his hard exterior are swept away, leaving the softer, more compassionate man you fell in love with.

“Camp was driving me crazy without you. I just wanted to take a ride, but some asshole stole my horse—yanked me off my saddle an’ everything. S’why my skirts are all muddy.” You explain, fighting more tears.

Some of the softness fades, still, his voice is gentle when he speaks again.

“Did he hurt ya?”

You shake your head, “no.”

The pad of his thumb dances over your cheek tenderly as he tilts your chin to look at him.

“Darlin’, ya been cryin’.”

“’M just cryin’ at my own stupidity, is all.” You tell him. “Should’a known better than to trust a man alone in the woods.” 

Arthur takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding.

“D’ja at least get a good look at ‘im?” he asks.

“Mhm,” you nod. “He took off towards Valentine.”

Arthur glanced south and nodded too, “Then I reckon that’s where we’ll find him.”

He places you on the saddle and mounts just behind you, drawing you close to his chest as he gives his loyal mare a gentle kick to urge her back onto the road.

With Arthur's arms around you, the darkness of the forest shifts back into the realm of tranquility. The menacing silhouettes of the towering trees became that of gentle giants, swaying gracefully in the night breeze. No longer did the whisper of rustling leaves hold a feeling of foreboding. The forest, in the ethereal silver glow of the moon, was a picture of peace and beauty once more.

Despite what had happened, even Arthur was a beacon of serenity. He hums as you both ride. It’s the same tune Uncle was singing when you left, only Arthur’s melody instills you with a sense of calm while Uncle’s attempt had you on the verge of threatening to remove his tongue. Every so often you feel his lips press to your scalp, leaving soft kisses in your hair and each one helps to remedy every sour thought plaguing you. It never ceases to amaze you just how tender your outlaw could be. To the civilized world, he was quite literally the poster of cruelty and evil, but for you, he was your knight in shining armor.

Valentine was quiet when the hooves of Arthur's horse turn down the main thoroughfare. The muddy roads, churned up by hooves and wagons, were dimly lit by the flicker of oil lamps. In the distance the stirring of livestock in their pens echoes through the stillness of the air, the only other sound coming from the saloon in the middle of town.

Smithfield’s always seemed to clamor no matter what time of night it was. Debauchery never slept, you guessed. The clinking of glasses and the lofty tune of the piano can be heard as you pass the sheriff’s office, a symphony of merriment in the still night air that lent such disregard to the tired citizens of Valentine.

A few men stand outside, bottles in hand as they lament lost love and glory, belching and hiccupping into the cool air. Horses tied to the hitching post whinny and jerk at reins keeping them in place, and there among them was your stolen stallion.

Arthur steers his mare to the front of the saloon, his heavy boots landing with a squelch in the mud as he dismounted. He helps you down, strong hands circling your waist and steadying you in the soft earth.

“I’ll be right back, darlin’,” he says and tips his head toward your horse. “Get yer boy, Imma go take care of some business inside.”

Before you can utter a word he stomps up the stairs of the saloon, his frame taking on the posture of The Enforcer as he pushes through the swinging doors.

His face wasn’t unknown here, it was only a couple of weeks ago he and a few of the other men from camp had gotten into some trouble. You weren’t there to see the fight, but you’d heard all about Arthur’s trip through the window—now boarded up and waiting to be repaired. This time, you hoped it wasn’t your handsome outlaw cast through the pane of glass.

While Arthur is inside, you deftly untangle your horse's reins from the post, gently stroking his mane to soothe his soft whinnying. You smile when he nuzzles you back, happy, it seems, to be back in your care.

“Was that awful man mean to you?” you ask softly, rubbing the coarse fur of his strong neck. “Arthur will handle it, don’t you worry.”

As if on cue, the jovial commotion in the saloon ends; the happy voices now holding anger or shock. The piano playing is lost to the disgruntled sounds inside and a moment later, the man who nearly ruined your night is thrown through the doors.

His bruised form topples down each step before landing in the mud. You watch, unable to quell the sense of pride that surges through you as you watch Arthur swagger through the saloon doors and down the steps, spurs jingling. The confidence he holds as he looms over the thief settles over you warmly. This act of violence was in the name of chivalry; the man deserved whatever justice Arthur planned to dish out.

“Didn’t need ya to point him out after all, darlin’.” Arthur's words fell from his lips with the ghost of a grin, pleased with the opportunity to put your attacker in his place. “This feller was inside boastin’ to the whoooole saloon ‘bout the horse he stole from a helpless young woman just outside of town.”

Arthur kicks the man as he tries to stand, the thief falling back into the mud with a groan. Folks begin to gather on the wooden porch of Smithfield’s, their faces twisting in looks of both concern and excitement as they watch your handsome outlaw and the man who’d stolen your horse.

“See, normally I don’t waste my time dealin’ with dim-witted horse thieves. Hell, on occasion, I am one. But you see, that weren’t just any helpless young woman ya stole a horse from… that was my woman.” Arthur deals him another kick to his gut, knocking the wind from his lungs a second time as he tries to stand.

“An’ if it ain’t clear already,” Arthur says reaching to pull the man from the ground and holding him by the lapels of his jacket. “I don’t take kindly to anyone hurtin’ my woman in any way. Ya understand?”

The deep timbre of Arthur’s voice works over your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. He looks so fierce in the flickering light of the oil lamps, the brim of his hat shielding his eyes from you, though you know they were cold, focused on the man in his grasp.

No coherent words fall from the thief's mouth as Arthur holds him nearly off the ground, only a moan of anguish, surely from the two kicks he’d suffered.

“Nod if ya understand,” Arthur demands with a shake.

Anger churns on the thief’s face, but he nods, slow, jaw clenching as he musters the gall to fight back.

“Fortunately for you, all I’m lookin’ for is an apology…” Arthur tips his hat in your direction. “…to the lady.”

The man’s dark eyes glance your way and he sneers, shaking his head with a mirthless chorttle.

“I ain’t apologizin’ for nothin’, especially when your woman is stupid enough ta get her horse stole in the first place.” 

If you cared even slightly about the fate of the man who’d stolen your horse, hearing those words escape his mouth would have caused your stomach to drop knowing the sort of fire he just ignited. But, you want nothing more than for Arthur to beat him into a bloody pulp.

To your surprise, however, Arthur remains steadfast, but his voice is increasingly more sinister when he speaks.

“Maybe ya didn’t hear me. An apology. Now.”

“No.” The thief spat, a fiendish smile turning his lips.

With lightning speed and unyielding force, Arthur’s fist collides with the man’s jaw, unleashing a thunderous crack that has the onlookers gasping. The sudden impact propels the thief backward, his body crashing into the cold mud for a third time.

You expect him to stay there, really if the man had any wits about him, he would have. However, despite the two kicks and the blow to his face, the thief rose from the mud, foolish determination etched onto his bloodied features. Arthur almost scoffs and wastes no time proving the extent of his strength. He strikes him again, obliterating the remnants of the man's fractured jaw, the sound resonating with a deafening crack.

No one rushes to the man's aid when he falls to the muddy earth for a fourth time, wailing in anguish at his shattered jaw. Arthur stands over him, tall and formidable, his presence almost challenging the man to get back up, your outlaw more than prepared to deal out more justice.

“Should’a apologized…” Arthur chides. “If ya had, maybe ya’d have use of that jaw’a yours right now.” 

The man groans in agony, writing on the ground as he holds his broken jaw. 

“But I had ta keep ya from speakin’ ill’a my woman like that. I certainly don’t appreciate when slimy fellers like you use her kindness against her.” Arthur slowly circles the man like a fierce wolf circles their prey. “Then ya had ta go leavin’ her out in them woods, faaar from any sort of civilization, all alone. An’ well. I ain’t takin’ no apologies for that.” 

He stops, one leg on each side of the thief before dropping to his knees, fist poised high over the old leather hat on his head. Arthur didn’t leave your attacker with only one more punch; the man under his weight had committed the ultimate sin in your lovers eyes. He’d hurt you, a crime that warranted the ultimate punishment.

The sound of each punch reverberates through the air as Arthur’s fury drives him to deliver decisive blows. As you watch, pride swelling in your breast, you swear each hit lands with such intensity the ground beneath you trembles. All the folks gathered to watch pass whispers while looks of shock mold their features. Come the morning, the town would be talking again about the stranger who liked to stir up trouble in the sleepy city of Valentine. 

When Arthur finally stands, flexing his surely aching knuckles, the man beneath him is unrecognizable. Blood and bruises distort his face, teeth missing from his gaping mouth. His limp body is unmoving in the mud and you haven’t a care whether he was dead or alive. 

There is a hint of shame on his expression when he drew himself back into your orbit, the coldness in his eyes warming in your presence.

“’M sorry, darlin’.” He says refusing to look you in the eye. In an instant, the Enforcer was gone, leaving only your kind knight in shining armor standing before you, his knuckles red and bloodied from dealing out justice.

“For what?” you say taking his injured hand in yours, wiping the blood from the cuts with a clean section of your skirt.

“For what I done.”

You shake your head and tilt the brim of his hat, looking to meet his lowered gaze. “All you done, Mister Morgan, is protect your woman. Ain’t a lick of shame in that.”

He grins softly, gently caressing your chin and cheek with his clean hand. His expression meets yours completely.

“’M just glad I happened upon ya when I did.” He murmurs and you step closer to him.

His gentle eyes, painted in a delicate watercolor palette of blue and green, softly convey the deep love he possessed for you, along with the ever-lingering fear of losing you. The exquisite blend of tenderness and vulnerability was something seldom seen by anyone other than you. And each time those meticulously built walls of his came down,  you were honored to behold the part of him he kept hidden from everyone else.

“Me too,” you whisper, hoping the look you give him in return conveys the same sentiment.

The lives you lived held no real guarantees apart from a bullet or a hanging rope. You learned quickly to never take for granted a single moment, and this one you certainly weren’t.

“You ready to get back to camp now, darlin’?” he asks, fixing a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

Camp… you almost grimace at the thought of returning to the mediocrity of it all.

“Actually.” Your eyes glance over to the hotel across the way, mischief coating your smile. “Was thinkin’ I should reward my rescuer.”

His brows furrow following your glance, oblivious to your meaning.

Before he can open his mouth to form a question, you kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck, stretching on your tiptoes to gain the fullness of his kiss. As if on instinct his arms weave around your waist, your feet coming off the ground as he pulls you in closer to deepen the draw of your joined lips. It’s slow and lazy and perfect, his mouth undemanding but firm against yours, making you melt into his very being.

Your head is spinning when he pulls away, placing your feet gently back into the mud, and you can’t fight the smile unfurling over your wet lips.

“I’ll buy us a room at the inn,” you say, batting your eyes coyly. “S’ the least I can do for my knight in shining armor.”

Arthur laughed, heartily. There is an undeniable charm to the sound of his chuckle, as it cascades through the air, enveloping you with an infectious happiness each and every time you hear it. As his eyes hold yours, a playful glimmer twinkles behind them as he swiftly deciphers your not-so-cleverly veiled plan.

“A knight, hmm?” his brow lifts onto his forehead in a deep arch, his smirk firm on his lips.

You nod, “In shining armor.”

He chuckles again shaking his head before scooping you into his arms with ease. You gasp at the swiftness, and laugh too, draping your arms around his neck before planting a kiss on his bearded cheek.

“Well, then, I reckon I should play the part, shouldn’t I, sweetheart?” he says as he steps around your fallen, broken-jawed adversary on his way to the Saint’s Hotel. “Ain’t never been a knight before, just a dirty ol’ outlaw.”

You laugh and roll your eyes. 

He whistles as he trudges through the soft earth for his horse to follow and his loyal mare falls in close on his heel. Your horse follows too, nearly as inseparable from his horse as you were with Arthur.

“Ya ain't old, and ya ain’t dirty…need I remind you who's got mud all over their clothes?” you say kicking up your soiled skirts to get his attention. He just laughs.

“Maybe ya forgot already, but I was on my knees in the mud beating the life outta that fool who robbed you. That makes me just as dirty as you. ‘Sides, I reckon neither of us will be wearin’ them for much longer anyhow.”

His comment, and accompanying bravado surges through you like more wildfire, adding to the flames he’d already been fanning since throwing your attacker through the saloon doors. Arthur’s confidence in his ability to have you swooning with only the low smokey sound of voice and the words he spoke had grown exponentially. Which was both something of a blessing and a curse. You enjoyed the days of flirting and seeing him grow red in the face from your flattery. Now he made you putty in his hands with a few words and a coupling smile.

For that moment, however, you decide it’s a blessing; he’s your Savior in Spurs—a cowboy casanova.

You toss a coin to the innkeeper from the pocket of your skirts and he casts you a key that you manage to catch as Arthur wastes no time making his way upstairs.

In truth, the Saint’s Hotel was no paradise; with its meager accommodations and thin walls, it was hardly a place to find rest. However, that night, that illusion of privacy might as well have been nirvana. You could hardly recall the last time the two of you had a chance to make use of actual walls instead of the canvas flaps of Arthur’s tent. Here, the neighbors were strangers who wouldn’t be casting you looks over the fire the next morning, knowing far too much about what you and Arthur had gotten up to in his tent. You were going to savor every tiny detail unabashedly while you could.

The fire was already burning brightly in the fireplace, warming the room from the cool mountain air outside the windows, adorned with sun-rotted lace curtains. The wooden floor creaked under each step as if to voice its displeasure at the neglect it had suffered over the years. The faded wallpaper, once bursting with colorful patterns, now barely clung to the walls, faded and dusty. The bed, while made with threadbare quilts and pillows, appeared sturdy enough not to break under both your weights, and that was all you truly cared about.

Your boots are the first to come off once Arthur places you back on your feet, discarded with a couple of eager kicks before his hands reach for the fastenings of your skirts. Yours wind around his neck, burying your fingers in his honey-brown hair as you kiss his soft lips.

For all the violence they inflicted mere moments ago, Arthur's hands were so very gentle, plucking at the ties holding your skirts in place, and again as his deft fingers loosened every button of your blouse with practiced ease, leaving you in just your chemise. Despite the warmth of the fire burning in the room, a chill works through you and you sigh, more gooseflesh prickling your skin as Arthur moves his hand to the globe of your breast, thumb sweeping over the covered peak of your nipple.

His featherlight touches make your mind a dizzying vortex of desire. This man, who uses his hands to deal out death sentences, only ever uses them to worship you. His mouth, which often spits out sarcasm and cruelty, paints your skin with tender presses and undeniable words of adoration.

Your hands snake from their place in his hair to the buttons of his blue work shirt, loosening only a few before he swats your hands away gently causing a whine to sound in the back of your throat. He meets your furrowed brow with smirk and a quick peck on your lips before moving your hands back where they were. 

“Feels good, you doin’ that,” he tells you. 

You gently scratch the hair at the nape of his neck. “This?”

“Mhm…” he leans to kiss you again, a slow, worshipful act as though he is trying to memorize every detail of your mouth against his. 

Desire thrums through you ever hotter. You need him. 

“Arthur…” you breathe in weak protest as his lips scour down the column of your neck, his hands pulling your chemise from you. “…I’m s’posed to be rewardin’ you.”

You feel him smile and shake his head as his kisses venture further across your collarbone. When he relieves you of your bloomers, you shiver and moan at the feeling.

“Don’t need no reward, darlin’.” He whispers against your skin between kisses. “Think its you that needs taken care of after whatcha been through.”

Calloused fingers spray over the small of your back as he brings you against him, the hardness in his trousers pressing against your bare form. You feel your own arousal coating your thighs, warm and wet, and begging for the feel of him inside of you.

“Will ya let me do that darlin’? Take care of ya?” his hands explore as he speaks, trailing down your spine before cupping your back side with a little squeeze. 

Your head falls back with a ragged sigh, fingers tugging at this hair. As much as you want to tease and dote on him and show him how grateful you were for his timing, you can’t think when he has you like this: naked and vulnerable to his touch, mind cloudy with desire. 

“Yes, Arthur. Always.” You murmur, lost in the blissfulness of his touches. 

As if you weigh nothing, he takes you in his arms again, hoisting you aloft, and carrying you to the bed where he lays you so tenderly over the threadbare coverings.

You watch, heart pounding against the cage of your ribs as he quickly sheds each of his layers. It is a show you have seen a dozen times and helped with a dozen more, still, your lust-blown eyes gauge him with reverence and awe.

He is truly magnificent, your handsome outlaw; strong shoulders and wide chest dusted with coarse hair your fingers yearned to comb through. Warmth drifts through your body as you drink in every inch of him, eyes landing where his cock juts from dark curls proudly and your cunt clenches in anticipation.

“C’mere, sir knight…” you say stretching across the mattress, smiling, and batting your lashes. “…come an’ claim yer prize.”

Arthur chuckles heartily as he climbs into bed, and you welcome the press of his weight with a happy sigh. He teases your lips with his own, soft kisses that leave you wanting before the press of his tongue coaxes your mouth open. You reciprocate, drinking from his mouth with hungry groans.

Heat pools lower and lower where you want him most; feeling the long pulsing line of him against your thigh was like torture, causing another whine to escape your busy lips.

“Please…” you sigh, a slow undulation taking your hips in search of some form of stimulation.

Once more he obeys, his mouth laying a hot trail down your sternum, stopping to draw your nipple between his lips before traveling further down. The sensation of familiar, calloused palms gliding down the stack of your ribs as his kisses continue their way down, squeezing the swell of your hips and kneading the softness of your thighs have your quiet moans echoing through the room.

Arthur dips his mouth to your center abruptly and draws his tongue up through your slick folds, tasting just how much you need him, and he groans.

“Mmmm, darlin’,” he murmurs before swirling his tongue over the bud nestled at the apex of your cunt. “I don’t do this enough…”

You gasp, a flash of heat pulsing through your center, head rolling against the pillow. He didn’t do this enough, then again, the two of you rarely found yourselves so alone together. And there was barely enough room for the two of you on Arthur’s cot anyway, let alone room to explore other methods of pleasure.

He intensifies his exploration, drawing his tongue over you in wide flat strokes, while your thighs come to moor on his shoulders, heels digging into his back. You feel his shoulders roll as he dedicates himself fully to his task, thrusting his tongue into you, filling you with warm velvet before abandoning your core for the silky nub crowning it. Arthur's tongue curls against it until you shiver and gasp.

“A-Arthur…” your breath hitches, hooking your fingers into his hair.

A low purr rumbles through him as you press against his face, hips rolling in rhythm with his ministrations. Your lover sweeps his tongue over and around your clit repeatedly. Sensation swells low in your belly, feeling yourself nearing the ultimate peak and you tug his hair ruthlessly wanting more. Needing more than just his mouth. His truly wonderful mouth... 

“C’mon, darlin’,” he mutters against your dripping cunt, the gust of his breath billowing over your heated center causing you to shutter.

Without fanfare a wide finger dips into your core, then another, making your back arch and a loud moan spill from your lips at the delightful stretch. For only a moment, your cry reminds you of the paper mache walls surrounding you; no doubt everyone in the Saint's Hotel knows what the two of you are up to, but you cared little with Arthur between your legs eating you out like he was made to do so.

Stars dance in your eyes as you skirt the edge of your undoing. He growls encouragingly when you flutter in warning against his lips and around his fingers.

“That’s it…” he murmurs, voice low and utterly sinful. You can even feel his proud, smirking lips against your center, the image alone snapping the spring coiled low in your belly.

Ecstasy hits you like white-hot heat, tunneling your vision as you jerk against his face, heels digging into his back. His name falls sloppily from your mouth in a flurry of mixed vowels and sounds that hold no cohesive meaning, each one melding into throaty moans.

“That’s my girl…” He grins, removing his fingers to lap up all the juices of your arousal as you ride out your orgasm against his face.

Slowly you come back to yourself, the tremors of aftershock fading as your breath and vision catch up to you. Arthur remains content between your legs, gently kissing the soft skin of your thighs, once more humming the tune he’d serenaded you with on your way into town.

When he smiles at you, lips and chin shining with your nectar, love burning behind his blue-green eyes, you pet his hair, holding that gaze with the same reverence. Slowly a smirk unfurls on your lips.

“Like I said, knight in shining armor.”

[nelyastudies]

head-in-the-clouds student essential tools (that’s me!!)

i always have study difficulties (before it was unsuitable environments and adhd symptoms and now pseudo-dementia from chronic depression 💀💀💀) and over the years, these are the tools that help me the most hehe. i hope these will help you as well whether you have difficulties or not :)

goblin.tools

the tagline is "breaking things down do you don't". If you are, like me, easily feel overwhelmed by a task and doesn't know where to begin, this program will help you tremendously. it will break down a task into minuscule mini-tasks that feels manageable. you just need to add a task into the text bar, set the spiciness level (how difficult the task appears to you) and hit the add button (+) to add the task, and then hit the wand button. a series of smaller tasks will appear and you can start doing it one by one. the app is paid, but the website is free to use.

bionic reader

this add-ons will apply bold to words in a way that enhances its readability. I don't know how they do it, but i feel like i was reading faster and comprehend more by turning it on. I feel like my focus is improved, too. This was truly a game-changer for me. Im currently using its mozilla firefox free add-ons, but i think theres one for chrome and iOS as well. 

brainscape flashcards

know a lot of people, esp medical students use anki, but i was unfortunately got distracted by the UI and the effort it took to organize things. so instead i use brainscape. it works similar way to anki with spaced repetition, with the bonus of more buttons to press and an animation screen that congratulates you on level achievements. the minus is that it has no cloze functions, no table function, no heatmap, no image occlusion, or image function really (unless u paid for a premium plan). definitely use anki and its myriad of add-ons first to see if it works for you. if the brain issues prevent u from thriving in anki, then use brainscape.

focus to do

i tried a lot of pomo apps and i think this works for me best ^^ it also has a built-in forest app (ish) that i love. It also has a subtask function which is very helpful for easily overwhelmed little guys like me

ambient noise

there are a looooooooot of websites and apps that I use over the years (I literally started using coffitivity since 2014) and I have no tips on choosing them–you just gotta experience them to find what’s best for you. among my favorites are mynoise.net, coffitivity, focus@will, calmyleon, and jason lewis’s Mind Amend channel on yt. sometimes i also just put a full concert in the background and roll with it, though.

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller Part 52: The Maestro's Correction

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tw: mind control, body control, burns, hand whump, whipping, blindness, abuse, blood drinking

October 1925

Alexander stood and bowed low as the Maestro entered the music room, trailed by Oliver in eerily perfect synchronization. "Good evening, sire. I hope you are well."

"I also hope I am well. That depends largely on your hospitality, I'm afraid," he said. "Let us begin by examining your new acquisition in more detail."

"Certainly, sire."

No, no, no -- it took all of Oliver's self-control to not fight as the Maestro sat down on the padded bench and forced him into a submissive kneel. The hook and eye on his dress was undone, and Oliver's dread rose. What did he mean by examining in more detail…?

It was somewhat of a relief when those stony eyes focused on the brand on his chest. "Slipshod. The edges are clearly uneven. The symbol will hardly be readable." The Maestro looked up. "It's obviously your work, Alexander. If you had coerced Lily into fulfilling your obligation, as you were no doubt tempted to do, it wouldn't be in such a sorry state."

"Yes, sire."

"Your thrall is permanently marred, the results of your task an abject disappointment, and all you have to say in response is 'yes, sire'," said the Maestro, his tone like a knife pressed against Alexander's neck. "When I attended the ballet, your thrall informed me that you are allowing him a great deal of freedom, as well, are you not?"

"Yes, sire."

Oliver couldn't turn around, but he could hear the despondence in Alexander's voice. This had been his fault, hadn't it? He should have covered for his master. But Alexander had warned him in no uncertain terms to be honest. What was the correct action? Was there even a correct action?

"Because your thrall is otherwise so obedient, I feel inclined to only impose a light punishment this time."

"Thank you, sire."

The Maestro indicated a fat candle sitting on the end table, its flames providing the only cheer and warmth in the room. "Place your hand in the candle's flame until I am satisifed."

"Yes, sire."

"No!" The choked cry came from Oliver's mouth before he could stop himself. He wrenched his head out of the Maestro's grasp just enough to see Alexander's shock, his hand hovering dangerously near the flames.

"Oh?" Oliver's head was snapped back to look in the Maestro's eyes, filled with a cold fury. "You disagree with my judgement?"

"No, no, sir, I don't --"

The Maestro slapped him across the face hard. "You disagree with my judgement and then you lie to compound it," he said, rage in every note of his musical voice. "You do this out of loyalty, no doubt. My misguided children seek companionship among humankind, and value loyalty over obedience. A flaw I have not yet burned out of them."

Oliver trembled as the Maestro took his right hand. The vampire's hands were colder than ice and smooth as porcelain. He ran his finger's down Oliver's palm in a way that might have been tender in other circumstances. "Do you play any instruments, child?"

He was thinking of burning Oliver's hands, wasn't he? Oliver desperately wished he could answer yes to that question, in the hopes that he would be spared, but the blossoming bruise on his cheek warned him otherwise. "No, sir."

"Are you clever with your hands?"

Oliver thought back to the many evenings he'd spent repairing the bindings of antique books and mending his worn clothes. "I believe so, sir."

"I see." The Maestro turned over Oliver's hands in his own. "Human hands can be permanently damaged. A shame, truly. Mutilating your hands before you've been given the opportunity to prove yourself useful would be a waste at this time, as would any corrective action that spills excessive blood."

Oliver wasn't sure if he should be relieved by that. "…Thank you, sir?"

"You have an obedient soul. I'm not wrong about such matters," said the Maestro. "It is your master's lack of discipline that is to blame for your insubordination. Therefore, I will not punish you."

"You won't, sir?" Oliver would have found this mercy difficult to believe even if he didn't notice Alexander tensing.

"You don't want to watch your master's punishment, do you?"

"No, sir."

"Then look into my eyes, child. Deep, deep into my eyes."

He didn't have a choice, as the Maestro's power drew his gaze upwards and locked it there before he fully realized what was happening.

"Deeper. Lose yourself."

There was a disconcerted ticking noise in Oliver's head, as though his ear were pressed to a clock, and he realized in terror that he was being enthralled, the power like chains wrapping around his mind. Despite Alexander's many warnings and his own resolve to be obedient and avoid trouble, Oliver couldn't help the urge to pull against it. It was bad enough to have to give over his body. The idea of this cruel vampire invading his mind was too much to bear.

But it was already too late. Oliver was already trapped in his eyes. As the ticking of the clock gradually slowed like a mechanical toy winding down, his thoughts slowed too, his vision engulfed by the cold oblivion of the Maestro's gaze.

"Close your eyes down. Tight. As tight as they can."

"Yes, sir." Oliver's eyes obediently shut, sparing him the weight of that gaze, but doing nothing to free his mind.

"I am placing lead weights on each one. Weights that are far too heavy to allow you to open your eyes on your own." A cold finger tapped each of Oliver's eyelids. "Only I can move these weights. You will not open your eyes again until I allow it."

"Yes, sir."

"Wake."

That crisp snap sounded next to Oliver's ear, and he felt the chains on his mind lift, but he did not open his eyes. Could not. Oliver couldn't help but be confused. The Maestro had full control of his body. Why go through the trouble just to make him shut his eyes?

There was one obvious, awful possibility: because he did not intend for Oliver to open his eyes ever again.

"Now that that's settled, you may take your punishment, Alexander," the Maestro said.

Oliver was forced back into a kneeling position and the Maestro placed one hand atop his head. He heard several steps across the wood floor, and then absolute silence.

Was his master actually burning his hand in the candle's flame? There was no sound at all, no cries of pain from Alexander, not even the sound of breathing. The only thing tethering Oliver to the world was that hand on top of his head. As much as Oliver would hate to see or hear his master in pain, the deathly silence and darkness and suspense made it so much worse.

And just as Oliver thought he couldn't take it any more, he smelled what he desperately hoped was not the scent of charred flesh. His spirit cried out to do something, anything, to help his master, but blinded and bound as he was, there was nothing he could do.

"Enough," said the Maestro, after what seemed like an eternity. "I grow weary of watching you disappoint me. Alexander, play."

Play? Alexander's sire couldn't possibly expect him to play an instrument with a ruined hand. Yet Oliver could hear Alexander sit down at the piano bench and begin to play a piece which obviously involved a great deal of intricate fingerwork. Perhaps his hand was not that damaged after all -- but the smell in the air said otherwise.

He didn't have long to sit and enjoy the music (as much as he could under the circumstances) because the Maestro stood and pulled Oliver up, leading him in a dance. Oliver couldn't see and didn't know the steps, but he didn't have to, as his body was once again puppeted without his input, gliding across the room with a grace that was not his own, his trembling hand trapped in that cold porcelain grasp.

"One," intoned the Maestro. "Two." Several beats of music. "Three."

Oliver didn't know what it meant. Swirling around the music room with his eyes shut tight, his anxiety was reaching a fever pitch, making it difficult for him to relax enough to allow his body to sink into the control.

"Four. Five."

He was counting the mistakes, Oliver realized. Every moment his concentration broke, his body was fighting just the smallest bit against the unwanted intrusion. Each time that happened, he would slightly miss a step, or pull against the Maestro's grip.

"Eleven. Twelve."

He couldn't focus. He couldn't follow. He couldn't stop his treacherous body from rebelling against being made the plaything of the implacable vampire in front of him. And the number was climbing.

"Twenty-two." The Maestro released his grip on Oliver, who reeled backwards. "You may stop now, Alexander. Do you see now what I was talking about? He has obedience, but lacks discipline."

"Yes, sire." Alexander sounded as dead inside as he was metaphysically.

"Try not to spill blood unnecessarily when you administer the punishment. I finally find myself with an appetite."

"Yes, sire."

Oliver didn't have to wait long to know what the punishment was. Once more, he was kneeling, and he felt a sharp blow from a thin implement sting his back. It was followed by another, and another, and although Oliver was being kept from movement, he couldn't help but cry. The anticipation of each blow was as bad as the pain, and his back felt like it was on fire.

"That's twenty-two, sire."

"Your hand was light," said the Maestro. "No matter. You had three mistakes in your playing."

He heard Alexander kneeling beside him. The blows the Maestro delivered to Alexander's back rang out through the music room, unmistakable.

"Now that that unfortunate business has been taken care of," said the Maestro as casually as though he'd been discussing an unpleasant chore, "I will take my meal."

Oliver felt every muscle in his body tense, despite the control holding him. It was wrong, wrong, wrong for anyone but his master to drink his blood, but everything about this evening had been wrong.

And it was made even worse by the fact that Oliver couldn't see what the Maestro was doing, when the bite was coming for him. All he could feel was a hand on his head and a thick vampiric aura enveloping his mind. It felt strangely empty. Not like desire or hunger or pleasure, like Oliver had always felt with his master. No, the Maestro's aura was purely about control and practicality, freezing him in position so that he could be fed from. Oliver couldn't even tilt his neck as he'd been trained.

At least a feeding wouldn't be so bad, compared to everything that had happened so far, Oliver reasoned. Miss Lily had instilled in him the craving to provide for a vampire, and the feedings he'd experienced so far had been pleasant, even euphoric. He'd been dreading it previously, but now it actually be a relief.

At least, it seemed like a relief until the Maestro's slender fangs sunk into the flesh of his neck.

Oliver gasped in surprise and pain. It hurt, agony radiating from the bite, and the sensation of teeth in his muscles was deeply violating, not to mention the uncomfortable suction of his blood being consumed. His world narrowed down to nothing but the awful, aching wound, his body spasming with the need to escape from the predator, frozen in place by unnatural means.

It hurt, of course it hurt. He should have known better than to think this might be a relief. Alexander always put him under a gentle spell of sleep and submission and pleasure as he fed, a spell that kept Oliver from feeling any of the pain that would naturally accompany his neck being bitten. Of course the Maestro would not do that, would instead relish his suffering.

As his master's sire drank his blood, his thoughts began to overpower Oliver's own, and he found…

Nothingness.

A pitch black sky with no stars or moon or clouds. An empty field devoid of life as far as the eye could see. A bitter chill sapping the strength and cheer from his very marrow.

Order. Solitude. Misery.

The inky sky rushed to meet him, to swallow him in oblivion, and Oliver thought he might be dying.

"Oliver?"

He was floating back up through the darkness, tethered by his master's voice.

"Oliver? Oliver, please wake up."

"I'm awake, sir," he said, trying to open his eyes and finding that he couldn't, the memories of what had transpired rushing back to him. He couldn't open his eyes at all, the imaginary lead weights keeping them firmly shut. He could tell that he was laid out on the padded bench, cradled gently in what he hoped was his master's arms. His back hurt and his cheek stung and the wound on his neck was intensely uncomfortable… but he was alive. "I can't…" he said, panic rising. "I can't open my eyes, sir. Is he still here? Is it over?"

"He's gone. He probably won't trouble us for some time," Alexander said. "You were brilliant, Oliver. A picture perfect thrall. I wish you didn't have to go through any of that, but you handled it all so well."

Praise from his master cut through some of Oliver's fear and pain. "Will I be able to open my eyes again, sir?"

"Yes, you will, I promise. Hypnotic commands usually fade away on their own if they're not reinforced."

"How long will that take, sir?" said Oliver. Despite the welcome reassurance that this wouldn't be forever, his mind was already filling with anxiety over how he would be able to live. How could he find his way around the expansive manor while blinded? How long would he have to go without reading?

"Well… my sire's very powerful, as I'm sure you know, and you're…"

"Weak, sir?"

"I wasn't going to say weak. You take to enthrallment very well, which has nothing to do with mental weakness, believe it or not. And it's a trait I find endearing, but unfortunately in this case it might be a problem. It could last a month, maybe more…"

Oliver's heart clenched at the idea of weeks in the dark. How could he even take care of himself? Would he be able to cook or bathe? Would he need his master to help him do all of those things? Would Alexander help him?

"…but don't worry!" said Alexander hastily, running a hand through Oliver's hair. "I'll take you to see Lily first thing tomorrow night. She can usually undo things like that, especially considering the grip she has on your mind already."

Oliver never thought he'd be so grateful for Miss Lily. "Thank you, sir. I hope it isn't too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all. You endured all of this for me. Helping undo my sire's damage is the least I can do. Speaking of which, I've already bandaged your neck, but I should tend to the wounds on your back and make sure they aren't too serious. I could get some ice from the icebox for your face, as well."

"But what about your hand, sir? Did you actually…"

"Yes. It will heal on its own, and I can clean and bandage it later. You don't need to concern yourself with it. I wish to tend to you."

Blinded and in pain, Oliver couldn't bring himself to argue with that. "Thank you, sir."

"I can't easily undo my sire's work, but I can help ease your pain with my song. Would you like that?"

"Yes, very much, sir."

His master began to sing, and his voice was like a lifeline in the dark, soothing and relaxing him and making him feel like everything would be okay, even if it very much wasn't.

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Thanks for reading. Next week: happier days with Fitz.

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