#monotony and mediocrity

[ivancatanzaro]

XI. They reproduce in monotony

Lecce, ‘Chiesa di Santa Croce’ © They reproduce in monotony Living in fearful naivety In the least amount of effort In chatter seeing their full realization Sheep souls with no direction Other than blind observation Of inertia and self-obliteration (From ‘The Meaning Of Life Is To Fight: A Collection Of Poems‘) Here, the author is again commenting upon what he sees as the behavior of the…

[aseaofquotes]

Robert Cormier, The Chocolate War

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage

18+ 3k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, somnophilia, drugging, eventual smut. gif | AO3 | fanfic directory

Homelander was born with only one terrible poverty: loneliness. He's been starved of love his entire life, made sick by his hunger for it, but he believes you might have the cure. If you want to survive, you'll find a way to give it to him.

Homelander has never been able to understand people who bird watch. Of all the things a mundane person could do with their abysmally mediocre life, why devote what little free time they have to observing a creature even more dull than they themselves are?

Perhaps it's the gift of flight. By far, it is the ability of his that garners the most attention. Or maybe it's the power trip one experiences when observing something simpler and weaker than yourself for sport. The novelty of becoming endeared by their strange little behaviors and quirks. It's this line of thinking that eventually walks Homelander down the path of people watching. During his downtime, in the quiet moments he spends perched atop skyscrapers and apartment complexes, he finds himself watching the people miles below him scurry about like insects through a colony.

Over time, he begins to recognize regulars. People moving back and forth, day in and day out, no different than ants moving grains back and forth. He has to laugh. It's no wonder god abandoned man. Man is fucking boring.

Even the god they made for themselves thinks so.

To ease the monotony, he concocts little stories for the ones he recognizes. He imagines the kinds of lives they live outside of their commutes and the routines he observes. He names one of them Peter, and every day he invents a new reason Peter is yet again running late for his train. Because he's always late, Peter never stops for the woman selling street meat on the corner across from the station.

Homelander imagines that the meat she peddles is people, and that she's got her eye on that speedy little rabbit, Peter.

And then one day, he notices you.

It isn’t that you’re especially beautiful or noteworthy. Just like all the other busy little bees, you go about your same routine each and every day of the week. Sometimes you're in a rush, other times you enjoy your stroll. Regardless, you always find time to stop and give money to the same homeless man occupying one of the few alleyways protected by an awning. Sometimes you linger to chat, other times you can only stop long enough to drop something into his hands.

It isn't always money. Oftentimes you have food for him packed neatly into a little take-out box. Despite the packaging, it looks homemade. You always have a warm smile for him, even when you’re obviously frazzled.

To the rest of the world, this man may as well be fucking invisible, but here you are handing him a box of home cooked food like he's someone who matters. Homelander is the world's greatest hero, and yet some bum on the street is being fed with more love and attention to detail than he ever has.

It's a goddamn joke. More and more, it becomes apparent to him that you’re pathetically lonely. After a few days of observing you amongst the others, he starts trailing you more actively, forgetting all about Peter and his eventual butcher.

He wants to know more about you.

You live alone, working and cooking for only yourself and your stray pet. Sometimes you cook for your coworkers or the odd friend who stops by before leaving you alone all over again. He watches from a distance while you toil away, cooking more food than you’ll eat in a week for people you see for a fraction of each of your weekdays. It couldn’t be more obvious that you’re desperate for someone to take care of.

In a way, he can relate. 

Maeve has been more distant than ever, choosing to engage him only when there’s a camera present. When it’s only the two of them, she just drinks until he barely recognizes her. Madelyn has begun her “fertility journey,” words that set his teeth on edge, and has barely had a real moment to spare him as of late. The rest of his team doesn’t help abate his loneliness either; Marathon is a washed up hack who can barely sprint these days, Lamplighter is only ever interested in clubbing, the Deep couldn’t hold a conversation in a bucket, and Noir is a mute.

And so he soothes his solitude with thoughts of you. When he isn’t with you, he daydreams about it, imagining what life would look like if your worlds were to intersect. The more he learns about you, the more vivid his fantasies become, and the more intensely he aches when he still finds himself alone in his bed at the end of each night.

It spurs him to visit you more and more.

One particularly warm summer night, you leave your window wide open. He takes it for the invitation it is, drifting towards it under the cover of dark. Your screen is loose and pops out noiselessly. Not exactly safe, even if you do live on the fifth storey.

You just never know what might come lurking out of the shadows.

Slipping into your living room, he’s met with the sound of white noise playing from your bedroom. Is it the sound of the streets below that bother you? You’d never hear it from his penthouse a hundred feet in the air. You could leave the windows open all you like and hear only the roar of the sky, not unlike the ocean waves your phone is poorly mimicking.

He could take you to the actual ocean. A beach house far away from the buzzing neon lights and incessant honking and revving of traffic. Walking through your apartment, he makes his way to your tiny kitchen. The one in his penthouse puts yours to absolute shame, and yet the only thing in it that’s ever been used is the fridge. He’s certain he’s never opened the double oven or so much as turned on the gas range. Meanwhile, your kitchen is riddled with use, each cupboard stuffed with mismatched cookware and the like. It smells of grease and spices and love.

The sad irony of it is almost too much to stomach. You don’t belong in this cramped little sardine can. You should be in a proper kitchen. 

You should be cooking for him. The thought comes to him like a flash of genius. Of course. That’s the answer that will solve both of your little dilemmas. If he is a bird watcher then you’re a songbird snared in a net. It would be inhumane of him to leave you to die before you’re ever appreciated–ever seen–by anyone who matters.

You would worship him for rescuing you. His wealth and power would see each and every one of your material needs met with ease. You would never work for anything again. All you would ever have to concern yourself with was being loved and loving him.

He walks to your room with a hand pressed absently over his heart, cradling the anxious little bundle of nerves that have gathered there. He can tell by your breathing that you’re deep asleep, and yet he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he approaches.

His first time being so near to you after weeks of simply observing.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he steps towards you. The sound of him is masked by the ambient noise spilling from your phone, not to mention the fan you have pointed directly at your bed in a desperate attempt to save yourself from the summer heat.

You clearly weren’t built for this paltry life. Mary was no one before God chose her for greatness. Is that not what he’s about to do for you? It’s the will of a god that elevates you.

He kneels by your bedside, bringing himself face to face with you. Your breathing is even, each huff smelling faintly of mint. Your lips look soft, slightly parted in sleep. Everything about you is gentler, more relaxed than you ever are in the day to day grind of your life.

You could look like this all the time without it. He has the power to change your entire life with nothing more than a couple of numbers shifting from one space to another. Money has always been inconsequential to him, so abundant that it hardly means anything anymore. You, however, are ruled by it.

For the first time in his life, he recognizes the power in his wealth.

He brushes the tips of his gloved fingers along your cheek, down your jaw. He’s never used his hands so tenderly as when he traces your sleeping eyelids with his fingertips, imagining what dreams chase behind them and make them flutter.

You don’t stir. 

Emboldened, he follows the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, imagining how soft you would feel against the bare pad of his finger. Leaning in closer, he indulges in the warmth of your breath tickling his lips. You’re a sound sleeper, the thud of your resting heart beating steadily in his ear.

Closing his eyes, he bridges the distance between your lips, pressing his own lightly to yours. For a second, he thinks he’s woken you, that you’ve caught sight of him and your heart is drumming loudly in his ears. He draws sharply back, but sees that you’re still deep asleep, your features peaceful.

It’s his heart that’s racing, a thundering sound that blocks out every other noise in the room. He’s breathing shallowly, excited in a way he hasn’t been in a long time. There’s a flush crawling up his throat, and it’s at that moment he breaks out into a wide, wondrous smile.

There’s no question of it now.

He has to have you.

The plan to acquire you ends up requiring very little setup. If Madelyn cares why Homelander’s suddenly spending so much, she’s yet to make a comment. 

Bitterly, he thinks it likely that she’s glad to see him distracted. 

He starts preparation by appropriately stocking his kitchen; you’ll appreciate the supply of ingredients, he knows. The quality of what he obtains for you is leagues above what you can afford, as is the cookware. He buys you new clothes, jewelry, imagining every step of the way how you’ll look in each piece. How you’ll look as he takes them off. He’s seeking to upgrade your life in every conceivable way, like bringing a cat home from the pound and teaching it the meaning of luxury.

You’ll want for nothing. You’ll be so grateful to him. And you, the sweet and perfect little thing that you are, make yourself painfully easy to ensnare. You come home under the cover of dark like clockwork, perfectly oblivious to his approach. You’ve just managed to fish your keys out of your bag when his hand closes a kerchief over your mouth and nose, stifling your cry. His other arm slips around your waist, holding you steady. The cloth smells overly sweet, ether-like, and though that scent has no effect on him, you respond to it almost immediately.  “Shhhhshhshh,” he soothes, letting the anesthesia do its job. Fuck, you feel good in his arms, back held tight to his chest, your delicate hands prying at his wrist as you kick, claw and scream–albeit muffled–into the cloth. He holds you with ease, keeping you close to his body, angling you in such a way that you won’t hurt yourself.

Despite your tenacity, you fight a losing battle. Your efforts grow weaker and weaker as you lose your grip on consciousness. He hushes you all the while, encouraging you. “That’s it, let it go. I’ve got you, I’ve got you...” Finally your head falls back against his shoulder, your face lolling into the crook of his neck, the rest of your body falling slack in his arms. He pulls the cloth away from your mouth, tucking it into your bag for now. He turns his head to yours, lips barely ghosting along your forehead. He takes in a deep breath of you, his eyes falling shut. Beneath the sickly sweet smell of the chemical mixture he knocked you out with, he can smell the remnants of your perfume. It’s not his favorite fragrance, but the underlying warm scent of you is intoxicating. He’ll collect whatever belongings you decide you want with you when he returns, if anything, but he doubts you’ll miss much. Your stuff will seem like a heap of rags and garbage by comparison. He’s looking forward to how the perfumes and lotions he’s bought you will smell on your skin, and how you’ll look in the clothing he’s picked for you. He adjusts you into a bridal carry in his arms and gently kicks off from the ground, holding you firm to his chest. The city is beautiful at night, a landscape of stars mirroring that of the sky above it. He’s always loved it here, and yet he’s shared it with a painful few.

Madelyn never lets him take her to the skies. Maeve had been wowed initially, but she had quickly grown disillusioned with it. With him.

You’ll be different. The trip back to his penthouse feels agonizingly slow, but he maintains a lesser pace to keep the wind from rashing your skin, savoring the featherlight weight of you in his arms at last. He lands deftly on his balcony, stepping through his open reinforced glass doors. After laying you down in his bed, he takes a moment to slip off your shoes, setting them aside. He eases your purse off of your shoulder, and places it on the nightstand. After sprawling a thin blanket over you, he takes a step back and puts his hands on his hips to admire the perfectly domestic scene he’s set.

Slowly, he breaks out into a smile. His bed swallows you up, makes you look small and lonely. He’s the missing piece, of course. He’s already looking forward to seeing himself complete the picture in the mirror above you. He imagines coming home to you like this, curled up in his–no, your shared bed, blanket pulled up over your shoulders to block the chill left by his absence.

Oh, how you’ll miss him when he’s gone.

You’ll have nothing and no one to concern yourself with except for him. No burdens, no dread, no stress. You’ll live in peace and security the likes of which you can scarcely imagine, spoiled rotten by the bounty of all that he is.

Neither of you will ever be lonely again.

Tilting his head slightly, he listens to the sound of you. Your breathing is shallow, the beat of your heart steady. Normal people don’t realize it, don’t have the capacity for it, but a heartbeat is as distinct as a fingerprint. Over the years, he’s learned to read them as such. He’s memorized yours. There isn’t much for him to do in the time that you’re asleep. He knows precisely how long you’ll be out; the anesthesia blend he gave you was straight out of Vought’s lab, and the dose he gave you leaves him with at least an hour before the two of you meet properly. The anticipation is enough to make him giddy. For all that Homelander knows about you, there is plenty he does not. The externals of your life have only provided him so much, but that will come in time. He didn’t bother with perusing your social media accounts, not being particularly proficient in them himself. 

Besides, he wants getting to know you to be an organic experience.

He remembers to take your phone out of your bag and dispose of that rag he used to dose you while he’s at it. He unlocks your phone the way he’s seen you do a dozen times before, and spends some time ensuring that no one will be expecting you anywhere any time soon. All it takes is one quick email and you no longer have a job. A few social media posts later, you’ve informed anyone who might think of you that you’ll be enjoying an impromptu sabbatical in Europe.

The power of technology. After that, he pops your phone into the safe behind one of the dozens of portraits on his wall.

When he hears you starting to stir, renewed butterflies start fluttering about in his stomach. You have no idea that your entire life–no, your entire perception of reality–is about to change. No more dodgy commutes, no more living paycheck-to-paycheck. You’ll be free to admire the world from the lap of luxury–his lap, to be specific. You make a quiet moan, the chemical fog wearing off gradually. He moves swiftly to your bedside, primed with a welcoming smile, hands on his hips. “Riiiise and shine, sleepyhead,” he coaxes, leaning forward at the waist. Still disoriented from the drugs in your system, you stare at him as if you’re dreaming. He doesn’t blame you. In almost every other reality, there’s no explanation for the fact you’re seeing America’s favorite hero, the Homelander, standing above you. He knows the side effects of the drug have left a strange buzzing in your ears, and that your tongue likely feels heavy and cottony. He’s already got water for you on the bedside table. “Home…lander?” You manage to get out. His smile broadens. That’s the first time he’s heard you say his name. You look cute like this, bleary-eyed and needy. He’s grown accustomed to seeing you as a put together provider, self-sufficient and tending to the needs of those around you, but rarely your own. Seeing you unraveled feels like a secret intimacy for him alone. “The one and only,” he preens. Now that you’ve seen him posed valiantly by your side, he takes a seat on the bed next to you, reaching out to brush his gloved knuckles along your forehead. He attributes the slight flinch to your drug addled confusion. Poor thing. If he’d had an alternative to using a sedative, he would have preferred that.

Not that it matters now. You’re finally here.

( chapter two )

[magniloquent-raven]

I'm getting distracted from my current projects by someone else's post again someone tell me to stop going on tumblr while I have WIPs lmfao

@rosetterer this isn't EXACTLY what you posted about but it does get there in the end

**

Twenty-four hours has never seemed like such an insurmountably long time.

Buck's had long shifts before, the boring ones when he'd stare at the alarms on the wall, willing them to go off—he can picture Maddie's disappointed scowl if she ever found out about that, but he swears he was only hoping for something small and harmless to break up the monotony—and the busy ones. Ones that leave his ears ringing with phantom sirens by the end. Those days only ever seem long in retrospect, when he's bone-tired and trying to remember all the names he asked for.

But now every shift seems to find new and shittier ways to be gruelling. Eddie's miserable and trying to act like he isn't. There's this weird, uncomfortable tension brewing between Hen and Chim. Ravi got himself transferred to B shift—probably to get away from Gerrard, and Buck can't exactly blame him, but he sort of does anyway and their new probie is terrible, and... then there's Gerrard.

Like, Buck already knew he was a piece of work, but. Knowing and experiencing are two very different things. He could barely stand keeping his mouth shut at the medal ceremony when he met the man for five seconds, and now he has to put up with him making smug, belittling comments towards all his friends, all the time. Constantly needing to remind himself he doesn't want to get fired is actually killing him.

It doesn't help that every so often he'll remember Tommy's offhand Captain Gerrard was like having the dad I already had, with a pang as he wonders what exactly Tommy grew up with. What parts of Gerrard's condescending tyranny were familiar to him. Phillip Buckley may not have been father of the year, but maybe never being looked directly at was better than being raised neck deep in toxic waste.

Every time he remembers he gets the urge to pull out his phone and call Tommy up just to... he doesn't even know. Just to hear his voice, maybe. Know if he's doing okay.

Another reason work days seem so long now, if he's being honest. He's always counting down the hours until he can see Tommy again. Like a kid on the last day of school, watching the clock tick closer and closer to summer vacation.

So, of course, right near the end of a particularly busy shift, Gerrard gets them all lined up for a lecture about how sloppy that last save was. Everyone did something wrong, and everyone needs to hear about all the ways they could have gotten someone killed, like they don't all know how risky the job is already.

By the time he's finished telling Chim it's a miracle he managed to convince anyone to let him out on calls, Buck is clenching his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache.

"I'm sure Captain Soft-Touch loved telling you all it was okay to be mediocre, and that you were trying your best," Gerrard sneers at them all, waving a dismissive hand at very idea of Bobby's captaincy. "But the coddling ended when he retired. Sparing your feelings is going to get people killed. Diaz!" He shouts, abrupt, turning on his heel towards Eddie. Eddie doesn't flinch, but Buck does.

"Yes, sir?" He's coolly polite, and his face is carefully blank, but his posture is tense.

"If I ever catch you checking your phone at a scene again, I'll make sure you're mopping floors for the rest of your life."

Eddie's expression hardens. It was a fender-bender and Eddie didn't even touch his phone until everyone was accounted for and packed into the ambulance. "It was a text from my son. Sir." His tone veers a little to the left of polite.

"I don't care if it was from the goddamn Pope, when you're in the field your focus stays on scene. Next time your brat needs something tell him to go cry to his mother about it."

This time when Buck flinches, everyone else in line does too. Hen bites down on a grimace. Chim hisses quietly through his teeth.

"I can't do that," Eddie says flatly. "What with her being dead and all."

The firehouse is silent for a long, horrible moment. That might've taken the wind out of any decent person's sails, Buck thinks. At the very least most people would've retreated into awkwardness and ended the lecture entirely.

Gerrard's brow pinches angrily. "Don't get smart with me, Diaz."

Buck's not sure it's possible to hate someone more than he hates their new captain right now.

"I don't care about your little sob story excuses, I care that you're sloppy and distracted. If you can't handle the job and the kid, drop one of them."

Oh, he was wrong.

He hates this man so much he's choking on it, it's clogging his throat like bile and he's running out of strength to care that he shouldn't spit it out, spew it everywhere and ruin everything just for the chance of hurting this man in the process. He feels like his skin is bursting at the seams.

Eddie's biting the inside of his cheek, rage and sorrow warring silently on his face.

And Buck breaks. Bursts. "Hey, Captain, that's—"

"Can it, Buckley," Gerrard cuts him off before he can even start. It's not angry, it's not anything, he brushes Buck off like he's an annoying fly buzzing in his ear, barely worth glancing at for the two seconds it takes to tell him he doesn't care. "You're all dismissed. Get out of my sight."

Some of them flee, scurrying to their lockers, the kitchen, anywhere but here. A couple of people throw backwards glances before they walk away. Hen and Chim exchange grim looks. Eddie disappears out the back door in an angry haze. And Buck...

Buck feels. Empty. Small. Like he cut himself open trying to relieve the pressure and now there's just nothing left. No one to patch up the wound, and no reason for any of it, he didn't make an impact, he didn't help anyone, he stood there listening to his friends get degraded, and now—now he's feeling sorry for himself?

It's stupid. He's stupid. He feels like shit because, what, because he didn't get yelled at? Because his piece of shit captain took a break from implying he's a disgusting pervert?

He thinks himself in circles about it his whole way home, the pit in his stomach getting a little deeper every time he tries to will it away.

He's wallowed himself halfway through a six-pack, staring sightlessly at his TV, by the time his front door opens.

"Evan?"

One of the knots in his chest loosens. "Yeah," he calls out, not bothering to sound less pathetic than he is. "In here."

"Hey." Tommy's stopped next to the stairs, eyeing him. His gaze is assessing, but his tone is soft. He's always so careful with Buck. "Bad day?"

Buck takes another sip of his beer. Shrugs.

"Ah, one of those."

The couch cushions dip as Tommy takes a seat next to him. He's close enough that Buck doesn't have to look at him to know he's there. There's warmth radiating off him. The woodsy scent of his aftershave. Buck presses their knees together, and exhales properly for the first time in hours.

He knows he could talk about whatever he wants and Tommy would let him. He's waiting for Buck to take the lead here. Buck could avoid the issue entirely and decide to talk about anything. The fact that he can't really tell the difference between the fancy beer Tommy insists is better than the crap Buck's drinking right now. The documentary about bees he's pretending to watch. The goddamn weather.

What comes out of his mouth is a quiet, "I feel like an idiot."

Tommy pulls the beer bottle out of Buck's loose grip, puts it down next to the couch, and then takes Buck's hand in both of his. "Why?"

Buck scrubs at his eyes. "I..." He catalogues the tiny scars on Tommy's knuckles. Two, three, little dots on his index finger. A lopsided vee on his thumb. "Something happened at work."

"Did Gerrard say something to you?" There's an edge to Tommy's question, something sharp and flinty. It makes Buck's heart do dumb little somersaults.

"No." He stops, shame burning his cheeks. "Not. Not to me. That's... He was lecturing everybody, and I..."

"Evan." Tommy grips his chin, firmly, gently, guiding Buck's face until he looks him in the eye. There's a sympathetic twist to his mouth. "Tell me."

He does. As best he can when it feels like what's didn't happen is more important, and he can barely put into words why that is. But trying helps, a little. Trying to whittle it down into an explanation forces him to look at the whole of it, and realize it's not looming over him anymore.

Maybe it's just Tommy's hands on him, soothing the hurt away.

"I dunno. Feels like I could have done something differently, maybe"

Tommy hums, tilting his head in acknowledgement. "You could've."

Buck winces.

"But it wouldn't have turned out any better."

Oh.

A flower blooms on the TV, purple and white petals reaching for the sun. Buck toys with Tommy's fingers, and shifts his leg closer, hooking their ankles together.

"It felt so shitty," he mutters.

"I know."

He would, wouldn't he. Buck gets that pang in his chest again, and he pushes the rest of the way into Tommy's space. Tommy wraps his arms around him, and drops a kiss into his curls, seemingly content to let Buck situate himself however he wants.

He kind of wishes Tommy wasn't still wearing jeans, but asking him to take his pants off might send the wrong message.

"You don't think I'm, like...a bad friend, right?" He cringes his way through the question.

"No." Tommy responds matter-of-factly and without hesitation. Then the corner of his mouth twitches. "I think you're a very good boy."

Buck's entire head feels like it's on fire. A grin starts to creep across his face. It might be the first time he's smiled all day. "Oh, yeah?"

"Mhm."

Maybe he should ask Tommy to take his jeans off after all.

[minarixx]

𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲 ✯ 𝐓.𝐊𝐮𝐫𝐨𝐨

"𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙚𝙙𝙪𝙘𝙚𝙙. 𝙄 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙢𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙩𝙤 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙗 𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙪𝙘𝙠 𝙢𝙚."

PAIRING. Best Friend'sDad!Kuroo Tetsurou x f!Reader

CONTENT. Sexual Content, Age Gap, Adultery, Degradation, Pet Names, Sub!Reader, Dom!Kuroo, Vaginal Intercourse, Spanking

The hidden struggles and desires lurking behind the façade of Kuroo Tetsurou's seemingly picture-perfect suburban family. An ordinary man who, in the midst of a midlife crisis, becomes infatuated with his daughter's friends, Y/N L/N.

WC. 4.2k

A/N. Proof-read like half and hoped for the best. Ts too long not reading allat

WARNING. Minors DNI

Inspired by American Beauty (1999)

𝓣he mid-morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting a soft, golden glow on the bedroom walls. Another day in the monotonous cycle of Kuroo’s existence begins. Pulling away from the blissful embrace of sleep, he fumbles to silence the alarm clock, its persistent beeping an unwelcome reminder of the unremarkable hours that lie ahead.

Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror,he saw a stranger. Deep lines etched themselves deeper into his face, a testament to the weight of a life half-lived.He wondered where the spark of vitality and adventure that once defined him went, as he forced a smile that felt foreign on his weary lips.

Downstairs, the illusion of domestic tranquility is maintained. Akira, his wife, moved through the kitchen with an air of calculated efficiency. Every gesture, every word, a well-rehearsed performance. Beneath her composed facade, was the growing chasm that separated them, a canyon of unspoken grievances and unfulfilled desires.

Nana, his daughter, slouches at the breakfast table, lost in the world behind her headphones. Her sullen gaze hints at the disconnection that has settled between them, a silent reminder of the fragments of intimacy that have slipped away unnoticed. He ached for the days when laughter echoed through these walls, when a genuine connection was forged in the simple moments they shared.

The room was shrouded in an eerie silence as the family sat around the dining table. The clinking of cutlery against plates echoed through the room, accompanied only by the occasional rustle of napkins. Each family member seemed lost in their own thoughts, their faces masked with a disinterested expression.

Nana, a quiet and reserved teenager, took a deep breath and broke the monotony. She glanced at her parents, Kuroo and Akira, who were engrossed in their own world, their eyes fixed on their untouched meals. Her voice barely above a whisper, she quietly shared, "I have a cheer performance tonight."

Akira and Kuroo exchanged a brief, absent-minded glance before shifting their gaze back to their plates. Their lack of response was disheartening but not unexpected.

“We’ll be sure to come dear, what time is it?” Akira replied. “6pm mother.” Nana responded, not looking enthusiastic about it. 

Without uttering another word, they continued their silent meal, the sound of chewing filling the void that enveloped the room.

When 6pm rolled in, Akira and Kuroo drove to their daughters' cheer performance in silence as usual, no music, just the sounds of the bustling streets of Tokyo. 

Tetsurou Kuroo, a man adrift in the desolate sea of middle-aged mediocrity, found himself drawn to the vibrant chaos of his daughter Nana’s high school cheerleading performance. As he sat in the bleachers, surrounded by enthusiastic parents and the deafening cheers of the crowd, a peculiar restlessness stirred within his soul.

His eyes scanned the sea of young faces, each filled with anticipation and hope. And then, like a siren's call, his gaze fell upon you. You, a vision of youthful allure and confidence, stood at the forefront of the cheerleading squad. Your (h/c) hair cascaded over your shoulders, framing a face adorned with delicate features that seemed to radiate an intoxicating beauty. You radiated a youthful energy, an untamed spirit that danced in your eyes. Laughter, like cascading melodies, echoes through the air, and for a fleeting moment, time slows as your gazes meet. 

In that instant, time seemed to slow down, the constraints of his ordinary existence fade away, and the dormant embers of desire ignite within him. The world around Kuroo blurred into the background, as if a spotlight had illuminated you, isolating you from the rest of the universe. Your smile, a seductive curve of lips, pierced through his complacency and ignited a dormant flame within him.

Kuroo's thoughts swirled with a mix of admiration and desire. He couldn't help but be captivated by your aura of self-assuredness, the way you moved with a grace that defied your tender age. You symbolized everything he had lost touch with—youth, vitality, and the intoxicating allure of unbridled passion.

As he watched you perform, Kuroo's mind became a battleground of conflicting emotions. A part of him yearned for the forbidden, to embrace the vibrancy of youth and indulge in the forbidden fruit of desire. Yet another part recoiled in guilt, acutely aware of the consequences and the moral boundaries he risked crossing.

But beneath the surface of his infatuation, a deeper realization began to take hold. He understood that you, with your superficial allure, was merely a vessel for his own misplaced longings. You represented a nostalgia for the freedom and excitement of his own youth, a time when possibilities seemed limitless and life was an open road.

Kuroo's thoughts ventured into the depths of self-reflection. He questioned the choices that had led him to this point—the compromises, the sacrifices, and the loss of his own identity. Your  ethereal beauty became a symbol of the life he had forsaken, a reminder of the person he had once been and longed to reclaim.

But as the cheerleading routine came to an end and you disappeared into the bustling crowd, reality settled in. Kuroo recognized the ephemeral nature of his infatuation. You were but a mirage, a fleeting embodiment of his own disillusionment. The true path to fulfillment in rediscovering the beauty himself.

And so, as the applause faded and the cheerleaders retreated from the spotlight so did Kuroo's fantasy.

Kuroo rose from the bleachers and got ready to congratulate his daughter. As they were in the hallways picking up their daughter, his eyes lit up when he saw you holding bouquet from your parents. Your smile shined brighter than any other. It was like those cartoons of a man smelling food and floating towards it, however to him, it was as if he hadn't ate for years.

Kuroo later found himself standing at the window of his dimly lit study, gazing out at the world beyond. His eyes, once dulled by routine, now seemed alive with a glimmer of hope. A gentle breeze danced through the curtains, rustling the papers on his desk. Lost in his thoughts, Kuroo pondered the emptiness that had consumed his life. The monotony of his job, the strained relationships with his wife and daughter, and the relentless pursuit of societal expectations had left him feeling like a hollow shell. A desperate longing for something more whispered within his soul, a plea for salvation from the mundane.

And then, as if in response to his silent prayer, he saw her. A figure, ethereal and captivating, emerged from the shadows. The evening light caressed your porcelain skin, and your flowing white dress seemed to float around you like a cloud. Your hair, cascading in waves like the milky way, framed a face that radiated a beauty so rare and otherworldly, it took Kuroo's breath away.

At that moment, time stood still. Kuroo’s heart, burdened by years of disillusionment, skipped a beat. It was as if an angel had descended from the heavens, gracing his world with her divine presence. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her, as though caught in a mesmerizing spell.

As his gaze locked with yours, Kuroo’s mind was flooded with a torrent of emotions. A sense of longing and desire, but also a profound sense of understanding. In her eyes, he saw a reflection of his own hidden dreams and forgotten aspirations. It was a connection beyond words, a silent conversation that reached deep into his soul.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Kuroo felt truly alive. The weight of societal expectations and the shackles of conformity melted away, replaced by a surge of newfound liberation. In this mystical encounter, he glimpsed the possibility of breaking free from the chains that bound him.

His thoughts swirled in a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. He yearned to abandon the trappings of his past life, to embrace the beauty and wonder that beckoned him. The angel became a symbol of his redemption, a guiding light in the darkness of his existence.

When morning came he was back to his mundane life routine, it was all just a dream. The morning sun painted gentle streaks of golden light across the kitchen as Kuroo sat down at the breakfast table, his mind still grappling with the lingering thoughts from the previous day's encounter at the high school cheerleading performance. He had been captivated by the enigmatic allure of you, yet a part of him recognized the illusory nature of his infatuation.

"I'll be working the night shift today.." Akira spoke, her back turned to Kuroo as she lightly spread avocado on her toast. Kuroo didn't reply.

As he reached for a slice of toast, his daughter Nana entered the room, her eyes sparkling with a mix of excitement and mischief. She took a seat opposite Kuroo, her youthful energy providing a stark contrast to his own disillusionment.

"Dad," Nana began, "My friend Y/N from cheer is coming over."

“Who is Y/N? I mean, I know she's your friend, but what's she like?"

"Oh, Dad, you have no idea. Y/N is the epitome of beauty. She's confident, charismatic, and has this aura that draws people in. She's got this wild, rebellious spirit that's so different from anyone else I know."

Kuroo’s eyebrows furrowed, a mix of intrigue and caution flickering in his eyes. "Sounds like quite a character. But what's her story? I mean, besides being your friend and all."

Nana replied. "Well, she's got this reputation, you know? The boys at school go crazy over her. She's always surrounded by attention, but she's smart too. She knows how to use her charm to get what she wants."

Kuroo’s mind raced, caught between the allure of your magnetic presence and the nagging voice of reason that warned against crossing forbidden boundaries. "Nana, I hope you understand that there's a lot more to a person than just their outward appearance or reputation. It's important to look beyond the surface and value the qualities that truly matter."

Nana nodded, her expression turning thoughtful. "I get it, Dad. But sometimes, you just can't help being drawn to someone, you know? Y/N has this energy, this confidence that's hard to ignore. I guess that's why she has such an effect on people."

Kuroo’s heart skipped a beat, his thoughts immediately transported back to the image of you on the cheerleading squad, your vibrant beauty captivating him like a moth drawn to a flame. He struggled to maintain composure, to hide the flicker of desire that threatened to ignite within him.

"Y/N, huh?" Kuroo replied, feigning casual interest as he tried to quell the rising tide of emotions. "That's nice, Nana. You two have fun."

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow through the windows as you arrived at the Kuroo residence, your presence like a gust of wind that stirred the stagnant air. Kuroo watched from the corner of the room, a mix of curiosity and trepidation coursing through his veins.

You, exuding an air of confidence and allure, walked into the house with a sway in her hips and a smile that could melt hearts. Your eyes locked onto Kuroo, a knowing glimmer dancing within them. The room seemed to come alive, charged with an electrifying energy that crackled between them.

Kuroo’s heart skipped a beat as you approached him, voice dripping with seductive charm. "Hi, Mr. Kuroo. It's so nice to see you again. Nana has told me so much about you."

Kuroo’s pulse quickened, his mind racing to find the right words. "Likewise, Y/N. Nana speaks highly of you. I hope you two have a good time hanging out. She's upstairs showering right now"

You leaned in closer, breath caressing his ear like a whispered temptation. "Oh, we will, Mr. Kuroo. But I have to admit, there's something about you that's caught my attention. You're not like the other dads. You have this air of mystery and allure."

Kuroo’s throat tightened, the weight of desire and responsibility pulling him in opposite directions. He knew he should resist, that giving in to your advances would jeopardize everything he held dear. Yet, the allure of your gaze and the intoxicating chemistry between them threatened to unravel his resolve.

A subtle smile played on your lips as you continued, voice laced with an undercurrent of seduction. "You know, Mr. Kuroo, you have a way of making a girl feel alive. You've got this fire inside you, and I can't help but be drawn to it."

His eyes darted around the room, searching for an escape from the magnetic pull you exerted. His mind churned with conflicting thoughts and emotions, torn between the temptation that stood before him and the consequences he knew would follow.

Summoning his last ounce of willpower, Kuroo straightened his posture and met your gaze with a steely resolve. "Y/N, I appreciate your flattery, but I can't ignore the boundaries that exist. My focus is on being a responsible father and husband."

Your eyes flickered with a mix of disappointment and defiance. You took a step back, your mask of confidence momentarily faltering. "I see. Well, maybe one day you'll realize that life is meant to be lived, to seize the passion and desire that comes our way. Until then, Mr. Kuroo, you'll just have to settle for fantasies."

Kuroo’s heart sank as he watched you retreat to go upstairs, your words echoing in the empty space between them. The temptation had been strong, but he knew deep down that pursuing this forbidden path would only lead to destruction. The dance of desire had been tantalizing, but the cost was too high to bear.

As you left the room, Kuroo was left with a mix of relief and a lingering ache. He had resisted the temptation that had danced before him, choosing instead to honor the commitment he had made to his family. It was a bittersweet victory, a reminder of the fragility of human desires and the strength it took to stay true to oneself.

The night settled over the Kuroo residence like a velvety curtain, casting a hushed stillness upon the house. Kuroo sat alone in his dimly lit study, bathed in the soft glow of his computer screen. The rhythmic tapping of the keyboard filled the room, a solitary symphony in the silent hours.

Lost in his work, Kuroo's mind danced between the lines of code, his thoughts consumed by the demands of his job. It was in this moment of focused concentration that he heard a faint rustle from the staircase, a delicate whisper amidst the silence.

His heart skipped a beat as he looked up, his eyes meeting the form of you descending the stairs. Your presence, like an apparition, sent a shiver down Kuroo's spine. His initial surprise was quickly overshadowed by a rising tide of apprehension. The forbidden allure of the earlier encounter hung heavy in the air.

You approached him with a coy smile, your eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and desire. "Couldn't sleep, Mr. Kuroo?"

Kuroo's voice caught in his throat as he struggled to find words. He glanced at the clock, the late hour a reminder of the boundaries that should have kept them apart. "Y/N, it's late. You should go back upstairs."

Your steps were purposeful and deliberate as she closed the distance between them. Your voice, a gentle melody, enveloped him. "I couldn't resist, Mr. Kuroo. There's something about you, something that draws me in. I feel a connection, an electricity that I can't ignore."

Kuroo's heart raced, his resolve waning in the face of your allure. The lines of his own moral code blurred as he wavered between succumbing to the forbidden desires and upholding the values he held dear.

There was a tiny voice in his head that said he should stop before things get too far to the point where you can't control anything. His desires and impulses finally snapped.

Lingering gazes full of longing, wandering hands that find a home on your body, the voice that gives you jolts in your body. You clench your thighs at his voice and touch. The seductive act was sexy, he has to admit, sometimes the forbidden can be the most tempting. 

“Are you finished tempting your friend’s father? Did you have fun? Or do you still wanna keep going’?” he questions, placing one hand on the countertop and the other on his hip. One half of his shirt bends where he’s got the buttons undone, showcasing his chest 

He wants you to admit how much a desperate girl you are. How much of a needy slut you’re being. 

“I haven’t even got you on my cock yet, and you don’t know a damn thing already. Acting like you weren’t behaving like a whore during the whole time you were in my house.” The older man wasn’t wrong at all. 

“How about we skip to the part where you admit you want a man nearly twice your age to fuck you, baby?” he questions, snapping you out of your thoughts. Any second thoughts you had were ready to die like wilted flowers. “I know that cunt is begging to be filled.”

With his words, your walls clenches. Your panties are drenched and have turned into a darker shade at the crotch.

Kuroo stood behind you, though it takes only a few strides for him to reach you. You crane your neck to look up at him, his tall height causing him to tower over you. “What happened to the girl who was so willing earlier?” He ridicules you.

 “Please..I want this.” you quietly murmur, and you watch as his face hardens.

“Oh, now you wanna be my good girl? You’re lucky it's night, your best friend is sound asleep and my wife is at work, sweetie. I would put you over my knee and spank that cute ass of yours ‘till you’re crying,” Kuroo tells you, and you have a feeling he’ll do exactly that any given moment.

You whimper at the thought. Kuroo’s hands look heavy, veiny yet soothing, and he doesn’t seem like a man who takes misbehaviour lightly.

With the little daring personality you had left, you reached up on your toes and grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. Though you started it, he quickly took control. Biting, kissing, he makes out with you in an unforgettable way. A way no man has ever. 

He claims your mouth and his hands do the same to your body. They grip your hips and bring you close to him, his hardened cock rubbing against your ass. Now, it feels as though it’s more intimidating than you expected.

But it makes sense, a man of his size must be large all over. He moves into you, grinding against your body for a moment’s relief.

Eventually, you pull away when the ache between your legs turns unbearable. “N-Need your cock, Mr. Kuroo. I need you in me. T-to feel you” you tell him, reaching down to palm it. Kuroo quickly pulls away before he gently moves you.

You’re bent over one of the countertops with the older man’s hands still on your hips. The cold surface is soothing against your hot skin, but it doesn’t quell the throbbing of your cunt. “So slutty… I’ll fuck you like the whore you are. Don’t worry,” he reassures you, flipping up your skirt.

Your nipples make contact with the marble of his work desk as you pull down the top of your dress. Kuroo lands a spank on your ass, making you let out a loud cry. “Shhh… You gotta be quiet, sweetie. We don’t wanna get caught, right?” he quietly tells you, and you nod your head.

He pulls down your panties and admires the glistening of your cunt. “That’s all for me?” Kuroo questions, pocketing the cloth.

Nodding your head, you whimper and clench around nothing. “Mhm, all for you, Kuroo! No one else,” your voice is more pathetic than it usually is. The confident facade was crushed by this man alone. “Good girl. Call me Tetsurou.” The zipper of his jeans is dragged down, the sound ripping through the air and waking up the butterflies in your stomach. 

“Y’know, I could stretch this pretty cunt out so easily. Gonna let me ruin your little fuckhole? How many little boys have already been in this cause it's clearly never been by a real man.” 

Immediately, you agree, in fact you beg for it. “Mhm—please, Tetsurou? I need you to make me take it,” you tell Kuroo. The way his name rolls off your tongue makes him groan. 

You can feel the heavy tip against your opening, collecting your slick, giving you a teasing slap, and letting it catch. “You better take all of this dick, sweetie.”

With that, he pushes in. The stretch is overbearing as Kuroo pushes his entire cock inside of your wet pussy. He grazes your g-spot and fits snug, right up to your cervix. 

Your hand fists together as you adjust to his massive length and the intense pleasure. Although all you could think about was him, his daughter aka your best friend was just upstairs. The sight of her finding out what her father was doing to her best friend felt wrong but made you even more turned on.

Moans leave your mouth continuously as Kuroo begins to thrusts, growing addicted to the way your cunt clenched around him. “Best pussy I’ve ever had... this can't just be a one time thing.” Insteading of replying all you could do was simply whine. 

He begins to fuck you, pushing in and pulling out of your tightness. His cock shines with your arousal and your noises grow louder. “Good girl—such a good girl for me only. You’re takin’ it like a winner, sweetie,” Kuroo coos, but you’re speechless. 

The sensations that send jolts through your body are ones you know you won’t be able to recreate with anyone else. Each thrust leaves you nearly-trembling, his cock brushing against your g-spot as he kisses your cervix. 

Kuroo’s balls slap against your clit and your body jerks forward as he pounds into you relentlessly. “Feelin’ good, baby?” he questions, leaning over you. His chest presses against your back and his mouth is right by your ear. 

As he thrusts into your pussy, he laughs. The chuckle is low and gravelly, one you’ve heard many times. “Already fucked stupid? How cute. It’s okay, baby. It’s your fault for being a slut and tempting a married man.” Kuroo husks, and his words have you suddenly clenching around him.

He curses at your grip, and does so again when you let out a wail of pleasure. 

Immediately, his large hand comes up to your face and clamps over your mouth, muffling your moans, whimpers, and whines. 

“You dont wanna get caught now do you, princess?” he reminds you. 

“Are you gonna come, baby?” Kuroo questions, noting your little reactions. 

Your cunt squeezing his cock, your pornographic sounds, and so much more. “Yeah? Gonna soak my fat cock already? Go ahead, slut,” he smirks, finishing his sentence with a series of dizzying thrusts. 

Your eyes roll back as you suddenly hit your climax, pussy gushing around your friend’s dad, just like you’ve fantasised about. This whole scenario was straight from a porno. “That’s it, good girl Y/N. Make a mess on this dick, baby. I gotcha,” he soothes, fucking you through your orgasm.

After the shocks travelled through your body, your limbs twitch and shake from the intensity. Kuroo’s hand soaks up each of your pornographic moans while he stretches out your drooling fuckhole. The grip of your pussy is as tight as a fist, and Kuroo knows he won’t last as long as he wants to.

It’s not because he finishes quickly—it’s because you feel so damn good, and he can’t risk getting caught any longer.

Eventually, you ride out your release and Kuroo is determined to swiftly bring you to another orgasm. “You fuckin’ love this, don’t you, baby? Gettin’ fucked by a man twice your age and your size.” The mention of the two differences has you wanting to bite your lip, but you can’t. 

Never in your life have you ever been fucked so good. You nod as best as you can and in return, Kuroo laughs of pride. 

“That’s right, sweetie. Bet I already ruined you for other men, hm? This pussy was made for my cock, so you better not touch it without my permission,” he warns, and you nod your head. Kuroo pulls his hand away, the other one petting the back of your head. “Lemme hear it, baby. Tell me you’ll be his good girl from now on.”

“I– I’m your good girl W– Won’t be bad, promise,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice quiet. But it’s hard when his cock is stroking your walls and bringing you to another orgasm so soon. Your folds are sticky with arousal and so is Kuroo’s sack. It slaps against your clit each time he pushes forwards. He groans, “Good girl.”

Warmth fills you up and spills past his thickness, ropes of cum shooting out of the older man’s sensitive tip. A few seconds later, Kuroo’s cock is coated in your release. 

As you both catch your breath, you shamelessly move your hips. Kuroo curses from the feeling, he sets his left hand on your hip, the other one bracing against the edge of the desk. 

“Still didn’t fuck the brattiness out of you, did I?”

“Nope. But you love it. Don’t you. ?” 

The look on his face and the throbbing of his cock answer for him.

©Minarixx 2023 - please don't copy, repost or translate without my knowledge credit or permission.

[dewdrop-writes]

Blood of Ambition - Chapter 4: A Step Above, A Step Apart

Dio Brando x Reader (AFAB reader)

<<First || <<Previous || Next>>

Dear (Name),

—

I promised I would write, and I am a man of my word. Though London boasts its so-called charms, I find much more solace in the vast and spacious halls of the Joestar Manor. For all its grandeur, London is so very filthy and cramped. The grime of the city has clung to every cobblestone and sullied far too many people. I do wonder how we ever endured it. I must commend you for your fortitude in persevering. Still, I do hope you are on guard. You and I know all too well what the people of London can be like.

—

It pleases me greatly that you find time to answer my letters. While I do enjoy the liberties and luxuries of the manor, it can get incredibly dull and your words offer a reprieve from the monotony of it all. I have taken to preparing for the next chapter of my education.While I have no doubts regarding my inevitable admittance, I must ensure that I have a headstart on the others. After all, it is not in my nature to settle for mediocrity. I suggest you adopt a similar mindset.

—

Dio had grown restless upon his return to the countryside. There was no joy to be found in revisiting his childhood. He was ashamed of the circumstances of which he had been born into and all too eager to erase those chapters from memory. That life had been barren of joy and luxury. His father had been a cruel drunkard and his mother was far too naive for her own good. He had fought tooth and nail for survival. Every meal was uncertain, and the warmth of a flame to ward off the cool night was not guaranteed.

And yet…

He should have felt repulsed by the physical reminders of his past, should have wanted to distance from them as much as possible. But he couldn’t. Ever since seeing you at the bakery, you had haunted his thoughts. It was as though he was trapped in a nightmare from which he could neither escape or awake from. You were a painful reminder of all he had endured. 

But God, you were also a reminder of the few bright moments of his bleak life. Despite the filth and squalor you two had lived in, not a single moment of his current life could hold a candle to the reckless joy of carelessly weaving through crowds after a successful theft. 

You had seemed so wary around him when you last met. Fidgeting and nervous, your gaze flickering to and from. It was nothing like the carefree days of bygone times. He had attempted to coax out the person you had once been and he could see flickers of your resilient soul, yet you had remained guarded. He couldn’t deny doing the same. There was a vast gap between you two now and years of distance had only widened it. 

He should have simply had a meal with you and left it at that. However, he had been unable to stop the words from spilling from his lips – an offer to write. He left you little choice to choose your answer, knowing his insistence would hush your hesitance. The next few days had been a haze. He cared little about the doings of his adoptive brother, pausing his machinations momentarily. All he could think about was that damned bakery. 

You were no refined nobility. While you had certainly cleaned up, you were not of his world anymore. He had risen above you in rank. The establishment you called home now was passable, but flour coated your hands and apron. The skin of your hands was calloused from years of labour and poverty. 

He found himself studying his own hands on the ride home, searching for similarities. He had been scruffy when he had first arrived, albeit a little cleaned up. His fingers had been bony and his hands marred. Only under the direct, bright light of the sun, could he see the faintest little reminders of those times etched into his skin. 

It took no more than a few days of restless introspection before he caved to the impulse and penned his first letter. The act itself came easy but awaiting a response was a different ordeal entirely. He had prided himself for his patience, yet now, he found himself growing antsy.  Each day left him feeling on edge.

For a week, he fought to hide his anticipation, eyes flickering to the servants as they brought in the mail each morning. He loathed this newfound sentimentality within himself, so shamelessly tethered to the response of another. Finally, he was allowed relief when a letter was handed to him at breakfast one morning. 

No muscle in his face twitched to betray his thoughts outwardly. He simply excused himself to his study, delicately closing the door behind himself before tearing open the letter with a hunger he had not known in years. Your response was modest and brief, the lettering shaky and lacking the refined elegance of his own. 

But that mattered not. What mattered was that you had responded. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself the luxury to feel joy at the fact.

And so, your correspondence began. At first, Dio had assumed his interest would wane soon enough. You lacked the refinement of noble education, nor were you particularly well-read or worldly. You had little to offer in terms of cultured discourse or debate. By all logic, he should have tired of you well before he sent out the third letter. 

However, inexplicably, he found himself drawn to the details of your life. Your humble anecdotes of little significance intrigued him in a manner he could not rationalise.

His own letters, of course, were well measured and careful. He had no interest in sharing the intricacies of his machinations or the darker corners of his ambition – much less in written correspondence. Instead, his words leaned towards the superficial and surface level, utilising a fine balance of charm and wit. He was skilled with his words and used just the right amount of flattery and persuasion to coax you to share more of yourself.

He wanted to know of your plans, how you spent the fleeting hours of your day and with whom. His curiosity surrounding you was illogical. There was no practical value to the information gained, and yet, he persisted. 

Perhaps it was the contrast of your worlds. Your life was so simple and quaint in comparison to the grand schemes of his own. Perhaps the easy and honest way of your life held an alluring charm to it, offering his mind a reprieve. Or perhaps it was something else entirely, something he was unwilling to entertain. Whatever the reason, he was soon penning a letter every week or two.

A year had flown by in what felt like the blink of an eye. Your days were consumed with ceaseless demanding work and nights, while quieter, brought the pressure of crafting responses to Dio. He had turned out to be a surprisingly persistent correspondent, despite his initial detached demeanour. 

You often feared that you were out of your depth. His words flowed elegantly across the page with dazzling vocabulary you could not even dream of emulating. Yet, despite the mundanity of your life, Dio seemed unwaveringly intrigued. His questions came with such insistence, paired with lovely words, that you couldn’t help but indulge him. You provided him with the meaningless details of your day-to-day life, often leaving you wondering if life in the countryside was truly so dull that the gossip of a baker’s assistant could hold so much appeal?

Of course, you didn’t mind. It was a comfort, being able to converse so easily with an old friend once more. The richness of the parchment and flourish of his cursive aside - there were moments where you felt as though you were children once more, giggling over the happenings of your days. 

Yet there were times where Dio’s words left you with a sense of unease. Dio’s insistence to be notified of every happening of your life, while flattering, felt a little invasive, at times. His tendency to show others his disdain and speak down to them, while always part of his personality, carried a sharper edge now with his elevated status. There was a subtle condescension in his tone, as though his raise in status was only the natural progression of things.

He seemed particularly fixated on your “lack of ambition”, as he called it – a jab that hurt a little more than you would have cared to admit. As if ambition were a luxury you could afford. You had clawed your way up from being a beggar and a thief, going from risking your freedom just to get by, to having a secure roof above your head and a steady income. That alone, felt like a triumph. To speak as though there was something lacking in your achievements was only further proof of the gap between your lives that no amount of letters could bridge.

You were tidying up the bakery as a lull in new customers rolled in. In these slower moments you preferred to busy yourself to make the hours slip by quicker. Your gaze swept over the selection of treats, taking in the stock. You would have to make note of which pastries sold better and which adjustments would need to be made for the coming days to meet the demand.

The sharp chime of the bell above the door startled you, cutting through the serene silence and drawing your gaze to the entrance. Turning on your heel, you froze in place as you came face-to-face with a familiar figure.

A mop of perfectly groomed golden hair catching the sun gracefully, accompanied by sharply tailored clothing. Your breath hitched. Dio.

 Your shock must have been evident as you scrambled to compose yourself under the weight of his steady gaze. A knowing, smug smile spread across his lips.

.

“Long time no see, (Name)m” he greeted, his voice richer and more mature than when you last met. It sent a shiver down your spine, making the rather spacious bakery seem like a cramped hallway around you. He commanded an air of elegance and superiority as he waltzed in, allowing the door to fall shut behind him with a thud that echoed through the building.

A breathless laugh stumbled past your lips as you took his visage in. He must have grown even taller and stronger in his absence. 

“I wasn’t aware you’d be in town,” you spoke softly, wiping your hands into your apron nervously. His last letter had only just arrived - you hadn’t even had time to craft a worthy response yet.

“It was a last-minute decision. My father had business in London.” His crimson gaze swept across you calculatingly. “I thought I’d pay a dear friend a visit while I’m in the area.”

Dear friend. The words hung in the air heavily, making your chest heave with a swirl of emotions. Despite the slight unease you still felt, you couldn’t fight the warmth spreading through you.

He sauntered over slowly, catlike in his movements. His steps barely made any noise as his feet moved ever so gracefully.

“What have you been up to?” Dio asked, his tone casual, but his piercing eyes anything but.

“The same as always, Dio. Busy with work, running errands and such,” you managed to stammer out, voice steady but your nerves betraying you as your body tensed. You resisted the urge to step back, to recreate the distance between the two of you.

He hummed thoughtfully in response, eyes drifting lazily across the pastries on display with thinly veiled disinterest. “How about we go for a walk about town? The weather’s nice.”

You scoffed, giving him a pointed, exasperated look. “I’m working right now, Dio” 

His brow twitched at your rejection, the only sign of displeasure on his otherwise composed face. “Is it just you here?”

“No, but Mrs.Haverford is-” 

Before you could finish, he turned away from you and bellowed towards the kitchen, “Mrs. Haverford!” 

His voice rang out, sharp and commanding, bouncing off walls of the bakery like a thunderclap. You shot him a horrified expression, only further stricken as his expression morphed into something undeniably mischievous. 

“Dio!” you hissed through clenched teeth.

“Oh, don’t look so scandalised, (Name). I’m only helping you secure a break.”

You wanted to reply with a sharp retort, but the words died on your tongue as you heard hurried footsteps shuffling into the room. Mrs. Haverford looked flustered, brows furrowed in annoyance as she took in the sight of you two.

“What’s all this shouting about?” she demanded, her gaze bouncing from you to Dio. You could see the flour clinging to her hands - she must have been busy with preparing something before Dio oh so rudely demanded her attention.

Dio faced with a polite smile, turning his charm up. “My apologies, Mrs. Haverford. I meant no offence. I was simply hoping to borrow my friend (Name) for the day.”

Mrs. Haverford’s gaze softened as she studied the handsome, undeniably wealthy man. Her eyes flickered to meet yours and the barest hint of a teasing smile tugged at her lips.

“I see…very well, then! The rest of the day will likely be just as slow.” She dragged her attention back to Dio. “But stay out of trouble. And try to be back before dark, (Name).”

Your jaw tightened as you shot a glare at Dio, who was already moving towards the door, head held up high from his victory. With a quiet farewell to Mrs. Haverford, you ran after him, finding yourself by his side on the street.

“You’re insufferable!” you hissed, although you could barely keep yourself from smiling.

“And yet, you’re here,” he replied, smirking as he offered you his arm with exaggerated flourish. You could only sigh, finally allowing the corners of your lips to raise as you took his arm.

Dio navigated the streets with an ease that seemed almost choreographed. Each step seemed purposeful and calculated as he weaved past crowds. His towering frame, accompanied by his impeccable clothing commanded attention, crowds parting for him as though recognizing an unspoken authority. It struck you as unfair - how effortlessly privilege carved out a space for itself in the world at the inconvenience of others.

You clung to his side, curiosity burning at the forefront of your mind. Where on earth could he be taking you? Studying his expression gave you no hints, a knowing smirk resting on his lips as he glanced your way.

Soon enough, the scenery around you began to shift. The modest and practical buildings of the middle class began to fade out, making way for elegant town-houses with wrought-iron fences. The streets widened and the atmosphere shifted, an unfamiliar quiet ruling the area.

It was impossible not to feel out of place. Your modest, practical clothing felt much too dirty and shameful with a backdrop of such finery. Dio, however, made no note of the shift, guiding you along without a care in the world. This was his world now, after all.

He led you through the streets with ease. Crowds seemed far more eager to part for someone as tall and well-dressed as him. You supposed such were the privileges of the upper class. It was hard to quench your curiosity as you travelled through the streets, wondering where on earth he could be taking you. The modest middle-class buildings were slowly disappearing, making way for much grander and nicer ones.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” you finally asked, allowing your curiosity to take control. Dio sent you a wicked smirk as you rounded a corner. The buildings looked lavish - boutiques and specialty stores coming into view.

“Patience is a virtue, (Name).”

You huffed indignantly. “What kind of game is this?”

He hummed in thought, the smirk never leaving his lips. “It’s no game. We’re almost there.”

You finally came to a stop before a lovely pale building, its facade prim and inviting.  Stained glass adorned a few of the windows, catching the light in soft, colourful hues. From a brief glance inside, you caught sight of impeccably dressed patrons seated at elegant tables, their muted laughter and chatter barely audible from where you stood.

Your gaze snapped to Dio, panic rising in your chest. “What is this place?” you asked, your voice faltering despite your best effort to sound composed. The slight tremble seemed to amuse him, his smirk deepening.

“A tearoom,” he replied casually, already beginning his ascent up the stairs leading to the entrance.

Your stomach dropped. “We’re not going in there, are we?” you asked, dread creeping into your voice. You couldn’t help but glance down at your plain attire, your insecurities roaring to life. The shame of your appearance burned brighter against the backdrop of such opulence.

Dio paused mid-step, turning slightly to regard you with a raised brow. “Of course we are,” he said, as if your question were absurd. “Do you think I brought you all this way to simply loiter outside?”

Panic bloomed in your chest as you looked down at your attire, feeling so very out of place in comparison to the elegant building and the wealthy clientele. “No, I can’t! I’m not-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dio reassured you, although his words did little to calm your nerves. “You’re with me. If I say you’re welcome, you’re welcome here.” His tone was commanding, leaving you little room to reject the idea as his arm looped around yours once more. As he led you up the short flight of stairs, you could feel your chest tighten with worry.

“You’ll enjoy it. Don’t worry about it.”

You could only heave a shaky breath as you leaned into him ever so slightly. It earned a faint smile from the blonde as he pushed the doors open.

The interior was even lovelier than the exterior. Ornate wallpaper lined the walls and the ceiling stretched much higher than any you’d seen before. The room was spacious and beautiful, with decor you’d never seen this close before. Your gaze swept across the others seated at their tables and you felt your heart drop. Despite Dio’s reassurances, you would undeniably get looks from them. You were ready to turn on your heel and rush out, but Dio’s hand caught yours.

“Relax.” He led you towards a more secluded table. “You look like you’re about to face the gallows.” You shot him a distressed look which he simply shrugged off with a chuckle and pulled out a chair for you, allowing you to take a seat. Once making sure you were sitting and not about to bolt, he sat down as well. 

“Why would you bring me here?” you hissed under your breath, glancing at the genteels seated at their tables. “To embarrass me?”

His brow twitched, offended by the notion.

“Nothing of the sort. I wanted you to get a taste of my life,” he spoke, tone surprisingly earnest. There was something darker in his gaze though, something calculating. 

“Why?” you asked cautiously, trying to make sense of his motives. He sent you a charming smile, not bothering to give you an answer as he waved over a waiter. You had no choice but to chew on your lip nervously as you felt the waiter’s brief, questioning gaze on you. It was easy to tune out Dio’s conversation with him as you bore holes into the table with your eyes, cheeks burning up from shame. Your blonde companion must have noticed, making the decision to order on your behalf. Only when the waiter turned to leave, could you finally breathe a sigh of relief.

This was going to be a difficult outing.

Despite the plethora of odd looks you had received, your overall experience had been rather…pleasant. Your companion had spared no expenses, allowing you to experience a wide variety of new flavours. He’d given you an odd look once or twice, something you could put no name to. While he was quick to conjure up a charming smile and keep up pleasant conversation, his unassuming facade slipped here and there. As was customary in your written exchange, he had not been too forthcoming about his own happenings. Of course, he had shared plenty of anecdotes, but there was a layer of superficiality over them. Something that was never there in your childhood.

Your arm rested lightly in the crook of Dio’s as you walked back towards the bakery at a leisurely pace. His eyes shifted to you with a sideways glance, studying your expression curiously. His gaze was intense, almost as though trying to peel back the layers of your thoughts.

“You seem to be burdened with something,” he finally spoke, breaking your train of thought, tone casual but not probing. Your eyes shot up to meet his, a sheepish smile creeping onto your face.

“Ah, sorry about that.”

“Did you not enjoy the tearoom?” he pressed, gaze unwavering.

You blinked, taken aback by the question. “No, that’s not it. It was lovely,” you assured him, but your voice faltered as you thought back to the scrutinising gazes of the wealthy clientele.

“But?”

A nervous chuckle escaped you. “Well, I felt like an intruder.”

Dios lips tightened, his only response a noncommittal hum. His gaze travelled to the horizon, the silence between you tense with unspoken words.

“Do you not feel worthy of the finer things in life?” he asked abruptly, his tone more serious now. You could only swallow nervously, feeling the weight of his calculating stare settle in your chest.

“Well…it’s not that.” You struggled to find the right words, unease creeping back into your mind. “But I’m not stupid. The others were clearly unamused with my presence. I don’t exactly fit the bill of that crowd.” 

Your words hung in the air. You find yourself wondering if he could understand.Once, you had both shared a similar life. But now? Now, he felt so far removed from that. Did he even remember those days?

Dio barked out a dry, humourless laugh.

“That should be of no concern to you,” he said dismissively. “When I first entered these spaces, I was met with the same disdain. Mr. Joestar was accommodating enough, but the others? They saw me as nothing more than a dirty orphan boy, despite the fine clothes I’d been given.” He paused, eyes narrowing as he recalled it. “I had to claw my way up to be seen as an equal. Even despite being a Lord’s ward, I was not spared their judgement..”

Your gaze softened as you looked at him, his steely expression betraying an old wound. You couldn’t help wondering how it had felt for him.

Had he been lonely? Afraid?

“In this world,” Dio continued, his voice hardening, “you can achieve anything you want. But you have to fight for it. Sometimes that means mastering their ridiculous games of etiquette. Other times, it requires more drastic measures.”

His eyes locked with yours, unyielding and commanding. “If you know you are worth something, you should never settle for less.” 

His tone had lost any edge of casual playfulness, gaining an undercurrent of something dark that made your stomach turn. You felt almost as though he was staring into the very depths of your soul. There was something dangerous about his conviction.

Before you could respond or delve deeper, the moment shattered as a familiar voice called out your name, startling you both.

“(Name)!” 

The familiar voice jolted you, and you looked up in surprise to see your regular, Charles, beaming at you. His hands were clasped around those of his two younger sisters, their faces lighting up at the sight of you. Your lips stretched out into a grin, instinctively slipping your arm away from Dio’s as you surged forward, feeling relief at the interruption.

“Charles! Running errands for your mother again?” you asked, tone bright as you tried to shake off the unease from your interrupted conversation.

“Yes,” he replied, nodding eagerly. A boyish grin swept across his features. “We’re just finishing up now. We stopped by the bakery for a treat and noticed you weren’t there. I didn’t realise you had the day off!”

A sheepish smile made its way onto your face, eyes flickering to Dio, who had remained a few steps behind. 

“Not exactly. An old friend invited me out for a bit,” you explained, feeling a slight warmth rise to your cheeks.

Charles’ gaze followed yours, eyes widening slightly as they landed on Dio. The contrast between your modesty and Dio’s radiating elegance was staggering. Sensing the boy’s curiosity, Dio finally stepped forward, his every move deliberate as he came to stand beside you, his height and demeanour commanding attention.

“I wasn’t aware you had friends in such…high places,” Charles remarked, his voice hesitant as his eyes flitted between the two of you.

“You are now,” Dio responded in your stead, voice smooth and tone measured. That being said, you couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders tensed as he spoke, as though trying to make himself bigger and more imposing. 

The air grew heavy with an unspoken challenge as Charles met Dio’s unwavering gaze. The two men seemed to size each other up, and you felt caught in the middle of an invisible battle.

Clearing your throat, you broke the tension. “I should really be heading back to the bakery now. Would you accompany me, Dio?”

Dio’s sharp eyes snapped to yours, his expression softening into a polite smile as he offered you his arm once again. “Of course,” he said smoothly. “Let’s be on our way.”

As you resumed your walk, arm in arm with Dio, the lighthearted moment with Charles and his sisters quickly faded. You couldn’t ignore the sense of unease pooling in the pit of your stomach, a dread that seemed to hang in the air like a storm cloud ready to break.

[almacambiondaughterofsaleos]

I used to think that the apotheosis of Viv's mediocre screenwriting abilities was Stella, being neither a character, nor an antagonist, nor even a full-fledged villain, but just a tool of manipulation so that the main characters would not look so bad against her background. But now I realize that it's not just Stella who's the problem, but ALL of Viv's villains. Almost all of them are practically the same, they have the same characters, the same manner of speech and the same goals. More precisely, they have no purpose, they don't have their own beliefs, ideologies, background, power, or corny brains. They're all equally dumb as boots and weak as worms. And for any purpose, they only have the desire to shit into the soul of the poor, good, unhappy, saints, the perfect uwu main characters.

And don't get me wrong, the villain can be one-dimensional, he can even be stupid, but still remain interesting. Just think of Prince Joffrey from Game of Thrones. However, Viv's antagonists don't arouse anywhere near the same interest or hatred. All they cause is irritation with their stupidity and monotony.

This. They are paper Tigers with no teeth.

[jasper-tarot-reader]

Neopets/Skyrim Tarot: X. The Wheel of Fortune

The Wheel of Fortune has received many names across different decks, sometimes just being shortened to the Wheel. It embodies the cyclical nature of things, not just in life but in magic. No matter how advanced your craft, you will always find yourself rediscovering your basics anew. And, you know, a bunch of other stuff.

Wheels have been part of Neopets for a very, very long time. The Wheel of Excitement is just one on a short yet beloved list: Celebration, Excitement, Extravagance, Knowledge, Mediocrity, Misfortune, and Monotony.

The Wheel of Excitement lives up to its name. Not everything that can happen is good, and rough percentages of winning were based on Jellyneo's incredible staff doing the hard work of paying to spin this Wheel over and over again. It costs 500 Neopoints to spin and you can spin it once every two hours.

This card depicts the Wheel of Fortune before Faerieland fell from the sky. Nowadays, the Wheel of Excitement sits in Faerieland outside of the Faerie City, next to the Rainbow Fountain.

Considering the choices of Wheel for the Wheel of Fortune card, the Wheel of Excitement was the best choice. Not every spin will grant you something good, but it will continue spinning regardless.

Olava the Feeble is an elderly woman living in Whiterun. She does all kinds of divination readings, such as tasseography (tea leaf reading), palmistry, scrying through a Soul Gem in place of a crystal ball. Thanks to her advanced age, she struggles with getting the energy to do such a reading. She's one of those barely-interactable NPCs...

Psych! There's a lot of weird shit going on here! She's connected to Gabriella of the Dark Brotherhood, she's in league with Ri'saad's Khajiit caravans (namely through Ahkari, despite the fact that Ri'saad's the one hanging out outside of Whiterun), and she kicks off the Locate the Assassin of Old quest. But if you don't do the Dark Brotherhood stuff, she doesn't do shit for you.

Surprisingly, card-based stuff in the Elder Scrolls series didn't pop up until TES Legends (rest in peace, king) and Olava doesn't mention any kind of card divination in her list of divination methods...but highkey I wanna see what the tarot equivalent is in Tamriel. I imagine that it would pop up out of Cyrodiil, since tarot as divination started from the Italian game of tarocchi and Cyrodiil is the closest we get culturally to that area on account of the Imperials being based loosely on Rome.

Anyway, I don't have any complaints here. It's a good choice for this card, since it's actually Skyrim-based. I don't know who I would recommend for a more broad Elder Scrolls Tarot equivalent. Perhaps Lorkhan...? Hm. Something for me to ponder later.

[mcytblrconfessions]

I kinda started to dislike Grian bcuz of how often he is portrayed in the fandom (I like other hermits more and the monotony got to me. I Need variety im sorry. also his ships are mediocre at best) but then I watched him and it’s like. Hes my spirit animal. We are both so silly, he is just a little actor man, frfr!! still don’t like his fan works tho. maybe I’ll come around

it took a while to send this because everyone’s been complaining about people complaining about this but it’s on anon so ✌️

[sahartragictale89]

In the pages of stories, where ink bleeds into lives, the sinners emerge as blazing comets, streaking across the sky of imagination, defying gravity and rules alike. They laugh louder, love fiercely, and dance on the fragile glass of consequence. Saints, in their serene perfection, pale in comparison—stoic statues bathed in the monotony of righteousness. The allure of imperfection, the seductive chaos of human frailty, captivates the soul.

Louisa May Alcott knew this paradox well. She saw the sterile symmetry of goodness and yearned for something more vibrant. “I’ve no desire to be wicked,” she writes, “but I do want to be happy.” Happiness, after all, is the ultimate rebellion against a world that demands stoic submission to its rigid moralities.

A short life, yet a radiant one—that’s the dream. Who wouldn’t trade endless days of pious mediocrity for a fleeting moment of unbridled joy? The price of pleasure, though steep, feels like a bargain against the backdrop of eternity’s shadow. Better to burn in the brilliance of a life fully lived than to wither under the weight of endless conformity.

Yet, this isn’t a call to abandon all virtue; it’s a plea to embrace the messy, vibrant spectrum of existence. Sinners may fall, but they rise with stories etched into their souls. Saints tread carefully, but what tales do they leave behind, save for the silence of their unblemished paths?

In the end, perhaps life’s greatest sin is to pass through it unnoticed, untouched by its fiery beauty. So let us, like Alcott, seek not wickedness but fullness. Let us dance boldly with life, even if it means paying the price, for a life without color is no life at all.

#Sahar

[jujutsutrash]

My apologies for delivering something without smut right in October, instead of kinktober (unless body swapping is your kink) let's call this one kenjakutober. I dunno, this weirdo has been in my mind a lot recently, maybe because he was my second fav behind gojo, and oh, well, gojo got boxed for good. Guess Kenny wins.

Kenjaku x Reader. 1.2k (tw: death, and Kenjaku's flavor of body swapping)

Honestly, the whole experience since meeting you was something Kenjaku could describe as unique. not, by any means, bad, but definetly unexpected - though, not unwelcome. you were a powerful sorcerer, in fact, too powerful for your time. it had been a couple hundred years since the Heian era, and in this age of blades and samurais, jujutsu had been losing its strength. that made you a stranger in your time.

At first he'd seen in you a good tool to aid in his plans, a source of power that could prove itself useful. you were a sorcerer with strength but no actual purpose, and he could give you one - although, it would be his. you took to the job without hesitancy, wanting to escape the fate decided to you by your clan. an arranged marriage, a waste of your life on someone who'd certainly resent how much more powerful than him you were.

Now he clearly understood that what you saw on the deal he offered was a chance at freedom, to live your life unchained by anyone. it seemed a worthy shot, even if you could tell his motives seemed not to be fully on the clear. but you didn't care, figuring it better to be involved in something possibly bad than to be involved in nothing at all. better the evil you don't know than the one you do - better to take this leap than be chained to domestic servitude, wasting away your existence doing nothing interesting.

To be quite fair, he found that thinking admirable. maybe that was why Kenjaku started to grow found of you. In these new times, few were the people willing to take the gamble, willing to get their hands a little bloody to live life how they wanted to. oh, you truly were like a treasure from a time long gone. brave and powerful, curious and unafraid, unshaken by the things he did and the ones he had you do. and above all lustful for a life that's not mediocre. lustful for a life that would be better than just good enough. to achieve things, to see things, to experience more.

You were almost like kindred spirits. and overtime that was probably how he let you work your way under his skin. one day he just found himself desiring you, and soon enough he was working his way under your clothes. You were beautiful - that had been undeniable since day one, but hadn't really had any importance until this sudden shift. what Kenjaku originally wanted from you was your ability to work. but then things changed, he wanted that and something more - an useful setup, really, two birds with one stone and all that.

It was a convenient situation. on one hand you completed every task and job given with almost brutal precision. on the other you were an entertaining company and a good source of pleasure. it was fun. just a satisfying circumstance. or at least that was the case in the beginning.

Without even noticing Kenjaku started growing to like you - feelings he never really expected to have. that that he actively shunned them, he still had his priorities straight and the sentiment existed in the background, a fun little side task. it was just surprising to see it happen anyway, something to take note off. it was good knowing life could still surprise him at least, even after a couple hundred years around.

it was good, something fun to stave off the boredom and monotony. not only a warm body on cold nights but one that willingly came to him - even after having known exactly what he was. a normal person would have been afraid, but not you. he could appreciate how you put your need to have what you desired over even any sense of self preservation. you were definetly an interesting company - it explained how he came to feel for you.

Though, no good thing can last forever. well, not so much a rule for Kenjaku, but one for almost everybody else - you included. your end came at the hands of a curse, one that he managed to exterminate himself, but then it was already too late. he found you laying dead in a pool of your own blood, body covered in smaller wounds, clear sings that you didn't go down easy. though, he had realized that earlier, the curse was powerful but he found it in terrible shape. you fell, but you fought to the bitter end, that too was admirable.

So Kenjaku did the only respectable thing he could think of doing.

His first thought when he found your body was to turn you into a cursed object, so he could revive you at a later point. it would be useful, but somehow it felt lacking. though, as he looked at your bloody form for longer, a thought crept into his head. you had a great cursed technique, a powerful body, and there was a curiosity in him, a wondering that wouldn't cease. what would it be like to occupy that body?

The idea just seemed right. and as he looked down, witnessing your cold hands warming up, it felt right too. looking at the mirror for the first time after switching bodies always seemed a little odd, but this time it didn't, not quite so much. things just seemed to sit right as he moved to brush a strand of hair away, watching as your soft hand reach out to pull the hair back, leaving clear the still fresh scar across your forehead. Well, Kenjaku's forehead now.

The wound was so fresh that liquid still pooled around the points where the stitches connected the two parts of the skull. what would you have thought? you probably wouldn't have minded, you were never quite so squeamish. and it just felt right. Kenjaku's soul seemed to just sit right in this body - no longer you, but still yours in ways kenjaku knew so well. one last gift from the grave, a body that fit so easily.

Looking at the mirror again, warm hands reached to adjust the soft locks of hair just like you did it. oh, yes, that looked perfect, gazing at the reflection, Kenjaku could almost believe it was you. but she was a different person, although a related one, this time around. one that, having full access to your memories and experiences now she could be sure, was certainly part of what made you, well, you.

It was strange, seeing her own life in third person. but that was a good strange, a interesting experience for sure, getting to go through all these years again, but from a new perspective. to feel everything as you felt it - from pleasure to pain, oh, and love, of course. It was different, interesting, something Kenjaku wasn't sure if she'd be able to do again any time soon. yeah, taking your body was the right choice. it was powerful, beautiful, and most definetly a remarkable experience. what a great way to end something good.

[rebelspykatie]

Rushin' through me like a fire - A Steddie Club AU

AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

It was probably a bad idea to come here without Robin. The only time he’s ever stepped foot through those doors is with her by his side. Hellfire has become their local hangout, where they go after a long day at work, where they go to celebrate after they’ve accomplished something big, where they go to unwind when they need a break from reality. The music’s loud, the drinks are strong, and the crowd is uninhibited and unabashedly gay. Not many places like it in this corner of the world, but it’s a local haven. 

Robin dragged him here during their first year of teaching, both of them needing a break from the monotony and the long unpaid hours of overtime they put in making lesson plans and grading papers. Normally, they come for drinks and dancing, just the two of them. It’s their special thing, as if they weren’t already attached at the hip and living in each other’s pockets.

The space itself is nothing too fancy, just a large room with dark walls. But the owner, whoever they are, has really turned this place into something spectacular. Behind the bar, there’s a display of bottles made to look like flames, all orange and red colored glass set at varying heights backlight by matching twinkling lights. The walls are lined with white neon lighting, running along both the top and bottom of the perimeter of the building. Framed posters from a lot of bands Steve’s never heard of cover the walls, mixed with motifs of flames and more neon lights in the shape of bats and guitars. 

Most of the room is a dance floor, with a DJ up on a raised platform against one wall. The opposite wall is entirely taken up by the bar, always with at least three bartenders in rotation. Disco balls and rainbow flags hang from the ceiling, welcoming anyone to this sacred space. 

On a typical night, Steve and Robin would wander over to the bar first and grab a drink before heading to the dance floor until they’re both sweaty and just tipsy enough to forget their problems. Tonight, Steve feels out of place for the first time. He wasn’t going to come, but Robin has started seeing someone, leaving him alone more nights than he’s used to, their house too quiet without her incessant rambling. 

Steve decided tonight he was going to do something different. Get out of this funk he’s been in. He might also be lonelier than he wants to admit. He gave up on dating a while back, nobody really sparking any kind of intense passion, or only wanting him for his looks. His life is already busy enough without mediocre dates that go nowhere except to his bedroom. Except now that Robin’s preoccupied, he’s realizing that maybe his life isn’t as busy as he thought. 

So here he is, alone, at their favorite bar, sipping a drink on a bar stool, hoping it’ll give him some liquid courage to go out on the dance floor by himself. When an ABBA song comes on, it feels like a sign from the universe. He reluctantly pushes himself away from the bar, draining the last of his drink before scanning the crowd and locking onto a handsome taller man who appears to also be alone. Slinking his way through the crowd, he catches the man’s eye and nods a head towards the dance floor, an open invitation. 

When the man joins him, hands slipping around Steve’s waist as Steve’s slide across his shoulders, it feels like a victory. This guy is really attractive, like surface of the sun hot. He’s got short cropped black hair and a long torso that Steve can see through the tank top that he has practically painted onto his skin, showing every ripple of abs contracting while they dance. His arms aren’t huge, but they are muscular enough that Steve wants to grip them in his hands or see how they bulge if this guy lifted him up. 

As the song ends, Steve gestures towards the bar, a silent question to join him. The guy seems to agree, eyeing Steve up and down with a look that makes his skin buzz. The attention is unfamiliar to him now, too long out of the dating game. Sure, he’s used to eyes following him around a room, he’s not completely unaware of how he looks. But, up close and prolonged contact with someone that looks like they want to slam him against a wall and bite down on his flesh is a distant memory. 

Robin’s favorite bartender, and current girlfriend, is missing from behind the bar. Chrissy had pulled Robin away for a movie night, hence Steve’s current situation. Instead, Gareth comes over to refill Steve’s normal drink and grab something for his companion. He gives Steve an approving little smirk before he turns away to deal with other customers. As a regular, all of the bartenders know Robin and Steve, have their drink of choice memorized. It’s nice to have the familiarity, but there’s a prickle of self consciousness at Gareth judging who Steve might potentially take home at night. 

He tries not to let that get in the way of chatting up this stranger, who Steve quickly finds out is named Austin. It’s barely been ten minutes before Austin is leaning into his space and mouthing at his neck, cutting off Steve’s current train of thought. It shocks him so much that he pushes Austin’s shoulder to make him back up. 

“What the fuck, man?” Austin says, giving him a dirty look. “I thought you were into this.”

“We barely even know each other,” Steve points out, waving a hand between them like he’s the only one to realize they don’t even know each other’s last names. 

“You’re hot. I don’t need to know anything else.” A quick sweeping glance that makes his skin crawl.

Steve shuts down at that all too familiar feeling of being used. This guy doesn’t care about who Steve is, he just wants what everyone else he’s ever slept with wants, his body. 

AO3 | Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

[lesvegas]

My Beginner/Newbie Guide to Neopets

Never used the site before in your life but wanna check it out? Just logged into your old account and wanna get back into it? Saw my promo and wanna take advantage of it? Wanna make loads of neopoints? As someone with about 20mil in the bank I can't guarantee following my advice will make you MEGA rich but I can get you pretty close with pretty minimal effort.

TL;DR do your dailies and invest in stocks (it's way easier than it sounds, idk shit about real life stocks)

(And before I hear any "isnt neopets run by scientologists" the answer is no, it never was, neopets.com once fell into a company that was run by a scientologist for about a year back in the early 2000s)

Guide below the cut!

THE MOST IMPORTANT ADVICE TO TAKE FROM THIS GUIDE:

Spin Trudy's Surprise wheel every day (link here)

Invest in stocks (guide here)

Do whatever dailies you want (link here)

Use Jellyneo's item database to search/price anything (link here)

This guide assumes you've already made an account, a pet, and have about 2000np (given to every new account) to spend, and that you're currently logged in (you'll need to be for most of these links).

Confused by the site layout? No idea where to go? No worries, I'll link just about everything you need here.

DISCLAIMER: There's a lot of stuff I DON'T do, but if there's something that interests you, go ahead and try it!! I just do the bare minimum when it comes to dailies lol

~~Dailies~~

If you clicked on this link, you're probably already overwhelmed by the sheer number of dailies your expected to do. The good news is, I don't do at least half of these. Most of these aren't worth your time or points and I only really do easy 1-click dailies that net me free shit. I'll show you exactly which ones those are.

Let's start with the Classics-

I've already gone ahead and erased the ones a new account will never have to worry about.

These are the priority freebie dailies you should be doing each day when you can. Lemme explain what each one does:

Soup Kitchen: Until you have 3000np, you can feed your pets here for free!

Free Jelly: One free jelly (worth 2 meals) each day

Giant Omelette: One free omelette (worth 3 meals) each day

Interest @ Bank: You can collect interest on your bank account each day (you need a bank account, I'll explain later)

Money Tree: Free stuff people throw away, guide further down

Trudy's Surprise: Free neopoints daily

Monthly Freebies: Once a month, not daily, free 2000np and food

Obsidian Quarry: One free piece of obsidian daily. I just sell them for 1np a piece to get people coming to my shop

Apple Bobbing: Free item daily (small chance to lose an item or nps)

Anchor Management: Free item daily

Mysterious Negg Cave: Solve a puzzle for a free item (solver here)

Grave Danger: Petpet required. Send it down into the catacombs daily to find items.

These are all the easiest of the dailies. Next up we have

The Wheels-

Yes, just these wheels, because none of the scratchcards are worth trying to me. I've never won anything good from them. These wheels are all relatively low-cost, but if you only wanted to pick ONE, do the Wheel of Mediocrity. I've found it has the highest return for the cost.

Also, the Wheel of Monotony can go for literal hours. I tend to let it go in a muted tab and do other stuff in the meantime. Anyway, next is

Win NPs, Items, Stats-

I've erased anything that takes too much time, doesn't work cause flash, can only be accessed at certain times, or isn't newbie accessible. I'll elaborate on the rest;

Tombola: Draw a ticket and win a prize (free)

Deserted Tomb: Go into a tomb and potentially find treasure (may hurt your neopet)

Fruit Machine: One free spin per day for fruit

Coltzan's Shrine: One of the best dailies. Potentially increases stats, gives NP or items

Kreludor Meteor: Free items when it works

TDMBGPOP: Free items (usually plushies) or NPs

Underwater Fishing: Free fish or fishing-related items

Forgotten Shore: Requires treasure map (guide here)

Healing Springs: Heals your pets or gives you an item. Can be done every 30mins. I recommend coming here last to heal pets after some dangerous dailies. You can also come here every 30mins if your pet is sick until they're cured.

These are also good, easy freebies I recommend doing daily. Personally I also use the Battledome but that's because I've actually trained one of my pets to fight. Now for the

Pay NPs and Win-

No, really, that's it.

Okay, I also personally do Cheeseroller, and I used to do more carnival games when they worked, but these are the only ones you really need to worry about in this section.

Faerie Caverns, Test Your Strength, and Pick Your Own are simple games where you can win NPs and items.

Garage Sale is a shop where most items are sold below market value. Great for reselling.

Bargain stocks are cheaper than regular stocks and are only for poor/new users.

And what about

Other Neopets Stuff To Do-

A lot less intimidating now, huh?

Most things in this section are just... things to do. Things that aren't all that profitable. These four are the only ones you should bother with if your priority is getting NPs.

Symol Hole requires a PetPet. You can win items, but this is rare.

Stock Portfolio... I'll get into that soon. But this is important.

Trading Post is where you go to offload tons of junk, get tons of junk, buy/sell anything worth more than 999999np, and find good deals

Employment Agency is where you take jobs that involve finding and buying a certain number of a particular item in a certain timeframe. I only recommend this if you've become familiar with Jellyneo's item data base and the Shop Wizard.

Now what about the next sections, Quests, Competitions, and Games?

Don't worry about 'em.

When you're financially better off, you can try doing some daily Faerie quests if you want, but I don't recommend getting into them right away. Contests are cool and all, but not my thing personally, so I can't tell you much about them. As for games... most of them are still broken.

But the game Fashion Fever is an easy free 900np a day. Just wait 10 seconds before finishing the game, then send score.

Wait, how does the Stock Market work?

Great question!

The stock market is the easiest way to rack up neopoints. I can't comment on bargain stocks because I haven't done them, but I can tell you all about the regular stock market.

(You could also uh, watch this 5 minute guide here, which is how I originally learned how the stock market works)

Conceptually, you buy stocks while they're cheap, then wait until their value goes up and sell them at a high price. You can easily turn 15000np into 45000np by simply waiting.

Also, I really recommend you have 15000np before buying any stocks. Do other dailies until you have that much at least.

Your stock portfolio is here. Read the scrolling stocks at the top of the page:

Until you find a stock valued at 15np (circled above). Once you have the stock name (this one is SWNC), go to 'Buy' (right under the scrolling stocks in blue),

And buy them! Buy 1000 at a time.

15np is the LOWEST a stock can go before it's unbuyable, and you can only buy a total of 1000np per day.

Now, we just have to wait for the value to go up.

I only sell stocks once the value is +300%. SWNC is currently at 0.00% because it's worth the value I originally bought it at (15np).

Check your portfolio daily, buy new stocks when you can, sell when they're high, and sooner or later you'll be raking in hundreds of thousands of neopoints per sale!

Does Trudy's Surprise really guarantee thousands of free NPs?

Yes. No, seriously, yes.

The first time you spin the wheel, you'll probably only get about 1000np. Come back the next day, spin it again, maybe you'll get 2000np. By the end of the first week, probably 6000np.

And on day 25? 100000np. Guaranteed. Then the cycle resets to day 1, and it's back to about 1000np.

With Trudy's Surprise, you can very easily obtain around 200000np a month.

BUT. You need to spin the wheel once EVERY DAY or the counter resets and you're back to day 1 again.

There are days where I really don't feel like doing my dailies at all, but I always try to make sure I get this one in. It's absolutely worth logging it.

You mentioned a Bank Account?

If you haven't opened a bank account (for neopoints, not actual money), do so now!!

A bank will hold onto your neopoints for you so you don't lose them during random events, and you can collect interest every day. There's a cost to open and upgrade an account, but no fees besides that. The more nps in your account, the more interest you can collect! I collect about 6000np a day just from my nps sitting in my account.

Okay, I did my dailies and now I have all this stuff sitting in my inventory. Now what?

Well, you have a few options:

Use them. Food feeds your pet, books educate them, toys entertain them... before doing anything else with some items, consider if you want to use them on your pet.

Donate them. If you're completely at a loss or don't want to bother selling them, you can always donate or discard them to free up space.

Store them in your Safety Deposit Box. Got items that you think you'll use later that are currently taking up space? Store them in your SDB or Closet for now.

Trade them. Go to the trading post, browse new trades, and use these items as fodder for getting good deals. Alternatively, put them up for trade and see what people offer.

Sell them. If you haven't opened a shop yet, I highly recommend you do so. You can put items in the shop, but they won't be displayed until you've set a price. Don't know what to charge? Search the item in the Jellyneo item database to find out how much it's worth!

Why even do any of this?

Honestly, that's up to you to decide.

Neopets is a weird site. People came for the pets, but the only ones that stayed have remained for the economy. You either find it fun or you don't, and I know it's harder when you're a beginner.

What really got me into neopets again was finding a goal. If you want to get rich, that's the one thing you need most: a goal. It could be a static number, a dream pet, a dream gallery, w/e. My first main goal was a gold paintbrush for a pet I don't even have anymore, and my current goal is 25mil in my account. After that, I think my next goal will be to access the lab ray.

If you're just starting out and don't know what you want your goal to be, I'd suggest finding that old dream pet or picking a new one here: This site shows every pet in every colour. Find one that speaks to you, find out how much the paintbrush or morphing potion or whatever method costs, and work for that.

I'm still confused/have questions.

Please feel free to DM me!! I love neopets and am trying to get more people (especially my friends) into it. I don't know everything but the least I can do is point you to a guide that can help. Don't hesitate to reach out to me!

You can also neomail me if you want <3

[echoloaction]

I read too much. My mind gets tangled in different worlds and a part of me gets lost there. I need to wrench myself away and into the crippling horror of monotony, mediocrity. The reality that I will never be looked at, never be longed for. I am a body but not a person. I am a female but not a woman.

Current read: Bunny~ Mona Awad

[notyetaghost]

The fact you care

For the opinions of others

On the ethics of your existence

    

Is what keeps you drowning

In the mediocrity you are found in

     

What you do is determined 

Always by what they think of you

You obsess over them

    

Their words, their thoughts

Their interests and opinions

And you further entrap yourself

In the tar of monotony

    

Do you not wish to breathe?

And to do it just for yourself

To throw yourself into creation

Promoting the joy of your entity

     

Is the skin you wear not tight?

Is the mask you’re behind not uncomfortable?

Do you not wish to breathe?

     

To live 

And to do it just for yourself

[playstationvii]

#DangerousLuxxx

KiethAlexanderLuxxx 'Lucky'

It seems there's an issue retrieving the latest critiques and reviews from luxury fashion magazines. However, here are some prominent sources known for their insightful critiques of luxury fashion:

Vogue – Offers in-depth reviews and analysis of collections from global fashion weeks, highlighting the latest trends and standout designs.

The Cut – Features commentary from renowned fashion critics, often providing a critical and cultural lens on high fashion.

Business of Fashion (BoF) – Provides a more industry-focused analysis, with insights into the business side of luxury fashion.

The Impression – Known for its comprehensive fashion week coverage and reviews from top fashion shows.

WWD (Women's Wear Daily) – Offers breaking news, trend forecasts, and detailed reviews of fashion collections.

If you'd like, I can attempt to retrieve specific reviews on any designer, brand, or collection you're interested in.

Illustrating the Message and Meaning of 'Dangerous LuXXX'

The essence of 'Dangerous LuXXX' lies at the intersection of opulence, rebellion, and legacy. It is a brand that dares to challenge conventional fashion narratives, fusing the grandeur of classical art with the grit of modern street culture. Below is a conceptual breakdown of the brand's core message and meaning:

The Message: "Luxury is Power, Rebellion is Freedom."

At its heart, Dangerous LuXXX symbolizes the pursuit of personal sovereignty through self-expression. It asks, "Why choose between luxury and street style when you can embody both?" This duality creates a provocative tension that is central to the brand's allure. The message speaks to individuals who refuse to be boxed into one identity—those who straddle worlds of tradition and rebellion.

Tagline: "Be Bold, or Be Background."

Core Idea: Fashion is not just about appearance; it is a declaration of power, presence, and legacy.

Target Audience: Disruptors, tastemakers, and those unafraid to walk into a room and command it.

The Visual Identity

The visual identity of Dangerous LuXXX is a juxtaposition of ancient splendor and modern edge. Every design choice reflects a symbolic rebellion against uniformity. This aesthetic is rooted in contrast—bold colors, lavish textures, and strong silhouettes that evoke themes of dominance, rebellion, and royalty.

Primary Elements:

Colors: Deep black (power, mystery), blood red (passion, rebellion), and molten gold (royalty, triumph).

Textures: Velvet (soft strength), silk (elegance in motion), and leather (streetwise protection).

Symbols: Chains (breaking free of restraint), Greco-Roman drapery (divine legacy), asymmetry (nonconformity).

The Emotional Meaning

On an emotional level, Dangerous LuXXX represents the empowerment of the self. Wearing the brand is more than wearing clothes—it's donning armor for the modern age. The wearer is transformed into a living symbol of confidence, fearlessness, and unrelenting ambition.

Emotional Themes:

Defiance: Against tradition, limitation, and monotony.

Empowerment: Through luxury and self-expression.

Royalty: Positioning oneself as not just a participant in fashion but a ruler of it.

The Brand's Philosophy

The philosophy of Kieth Alexander Luxxx is one of "Craft as Combat." Drawing from influences like Kevin Hall's refinement and Todd Hallman’s Hellenistic sculptural techniques, the brand positions its garments as more than fabric—they are art in motion. Each fold, cut, and hem tells a story of rebellion against mediocrity.

Philosophical Tenets:

Every stitch is a stance.

Every fold is a story.

Every look is a legend.

Cultural Positioning

Dangerous LuXXX exists in a space where legacy meets future—a tribute to classical elegance but rooted in streetwear's raw, unfiltered energy. This balance appeals to cultural innovators and fashion historians alike.

Brand's Position in Culture:

Positioned alongside avant-garde labels like Rick Owens, Balenciaga, and Off-White, but with an even more regal, narrative-driven focus.

Recognized as part of a "New American Renaissance" in fashion, where designers reclaim heritage, mythology, and rebellion to create new, globally resonant aesthetics.

The Mythos

Dangerous LuXXX builds a mythos around itself. It’s not just a fashion label—it’s a movement, a story, and a legend in the making. The Hellenistic references, the chains, the gold, and the fierce modernity all converge into a world where fashion is a battleground, and the brave are crowned.

Summary

Dangerous LuXXX by Kieth Alexander Luxxx is more than a fashion brand—it's a philosophy of power, rebellion, and royalty. Its message is simple yet profound: Wear luxury, command respect. Wear rebellion, seize freedom. The garments are vessels for that message, allowing the wearer to embody their own legend. Through iconic colors, regal drapery, and fierce asymmetry, Dangerous LuXXX stands as a visual testament to those who lead, not follow.

If you'd like, I can generate a visual representation of this message, incorporating the brand's symbols, colors, and emotional impact.

Illustrating the Message and Meaning of 'Dangerous LuXXX'

The essence of 'Dangerous LuXXX' lies at the intersection of opulence, rebellion, and legacy. It is a brand that dares to challenge conventional fashion narratives, fusing the grandeur of classical art with the grit of modern street culture. Below is a conceptual breakdown of the brand's core message and meaning:

The Message: "Luxury is Power, Rebellion is Freedom."

At its heart, Dangerous LuXXX symbolizes the pursuit of personal sovereignty through self-expression. It asks, "Why choose between luxury and street style when you can embody both?" This duality creates a provocative tension that is central to the brand's allure. The message speaks to individuals who refuse to be boxed into one identity—those who straddle worlds of tradition and rebellion.

Tagline: "Be Bold, or Be Background."

Core Idea: Fashion is not just about appearance; it is a declaration of power, presence, and legacy.

Target Audience: Disruptors, tastemakers, and those unafraid to walk into a room and command it.

The Visual Identity

The visual identity of Dangerous LuXXX is a juxtaposition of ancient splendor and modern edge. Every design choice reflects a symbolic rebellion against uniformity. This aesthetic is rooted in contrast—bold colors, lavish textures, and strong silhouettes that evoke themes of dominance, rebellion, and royalty.

Primary Elements:

Colors: Deep black (power, mystery), blood red (passion, rebellion), and molten gold (royalty, triumph).

Textures: Velvet (soft strength), silk (elegance in motion), and leather (streetwise protection).

Symbols: Chains (breaking free of restraint), Greco-Roman drapery (divine legacy), asymmetry (nonconformity).

The Emotional Meaning

On an emotional level, Dangerous LuXXX represents the empowerment of the self. Wearing the brand is more than wearing clothes—it's donning armor for the modern age. The wearer is transformed into a living symbol of confidence, fearlessness, and unrelenting ambition.

Emotional Themes:

Defiance: Against tradition, limitation, and monotony.

Empowerment: Through luxury and self-expression.

Royalty: Positioning oneself as not just a participant in fashion but a ruler of it.

The Brand's Philosophy

The philosophy of Kieth Alexander Luxxx is one of "Craft as Combat." Drawing from influences like Kevin Hall's refinement and Todd Hallman’s Hellenistic sculptural techniques, the brand positions its garments as more than fabric—they are art in motion. Each fold, cut, and hem tells a story of rebellion against mediocrity.

Philosophical Tenets:

Every stitch is a stance.

Every fold is a story.

Every look is a legend.

Cultural Positioning

Dangerous LuXXX exists in a space where legacy meets future—a tribute to classical elegance but rooted in streetwear's raw, unfiltered energy. This balance appeals to cultural innovators and fashion historians alike.

Brand's Position in Culture:

Positioned alongside avant-garde labels like Rick Owens, Balenciaga, and Off-White, but with an even more regal, narrative-driven focus.

Recognized as part of a "New American Renaissance" in fashion, where designers reclaim heritage, mythology, and rebellion to create new, globally resonant aesthetics.

The Mythos

Dangerous LuXXX builds a mythos around itself. It’s not just a fashion label—it’s a movement, a story, and a legend in the making. The Hellenistic references, the chains, the gold, and the fierce modernity all converge into a world where fashion is a battleground, and the brave are crowned.

Summary

Dangerous LuXXX by Kieth Alexander Luxxx is more than a fashion brand—it's a philosophy of power, rebellion, and royalty. Its message is simple yet profound: Wear luxury, command respect. Wear rebellion, seize freedom. The garments are vessels for that message, allowing the wearer to embody their own legend. Through iconic colors, regal drapery, and fierce asymmetry, Dangerous LuXXX stands as a visual testament to those who lead, not follow.

If you'd like, I can generate a visual representation of this message, incorporating the brand's symbols, colors, and emotional impact.