#more............... on the way!!! not satisfied with the background but eh these all have brief backgrounds

[zeroarmsgrani]

digimon huecember no. 10 — psychemon

:]

[kindahoping4forever]

Feedback // Ashton Irwin

I've been sitting on this fic for a minute so thank you to everyone who's patiently waited for me to post it (shoutout to Sly)! This story was really just me getting inspired and clowning after Ashton's "Down To Earth" IG stream back in April. As always, thanks to @cal-puddies for the invaluable guidance as I tried to pare my writing style down into a pwp format (try being the operative word, 3500 words is still the best we could do lmao).

Warnings: Distracted Boyfriend!Ash, oral sex on a male, moderately rough unprotected sex (on the red leather couch) including mild dirty talk, brief choking and a spank or two.

Word Count: 3535

Masterlist // Ko-Fi and New 2021 Taglist linked above

Let  me  know  what  you  think!

"Baby! I didn't know you were home!"

You turn around to see Ashton in the doorway of the bedroom, voice as cheerful as the yellow beanie covering his head.

"Didn't hear you come in," he comments, walking over to you.

You slide your arms around your boyfriend’s neck with a sigh. "Rushed up here, phone was about two seconds from shutting off," you explain, greeting him with a tender kiss.

He watches as you kick off your shoes and yank your bra off under your shirt, tossing everything haphazardly in the direction of the closet before flinging yourself on the bed. "Tough day?"

You groan, dragging your hands over your face before extending your arms, encouraging him to join you. “Eh, not great and very long,” you report, giving a satisfied sigh when Ash climbs on the bed and immediately pulls you on top of him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You do the same and the both of you lay quietly in this prone embrace for several peaceful moments before you break the silence. “How about you, how was your day?”

You feel him shrug under your body. “Can’t complain,” is his simple reply.

“Make anything cool?” You prompt, knowing he’s being low-key because he thinks you need to chill out, not realizing nothing relaxes you more than listening to him talk about his passions.

“Hmm… anything cool...” Ash giggles, hugging you closer. “I dunno, got a good start goin’ on this one track that could be pretty cool, got a nice vibe.”

You raise your head up to look at him and scratch your fingers across his beard, you’re so glad he decided to let it grow again. “Yeah? Tell me more.”

He hums as you continue to rub his face. “Only been at it for a couple hours, ‘s just a track for now, we’ll see what I can do with it,” he breezes, moving your hand from his face to his mouth so he can kiss it.

“Well, whenever you feel like you need a fresh pair of ears, I’d love to hear it,” you enthuse, moving to lay at his side.

He turns to give you a bright grin. “Yeah? A little in-house focus group?” He teases, leaning in for a sweet kiss that starts to get needy the longer it goes on.

You pull off his hat, running your fingers through his long hair as he moves to kiss along your neck. “Don’t know if you know this but I’m a big fan of your work,” you tease back.

He kisses your lips again, biting a bit as he pulls away to quip, “We talking ‘bout my music or something else?”

You giggle, deciding that indulging this frisky mood is exactly how you would like to unwind tonight. You inch closer, pulling him back into a kiss and he responds eagerly, hand coming up to massage at the base of your neck like it always does. For the next few minutes, the only thoughts in your mind revolve around Ashton, how he feels, how he tastes and where you need his mouth or hands on you next.

When you let out a moan at the way his fingers are gripping your skin under your shirt and he doesn’t press himself against you in response, you can tell he’s gotten distracted. You laugh knowingly against his lips, “You’re back to thinking about that song now, aren’t you?”

He looks at you with a sheepish smile. “I was actually still workin’ and came up here just to grab a hoodie when I found you.”

You playfully push him off of you, shaking your head. “Dude, you should’ve told me! You know I’m not one to fuck with The Process,” you admonish, scrunching your nose up at the trail of kisses he pecks over your face as he sits up.

“Nah, my brain needed a break and my girl needed me, it worked out perfectly,” he insists, rubbing your arm affectionately before getting off the bed.

He quickly fishes his desired sweatshirt out of the closet and pulls it on over his t-shirt, mussing his hair even more than you already had. He walks back over, ready to kiss you goodbye when you sit up on your knees to stop him. “I was serious about giving it a listen if ya want,” you say, smoothing his hair down before resting your hands on top of his inside his hoodie pocket. “If you’re not ready that’s fine but just FYI I‘m interested.”

Ash grins at you, squeezing your hands before using them to pull you to your feet. “Aww, you know you’re my fave audience, baby,” he gushes, reaching to grab his hat off the bed. “Let’s go give it a spin.”

“Well. As much as you can ‘spin’ a computer file,” you mutter, trying to annoy him just because it’s fun.

As you head for the door, you hear him snort behind you a split second before he grabs you, sliding his beanie on your head far enough to cover your eyes; you burst into giggles as he playfully bumps into you, passing you in the hallway. “Smart ass,” he grumbles, voice still smiling.

Ash makes it down to the basement first and starts clicking on files and flicking switches, excited to play his work for you. You stop at the foot of the stairs and survey the room with wonder. Multiple guitars - electric, acoustic, bass, 12-string - are strewn across the room, cables run from his computer to the adjacent room where he houses his drums, food delivery containers line the coffee table; he’s clearly been down here since you left this morning.

While he sets up, you make yourself useful, setting the guitars back in their racks, stacking the food trash; when you’re done, you start to drag a chair over to the computer when you notice he’s staring at you like you’ve grown an extra head.

“What are ya mad at me or somethin’?” He scoffs, patting his legs and looking at you expectantly.

You smirk and take a seat in his lap, watching closely as his long fingers fly over the keyboard, hand adeptly working the mouse, making a few final adjustments to the track. You hear a quiet “there we go” under his breath and then he’s settling in, pulling you back against him and rubbing over your thighs as you wait for the song to begin.

It’s a simple demo so far - layered background vocals, drum and bass, some synth, a little guitar line here and there - but he’s right, it’s definitely a vibe. You’re pleased that his reflection is visible in the computer screen, you love seeing him grooving behind you, pursing his lips and nodding his head along to the beat as you feel his fingers tapping along on your waist while he holds you close.

The track is short and before he can even ask your opinion, you tell him to play it again; his face lights up at your request and he proudly complies. When it finishes this time, you shift to look at him and smile. “That’s wild you did that all yourself and in such a short amount of time,” you marvel. “See, I was right, you did do something cool.”

Ashton laughs, kissing the side of your head as he leans forward to reach the keyboard. “You think so? Well, what’s really cool is this…” He starts clicking around again, isolating the different elements and revealing which sounds are electronic and which are live instruments, which section he thinks he’ll write lyrics over tomorrow, where he’s thinking of pasting in more guitar.

You respond when appropriate but mostly you just listen intently, watching fondly as he animatedly details his thought process; this is why you offered to come down here with him, this is the best part about being his “fave audience.” You love his music but more than that, you love how much he loves his music.

He stops mid-explanation of a section to tinker with it, clearly having a brainstorm right in front of you. You curl into his chest, observing quietly as he cycles through effects and begins stacking tracks. He chews his lip, deep in thought as he lets the song play again and you can't help but press a few kisses to his jaw.

Ash continues his work and you continue yours, moving from his jaw to his neck; your kisses eventually become more heated, with you adding tongue and even teeth to the equation. You suck his earlobe into your mouth, wiggling his earring with the tip of your tongue and finally he pulls away, chuckling, "Baby, come on."

You shrug, playing with his hair. "I just love watching you work."

He laughs, "Then goddamn, baby, let me work!" He growls as you nip at his throat and you smile to yourself because you can tell he's already rethinking his request.

"Seems like you shoulda thought about this before you invited a girl down to your basement to listen to some dreamy space pop alien makeout jam," you tease, relishing the feeling of his laughter vibrating his throat under your tongue.

"Can I get you to leave that review when this goes up on iTunes?" He cracks, finally turning his attention to you.

"I might be persuaded," you flirt, humming with victory as he pulls you into a hungry kiss.

Ashton wastes no time returning the affection you showed him, lips devouring yours, hands quickly making their way under your shirt to lazily massage your tits. You’re mid-moan, his fingers just about to make it inside your waistband when suddenly he’s pulling away.

It takes you a beat to realize what’s happened, your body confused by the sudden absence of his touch. You open your eyes to see him busy at the computer again and it’s so absurd to you, you have to laugh.

“Two minutes,” he says half-apologetically, half-distracted, squeezing your thigh but not taking his eyes off the screen.

You smirk to yourself, immediately aware of what your next move is. “Take as long as you need, baby. When genius strikes, you gotta go for it,” you state ominously, not that he notices. Nor does he notice you sliding yourself off his lap and onto the floor between his legs.

You run your hands up and down his thick thighs before letting your touch wander to the front of his jeans, palming over his crotch, happy to find that at least part of him was interested in your makeout session. You can’t decide if you’re more amused or annoyed by his focus but it’s not until your hand is on his cock, freeing him from his pants that he tears himself away from his project.

“Excuse me, ma’am, can I help you with something?”

You lock eyes with him as you stick your tongue out and dramatically lick your hand, coating your palm with saliva before giving his cock a tight squeeze and beginning to stroke him steadily. “I also had a genius idea I was just following through on,” you shrug. “Might take a little longer than two minutes, though, I’m a bit out of practice… my boyfriend’s been pretty busy.”

Ash giggles wildly, both at your joke and your audacity. “You’re crazy, I’m literally about to be done with… fuck…” His retort is interrupted by you, eyes still trained on his, licking long stripes up the sides of his cock, sucking gently at the head before licking your way back down.

“Go ahead and finish your work, baby, I’ll just keep busy until you’re done,” you insist, mischief in your eyes as you look up one last time before taking him into your mouth.

You hear a sharp inhale, a softly chuckled “fuckin’ ridiculous” and then finally, mouse clicks as he attempts to get back to it. You do your best to distract him, bobbing up and down enthusiastically, sucking loudly, humming around him, making sure he knows how much you’re enjoying your task.

It only takes a minute or so for him to get sidetracked by your efforts. “This is a shitty home demo I’ve spent all of 90 minutes on, there’s no way it’s so good you just had to have my cock right here and now,” he insists, struggling to keep his voice steady, not wanting you to hear how affected he is.

You pop off, gingerly playing with his balls as you zing back, “I dunno babe, you guys had plenty of shitty songs on your first album and from what I’ve heard, you did more than alright in the pussy department.”

Ashton’s laughter quickly turns to a strained moan as you slide back down on him, letting him hit the back of your throat. “My bad, didn’t realize I’d shacked up with a groupie,” he jokes. You silently congratulate yourself as you notice him flexing his hand into a fist, knowing he’s trying to keep himself from pressing down on your head.

You pull off him again, making sure to let the spit cascade from your mouth as you smugly reply, “Like I said before: big fan.” Before he can even think about responding, your mouth is back on him.

You’re not surprised he attempts to resume working again; you’re both stubborn, it’s a wonder anything ever gets resolved in your relationship. You can tell he’s trying his best to stay on task but the whispered curses under his breath give him away. As a last resort, he turns the volume on his speaker up a few more notches, hoping the track will drown out the exaggerated choking sounds you’re intent on making.

A few moments later, he reaches down and yanks his beanie off your head. “Fuckin’ bright yellow bouncing over my crotch is hard to ignore,” he grumbles. “All I see is my hat, looks like I’m suckin’ my own dick for all I know.”

You can’t resist continuing to rib him. “How is that not your greatest fantasy? Your favorite person giving you your favorite pleasure?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, did you want to blow me or roast me?”

You give him your brightest smile and reply, “Unlike you, I’m pretty good at multi-tasking.”

A brief cackle and a clipped “alright” are all you hear before you’re being hoisted up off the ground, thrown over Ash’s shoulder and carried over to the couch across the room. You squeal with surprise and delight as he unceremoniously dumps you on it, briskly strips you both of your clothes and promptly bends you over the red leather.

He nudges your knees further apart, pressing you against the back of the couch. “Of course you’re this fuckin’ wet already,” he teases, breath hot on your neck as he runs himself through your folds. “You think that’s from my cock down your throat or from you winding me up so much?”

Whatever clever comeback you’d thought up dies on the tip of your tongue because suddenly he’s sliding his cock inside you and now that’s all you can care about. You whine as he quickly establishes a vigorous pace, one hand bracing himself against the couch, the other reaching around you, down your torso to reach your clit. “How’s this for multi-tasking?”

A few breathless cries of his name are the best you can manage as he relentlessly plays with you, somehow in perfect rhythm with his rough thrusts, sending your whole body into sensory overload.

“Or how ‘bout this?” He growls, moving his hand from between your legs to your throat, fingers offering just the slightest amount of pressure, knowing it’ll drive you crazy wondering if and when he’ll add more. “Don’t got any more funny jokes for me, baby?”

You moan at his taunting, placing a hand on top of his on your neck, trying to get him to squeeze harder; he refuses and his denial makes you moan even louder. "Jesus, Ash," you pant, pushing back against him to egg him on. “Feels so fucking good.”

You're so caught up that you don't even notice his song is still playing over the speakers until a few moments later when Ashton suddenly pulls out of you, muttering to himself as he grabs the remote from the coffee table and shuts the music off.

Confused, you look back and see him amusedly shaking his head. "Yes, I was still producing that in my head, don’t start," he giggles.

You fall back on the couch, laughing in disbelief. “We’ve gotta get you some hobbies, buddy, that’s insane.”

He snickers, laying you on your back and settling on the couch behind you, pulling your leg over his hip. “I don’t think fucking you counts as a hobby,” he jokes, gripping his cock and slipping it back inside you.

“Not with that attitude,” you quip, a little more breathlessly than you meant to but with how slowly Ash is rocking into you, you can’t help it.

You tilt towards him, angling yourself to pull his mouth down to yours; you’re feeling overwhelmed and you need him close. His tongue traces over your lips, his kiss the familiar reassurance you need in this moment. “Ash…” You whimper quietly, closing your eyes and savoring the feel of his beard grazing your skin.

“I know, baby, me too,” he soothes, cradling you tighter against him. His hips begin to pick up speed and his hand moves to knead your breasts and tug at your nipples before travelling further down.

Ashton rubs slow, tight circles on your clit, stopping to give your thigh a light smack when you start raising your hips a little too eagerly, bucking up in an attempt to get him to move at a speed more to your liking. You moan first at the realization that he’s going to keep teasing you like this and then again, louder, at the sharp slap of his palm that once again comes down on your skin.

“You’ve got a nice tone tonight, baby, I should get you to lay down some vocals for this track,” he jokes, choking back a moan of his own when your surprised laughter causes you to clench around his length.

You chuckle smugly at him, “Not so funny all of a sudden, huh?”

You feel yourself getting closer so you start rolling your hips along with his, murmuring at the feeling of him deep inside you; you grind against his hand playing between your legs and as he finally amps up the pace, your release becomes closer and closer to reality. Your breathing syncs with his in a needy, staccato rhythm that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in his song.

“Is this what you wanted?” He huffs out. Typically when he asks you that while he’s buried in you, there’s a tone of arrogance or punishment behind it but right now as he holds you, your sounds continuing to meld together, it couldn’t feel farther from that.

“Yes, Ash, god yes…” you breathe, reaching to hold onto him as your orgasm overtakes you.

Ashton keeps driving his cock inside you, whining slightly at the feeling of you pulsing around him. You cry out, not realizing how loud or long your moans are until you hear his voice in your ear, gently lulling you back down.

He’s still moving inside you, hips beginning to stutter and when you hear his breath catch, you know he’s there. You tuck yourself into him, cooing, “Come on, Ash... fill me up, babe.” Three strokes later and he’s pumping his cum inside you, gasping your name. He slows his movements, heavy breath underscored by a contented hum as you caress his bearded cheek.

He leans in and kisses you passionately, completely enveloping you, possibly your favorite feeling in the world. He exhales loudly and keeps holding you, kissing over your face tenderly.

You giggle as he indulges for a moment before reluctantly pulling away, reaching for the takeout napkins on the coffee table; he attentively cleans you up and quickly settles back onto the couch, pulling you on top of him.

You lay together, blissed out, while you play with the necklace hanging down on his chest and he strokes over your hair.

“Hey, sorry I gave you such a hard time,” you smile. “Didn’t realize how much I wanted your attention until I didn’t have it anymore.”

He looks at you, amused. “Honestly didn’t notice you acting any differently.”

You jab his side. “Also sorry I talked shit about your first album, I do actually like it quite a bit.”

Ash cackles, tracing designs on your back. “Oh good, I was worried that was going to be what finally drives us apart,” he cracks.

You snicker, nuzzling your head into his chest. You enjoy a few quiet moments together before he begins softly humming an unfamiliar melody and you smile, knowing his creative wheels are turning again.

You lift your head up again to offer one last apology. “I’m sorry I once again disrupted The Process.”

Ashton laughs mischievously, running his hands down your body. “I mean… overall I’d say this was some pretty valuable feedback.”

————-

Thank you to everyone who has signed up for the taglist, both for the support and the lovely (occasionally hilarious) feedback! If you haven’t signed up yet, the form is linked above! (If you signed up and your name is crossed out or not listed, I was unable to tag you, please check your blog settings and either re-sign up or send me a message letting me know you allow mentions now) @notinthesameguey @cxddlyash @2fangirl4u @cashtonasfuck @talkfastromance4 @itjustkindahappenedreally @saywhatnow07 @mymindwide @suchalonelysunflower @pxrxmoore @findingliam-o @fedorable-killjoys @trix-arent-for-kids @olivia-foster-irwin @saphseoul @calmsweetcreature @onthecliffside-mgc @feliznavidaddycal @himbohood @maggiesupertramp @wiiildflowerrr @karajaynetoday @ashtonangst @sunshineeashton @aladyofalbion @youngblood199456 @xsongbirdx @loveroflrh @fairytrice @calumrose @irwindoll @polycashton @in-superbloom

[bibbawrites]

Birthday Boy - Charlie Gillespie x Reader (SMUT 18+)

Request: birthday smut for charlie // sex in a pool or bathtub with Charlie

Word Count: 1827 words

Summary: It’s Charlie’s birthday and to celebrate you book a weekend away in a hotel for the two of you, and you’re determined to make it the best weekend away ever

Warnings: smut (duh), swearing, dirty talk, shower sex, skinny dipping, dick riding, unprotected sex (always use protection!!)

A/N: I think I might do a part two of this one, i have a couple of ideas that work well with a request so let me know if you’re interested in a part 2 sorry for any errors, it’s currently 4am and i’m half asleep but i wanted to get this out asap :) 

also this is kinda a double smut lol enjoy! 

“Oh no way, we have our own private pool!” Charlie exclaimed as the two of you entered the suite you would be calling home for the next two days. 

It was Charlie’s birthday the following day, and as a present to him you booked a weekend holiday at the fanciest hotel you could afford, so that the two of you could have some one on one bonding and relaxing time. 

“I thought it would be nice for a late night swim.” You replied, winking at him. He smirked, clearly understanding what you were implying. 

“It’s a good thing I brought my swimmers along then.” Charlie said, placing his bag onto the bed. “Although by the look on your face I probably won’t be needing them.” 

You laughed. 

“It’s a private pool Char. The perfect opportunity for a bit of skinny dipping.” You copied his movements of placing your bag on the bed. “Now, should we unpack and have a quick shower before going to eat dinner? It seems like it’s getting late.” 

You checked the time on your phone. Almost 5pm already. 

“That sounds like a plan. I can book us somewhere for dinner while you shower if you want?” Charlie suggested. You rolled your eyes. 

“I meant shower together.” You said, putting emphasis on the word together. 

“Oh, well, in that case.” Charlie took a step towards you, grabbing onto your waist and pulling you flush against his body. “We better unpack quickly then.” 

His breath was hot on your lips and your heart skipped a beat. Even though you and Charlie had been together for almost three years, you never got used to the feeling of him being so close to you. Your eyes met his and you lent in, closing the gap between your lips, groaning slightly as Charlie bit on your bottom lip. 

“We have to unpack.” You managed to stutter out between kisses. Charlie pulled away, sighing quietly. 

“Fine.” 

 It took you less than ten minutes to unpack your clothes and pick out an outfit that was nice enough for dinner, but not too fancy. Armed with your toiletries and your outfit you headed into the small bathroom, smiling to yourself when Charlie followed, hot on your heels. 

You placed your clothes on the closed toilet lid, and your toiletries bag down on the bench, unzipping it to find your body wash, deciding to unpack the rest of the supplies later, before turning to Charlie. 

“So...” You began. He grinned, throwing his clothes on top of yours quickly, before pulling you back in, connecting your lips in a mess of slow and sensual kisses, bodies pressed against each other, quiet moans at the pleasure. 

Charlie pulled away to strip down, before turning the water in the shower on to hot, but not hot enough to burn the two of you. You followed his lead, pulling your own clothes off as Charlie wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning down to kiss and suck on your neck, surely leaving a mark that you would have to try to hide the next day. 

By this point the water was hot and you stepped into the shower cubicle, thankful that it was big enough for the both of you to fit in. 

“What do you want?” Charlie asked, taking a step forward as you took a small step back, your back pressing against the wall.

“I want you to touch me.” You whispered. Charlie nodded, connecting your lips again, his hands roaming your body, sending chills throughout your body despite the fact that you were standing under hot water.

You moaned into Charlie’s mouth, desperate for more contact. He pulled away with a cheeky grin.

“Now what?” He asked, his lips barely touching yours.

“Charlie.” You whined, and Charlie smirked, pulling your body flush against his, his hard dick rubbing against your leg, turning you on even more.

“Tell me what you want princess.” He whispered.

“You.” You replied, and before you knew what was happening Charlie had lifted you and pinned you against the wall.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, moaning at the feeling of his bare skin on yours.

“You want me to fuck you?” Charlie asked, his lips on your neck again.

“Please.” You managed to stutter out. In one swift movement Charlie shifted you so that his dick was lined up with your hole and you moaned. 

“Hurry up Charles.” You groaned and he grinned, sliding into you slowly. Once he was fully in he paused, giving you a moment to adjust. When you indicated that he was good to move he started thrusting slowly. 

You moaned, tangling your fingers through his wet hair and pulling his head down to kiss you as he thrusted. 

“God you feel good.” He murmured against your lips, causing your stomach to flutter. He sped up the pace, your kisses getting sloppier as the two of you reached your peaks. 

“I’m gonna...” You stuttered out. Charlie moaned. 

“Me too baby.” He replied. He lent his head down, biting into your shoulder which sent you over the edge. You came with a gasp, Charlie quickly following suit as your walls clenched around his dick, filling you up with his cum. 

Gently he pulled out of you and lowered you to the ground, and you grabbed onto him, your legs slightly shaky. You could feel his cum dripping down your inner thighs, which you tried to ignore, knowing the thought would turn you on again and you still had to have dinner. 

“We should probably shower, eh.” Charlie spoke softly and you nodded, not moving. Charlie grinned, reaching for your peppermint scented body wash, squeezing some onto his hands, before rubbing the soap all over your body. 

“I’m never gonna shower alone again.” You said as Charlie moved to let the water rinse the soap off you. 

“Lazy.” Charlie laughed and you fake gasped. 

“How dare you, I am not lazy. I just love having my gorgeous boyfriend do everything for me.” You retaliated. Charlie smiled, reaching for his own body wash and washing his body quickly before pulling you in for one last kiss. 

You reached past him and turned the water off, before stepping out of the shower and grabbing two towels, passing one to Charlie. 

You dried off and got dressed in silence, and when he was ready Charlie turned to you. 

“I’ll go find us somewhere to eat.” He told you and you nodded. He left the bathroom and you finished getting ready, applying a thin layer of foundation and a little bit of mascara and deciding that was good enough. You decided to let your hair air dry, not feeling like messing around with the hair dryer. 

Satisfied with your appearance you headed out of the bathroom to find Charlie sat on the bed, messing around on his phone. 

“Did you find somewhere?” You asked. He looked up, nodding. 

“There’s an Indian restaurant across the street that has really good reviews, and I called and they said we don’t need a reservation.” He told you. You grinned. 

“Sounds amazing, shall we go?” He nodded, and you quickly slipped on your shoes and grabbed your phone from the bed. Charlie held out his arm and you linked yours through it, and together you headed out for your dinner. 

Later that night the two of you were curled up on the bed, a movie playing quietly in the background. You glanced towards the pool, an idea forming in your head. 

“Hey Char...” You started, and he looked up, his eyes meeting yours. 

“What’s up?” He asked. You bit your lip. 

“Wanna go for a swim?” His eyes lit up, and he nodded, watching as you stood up and pulled your pyjamas off, leaving you completely naked. 

“Come on.” You said, walking across the room and outside to the pool and stepping in. “The water’s fine.” 

Charlie hopped out of bed, pulling his tracksuit pants off, leaving him naked too, as he hurried outside to join you. He slipped into the pool next to you, sitting down on the step in the water and you grinned. 

“By the way...” You started, glancing at the large clock on the wall. You paused for a moment before continuing. “Happy birthday.” 

Charlie grinned, pulling you in for a gentle kiss. After a moment you pulled away, a cheeky smirk on your face. 

“Do you want your present now?” You asked, biting down on your lip again. His eyes darkened with lust as he nodded. You climbed on top of him, straddling his lap and lent in to kiss him. 

Your lips connected and you instantly felt at home, bodies pressed against each other, a mess of wandering hands and tongues. You ran your hands through Charlie’s hair and he moaned. 

“Wanna ride you.” You muttered against his lips and he nodded, capturing your lips in another heated kiss. He bit at your bottom lip and you moaned, allowing him access to slip his tongue into your mouth again. You shifted slightly, the both of you gasping at the sensation of your crotches brushing together. 

“Can I ride you now?” You asked and he nodded, helping you get into position. You gasped as you sunk down on him, your body adjusting to having Charlie in you for a second time within a few hours. 

After a brief pause you slowly lifted yourself up before dropping back down onto his cock, the two of you moaning in unison. 

“Fuck princess.” Charlie gasped. You repeated your actions. 

“Gonna make you feel good on your birthday Char.” You told him as you began to bounce steadily on his dick. He placed his hands on your hips, helping you set a quicker pace. 

“I love it when you ride me.” Charlie said, his eyes watching your boobs as they bounced. You grinned, speeding up again, watching his face for any of the tell tale signs that he was about to cum. His eyes fluttered shut at the pleasure and your stomach knotted up. 

“I’m close baby.” He warned, and you sped up again, water splashing around you. You lent closer to him, your lips grazing his ear. 

“You can cum for me Char, I want you to fill me up with you hot cum all over again.” You whispered and he moaned, releasing inside of you. The feeling of his cum filling you up was enough to send you over the edge, cumming all over his dick as you rode out your orgasms. You lifted your hips up one last time, sliding off his dick but staying in your position in his lap. 

“Happy birthday Charlie, I love you.” You whispered, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“I love you too.” He replied, wrapping his arms around you. 

And there you stayed for the next few hours, just enjoying the skin to skin contact and the intimate feeling of each other.

[pretty-face-breaker]

Maybe Not Now

During Pavel’s daily torment of him, Emir sees something in him that he hadn’t seen before.

c.w. military whump, sadistic whumper, forced exercise as punishment, insults, degrading language, captivity, alluding to death as an alternative to torture

 —

“That’s all for now, soldaty. Back to your dorms and make it neat,” General Levkin called. 

With a raise of his palm, collective relief could be heard above the fading grunts. Men rose from the field and dusted their palms on their trousers, snatching up their rifles. Twenty of them clicked sharply as they swung over various shoulders. Some grabbed a drink of water they had been meaning to get for hours as clouds swept over the barren training grounds. 

The drills of the day were over. 

As the soldiers filed after one another, murmuring too fast and foreign to be kept up with, Emir followed behind with a dry throat. His arms ached. He could hardly remember making that many mistakes in his basic training or what were supposedly called mistakes by Stanislav Levkin’s eye. He always seemed to catch him doing something wrong. Inaccurate aim. Sloppy position. Poor posture. 

But he had taken the admonitions, the hits and laps, nodded obediently, straightened his back or concentrated harder on his aim. He didn’t feel like fighting the corrections in front of fifty others and with the amount of sleep hardly managed each night, he didn’t doubt some were his fault. That, and for other reasons. Emir winced as a now clear head focussed on the burning in his bicep. 

The place Pavel had rubbed the salt earlier that week. 

Maybe yes, sir-ing his way through the drills had been also to spare his throat from overexerting itself more than he had torn in, wailing wordlessly among laughter and pleading in broken Russian to a man who likely hadn’t heard the word in his life. Emir grimaced and, feeling a bump of a body behind him, sped up to climb the stairs. Until he felt a hand pulling him aside. 

“Not so fast. Hey, you.” Pavel grinned as he pulled him from formation and back down the steps.

Emir froze and his hand shot to his collar, trying to keep his balance. “Podozhdite—” But Pavel wasn’t one to wait and pulled him fiercely until he tripped on the rocks, barely catching himself on the stone railing. Humiliated, he straightened up glaring. Pavel’s leer was ever present with that same colour of resentment, his eyes cold and devising. 

The taller man chuckled. “Did you even complete your recruit training? With how today went, I thought Stas was going to pin you to that target.”

Emir swallowed, trying not to dignify that with a response. 

Pavel’s face darkened in silence. “Follow me then get on the fucking ground. I’m not done with you.” 

His heart slammed in his throat as he followed without a word, feeling his fingertips grow cold as the group’s noises faded. With each moment, he pushed his feet further to the edges of the terrain where voices ended and the forest began and each step felt harder to take, the closer those trees got. He sucked in a quiet breath when Pavel stopped. 

“Drop. Feet together.” 

Emir obeyed, falling tense to the pushup form, and dug his nails into the earth for a brief moment, just to feel the cool of the grass, to ground himself. Once, he let his lungs expand with a breath and plunged. Pavel didn’t have to say a word for him to begin and he figured he could save him the trouble. Save it for himself too so he wouldn’t have to pay for it later again. 

He bent his elbows, breathing evenly and keeping them tracking alongside his body, until his chest dipped just below the angle of each elbow, then pushed back up, expelling the air. Slow, controlled so his throat wouldn’t burn like it had last time. His eyes were fixed on the trees across from him, the endless stretch of wood and darkness that he watched from his bed sometimes. 

It reminded him of the trip he had taken years ago, camping with his cousins after having convinced his mother that he would bring a gun and that everything would go well. Even now, he remembered the distaste in her head shake and the veiled worry in her tone as she had thrown up a hand in defeat. 

Fine, abni, but if you get mauled by a bear, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

A smile graced his mouth. It was like he was hardly there anymore. Though a few reps more and he felt a shift in breathing as Pavel sunk down onto the log next to him. 

“Feel like this has gotten easier for you. A hundred and fifty reps, nothing, eh?” He chuckled and patted him on the shoulder with enough force that Emir briefly swayed. “Fast learner. You don’t piss me off as much.”

“Then why do you keep hurting me?” Emir asked coolly. His jaw tightened a bit, hearing the huff. As if the question was a challenge. 

“Because you’re fun to hurt. You make fun noises, give me—all of us—a good time.” 

Pavel’s eye caught a nearby stone and he tapped on his knee thoughtfully as Emir plunged into another graceful pushup. The leer he wore quickly grew crooked and he revelled in the tiny spark of fear that stuttered Emir’s breathing. Hearing it was always wonderful because it meant the little shit was listening to him and on his toes more often than he had been. 

“I noticed your back was all fucked up,” Pavel admitted, reaching for the rock which could have easily been five pounds, “when we changed.” 

Emir’s eyes stayed frozen on the hollow of a nearby tree. His chest was beginning to burn with the onset of faint panic but he was surprised as it wasn’t his fiftieth repetition yet where the burning usually started. “Is that new?” 

The pressure of the rock came fully and at once into the small of his back and he jerked and tightened into a plank. He couldn’t move for a few seconds, realizing Pavel’s intention. 

“You haven’t finished. Keep going or the next one goes into your head.” 

Admittedly, the next few repetitions of the pushup were only slightly less comfortable, just a tinge less familiar with the weight on his spine and he felt his elbows wobble only the slightest amount. Still, Emir persisted. He had gone no more than ten before the next rock, larger this time, sat in front of the first. Hearing Pavel’s snicker, a silent rage caved in his chest. 

“You just had to fall into my hands, huh?” he laughed, patting the ground for another. “Unlucky bastard.” 

Emir was beginning to feel the onset of exhaustion seeping into an already worn body. He knew if he collapsed, Pavel would have something to say about it, presumably with his shoe. He winced and exhaled on the wrong motion, had to pause for a moment and focus his breathing before the next plunge and all while ignoring the wry laughter of the man next to him. 

“At least I’m not dead,” he muttered. 

Pavel stirred before he was about to lay the third rock on the next few ridges of his spine. At first, he scoffed off the response but didn’t resume the motion. He stayed silent for a few moments, letting Emir dip into the next less-than-graceful pushup and watched a bead of sweat roll down his dark temple. Something akin to cynical admiration passed across his eyes.

“You’d rather be alive, here?”  

This time, Emir stopped too. He kept his eyes forward, trained as usual, but too long had passed for it to feel like Pavel’s routine. His gaze gradually flickered over to the green eyes and tan skin beside him that so typically fixed him like prey, now staring at him in annoyed curiosity. “Yeah,” he admitted. 

The trees rustled softly in the background, dampening the mechanics from the camp as if they were unpleasant, fading memories. 

“You’re an idiot.” Pavel let the stone go and smirked to himself at the wince but it was less self-satisfied. “For getting caught and for thinking this is going to be better.”

“My pilot got shot and we crashed directly in front of you,” Emir grumbled, feeling a pulling need to defend his honour and that of his late pilot’s. “Didn’t get caught.” He glanced at Pavel warily and breathed out, seeing no brimming violence under his expression. “Besides, I-I have a family at home to think about.” 

The green eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re not going home.” 

He swallowed, not quite yielding. “Maybe not now.” 

“Maybe not ever.” 

Emir waited in silence for a minute more, saying little besides the soft, stuttering breaths that whistled in unison with the pines, gull calls, and the dirt twisting under Pavel’s shoe. He sensed it was an exercise to relieve boredom with how often he did it. He didn’t want to think about what Pavel had just said.

He thought about it too often, already. 

Slowly, he exhaled and pushed down again under the weight of three rocks, elbows bending alongside his body, and inhaled like it would be his last breath on his—shit, he had lost count. He mechanically continued, hoping that at a certain point, Pavel would stop him and let him go when he had fulfilled the day’s quota of entertainment but then, froze completely upon realizing that it had always been his responsibility to count. 

Pavel noticed his uncertainness. “What? You lost count or something?” 

Emir did nothing for a minute before lapsing into silent despair and nodding. What was the worst he could do, really? Kick him in the ribs? Big fucking whoop. He waited for the blow anyways, feeling that it would be a welcome relief to the incessant burning in his arms that threatened to have his entire body give out at that moment and crash to the ground onto that asshole’s boot. 

But in the meantime, Pavel had been quiet and uncharacteristically thoughtful. 

“Get up,” he ordered. “That’s enough.” He pushed himself up from the log and stretched to the clouds, wincing himself at the unwise angle he had been slouching in since Emir had begun the exercise. “Go back to your dorm and don’t let me see you again today.” 

Too stunned to move, Emir fixed him with a fearful look until he realized it was a serious order. He could have let himself fall to the ground and really, it was tempting. To lay there and let the exhaustion seep into the dirt but Pavel’s patience already seemed stick-thin and he didn’t want to push today’s generosity. He rolled to let the rocks fall off and bolted to standing, starting his journey back to the camp. When he turned for Pavel’s approval, the man wasn’t moving. 

His eyebrows pricked up. “Maybe not now,” he muttered. “Idiot.”  

Tagging: @straight-to-the-pain @heathenville

 Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!

[crispycrimebrulee]

🎄25 Days of HXH: Day 6: Hisoka x Christmas Cookies🎄

A/N: The recipe used is an actual recipe, and you can follow it as it’s descripted, but of course, I’ll link the recipe for Sugar Cookies here!

Christmas music played faintly in the background as you swept pine needles from the living room floor of your apartment, allowing you to sway slightly as you created a small pile. You’d made it your business to buy a real Christmas tree this year, although you’d forgotten about the mess it creates on the floor. I was a small price to pay for the gentle scent of pine and Christmas wafting through your apartment. Not only had you gotten a real Christmas tree, you’d gone all out decorating your apartment for the holidays, hanging up stockings on the window sill, stringing lighting on the mini balcony, lining the windows with lights, everything was stunningly festive and you couldn’t help but feel giddy looking at it all. O Tannenbaum by Vince Guaraldi

Taglist: @to-move-on-means-to-grow , @lifescreams27, @twistedsmth​, @weeb-chick-181920​, @dukinaxael​ @yep-seeyalaterbranflakes @my-child-gaara @absolute-flaming-trash

You’d been taking the time to do the classic holiday activities as often as possible, seeing as you hadn’t been able to much in the past. You’d even drag Hisoka along when he wasn’t fighting in Heavens Arena, and he took quite a liking to it. You’d spent a lot of time going out and seeing sights in the city, from giant trees to some shows (which he could barely sit through), you finally suggested you do a home activity when he was free, he was all for it. You’d spent days coming up with ideas, none which sat right with either of you. However, when you suggested to Hisoka that you bake cookies, you were shocked at how delighted he was by the idea. You knew he had a sweet tooth, but you figured it was limited to candies and such and not so much baked goods. Before you could even ask him what cookie he liked, he’d already told you that the two of you would be making sugar cookies, and you really couldn’t tell him no with that twinkle in his eye. There was a genuine and pure happiness to the suggestion of cookies, sugar cookies no less, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more to it, or if he really had a craving for sugar cookies in general. In a sense of the latter, he really hadn't seemed like a sugar cookie type of guy. 

In the midst of pulling out ingredients for cookies and setting everything up, you heard your name from outside the door, followed by knocking. Running to the door, you cracked it open and smiled, finding Hisoka on the other side returning your energy. In his hands were a box of candy canes, causing you to raise a brow and look between him and the box.

“An offering for sweet y/n,” leaning forward, shaking the box gently, “in hopes that they let me in~”

“Hmm,” feigning deep consideration as you eyed the box, “is this all you have to offer me?”

“You get me as well, angel face~”, playfully appealing to your consideration. 

“Well I’m sold!” you finally answered, opening the door wider for him to enter. 

You plucked the box from his hands and ran off to the kitchen with Hisoka in tow, taking his time in looking over the decorations in your apartment. Ignoring the kitchen, he walked over to your Christmas tree and plucked off a pine needle, rubbing it between his fingers. Poking some ornaments, he let out a dramatic sigh, causing you to poke your head around the corner.

“You decorated without meeeee.” he whined, although you couldn’t tell if he was genuinely hurt or not this time. 

“Well, you were busy beating people up, and you were never free, so…” you rolled your eyes as he pouted, stopping your sentence short.

“Making cookies will make up for it, right?” you suggested, nibbling at the end of a candy cane.

“Maybe,” he said, walking over and snapping the candy in the center and taking the other half for himself, “We’ll see~”

“Thief…” you murmured, jilted from being robbed of your candy cane.

“Oh come now, sharing is caring, y/n~” he quipped, winking at you.

Waving him off, you grabbed a bowl and set it down, placing your hands at your hips.

“Okay! So...we need flour first! Do you want--” you stopped looking at him, reading the mischief on his face-- “Y’know what, I’ll sift it.” You grabbed a strainer and a measuring cup, diving into the bag of flour.

“Aww do you not trust me? I’m hurt.” sighing as he came up behind you, fiddling with your hands.

“Hisokaaaaaa cut it out.” swatting as his hands as you scooped out more flour. 

“That’s quite a bit of flour, dollface…” he trailed off, seeming genuinely concerned by the amount of flour you were measuring out.

“Well it said three cups-”

“That’s a lot of cookies, love.” interrupting you as he peeked at your phone for the recipe.

“Eh? How many does it say?” leaning back to check as well.

“3 dozen. Who are you trying to feed, hm?” he pressed, poking at your cheek.

“You. Who else?”

“All for me? You spoil me, y/n~” chuckling as he peppered your face with kisses.

“Cookies now, kisses later.”

“Mmmm I’ll hold you to that, dove~” humming as he moved from behind you, grabbing the baking soda. Grabbing a teaspoon, he took out ¾ of a teaspoon of powder out and dumped it in the bowl, moving over some more to get the salt.

“You were supposed to sift that.” chastising him, watching him roll his eyes at you.

“I doubt it matters all that much,” dropping in a pinch of salt as he spoke to you, “it’s small after all~”

Grumbling, you pluck your phone from him and keep reading, figuring out what's next.

“A cup of sugar...hm.” picking up the measuring cup, you moved to find the sugar, seeing as you misplaced it.

“Go on, y/n, get in the bowl~” 

You stopped, letting the statement register. Squinting, you slowly turned to him.

“You’re not funny.”

“Mmmm but you didn’t say I was wrong~” he pointed out, smirking at you as you moved along. 

“Yeah yeah whatever...Where’s the sugar?” you stopped, scanning the counter.

“Well I did say get in the bowl…,” reminding you of his awful joke as he came closer, “but this can pass as a substitute if you’d like~” holding the bag of sugar, pouring it in the measuring cup for you.

You decided it would be a waste of breath asking him when he swindled your sugar and took the measuring cup and poured it through the sifter, careful to mix the dry ingredients when it was all in. Hisoka seemed to be step ahead of you as he grabbed the butter, an egg, a tablespoon of milk and vanilla extract, placing them in your stand mixer’s bowl and plugging it in. He almost seemed like a cat watching the stand mixer blades whir around, his eyes following with curious intensity. Feeling your stare, he locked eyes with you, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. 

“What’re you smiling at?” you ask, feeling bold.

“What’re you staring at, dollface~” 

“I asked first.”

“Mmmm but staring is rude.~”

“Ahh nevermind…”

Hisoka chuckled at your dismissal and sauntered over to grab the flour mixture and made an effort to start pouring.

“Hey hey hey. Don’t you dare make a mess.” stressing as some powder slid in the mixer, a small cloud puffing up as a result. 

“Of course of course~” he reassured, waving you off as he slowly added flour.

He was surprisingly careful with it, and particularly clean. Not once did flour mixture hit the table, and he was quite careful to do a little bit at a time. You came closer and watched him, allowing yourself to rest against his arm lightly enough that it didn’t disturb him. Seeming satisfied with the mixing job, he stopped the mixer and turned to you, running a finger across your jaw, adding enough pressure for you to face him properly.

“Happy?” he asked, tilting his head as he smiled.

“With?” 

He gestured to the stand mixer, still smiling. Unable to lie (since there really was no reason to) you nodded, and he patted your head as he sat down. You removed the sugar cookie dough and wrapped it, placed it in the fridge and sat next to Hisoka, allowing him to play with your hair quietly for a moment. 

“Is there a reason you like sugar cookies, Hiso?” you asked, looking at him.

For a brief moment, there was a far off look to him, a reason that tied to something else, deeper than just liking the sweet confection for the hell of it. He was thinking, reminiscing, remembering everything that made him hold that cookie close.

“Mmm...they’re perfect, really.” he sighed.

“Really?” you implored, giving him a side eye.

“Would I lie to you, y/n?” giving you a side eye back as he answered. 

You purse your lips and he chuckled as he leaned over to kiss your temple, moving down to your cheek. 

“Hisokaaaaa..” you whined, leaning away only to find yourself leaning into them.

“Kisses now, cookies later~” he countered your whine, reminding you of your promise.

“Well...it is a two hour wait-” you yelped as he scooped you up and walked over to the living room.

“Perfect~”

After 2 hours of Hisoka and his antics, light conversations about Christmas and Heaven’s Arena, the cookie dough was firm enough to be shaped, much to Hisoka’s delight. The first thing he did was rummage around for cookie cutters, and you couldn’t help but find him absolutely precious in a gentle way, although he never really had an innocence about him. He had a genuine happiness floating about him and it was contagious, allowing yourself to fall into his banter which ended up with the both of you in a fit of giggles at his flirtatious jokes, occasionally making him blush with some of your own. Flowing into cutting cookies into trees, stars, reindeers and whining about no tear drop cutter, you cut 36 cookies and set them to bake.

It’s rare that you get to see Hisoka so open and comfortable doing things as simple and domestic as this. You’d always seen him in the heat of a fight, smirking and firing of comments, proud and calculated. He was always so alert, ready for anything to come his way. Now, here in your kitchen as you decorate sugar cookies, smearing icing on each other, pouring way too many sprinkles on your cookies, and eating enough cookies that it’d be regrettable in a few hours was a wonderful new experience. You felt closer to him, seeing him enjoy himself in this fashion, watching him gush over sugar cookies this way. You may never know what that look from earlier meant, if there was a deeper meaning behind his love for sugar cookies, if there was a history behind it, or if he really did have a normal, natural love for them, but at this point, in the moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the scent of pine trees and sugar cookies riding on the notes of O Tannenbaum through your apartment and Hisoka spending a night with you making cookies, even if he was spilling sprinkles all over the floor. 

[capricornus-rex]

Someone Left to Save (9)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by Anon

Summary: The Mantis crew arrives to the capital of Ulfin, in the planet of Pevera, under siege. They meet the local rebel cell spearheaded by the former Republic admiral, Jax Beneb, who seeks to destroy the Empire’s occupation that was aggressively imposed upon while exploiting the planet of its natural resources. A plan is devised to destroy the Imperial’s main base of operations—as well as their influence—in the planet; however, it was a do-or-die mission that you and Cal had gotten yourselves caught in.

A/N: I’m trying to come up with ways on how to write and publish like I normally would. Good thing I have a few spare tech I can use!

Tags: Force-Sensitive! Reader, Inquisitor! Reader, Jedi! Reader, Fake Death, Jedi turned Inquisitor, Seduction to the Dark Side, Turn to the Dark Side, The Dark Side of the Force, Aftermath of Torture, Torture, Psychological Torture, Redemption Arc! Reader, Possible Redemption, Premonitions | Additional tags (also TW): Destructive habits, Depressed! Cal

Also in AO3

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6 – 7 | Previous: Part 8 | Next: Part 10 | Masterlist

9 of ?

The forgers at the Imperial armory fashioned your mask with a hybrid of square and triangular accents. Meanwhile, you donned the ash-gray ensemble that goes underneath your armor plates. In the set, you’re granted a pair of pauldrons, gauntlets, greaves to go with the calves of your pants, and a breastplate with a red stripe along at the hem. They all fitted like a glove.

The piece de resistance is all that’s left.

You watched the Imperial armor technician weld and solder the helmet until it morphed into their ideal, desired shape. Sparks flew, shimmered to light the room, and then die out almost instantly. Bit by bit, you’re starting to see his artistic vision realized.

“I do not discriminate. Newcomer or otherwise, I put a lot of attention to detail in all of my crafts,” the technician thought out loud, perhaps sensing your curiosity and worry that it might not look as good as the others.

“I’m sure you do, considering how many we are right now,”

“It doesn’t matter to me whether there’s dozens of you. I can make one unlike the other—always.”

He harrumphed a scoffing laugh as a response, taking pride in his declaration before continuing.

The armor technician has finished the shaping phase, next he lets it sit for a minutes before cooling it with vapor. You watched the whole process with great intent and curiosity, at the same time, it’s as though you’re watching your new face being created right in front of your very eyes.

He gingerly took the helmet in both of his hands, cradling it with an esteemed carefulness—treating it with royalty and high regard, for crafting an Inquisitor’s mask was a heavy yet rewarding task to complete. This particular forger was an expert crafter, he hand-designed and sculpted most if not all Inquisitors’ helmets and masks. Feeling the weight of yours in his hands, he carefully stepped away from his smelter and toward you; like a monarch’s crown, he presented it to you and inched it closer for you to take it.

“Twelfth Sister,” addressed the armorer.

The gloss of the duraplast once cooled distorted your reflection on its convex surface. A part of you doesn’t recognize this face, the other acknowledges it but doesn’t accept the reality—at least not yet.

From the armorer’s hand to yours, the helmet rests in its rightful owner’s grasp. You hoist it to the top of your head and then lowered it once you’ve aligned it. One moment, your eyes were shrouded by black, and then the next thing you know you’re seeing red—literally—through the visor of your helmet, though you see things as clearly as you’d normally do.

“It’s a perfect fit,” you said blankly, although the comment delighted the armorer very much.

He bowed and returned to the front of his smelter, he’d afford small glimpses of you getting used to the helmet. From your end, there were functions that you’re new to—such as infrared scanning—and there were buttons disguised as accents on the side of the mask that respond to these features.

“Interesting,” you mouthed to yourself, not caring whether the armorer heard it or not.

You tried breathing through the mask, fortunately for you, this won’t hinder the strenuousness of your fighting style—let alone movements in general—as well as catching your breath. For a moment, it’s as though the same world was unraveled before you with brand new eyes—ones that stopped fighting the hatred and used it as strength, rage that blinds yet helps you see with great clarity, the intoxication to power was a permanent leech on your skin and you relished it.

Now completely outfitted in your Inquisitor’s garbs, you make your exit out of the armorer’s chamber and head out to join your “brothers and sisters” in conference. Being the newest, therefore the lowest in rank, the crew and Stormtroopers have mixed feelings about you—though you could care less.

They looked at you with curious yet skeptical eyes as you strode past them. You arrived in the conference hall, heads turned to the door at the sound of the sharp, metallic buzz and then revealed you standing on the other side.

“Ah, the newbie, right on time!” the male Twi’lek Inquisitor chirped, his pointed porcelain white teeth standing out of his glistening, obsidian-black skin.

You stepped in, took that one gap in the line and seemed to have closed the circle surrounding the holotable. You didn’t miss much of the briefing, though they picked up where they left, you intently studied all the holographs that are flashed on the table: battle tactics, ship routes, and person profiles. You listened to the Second Brother explain everything down to the last detail; you saw what kind of person  he is when the two of you aren’t swinging your sabers at each other’s neck, trying to kill one another.

The next part of his presentation included a whole collection of head shots. He explains that they are the current, surviving Jedi across the galaxy. The images of unnamed faces encircled the holotable and slowly rotated for each and every one to see. Below their portraits are short, bulleted write-ups of the latest reports about them: be it last known locations, current agendas, potential accomplices, and recent activities.

After the one you’re looking at, the next one made you quiver in your armor—you can spot that splash of red hair, a naïve freckled face, that boyish charm and a scrapper’s roguishness from a parsec away.

Cal’s head shot rotated and froze right in front of you; blank, jade eyes blending in with the fluorescent blue of the holograph as it stared through your helmet’s visor.

The most crucial part of your past life stares back at you.

The male Twi’lek, namely the Fourth Brother, noticed you in the corner of his eye, sensed your uneasiness and discovered your intrepidity replaced with a sudden, dramatic loss of self-confidence. The Second Brother continued his exposition.

“According to our latest intel, these are the Jedi currently in hiding. Some of them are so bold enough to join factions, such as the traitor—the former admiral Jax Beneb who made with a faction in Ulfin,”

“This one, Cal Kestis, joined them not too long ago. He travels with the Mantis crew comprised of its pilot, a Lateron named Greez Dritus, the right-hand and former Jedi Cere Junda, and… er… a witch. We don’t know the latter’s background, we can only confirm she’s Dathomirian.”

“She’s called a Nightsister,” you corrected the Second Brother.

“He and his crew got themselves involved with the uprising in Ulfin,” the Fifth Brother continued.

“Until the Imperial fortification was bombed—no thanks to Twelfth Sister right here.” The Seventh Sister finished with a voice of chagrin and sarcasm.

There were soft gasps and quiet murmurs amongst the other Inquisitors who apparently had no prior knowledge.

“In my defense, I wasn’t one of you that time,” you dryly chuckled before adding. “Took a few good voltages before you broke me, eh Seventh Sister?”

Feeling outclassed, Seventh Sister rolled her eyes and avoided eye contact from you. The sight of her furrowed eyebrows and the crease on the side of her nose warranted a satisfied, mischievous smirk. You bobbed your head at an angle while the next head shot proceeded, and then Cal’s image rotated to the female red-skinned humanoid with cropped brown hair on your left—this one is known as the Eighth Sister.

Second Brother continued with his plan, catching everyone’s attention by clearing his throat and getting back to the objective at hand. The point was to fan out to selected planets and systems where the Jedi stragglers ought to be and hunt them down—which is their original prerogative ever since the Inquisitorius was formed. Before anyone else could call it, you pressed a button which prompted the ring of head shots to spin wildly until the picture of Cal glows right in front of you.

“I’ll find him, along with Cere Junda,”

“Pheh! Hey, who says you get to have first dibs?!” the Eighth Sister screeched.

“Do you know them like I do?” you raised your voice against her and you were met with a stifled silence due to the lack of a good answer. “You’d be more productive in recovering junk parts salvaged by Jawas than finding the Mantis crew and the Jedi boy!”

The same silence hung around the holotable. You seem to have a knack in making anyone who spoke against you to hold their tongues. It seems everyone was waiting for you to elaborate on your rationale.

“I know the pilot’s flying tactics as well as Cere Junda’s technical tinkering that go hand-in-hand. The Nightsister is not to be underestimated lest you won’t be meeting her good side; and her powers exceed urban legend—she can cloak a ship like a normal cloaking device would, she can raise the dead, she can bury you alive six feet under without even touching a hair on you. That’s how potent her magick is. The boy, on the other hand, I know the most—his fighting, his emotions. Point is: I’m the best chance in finding them.”

You glanced left and right, searching for an objecting reaction from the Seventh Sister and Fifth Brother, and then looked straight into Second Brother’s eyes.

“And you can’t deny that, Second Brother. So do the two right beside you.”

The rest of the Inquisitors turn to the Second Brother for his reply, he gave in and he cannot deny that cold, hard fact—that you were once in connivance with these people. And so, you’re granted with your chosen targets; the others followed suit in selecting which Jedi to go after.

—–

Cal wakes up in a cold sweat again. It has become a frequent occurrence, an unwanted habit that he’s trying so hard to kill.

The weeks turned into months, he’s honestly lost count that he had to ask someone else.

They’ve moved on from Jax Beneb’s rebel faction and went off-world. At first, it was difficult convincing the boy that they had to go and leave the planet, as there’s nothing coming back to him as much as he hoped, and whatever he’s waiting for is just dead air. He had developed a destructive habit of drowning himself in trances—he’s practically returned to where he was before: where he loses control in meditation, doing so has distorted his subconscious vision; he eats only once a day—sometimes not at all—and locks himself up in his room. BD-1 is his only companion through and through, but not even the tiny droid can get a word out of the Jedi boy.

The bracelet, your bracelet, is now worn around his wrist; but in the first time he’s secured it on his arm, the leather cord felt like it was burning and searing through his skin, but when others would take a look at it there’s nothing out of the ordinary. The metal pendant, with the scorch marks obscuring the finish, felt like a red-hot branding iron on his arm, his hand twitched and jerked, yet he couldn’t bring himself to swat away or rip the trinket off.

He hated the pain, but it was the only comfort he knew of remembering you by.

A self-imposed penance.

He blames himself for not coming sooner to get you out.

“[Y/N] would hate to see you like this, Cal,” Merrin started to scold.

There was nothing the Nightsister got out of the Jedi.

When he looked at her straight in the eye, she flinched; and then she got a closer look of the sorry state he’s in—there were dark circles around his eyes, the swelling and the redness of the lining of his eyes suggested restless nights whiled away with crying, untreated cuts and bruises spotted his knuckles and the damning evidence is the small yet noticeable streaks of blood on the gray walls.

“Merrin, I can’t crawl out of the grave that I’ve dug for myself,” Cal shuddered, his voice muffled as his mouth was blocked by his knees folded and drawn to his chest. “I know she’s still here. And I’m talking like the sentimental kind, no, I really know. You have to believe me. You all must think I’m crazy.”

“You don’t see or hear any of us saying so,”

“I know, I just… I don’t know if I’m imagining overthinking it but I just feel like you guys are only humoring me,”

“I don’t do that kind of thing, Cal, it’s not in my nature,” Merrin shook her head. “But I miss [Y/N] too. More than you’d like to know.”

Cal sighed and didn’t speak further. Merrin dismissed herself out of his bedroom and reminded him that Cere had left a plate of dinner for him before closing the door. When he was left alone again, he hung his head low and ran his fingers through his loose, unkempt hair.

He had been alone for most of his life, but this was a different kind of loneliness—one that he isn’t entirely used to. The emptiness, the silence, and the depression bore an alien, coldly terrifying air that hung heavily around his bedroom. The engine hum drowned out his sobbing as he tucks himself away in bed, deliberately forgetting his meal outside.

Cere feels all of that grim emotion pooling inside that room, she wonders how much of those feelings will she pick up if she opens that door—could she take it? Will she be overwhelmed? These were the questions she asked herself.

“Give him some more time. I don’t think he needs us right now, Cere,” Greez glumly said, stopping her in her tracks in any attempt of consoling Cal.

Cal could not sleep—another problem he’s dealing with. He lies with his back flat on the bed, tears trickle down his temples and pools on his pillow just below his ears, he feels like he’s nestled in his deathbed. He can close his eyes, but he cannot catch a wink of sleep. Sometimes, he mistakes dreaming for meditation—of the other way around.

As the meeting pronounced adjourned, they scrambled out of the conference hall while you’re left alone. Arms crossed with one another, you stared at the set of head shots you projected on the table—Cal and Cere. Even though you know them so well, you wondered what kind of information the spies have written about them in their reports.

Your eyes trailed to the write-ups for each profile.

CAL KESTIS

Last known location: Ulfin City in Pevera, Goltan System

Potential accomplices: Cere Junda, Greez Dritus (shipmate), unidentified Dathomirian female

Recent activity: Involvement in rebel-initiated terrorist assault

Charges: Conspiracy and acts of terrorism against the Empire

CERE JUNDA

Last known location: Ulfin City in Pevera, Goltan System

Potential accomplices: Cal Kestis, Greez Dritus (shipmate), unidentified Dathomirian female

Recent activity: Involvement in rebel-initiated terrorist assault

Charges: Conspiracy and acts of terrorism against the Empire

You sighed as you finished reading through the facts of their profiles. You turn away from the holotable and stand in front of the mirror that oversees the operations happening outside the Fortress in Mons Golotha. It’s originally a spice mine owned by a crime syndicate who capitalized in the illegal spice trade, but since the occupation and establishment of the Fortress Inquisitorius, the propriety was handed over to the Empire.

Through the window you watch the moving specks that are the people slaving away to harvest the raw, unprocessed spice, loading them into crates and then into freighters. But the turmoil of these pitiful workers weren’t your focus, you’re channeling it to finding Cal’s connection in the Force and through the Force. The storm in your mind has calmed for a time, allowing you to think and meditate clearly; even in the darkness, you see a light at the end of the path. You pursue it, as you run towards it like an excited, curious child you utter his name.

Cal…

His eyes shot up, he was on the verge of falling asleep already until he heard his name in the distance. He sat up, surveyed the bedroom and found nothing. He shrugged it off as nothing and decided to lie back down… but the voice called again.

Cal...

Now this time, he recognizes the voice. He bolted up.

“[Y/N]?!” he gasped.

Where are you?

“Where are you?”

You didn’t answer, one question led to another.

I need to find you. Tell me where you are.

“I… I’m in—”

“So, Twelfth Sister! How’s the hunt coming along?”

The boisterous Fourth Brother interrupted you and deprived you of the most vital part of your plan. He barges right into your personal space; before he could utter another word, you grabbed him in a chokehold using the Force and slammed him against the window wall. The impact was so hard that a crack appeared right behind his head almost like an icy halo.

The grit of your teeth hissed out the words, “What. Do you. Want?”

He gurgled his words but turned out into frothy noises, you saw him tap for submission on the glass and his ankles buckling.

“What is it that you have to say that is so important that you had to interrupt me and my meditation!?”

“I…. Guhhkk! Wanted to ask if… aagghhk! You plan to go alone!”

You released the Twi’lek, he fell to his knees coughing and clutching his neck.

“I work alone. Go.”

You turn away and wait for the Fourth Brother to leave your sight. Despite calling each other brother and sister, there was no filial connection amongst one another; simply put, it was only tolerance and putting up with each other’s bull. You, on the other hand, hate everyone. Some of them may have not played a part on your turning, but you can’t help but remain hostile towards them—the Eighth Sister deduced that it’s a normal feeling when you’re the fledgling of the Inquisitorius.

You leave the room and make for the hangar to your TIE Fighter.

Meanwhile, Cal was met again with silence and the ecstasy he felt in hearing your voice—even just in his head—died with his melting smile. He sighed and slipped under his sheets again, his heart ached as he coaxed himself to sleep.

Another long night awaits.

[ducktracy]

176. porky’s garden (1937)

release date: september 11th, 1937

series: looney tunes

director: tex avery

starring: mel blanc (porky, chickens), george humbert (neighbor), earle hodgins (salesman)

this would be tex avery’s final black and white cartoon until 1941, and his second to last porky cartoon. how time flies! i enjoy his porky entries a lot. the blow out, the village smithy, and of course porky’s duck hunt are all shorts of his that i find myself coming back to frequently. but, of course, greater tex cartoons lie ahead. interestingly enough, this is also the second and final credit for animator elmer wait, who passed away in july of 1937. chuck jones once described him as “a fine young assistant animator who died too young." i’ve heard speculation that tex’s little-known character elmer fudd was named in wait’s honor--i’m not sure if it was that, or the fact that every other cartoon character in the 1930′s was named elmer, but this is a claim i can find myself believing with more conviction than other animation claims. for now, we visit farmer porky, who’s eager to enter the local contest for the largest home grown product. however, his stereotypical italian neighbor seeks to out-perform him at any cost.

this cartoon is a peculiar anomaly in the tex avery-verse, in that it feels much more like the 1936 avery porky cartoons than the 1937 bunch—and almost deliberately, too. the cartoon starts off very similarly to his first directorial entry, gold diggers of ‘49, laying out the time (1927), the place (podunk center), and the population 500 502 — mrs. castle bottom just had twins!). though tex would constantly reuse gags all throughout his career (and quite well, often elevating the hyperactivity of the gag), it’s rather uncharacteristic for him to reuse a gag for nostalgic purposes. nevertheless, the opening is amusing, and faster paced than its facsimile over at gold diggers of ‘49. the sound of the baby wail as the 500 is replaced with 502 is an extra bonus.

a sign gag featuring the tried and true income tax gag (which has been used, and will continue to be used, in a number of cartoons--tex’s milk and money is another porky entry that uses this gag):

porky is amongst the group crowding around the sign, joyfully declaring that he’s going to win first prize with his garden. cue the antagonist of the picture, porky’s curious italian neighbor, voiced by george humbert. humbert was an italian actor, starring in a large number of hollywood films throughout the ‘30′s and ‘40′s. if i recall, bob clampett once mentioned that tex would go to the movies to get ideas, no doubt his reasoning for getting humbert to do the cartoon. humbert’s vocals shine and add a lot of vitality to this otherwise tame entry. speaking of, italian neighbor is quick to contradict porky: “ohohohoho no, i gonna ween with my cheeken!” with that, he leapfrogs over porky, who is quick to bumble along after him.

we get a brief overhead shot of the two neighbors and their respective houses, the overhead shot once again calling back to earlier porky entries such as milk and money. the competitors both go to their gardens to out-perform the other. cue a short gardening sequence with porky, who uses his straightened out tail to dig holes in the soil, big enough to drop seeds in. his neighbor, on the other hand, concocts a meal full of vitamins and tonics for his chickens cheekens, narrating all the way. the underscore is a stalling favorite, “chicken reel”, and if my memory is correct, i BELIEVE this is the first instance it’s used in a warner bros. short? cue a seemingly arbitrary cut back to porky, who finishes the job of planting. back to the neighbor who summons his chickens to eat his mystery feed of who-knows-what. the chickens dig in... only to halt, spit out the food, and hold their noses (beaks) in disgust. great timing--the drawings especially of the chickens rejecting the food feel quite avery-esque, which is nice: it’s always nice to feel the personal touches of the director.

cut back to porky, a cue of “carolina in the morning” (which is impossible for me to hear without thinking of daffy kaye’s rendition of it in the anomaly that is book revue) underscoring his plan to use hair growth tonic as a means of growing a quick, hearty, full harvest. the scene is cute, yet sluggish--if the cartoon were made even 5 years later, it would have been twice as fast, if not more so. nevertheless, his plan works: the ground shakes beneath him, and crops as tall as the eye can see spurt out from the soil. satisfied, old pigdonald strolls inside, “uh-veh-vuh-vo-do-de-oh”ing and “uh-uh-eh-beh-beh-boop-de-oop”ing all the way along (to remind our audience that this cartoon takes place in 1927--because, why not, right?)

meanwhile, pesky neighbor pops his head over the fence, equally as impressed with the results as porky. perfect food to fatten up the cheekens! the animation of the neighbor is rich and full, humbert’s vocals of course magnifying the quality. with that, the neighbor loosens up one of the boards in the fence, sparking the feeding frenzy: “come an’ get it!”

the chickens do just that. calling back to the days of porky the rain-maker (where there were vegetable gags galore), we get a montage of semi-amusing “chickens eating vegetables in creative ways” gags. one chicken uses a tomato vine as a straw, sucking out the pulp from all of the tomatoes connected. another rolls a line of peas straight into its mouth, rolling up the shell like a toothpaste tube. 

though the gags rouse polite chuckles at most today, the most uproarious gag is the last one: a chicken and a baby chick fight over a watermelon. big cheeken asserts its authority by flicking the baby chick away, spouting tearful insults at the bully chicken. just then, fortune: the chick spots a patch of spinach, the seeds belonging to jones (yes, that chuck jones--whose birthday is today! happy birthday, chuck!) garden company. i can’t say this with staunch certainty, but i do have reason to believe that this cartoon was backlogged for a few months: chuck jones would have been at bob clampett’s unit during the time of this cartoon’s release, but the allusion to his name, the animation of this scene looking peculiarly reminiscent of bob clampett’s animation, and the lack of irv spence animation leads me to believe as such. nevertheless, as you may be able to surmise, the chick transforms into a caricature of popeye, complete with jack mercer-esque mumblings and popeye speak. the newly transformed chick socks the chicken right in the face, usurping the half-eaten watermelon slice and gobbling it down all in one go. easily the highlight of the cartoon, and a gag that can be appreciated regardless of time period.

one last eating gag of a chicken plucking a ripe worm from an apple (fittingly scored to “in the shade of the old apple tree”). the joke suffers from constipated timing, more on the part of carl stalling than the animator. there is a nice, quick, shiver take as the chicken attempts to rip the apple open into two halves. fade out.

fade back in on the feeding frenzy. porky takes notice, and is not happy about it. he does a lumbering, quick little run that calls back to the 1936 porky entries where he was much more short and squat (virgil ross animation?), zooming out of screen, then back in again to retrieve a nearby broom. porky swats the chickens frantically, but to no avail: despite his angry demands for them to get out, they continue to eat.

virgil ross animates the next scene as porky confronts his neighbor: “hey, n-nn-ne-neighbor, eh-teh-teh-tell your cheh-cheh-cheh-chi-chickens to keep outta my uh-geh-eh-geh-eh-geh-garden!” the neighbor complies, his vocals hilariously disingenuous as he haggles with the chickens, who, predictably ignore him. thus sparks an overly-profuse string of excuses from the neighbor, who doth protest too much. “you see? i talk to them! but a-they don’t listen to me!” he pauses. “i’m too sorry for you.” another pause, just as we think he’s finished. “...but i cannot talk-a cheeken talk!” one more pause. “i can no make-a the cheeken coming out!”

neighbor finally leaves the disgruntled pig to his own devices, laughing as he talks to the audience. “eet’za too bad...” he looks at the audience and gives them a knowing wink as he finishes “but not too bad!” overall, a great scene. humbert’s vocals are divine, as is the comedic timing. porky’s befuddlement by the rapid-fire responses from his neighbor is another plus. 

back to a downtrodden porky, who mournfully sulks along to a succinctly timed rendition of “am i blue?” (if you listen closely, you can hear the beats lining up exactly with his footsteps.) suddenly, a thick vine growing out of the patch catches his eye. he follows the vine, pulling it like a rope... 

and the perfect solution awaits on the other side of the fence: a giant pumpkin! perfect for the harvest contest. 

porky lugs his new prize out from the fence, which instantly attracts the attention of the hungry chickens. spark the ever transformative avery moment, where the cartoon halts to make a big production out of nowhere--in this case, football. the favorite “freddy the freshman” score serves as the backing track of the makeshift football game as the chickens line up to take position: “HIKE!”

the next sequence appears to be animated by chuck jones: porky runs long, pumpkin in hand as he swats away the oncoming rush of chickens. the extra touches of making porky do some twirls and swivels as he attempts to maintain balance are not taken for granted. a nice straight-ahead shot of the football field turned garden, with a trellis in the foreground and clothesline in the background to form goal posts--very clever! 

it’s not the chickens who serve as porky’s pumpkin demise, but rather a spare crate left on the ground. porky trips, horrified as he watches his pumpkin launch into the air and across the yard. we get a tashlin-esque concealed pan as porky darts through his house to retrieve his prize, the action obscured: we only see a brief glimpse of the house’s facade, the drumroll and sound effect of the airborne pumpkin being our only indicator to the success of the stunt. thankfully, porky shuffles out of the other end just in time to catch his pumpkin (topped off with a triumphant “ta-da!” fanfare.) wasting no more time, porky dashes down the road and off to the fair. meanwhile, the neighbor’s chickens are all plumped up, ready to win the first-a prize. 

“the merry go round broke down” scores the scenes at the fair as we catch our hero bumbling along with his prize pumpkin into the fair, neighbor and cheekens not far behind. there’s a line of posters advertising the various attractions at the fair, including a caricature of bobe cannon (once more reinforcing the idea that this cartoon was back-logged: he would have been at the clampett unit by the time of the cartoon’s release.) 

earle hodgins voices the salesman (a specialty of his--he played the pill-peddling salesman in porky the rain-maker, as well as the oil huckster honest john in get rich quick porky) peddling the miracle “reducing pills”. his test subject? an elephant. the salesman pops a pill in the elephant’s mouth, who stares at the audience nonplussed as he shrinks to the size of a mouse... literally. 

the next scene of the salesman is great, as it’s full of energy, zaniness, and fervor. i wonder if it’s a clampett scene? the voice of the salesman rises into astronomical pitch as he describes the size of “teensy, weensy, weensy, bitsy, weensy, teeny little mouse”, capping it all off with a flamboyant “WOO!” and pose. the pose looks similar to the same one struck by daffy in clampett’s entry the henpecked duck 4 years later, hence my reasoning. nevertheless, a great scene of zany eye candy. 

peddling his wares, the salesman accidentally knocks over a spare bottle of reducing pills, right in the trajectory of the passing cheekens. and, predictably, the cheekens devour the pills in no-time.

cue a rather blunt cut to porky, who’s about to receive first prize for his pumpkin, standing on stage and politely soaking in the glory. just as the judge reaches to give him his dough, he halts, spotting the ginormous array of poultry behind the pig. the judge is quick to take back his bag of money, much to the awe of porky (which also gives us this intriguing little error for a few frames). neighbor accepts the bag--that is, until the pills kick in. the chickens revert back to the size of chicks, and there’s just enough comedic pause to let the joke sink in before the chicks revert back to mere eggs. 

we iris out--or so we think. just another declaration of tex’s love of playing with the iris out gags. that is one steamed ham.

not the snappiest entry in the avery repertoire, but not exceedingly dull, either. george humbert steals the show with his acting, and the popeye gag with the chick is wonderfully amusing. the cartoon mainly suffers from sluggish pacing in some parts, tired gags in others, but not enough to exclude a watch-through. it’s a fond look back at the earlier days of tex’s directing, and asserts just how far the cartoons have yet to improve. so, for that, i’d say i’m relatively neutral on whether or not to persuade you to watch it: the porky lover in me and ‘30′s cartoon lover in me say go for it! there are bits of greatness that you should definitely seek out. but it won’t kill you to skip this one either.

here’s the link! (excuse the butchered titles/credits: opening title music is the merry go round broke down which is wrong, and the title card music is the opening to porky’s tire trouble--also wrong, as is the porky “that’s all, folks!” ending over the written script) 

[shianhygge-imagines]

Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] {Devil May Cry} The New Contract

AN: Leaving this here while I fly to Hong Kong. Haven’t been satisfied with the chapter that was supposed to come out before this... so I’m posting this one up first. Finally, we are getting into the events of DMC 5. And I’m tempted to label this as a V/Reader fic as well...

|Masterlist Link|    |First Chapter|    |Prev. Ch.| --- |Next Ch.|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bed beneath you seemed to swallow you in its comforting embrace as you lay in the darkness of your bedroom in Devil May Cry. The electricity, gas, water, phone, and internet were out again. Try as you might to keep up with the payments, having picked up a job outside of hunting down demons, it proved futile when you were the only one bringing in money. Dante tried his best to provide for the both of you, but he more often than not refused the payments from his clients. Your brother-in-law had a heart of gold, but sometimes he was a bit much.

You’d just sent a payment to Morrison for the gas and water, so hopefully the two of you should be able to have a nice shower and home cooked meal for once. You only made a few thousand a month from your job as a secretary, so a majority of it went to certain necessary utilities, rent, and groceries. The rest went into your personal savings in the hopes that you would be able to spend on family in the future. And by family, you meant a possible grandchild from Nero and Kyrie. You’d long given up on having your own child when Vergil decided to stay in the Underworld.

You could hear the sound of the front doors opening downstairs, though you ignored the noise and turned onto your side to stare at the picture of your husband resting on your bedside table. It was a profile shot of him reading in a library that you had secretly taken. Though now that you thought about it, Vergil probably had noticed and wanted to humor you. A faint smile grew on your face as you thought back to the days before he had been so consumed with gaining power. Despite his betrayal, you missed him. You tried not to think about him most days, but thinking or not thinking, your heart hurt regardless. All you wanted was for Vergil to come back to you.

All you had left of your husband were memories so old that you struggled at times to remember them clearly, pictures, Totsuka, the Silver Rose, your wedding ring, and Nero, who was stuck in a coma in Fortuna because some asshole chopped off his arm to take the Yamato. You’d gotten off the phone with Kyrie a while ago, with no new regarding Nero’s condition. And that was why you were in bed, brooding. Your son was in the hospital and your boss hadn’t allowed you to take the week off to visit Nero in Fortuna.

“Should probably quit that job soon.” You muttered, thinking about how much of an asshole your boss was.

The lights flashed on as the power suddenly kicked in, and you gave out a high whine of protest, ducking your head under the covers. “IT BURNS!”

Evidently, you were loud enough for Dante and Morrison to hear you from downstairs, as your brother-in-law called up the stairs, “Y/N! Come down and say hi!”

The phone was ringing incessantly in the background, and it was driving you nuts. “I’LL COME DOWN AFTER YOU PICK UP THAT DAMNED PHONE!”

You could only grumble when the two men laughed at your expense. The phone stopped ringing a few moments later, and you kept your word, sliding out of bed to put on the pair of jeans you’d discarded on your desk chair, some boots, and a long cardigan to cover up your camisole. You didn’t want to go down half naked, you had some pride that you needed to keep. Happy with your appearance, you finally found it within your to head down the stairs, where Morrison no doubt had a job for you and Dante.

“Huh. I guess I was too slow.” You muttered, taking in the sight of the room below. “Did Morrison leave already?” The question was aimed at Dante, though your eyes traveled to observe the stranger in black standing in the foyer.

“Yeah, he went to find Lady and Trish. V here,” Dante gestured to the stranger with a nod of his head, “said that we’ll have to stop a powerful demon from resurrecting.”

The stranger, V, had yet to turn and look at you, so you quickly made your way down the stairs to stand by Dante, turning to get a good look at your new client. The first words that came to you head at seeing V were ‘frail’ and ‘mysterious,’ though something within you seemed drawn to him. That strange feeling kept telling you to hold him, to never let him go, and it cause your brows to furrow, troubled. “V, huh?”

V angled his head to look at you with green eyes as he gave a brief smirk, “You can call me that, yes. And you must be the fabled Y/N that I’ve heard about as well. A pleasure.”

Raising a brow, you turned to look at Dante in question. “People know about me? I thought the usually ladies were Lady and Trish.”

Dante shrugged from his position on the couch. “Eh, you might have gained a few fans while running some jobs here and there. I don’t keep track of the gossip.”

“O-okay then. So, V,” you redirected the attention back towards the dark haired male in front of you, “When do we leave for this job?”

“If it is not too inconvenient, as soon as possible. Urizen has yet to show himself, but I’d like to act before he grows too powerful.” V informed, his eyes shifting occasionally to avoid yours.

“Urizen?” You questioned, crossing your arms as you shivered from the memories that the name brought to you, “You mean like in the William Blake mythology?”

There was a smirk on V’s face that bordered on affectionate as he lifted a familiar looking book, “It is not the demon’s true name, but a name should be given when referring to him. Are you familiar with Blake’s work?”

A bittersweet smile came to your lips, and you suddenly felt sad. “I am. My husband loved Blake’s work, and actually owned a copy of that same volume in your hands.”

“Husband?” V questioned with a tilt of his head, leaning on his cane as he stepped forward to face you better. “He sounds well-read, and lucky to have a wife that pays attention to his passion. Does he work as a demon hunter as well?”

Dante tensed as you visibly winced from the inquiry. It seemed that Dante was about to rebuff V until you spoke up, a slight wobble to your voice. “No, he… disappeared more than fifteen years ago.”

V frowned at your distress, looking mournful at your pain. “An absent lover. I’m sorry. You must miss him.”

You took a deep breath and quickly excused yourself. “I do… I’m sorry, V. I have to go… take care of something. It was nice meeting you.”

“I hope we can speak again, Y/N.” V called out to you, pivoting in place with an apologetic sadness to his eyes. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“We’ll speak again, V.” You offered weakly, quickly scurrying up the stairs to your room as your sadness threatened to choke you.

You could hear Dante start to reprimand V, but you quickly closed your room door and sank to the floor, grabbing a picture of Vergil as you fell. From the photo, Vergil peered up at you with warm blue eyes in one of the few shots you managed to get of him smiling. A single tear rolled down your cheek as you slumped over the picture, smiling despite yourself.

“It’s been too long, Vergil. I miss you so much.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-fi!

[commentaryvorg]

Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 6.13

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

…Okay, since this is the very last post of the main storyline, admittedly this spoiler warning has become completely moot at this point. But, you know. Tradition!

Last time as we got even closer to the end of trial 6, the audience literally murdered Keebo in the most pointlessly gratuitous death in the entire game, the narrative tried to insist this was necessary in order for Shuichi to both realise he needs to change their minds and actually be able to do so (but it wasn’t), Shuichi was adorably inspired by Kaito to make the impossible possible and Maki adorably agreed that a sidekick of Kaito’s could do that, I had A Lot Of Feelings, ones very personal to me (thanks to Kaito!), about Shuichi’s sentiment of how fiction can change the world… and then things abruptly mood-whiplashed into the worst Argument Armament both gameplay-wise and in terms of how it should have been literally actually impossible for Shuichi to change any of this asshole audience’s minds, even though things really could have been written such that it wasn’t if this audience had just been reacting to all this like actual human beings.

(…I did it! I found a reason to mention Kaito in every one of this chapter’s summary bits! Okay, admittedly I had to kind of shoehorn it a few times – though not remotely all of the times, mind you – but shush, Kaito deserves it, I have no regrets.)

Anyway, with the Argument Armament over and Shuichi having achieved the literal impossible, we’re about to go to the “vote”.

Monokuma:  “Puhuhu… I think hopeful Keebo should vote for despairing Tsumugi, without a doubt!”

My god, Monokuma is so transparently just trying to keep things on script and pander to the Danganronpa buzzwords when it doesn’t even make any sense. When at any point during this trial has Tsumugi herself ever seemed to be in despair? And Keebo has hardly been advocating hope recently – Monokuma’s just desperately trying to make it sound like that’s totally still his character. Plus, he’s Monokuma! He’s supposed to be the poster bear for despair! He’s not supposed to want anyone to be voting against despair!

Monokuma:  “Cuz that’s what the outside world wants to see!”

Since they’re in control of Keebo now, the outside world is already going to vote for what they want to see and shouldn’t have needed Monokuma to tell them what they supposedly want. Someone’s getting worried. (He really shouldn’t be, because what just happened should not have been possible, but.)

It’s pretty neat how it turns out that the real reason the game made you do the vote yourself the whole time is for the purpose of this bit in which you don’t vote. Though I guess technically they still didn’t need to do that and could just leave you to assume that Shuichi didn’t vote.

(If you do vote here, regardless of who for, there’s just a very brief game over in which Shuichi laments that he was a coward after all.)

Maki:  “If she had cast one vote for Keebo then it would be a tie, but—”

Tsumugi:  “Oh, there’s no need to worry about that. I didn’t vote either.”

Maki:  “…What?”

Shuichi:  “Just as I thought… You wanted hope to win.”

Of course she wanted hope to win, but then… why couldn’t she have just voted for herself, just in case Keebo’s body didn’t vote? I suppose this could be a sign that she actually does care about what the outside world wants and would be willing to accept it if they didn’t want the “hope” ending after all, rather than forcing it on them against their will anyway. But the rest of her behaviour a bit later when she realises they didn’t vote doesn’t really add up with that, so, eh?

Also it’s interesting how Maki seems particularly surprised to realise this. I guess she really was taken in by Tsumugi’s manipulative argument earlier that she’d want to be the lone survivor because she’s the big bad evil mastermind, and that Maki’s desire to not vote was all part of her plan.

(It’s okay, Maki! You were right to believe in your own feelings and stand with Shuichi after all!)

Tsumugi:  “No matter who he voted for, the only one who survives is Keebo… So in other words, the winner is hope.”

I was going to question whether it’d really be the same even if the audience voted for “despair” to win, which should mean Keebo’d be executed after all and we’ll get the boring everybody-dies ending anyway. But actually he’d just be “punished”, aka being put into a new killing game, so no, that would end up the same as the “hope” ending in which he sacrificed himself to that fate, wouldn’t it.

Tsumugi:  “He’ll be participating in the next killing game.”

Maki:  “Hold it! Why are you punishing Keebo? If Keebo survives, then there’s no need for him to be sacrif—”

Maki, I appreciate your desire to try and protect your friend, but Keebo is already dead. She’ll just be “punishing” his empty shell.

…Actually, that’s a good question. What would she have done to put Keebo’s empty shell in a new killing game? Would he have gotten a new personality? Would it be the same as his old one with his memories erased, or a different character? Or would the audience have been in complete control of him like they are now? That would have been… disconcerting to his fellow students, to say the least.

Himiko:  “Th-That’s not fair! Are you twisting the rules again?”

Tsumugi:  “It’s fine, cuz this is all fiction. Maybe it’s a bit forced… but that’s fiction for you, right?”

Ha. Haha. There sure have been a few forced bits in this fiction here and there, both in terms of things Tsumugi did in-universe, and also in an out-universe sense.

Not that this is an excuse. Writers should be trying to make the best fictions they can, not writing off their mistakes and problems with “oh but it’s fiction so it doesn’t matter, right”, as if that’s an excuse to not even try in the first place. This is more of Tsumugi’s mindset of seeing fiction as enjoyable but ultimately meaningless because it’s “just” fiction.

Tsumugi:  “And how about this for the next plotline? Hope has won but the lone survivor, Keebo, remains trapped… Now he’ll challenge the killing game anew. Will he be able to grasp true hope…? Yeah, an ending like that can work, right?”

My god, Tsumugi, you are a terrible writer and I hope you’re starting to realise this yourself. All of Keebo’s friends are dead and now he’s forced into a second killing game? That’s not hope winning! That’s the most despair ending if ever I saw one! And what the hell does “grasp true hope” even mean? She’s definitely not talking about “true hope” in the sense of the actual meaning of the word, so it’s clearly just a superlative to refer to an even more hopey kind of hope than the hope he already supposedly has. This “plotline” is so dumb, and at least this has got to be out-universely on purpose.

Maki:  “What? This is the worst possible ending.”

Himiko:  “But… this is bad. At this rate, our deaths will be meaningless!”

Shuichi:  “…”

Shuichi is smiling, and he’s been silent for most of this, because he somehow has confidence in the literal impossibility he just pulled off when he really shouldn’t. I wish I could enjoy this final moment of Shuichi being a hero and living up to Kaito’s words as much as the narrative wants me to, but it just falls flat and I hate that it does that.

Shuichi:  “Phew… I’m relieved.”

This is Shuichi after the voting results showed that the audience also didn’t vote. I’m glad he was at least a little nervous that he might not have been able to do this, because he should not have been able to do this.

Tsumugi:  “Danganronpa is going to end? This killing game full of tense standoffs and backstabbings amongst friends…”

Oh, that’s what Danganronpa is to you and the audience? I thought it was meaningless yelling about hope being better than despair and people getting gratuitously killed because executions are fun or something.

Seeing the audience’s faces disappear from the trial background as they all switch off and stop watching is a satisfying moment all on its own. I just wish the buildup to it had been as good as it should have been to make it feel like this was actually happening for an organic, meaningful reason.

Shuichi:  “You never appreciated us… And it looks like you didn’t appreciate the power of fiction!”

I still love hearing Shuichi talk about the power of fiction, even if his use of it here was so, so badly executed. If this audience had actually understood the power of fiction and appreciated these characters like a decent audience should, then things would never have needed to happen in this nonsensical way!

Shuichi:  “No one wants to hear your sick, twisted stories anymore!”

This is veering a little bit into making it sound like even the existence of Danganronpa as a work of fiction in the out-universe has been bad simply because it involves people killing each other. But if it really is fiction and no real people are getting hurt, it’s still perfectly okay for stories to have bad things happen to their characters – that’s one of the things that makes stories compelling, after all.

Of course, since fiction can affect reality, people have to be mindful of the messages that their stories give off. But just because a story contains murder, that doesn’t mean the narrative condones it. The message of Danganronpa has never been “killing your classmates is totally okay if you don’t get caught”, nor has it been “being executed if you do get caught killing someone is totally deserved”, regardless of what this nonsensical audience may have seemed to think.

Himiko:  “So what are we going to do now? Now that it’s over, there’s no need for any punishments.”

There really isn’t! Now that the outside world has already shown they don’t want the killing games any more, it’s already done. Shuichi and friends have no need to get themselves killed to try and give them a disappointing ending, or to try and make their point about how determined they are to end this.

Tsumugi:  “No, it needs to end with a punishment… at the very least.”

Geez, Tsumugi! This is possibly the most sick and twisted decision she ever makes. With everything else, she at least believed she was delivering what her audience wanted. But this, she’s doing purely for her own satisfaction because she still wants there to be horrible executions, even though nobody else does any more.

Shuichi:  “Now… if we… continue to live after this… the choice we made won’t really matter. The people will just want another killing game, so…”

No, they won’t! You already (somehow) changed everyone’s minds partly by showing that you would have been willing to die if necessary, but now that their minds have been changed, it isn’t necessary! They’re not all suddenly going to change their minds back just because you didn’t actually die!

This bit of writing does rather awkwardly reek of the out-universe writers desperately wanting to give themselves an excuse for one final execution scene so it can end with something of a bang. Out-universe writers, why are you behaving like Tsumugi.

Tsumugi:  “I never expected an ending like that, so I don’t have a punishment ready…”

Don’t you? Not even for the possibility that the blackened wins and everyone else dies? I guess they really never do expect the blackened to ever win, do they. But even then, wouldn’t they have individual punishments ready for every character in case they become the blackened? They could just go through those one by one; that’s always what I imagined would happen in the eventuality that a blackened got away with it. I suppose doing it like that wouldn’t be exciting enough when she wants to kill them all at once for a grand finale. (Have I mentioned it’s fucked-up that she still wants to do this.)

Tsumugi:  “I worked so hard to keep this going for 53 seasons and now it’s all over.”

No, you didn’t, what the hell, stop giving yourself way more credit than you deserve. Tsumugi is a teenager, or at least she’s young enough to pass as one. We saw from that one comment that there’d been three years between this season and season 52. Even if the usual gap is shorter than that, that’s still probably something like at least fifty years this franchise has been around. Tsumugi was born into a world that already loved Danganronpa, and she’d have only been working on it herself for the last few seasons at most.

(Plot twist: Tsumugi’s actually like eighty years old, but because she’s a literal fucking shapeshifter, she constantly assumes the appearance of a high school student as her “default” form. Yeah, no, somehow I don’t think that’s what we’re supposed to be getting from this.)

Tsumugi:  “Well, that’s fine… If this is a world without killing games now… I don’t want to be a part of it.”

It seems, perhaps, that the main reason Tsumugi is insisting on a final execution is because she wants to basically commit suicide over there being no more killing-real-people-for-entertainment any more? Which is extremely fucked up in its own right, but even more so that she’s then selfishly insisting on dragging the other three into it when they have no reason to die any more.

Maki:  “But now, it’s all over. We’re the last ones to suffer from the killing games…”

Yes! Whether you die or not, that’s still true, at least. That’s worth it.

Shuichi:  “Come on, everyone! We should be proud! We were able to change the world in the end.”

You were! Somehow. I really wish it was easier to get behind this and be proud of Shuichi and friends for doing this. I really wish it had felt possible.

(The writers are the ones who didn’t make the impossible possible here and I am very disappointed in them.)

Tsumugi:  “My plan was such a flawless copy, it even failed right at the end… So I should be able to hold my head up high as a cosplaycat criminal, right?”

Shuichi:  “A ‘cosplaycat criminal’?”

Shuichi has some… odd deductions based on this statement in the epilogue, which we’ll get to soon enough. But just looking at it right here at face value, all it seems to be is that Tsumugi is trying to look on the bright side of her failure. She’s trying to tell herself that this is just like how Junko’s plan failed right at the end, so she can be happy because it’s like she really was cosplaying Junko and copying one of her favourite characters down to the letter. She calls herself a cosplaycat criminal, meaning she was copying a fictional crime!

I like how Tsumugi keeps trying to be happy about her Junko-ness during the execution by cosplaying her and copying Junko’s final grin… but she’s not Junko, and she’s not happy about this at all. Which is good, because she doesn’t deserve to be. Only Kaito gets to smile in death.

After even more destruction of the Academy, Keebo’s empty shell sees the rubble shifting, indicating that the other three are still alive under there. (Please imagine them huddling together with Maki using her body to shield Shuichi and Himiko as best she can. You know she would.) And the Keebo-shell just leaves them alone, because the outside world doesn’t want to kill them any more. Them not being visible means there’s plausible deniability that makes it look like he sure tried to kill them good and dead and totally didn’t know they were still alive at the end. Not that I’m entirely sure why he’d need to hide it, since right now, Keebo is the outside world, and they all want them to survive, so it shouldn’t need to be a secret. Maybe they’re just trying to give them some privacy and to let them live in relative secret when they escape. That would sure be far more empathy and decency than this audience ever seemed to have any capacity for, but then, Shuichi did a magic, so, whatever.

…Was this button that was in plain sight and easily accessible on Keebo’s stomach seriously his self-destruct button this whole time? Geez, can you imagine if someone had pressed it accidentally?

This execution music still has the usual “wa-wa-wa-wa, wa-wa-ooh” vocal part that they all have. Here, it plays as Keebo flies towards the wall to blow it open, and it’s in the usual lower key… but it shouldn’t be! This isn’t a killing blow, it’s a victory, again! This is allowed to be in the higher key just like it was for Kaito’s!

Based on the power Keebo’s laser gun displays, I’m still convinced that he could have just used the laser gun to blow a hole in the wall and didn’t need to straight-up self-destruct into it. The audience probably only made him do that because his body is a useless empty shell now anyway.

(Did Shuichi’s magic impossible miracle also make them feel bad for pointlessly murdering Keebo? It better have done. Maybe somewhere in the Team Danganronpa HQ there’s backups of his personality and he could possibly hypothetically be saved? Though he’d need a new body as well now.)

(…But then again, there’s backups of everyone’s personality if you use Flashback Lights, yet I can’t imagine Shuichi and co would be comfortable with creating what would awkwardly just be like copies of their dead friends.)

The credits listing the characters’ names are neat. They were all real people who contributed to this work of fiction, after all, right? …Though that idea sort of falls apart after it goes through the V3 cast and starts listing the DR1 and 2 characters, who were not real in this universe, and then characters like Kaito’s grandparents and such who had lines in certain flashbacks but were also not real.

I also like how the credits are being shown on the screen of a cinema, in which we can see people in the audience gradually getting up and leaving. Danganronpa’s over now! They’ll just go and find something else to watch.

It’s neat that it puts you back to what seems like the title screen before cutting to the epilogue. This isn’t a part of “Danganronpa V3” any more!

I’m glad the epilogue exists to show for certain that Shuichi, Maki and Himiko survived. It would have been incredibly frustrating if they’d just left us with some ambiguous moving rubble and nothing more than that. I’d have headcanoned the hell out of their survival anyway, but it’s nice to know for certain that they’re okay and that I’m not just desperately believing something that might not be the truth.

(That hole in the wall is very high up and I am not sure how they’re going to climb up there to get out of it. Awkward. Maybe it’s cracked enough that eventually the whole thing will shatter.)

Himiko:  “To the outside world, huh? I wonder what kind of world it is.”

Maki:  “A peaceful world with no fighting and no despair. That’s what Tsumugi said, right?”

It’s still a world where, until literally just now, the majority of the population was quite happy to watch real people kill each other for entertainment. That’s pretty fucked-up in its own right.

Really, though, the first thing the three of them should be doing before they even think about leaving is finding whichever rooms in the dormitory are still reasonably intact and getting some fucking sleep. They haven’t slept since before Kaito’s trial. (And Maki probably didn’t even get much sleep the night before that trial either.) Then they had the full day of that case and trial, including some very emotionally traumatic experiences, investigated through the whole night rather than sleep, then had this trial in the morning for several more hours, including yet more emotional trauma. They should be exhausted, both physically and mentally.

But the main thing about the epilogue is Shuichi’s odd theories about Tsumugi’s final words.

Shuichi:  “She said ‘copy’… That means she must have been copying someone, right?”

…

Shuichi:  “Perhaps Hope’s Peak Academy and the Remnants of Despair really exist. Maybe Tsumugi was just basing her performance on them.”

No? Tsumugi’s words were not any kind of indication of that at all? It is at least equally likely that she meant she was copying Junko’s fictional plan - more­­ likely, in fact, since she called herself a cosplaycat, not a copycat, and she was always very insistent about not “cosplaying” real people, regardless of whether or not the cospox thing was bullshit.

Shuichi:  “She might have been lying when she said ‘copy’. But if she were telling the truth, then… it would make sense that that was a lie.”

Himiko:  “What do you mean, ‘that’?”

Shuichi:  “What Tsumugi showed us… The way we were when… we first arrived.”

She doesn’t need to have been lying about the word “copy” for it to still mean that Hope’s Peak was fictional, what the hell, Shuichi. You can copy fictional things.

And by “what Tsumugi showed us”, Shuichi is talking not about the audition videos, but about the flashback of their pregame selves in the prologue being excited upon realising they were chosen. Which means that Tsumugi very explicitly did show them a video of that. Such a video cannot possibly have been faked. Tsumugi may have been a shapeshifter, but she was only one person. So that definitely happened, then! This is just even more proof that it was the truth!

Shuichi:  “I still don’t believe it. I can’t believe that any of us would volunteer for this.”

Because those people weren’t you, Shuichi! And as soon as you realise that, it doesn’t matter what you would have done in their place because you’re different people! It’s kind of frustrating to me that after Shuichi was willingly accepting that he’s a “fictional character” back in the trial, that he was “created” out of Flashback Lights and fake backstory, he still apparently doesn’t get that this makes him a completely separate person from the moron who used to inhabit his body.

Shuichi:  “Even if we were obsessed with this killing game, I still can’t believe we would participate in it. I just… I don’t believe it.”

Because you and your friends here are decent people who would never willingly choose to put yourselves through the terrible ordeal you’ve just been through. Of course you wouldn’t be able to or want to understand the viewpoint of these kinds of one-dimensional assholes from the outside world who apparently couldn’t even accept that people dying and suffering is bad until you magically yelled at them.

(And, like I’ve mentioned, it does seem that the people who chose to audition were specifically people who kind of hated their own lives and therefore wouldn’t mind dying if it meant they got to be in Danganronpa.)

Shuichi:  “Ah, but… I don’t really have any logic behind that…”

Himiko:  “One of Kaito’s hunches, huh?”

I would be annoyed that they’re attaching Kaito’s name to this obviously-flawed assumption… but to be fair I do think Kaito would also have trouble comprehending the idea that anyone would want to do this. This is a fair thing to want to believe, and I’m glad that at least Shuichi acknowledges that he has no proof at all for this part. (And I do like Himiko just bringing Kaito up like that. They’re going to be mentioning him and quoting his inspiring lines all the time in their new life outside and that makes me happy.)

This whole bit is my problem with the epilogue. I’m glad we have the epilogue itself to show that the three of them survived, but I hate the way it then tries to undermine everything we just spent the whole trial on by making flimsy, completely unconvincing arguments for how ooh maybe it isn’t true after all, look, ambiguity~! Despite their attempts to make it seem that way, it’s still not remotely ambiguous to me.

Even disregarding all evidence pointing or not pointing towards it, think about what it would mean if Hope’s Peak and all those characters really did exist in this world. If Tsumugi was lying about everything being fictional… why? What on earth would be the point of telling such a massively elaborate lie? There has to be some motivation to lie, especially when the lie is this huge. She’d have had to deliberately set up all of the of subtle clues that led to Shuichi figuring things out (yes, Tsumugi ultimately told them it was fiction in the end, but Shuichi had deduced himself most of the way there before she did so), and come up with all of the details about “Danganronpa” and its many many series that would all have been completely made up out of thin air. I literally cannot think of any conceivable reason why Tsumugi would have wanted to go so far to lie about this. She indisputably had some kind of audience she was trying to please, but why the hell would pretending that actual history was just a fictional franchise please any of them, if all that stuff really was actual history? And why would they have played along with that lie in their comments?

But aside from the fact that it being a lie simply wouldn’t make any sense, all of the evidence that I’ve discussed throughout this commentary overwhelmingly points towards the fiction thing being the truth of this story. Clues that point away from it are both far less frequent and generally a lot more ambiguous and unconvincing (which definitely includes this one here in the epilogue).

And ultimately, I really believe that the fiction thing being the truth is a better story.

See, the reveal of everything being “fictional” during the trial could be seen as having undermined the entire rest of the story by acting like none of it mattered. But that is not remotely the case. Shuichi goes on to reaffirm that even if their characters were created from Flashback Lights, everything that happened in this killing game still happened, and they still really suffered and died. The story up until this trial still mattered just as much as it ever did – the only thing that was truly revealed to not have mattered was the backstory about the Gofer Project, which was really never that important to the actual killing game in the first place.

But if we’re supposed to believe this claim in the epilogue that actually nothing was fictional at all and Tsumugi was just telling nothing but lies for the entire second half of the trial? Then that really does just mean that none of this trial we just had mattered. And if that’s the case, then why the hell did we even spend several hours on it only for it all to be literally completely meaningless? That is not how to write a story.

Clearly the out-universe writers knew, when they decided to make the final chapter and big reveal of their story be this whole fiction deal, that it would be divisive and controversial. But even then, they had the guts to go and do it anyway, having a whole trial confidently establishing that that’s what the story was about, plus many subtle hints of it throughout the rest of the story that you can pick up on a replay and that I’ve been talking about here. It’s a really interesting, unique premise for a story; I’m glad they went and did it! …And then in this epilogue, after all their conviction, they suddenly get cold feet and go “uhhh actually guys if you didn’t like that story we just told you then here’s a free pass to pretend it didn’t really happen after all, please don’t be mad at us”.

No! You told everyone that story even though you knew it might turn heads, you should be sticking to the fact that that really was the story! Stick to your convictions! Come on, you guys wrote Kaito, you should know what’s up!

That’s what this part of the epilogue reads as to me – not as any kind of remotely convincing indication that this actually is the truth of the story that the writers had in mind all along, but the writers suddenly being cowards right at the end, and it’s disappointing.

The other likely reason the writers threw this in at the last minute is in an effort to make their narrative point about how lies are ambiguous and sometimes you never know what the truth is. It’s that same point they made at the end of Kokichi’s storyline that was apparently half the reason his character was even here. But man, is this an incredibly half-assed last-ditch effort at this that doesn’t really work at all… and while I’m annoyed that they even tried it in the first place, I’m glad that it doesn’t work.

Shuichi’s final observation on Kokichi back in chapter 5 tried to make it seem like his whole character was completely ambiguous; ooh who knows whether he was even telling the truth about hating the killing game, or maybe he really was just full-on evil after all~? But… Kokichi really isn’t that much of an impenetrable mystery. You have to look for it, but if you do, the evidence overwhelmingly points to him being a coward with massive trust issues who did what he did for the sake of petty, selfish revenge, out of no particular evil but also no particular good. The only part of him that actually manages to be ambiguous, purely because there’s never any mention of it at all, is what happened in his past to make him this way. I complained about that part of his character being ambiguous, and I’m glad the rest of him isn’t, because then at least I can appreciate the character that’s here.

Related to this, there’s the plan in case 5, which was designed to seem as though it was completely ambiguous as to who the victim and the killer were. Except there was a very, very easy way to prove that for certain, by opening the Exisal and finding Kaito inside. And there was a less easy but still ultimately convincing way to be sure enough of it, by paying close attention to the way Exisal Kokichi had been acting to realise that actually it was very clearly Kaito in there. Things were not nearly as truly ambiguous as Kokichi had been trying to make them seem.

As for this entire story in general and the whole fiction aspect of it… well, there probably could have been a way to make it truly ambiguous such that it really is impossible to know for sure what the truth is – it would need a lot of rewriting, but I imagine it could hypothetically be done. But that wouldn’t be a good thing, to me, because I don’t think I’d be able to enjoy the story very much at all that way. If we couldn’t ever know for sure what the truth of the story was, it’d mean there’d be no actual truth of the story to grab hold of and enjoy. There’d just be a wobbly ambiguous blob on the surface that’s trying so hard to be multiple possible stories at once that it ultimately isn’t any story at all.

I love subtlety in stories – obviously, or I wouldn’t have done this whole ridiculously long commentary talking about all the subtle bits! But I only love subtlety when there’s actually something deliberate and meaningful that it points to once you take the time to look. And that’s what this story actually is: something with a concrete truth to it, even if some of the evidence pointing towards the truth is subtle and hidden and you have to look for it. It just… also has some extra twiddly bits that are desperately trying to make things seem ambiguous for the sake of making a narrative point about lies, but they really don’t truly throw the core of the story into question at all, because if they did then everything would fall apart.

The writers apparently want one of the messages of this story to be “sometimes things are just ambiguous and you’ll never be able to know what the truth is”. But… the message I’m actually ultimately getting from it, thinking about it here, is that despite how ambiguous things may seem on the surface, there is always a truth, and you can always find it if you look hard enough.

Shuichi:  “If lies can change the world just as well as the truth can… Then lies… are just another way of telling the truth.”

Um, no? Having a tangible impact on the world does not stop something untrue from being untrue. Shuichi, why are you the one saying this? You’re supposed to have more sense than that. Apparently the writers are just trying to get him to to wax lyrical about their intended theme of this story even in ways that don’t make any sense for him.

Himiko:  “I guess it’s not important whether it’s a truth or a lie. Just what it leads to…”

Shuichi:  “Yeah. That’s what I believe.”

That’s a better way of putting this! Some lies or fictions can have a positive impact on people, sure, and maybe you can argue that that’s what really matters. But that doesn’t magically make them true.

(If it did, then, welp, I guess that means Kaito is real you guys, you heard it here first.)

They’re also still not properly distinguishing between deliberately-deceptive lies and wilfully-bought-into fiction, which I wish they had done. There is a meaningful difference between the two.

The training spot is still intact, despite everything! Obviously they’ll hardly be able to use it any more once they get out of here, but still. I am glad it is okay. And leaving it miraculously intact even seems pretty deliberate by the out-universe writers, because man is everything around it nothing but rubble. It is good that they understand how important the training spot is. There are precious memories of Kaito there.

Shuichi:  (Was this lie able to change something? Was this lie able to change someone? If it was able to change even the smallest thing…)

Yes, Shuichi! It was! It really, really was.

---

[Chapter-end bonus ramble] [Commentary-end bonus ramble] [Bonus content posts]

[randomwordprompts]

If It’s Magic Chapter 8

Daaaaaam, this took forever! Does anyone still care about this story? If so here’s 3k words of plot development(?) Anyways if you wanna be added to my taglist just let me know!

Warnings: Eh, people get punched and they curse. We grown outchea.

Taglist: @storibambino @soufcakmistress @bakarilennox @babygirlofwakanda @wakandas-vibranium @wakandan-flowerz @great-neckpectations @yaachtynoboat711 @oceanscorazon @reaperdeldrunk 

“Daniel, either let me pass or get your ass beat like that big nigga about to get.”

Amira brought her gaze from Daniel to the towering male some feet behind him, keeping a safe distance. Xavier’s eyes widened before he spoke back to her.

“Beat my ass?! Didn’t you do that enough the other day when you busted my lip?” 

She growled at Xavier and went to push past Daniel only to have him hold her back, though with no small amount of difficulty.

“What did you do to me, you piece of shit?!”

“I didn’t DO anything! I’ve been here or in class and actively avoiding your crazy ass for the past two days!!”

Amira stilled in Daniel’s grip and stared at Xavier for a moment before she replied, “Then why the fuck did I hear you calling out for me not 2 hours ago?”

Xavier’s face paled for a moment as he realized something but didn’t say what it was. Amira immediately noticed the change and ducked out of Daniel’s arms to walk towards him, craning her neck to meet his gaze before speaking again.

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“Well, um...I might’ve tried to manifest your aura while I was masturbating,” Xavier rushed out his explanation in one breath but that didn’t stop Amira from hearing exactly what he said.

“PORQUE?!”

Just when Xavier opened his mouth in an attempt to explain further, Daniel burst into laughter from the door that he’d closed during this time.

“Nigga, you did what now? How the hell did that even happen?”

Xavier sighed and tried to be as brief as possible about what was now an embarrassing topic.

Xavier paced his room stressed and hungry, though not for food. Truth be told, he missed Amira. He’d been missing her since she’d first broke things off and after what he’d said to her a few days ago he knew she’d probably never speak to him again. He thought about her lips and how she loved to kiss him, the plushness of her body and she felt like a living marshmallow every time he held her in his arms. How her smile was like the sunshine that chased away the darkness of his thoughts. Before long he began thinking of all the things that drove him crazy about the petite succubus when he remembered something her mother had told them about their bond.

“If one of you reaches out for the other hard enough, you can pull on or manifest the energy of your mate.”

Of course she was referring to if one couldn’t find the other or was missing them, but at this point Xavier was hungry and knew that her aura would be more than enough to satisfy his urges until he found a human to feed from that wasn’t clingy, crazy, or in search of commitment. So he decided to apply that same technique while pleasuring himself and found himself quite surprised with the results. It was like he could hear her in the throes of pleasure, feel her on top of him, and feel himself inside of her. Before he knew it he was moaning her name, urging her to say his. Just when he was about to reach his peak he heard her voice call back to him, his eyes rolling back as he spilled his release into his hand.

“Let me get this straight,” Daniel started. “Y’all can think of each other hard enough to feel and hear the other when you’re not nearby?! I’d like to sign up to be a sex demon today, please.”

Xavier snorted a bit and Amira shot them both a glare before turning to leave, tired of them both.

“Well that was riveting but don’t do again or so help me I will come back here and kill you both.”

“ Both?!” Daniel’s eyes grew wide.

“No witnesses. Nothing personal,” Amira said with a devilish smile.

…

Jason called Amira for the 4th time that night, sighing when he was sent to voicemail yet again. He kept replaying what he said to her in his head and the more he did, the worse he felt. It also took him back to when they first talked about the very thing he threw back in her face.

“So tell me, does being a succubus really mean you’re incapable of monogamy?”

Amira paused her writing and met Jason’s gaze with a raised brow, searching his face for the intention behind the question. Once she realized he was genuinely curious she sighed and pushed her laptop to the side.

“Succubi are just as capable of having monogamous relationships as anyone else. The thing is, our biology causes us to also need to feed off the sexual energy of others. It’s rare, but a succubus sometimes picks a partner that she feeds from exclusively for life. They normally marry but even if they don’t, they still stay together. What you just mentioned is a stereotype made by some white man hundreds of years ago in an attempt to paint us as nothing but sex crazed demons, unworthy of love. Is that how you see me?”

“No, of course not. I think you deserve all the love you can handle..”

They exchanged smiles before Amira leaned over and kissed him sweetly, each time feeling better than the first for him.

…

One Month Later, Halloween

“So is Jason coming tonight?” Lucy asked Amira as they got dressed in their dorm.

Amira smirked as she put on her suit jacket, adjusting her bra so that she didn’t have too much cleavage out or end up with a wardrobe malfunction. Buttoning her jacket she walked over to her dresser and grabbed her blood-red lipstick before she answered.

“Yes, and I have a bad feeling about it. You know Xavier’s going to be there and I don’t need a dick measuring contest at the fundraiser.”

The fundraiser in question was a haunted house and escape room hosted by the BSU to raise money and increase campus involvement. Mostly everyone was involved in some way, with Amira deciding to take on an administrative role and make sure they stayed within their budget while giving a fun night. So far they’d raised almost two-thousand dollars in advance tickets, expecting at least another 500 at the door.

As Amira got ready to tell her roommate what could go wrong her phone rang, signaling a video call from her siblings. After applying a quick coat of her lipstick she answered, grinning when she was met with the faces of her older siblings.

“Well hello, titties!” Francois said with a snicker.

Amira snorted a laugh before shooting back, “You mad you ain’t got these titties, I understand.”

Lucy cackled in the background before leaving the room to get her shoes, leaving the three to talk. Jonathan spoke next.

“You both look like religious spoopy thots, there’s no competition.”

Both Amira and Francois smiled at that before they were interrupted by the familiar stern voice of their father.

“If you three are done, tell your sister that we’re outside.”

Amira chuckled before propping her phone up and checking her hair, curly tresses currently under a straight jet black wig that stopped in the middle of her back. She grabbed her white choker and secured it to her throat, silver cross laying beautifully in the center of her clavicle as she yelled to let Lucy know her family was downstairs waiting. Grabbing her black open-toe stilettos and putting them on, Amira disconnected the call and grabbed her clutch before stepping out of her room.

The rest of the Lectors waited downstairs in the lobby, ready to see their youngest in person. Francois was clad in a slutty nun costume, which was comprised of a black latex bodysuit with a white cross on the chest and matching fake habit adorning their head along with white thigh-high boots while Jonathan was dressed as a possessed catholic bishop. He sported an all-black suit with a black shirt that was open at the top three buttons, revealing more of his pale skin while his hair was dyed black at the roots and red throughout. His belt was cinched around his jacket just enough to reveal his tapered waist, topping the costume off with a red patch on the cuff of his sleeve and a silver cross pendant that stopped just past the fourth button of his shirt. Their parents opted for a classic Dracula and his wives costume, looking as if they stepped out of Bram Stoker’s movie or even the modern version of Van Helsing. When the elevator opened Amira and Lucy stepped out, the former dressed as a priest and the latter as an undead maid since she was going to be in the haunted house. 

Before she could sneak up on them Diana ran over and hugged her daughter with a happy squeal. What followed was more hugs from the rest of her family, a reintroduction to Lucy, and a quick catch-up before they left for the festivities.

…

Once they were at the fundraiser Lucy went into the house with the others so they could get into their designated places before everything opened. Amira was talking with her family when Xavier walked by, offering an awkward wave that was met with an eye roll and Francois flipping him off. He sighed as he made his way into the house, making a mental note to try and talk to Amira soon.

After their parents went to see what else was going on for the night, Amira turned to Francois to say something only to be met with a sight of a man approaching them followed by a loud string of Quebecois curses leaving her oldest brother’s mouth plus a push past her and Jonathan to meet him halfway. She looked at her other brother for a moment before realization dawned on her.

“That’s Felix, isn’t it…”

“Yup.”

“We should probably go over there before Fran strangles him.”

“Probably.”

With that, they followed Francois who was just about to scream at the towering male only stopped by Amira jumping in front of them.

“Oi, you stalking my brother?”

Felix looked down at her, blue eyes meeting brown ones as Francois was behind her stewing.

“Actually, I was invited. Imagine my surprise when a lovely woman told me you all would be here!”

“A woman?! Who-...did she have a Jamaican accent?”

Felix nodded and Amira burst into a fit of laughter as Francois now turned away to find their parents, specifically their mother given how they shrieked for her loud enough to be heard 2 blocks away. Jonathan was laughing with Amira, the two of them wheezing and coughing at this point at the realization that Pauline had tipped Felix off so he’d come. Once they caught their breath Amira took the 6’6 man by the arm and steered him in the direction of where Francois had stormed off to.

“Let’s go big man, I don’t wanna miss this,” she said as the sounds of Francois and Pauline’s voices grew louder, now arguing in full-blown Patois.

...

After finally calming things down between Francois and Pauline, Amira went back to help some of her fellow BSU members do last-minute touches to the vending stands. While she was talking to one of the workers at the popcorn stand she heard another one gasp before pointing towards a figure behind her with a look of pure shock.

“Is that Jason Momoa?!”

Amira chuckled and said goodbye to them before turning to walk towards the man in question with a smile, his werewolf costume obviously not taking much effort.

"How very original, Wolfman. You look good."

"I do, but not nearly as good as you. Are you supposed to be catholic?"

"I'm a priest! Just call me Padre," Amira remarked with a wiggle of her brows.

"Alright you two, keep your hormones in check, there are old people present," Jonathan said just as they were about to kiss, Jason giving a puzzled look to the young male that was flanked by the rest of the family.

At the sight of the six individuals plus Felix he was slightly confused for a moment until his eyes fell to Diana, immediately spotting the resemblance to Amira. Looking back to her he let out "This is your family?" with no small amount of shock.

“Yeah, everyone here is my family except for the tall Black dude. That’s Frankie’s future husband.” Amira remarked with a grin, prompting Felix’s brows to shoot up before he gave a rather sheepish smile. Francois, however, didn’t find the statement amusing.

Jason looked at Amira then her family and back to her, multiple questions swirling in his expression. Amira frowned a bit, sensing his energy shift though he quickly covered it with a nervous smile and a pleasant “nice to meet you all” towards the Lectors.

…

After some light conversation while they waited in line for the haunted house the group of nine were finally at the front getting ready to go in. The person at the door warned them of jumpscares and flashing lights, making sure to emphasize that all the participant’s costumes were well done and that if they can’t handle people jumping out and grabbing them they shouldn’t go in. Everyone agreed that they were fine and began the trek through the darkened hallways, faint screams being heard almost immediately.

While everyone went a bit ahead Jason gently pulled Amira’s arm to keep her behind with him, leaning down to quietly speak to her.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a blended family?”

“Because my family isn’t blended? And is this really the time to be asking me about this? I think it can wait till after we get out of here,” she replied as they slowly walked through, Amira not being phased when someone dressed as a zombie jumped out and reached for her with a snarl.

Jason looked at her with another question that she quickly answered before it left his lips.

“My father is married to all three of them currently, and each one gave birth to myself and my brothers. Unlike in America, that’s legal up north despite being frowned upon socially.”

“Wait, so...all three of those women agreed to marry your father and live together? You don’t find that a little odd at all?”

Amira stopped in her tracks and turned to face Jason completely, her eyes turned to slits as she squinted up at him.

“What are you getting at, Jason? Just say it.”

“Well, ya know...I’ve seen stories about this kind of stuff. Men that trick women into marrying them and make them dependent on him so that they don’t leave.”

She looked at him as if she wanted to grab him and rip his tongue out of his mouth for even insinuating that her father was holding his wives hostage, but for the sake of not making a scene, she simply turned around and began to walk away.

Jason internally kicked himself and sighed as he watched her walk ahead of him, deciding to give her some space as they continued to go through the house and try not to jump at the people that came out of corners and crevices of the place. As they walked on, he got a little closer to Amira and tried to apologize for what he’d said earlier only to have someone dressed as a zombie pop out and grab at them. Before he could stop himself he punched the person on reflex, making both Amira and her family stop in their tracks as they heard a familiar voice yell out in pain before the person lifted his face and Amira felt her heart sink to her stomach.

“Xavier?!”

“Mira what the hell?! I know I fucked up but could you keep your damn bodyguard away from me??”

Jason stepped in front of her with his chest poked out in a traditional display of male ego, ready to give a rebuttal immediately.

“As her boyfriend, I suggest you back up, kid!”

Xavier looked at him for a moment, a small stream of blood trickling from his nose. He regarded Jason for a moment before pulling his fist back and catching Jason in the jaw, the crack audible enough to elicit a quick “oh shit” from Amira’s siblings in the back. Before she could stop them, they started to swing at each other and fight until they were on the floor nearly wrestling. It wasn’t until Amira yelled loud enough to wake up the dead that they stopped in their tracks.

“Alright, that’s enough! You two are grown-ass men rolling around on the floor in a fucking HAUNTED HOUSE for what?! Me? My honor?? I didn’t ask either one of you to fight for me because I don’t need either one of you dumbasses to do it!!”

They both opened their mouths to speak but were cut off by a small hand held up between them.

“I’m not finished. Now Xavier, you wanna sit here and whine and moan like because you apologized that’s supposed to just get me back or change what the fuck you did. I love you but I don’t just forgive anyone at the drop of a hat and the fact that you thought that would happen is stupid as all hell!”

Jason snorted a bit until she turned to him fully to give her a piece of her mind.

“And as for you bigfoot, you think you’re off the hook?! First, you accuse me of fucking Xavier while we’ve been together when the thought never even crossed my mind. Then, you suggest that because I’m a fucking demon I have no got damn self-control. And after all of that, you suggest to me that my father is some kind of horrible man that has to hold his wives hostage in order to keep them around!”

“Excuse me?!” was the sound that followed Amira’s statement and she looked to her family to find all three of the women in question looking at Jason with no small amount of incredulity. Without another word she shook her head and stepped over the two, moving her family towards the exit, Felix holding Francois back as they yelled and went to lunge at Jason rather violently.

Xavier shook his head and stood up before reaching down and giving Jason a hand up, noting the look of surprise on his face. He wiped the blood from his nose on his sleeve and eyed Jason warily before finally speaking, the pain in his voice clear.

“Listen, Amira is a great person and an amazing partner. I can only hope that one day I’ll earn her trust back but until then make sure she’s happy, yeah?”

“I hear you, bro. Also, I’m sorry about your nose...I swear I was just reacting.”

“Honestly I had it coming so don’t even worry about it. Plus it’s already healed with me not being human and all,” Xavier said with a dry chuckle.

Jason extended his hand for a shake and Xavier accepted, the two coming to a bit of an understanding before Jason would leave to try and catch up to Amira and properly apologize to both her and her family.

[cal-puddies]

alone || ashton irwin

honestly y’all, I have no idea... @essoniare suggested i may need holy water for this smut. So provide feedback... enjoy!

Ash peeked his head into your room, he’d called your name multiple times since he’d walked in but you hadn’t responded.

He thought you looked peaceful until he realized what was really going on. He only saw your face and the tops of your bare shoulders, and as his eyes trailed down the blankets, he noticed your hand moving between your thighs and he put two and two together.

You let out whimper, and he thought he was caught. Then you groaned “FUCK.” and threw your blue dildo across the room.

Ash quietly took the stairs two at a time back downstairs. He knew it was a private moment and he probably shouldn’t have watched but in his defense he didn’t know what he was seeing.

You walk downstairs 20 minutes later and look at him. “Hey, sorry, been here long?” You ask.

“Nah, about 10 minutes. The shower was on when I got here.”

“Cool cool.” You nod, heading over to the fridge to pull out a drink. You hold up a beer and Ash nods, agreeing to have one with you.

Ash watches you and he gently tugs the ends of your hair. “You ok? You seem… stressed.” There’s a smirk on his face like he knows something but he doesn’t say a thing.

“More frustrated.” You groan, eyeing him, trying to figure out what he thinks he knows.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks.

You shake your head, mostly not knowing what you’d say, ‘yeah I haven’t been able to orgasm in two weeks and I’m about to rip my hair out?’ Like you and Ash were close, but were you that close? “Nah, it’s cool.”

He nods and grabs your hand, pulling you to the living room. Ash took control of the two of you hanging out at that point, he turned on some music lowly in the background as the two of you sat on the couch and caught up on life.

“How’s Adam?” He asks, after telling you all about the latest leg of tour.

“We broke up like a month ago.” You shrug.

“You didn’t say anything!” He accuses with a little laugh.

“You’re off traveling the world and you don’t really care about some dumb asshole I dated for six months.” You laugh. “The sex was horrible and he wasn’t good for anything else, so byyeeeeee.” You laugh again.

“Huh… I thought you liked the sex.” He grinned, knowing you’d complained about it at least 100 times. You hit him with a pillow and he laughed louder.

“I think in six months he only made me orgasm once…” you pause, thinking about it, “so annoying.” You shrug. “And I had to do like 75% of the work to get there.”

“That’s fuckin shit… girl like you should definitely be getting better than that.” He responds quietly.

“It’s not like boys are lining up around the block to make me cum Ash.” You roll your eyes.

“Maybe you’re just not looking in the right places, babe.” He shrugs.

You sit quietly, contemplating for a bit. “D’you think Cal would fuck me? He seems like he could get a girl off… those long fingers and shit…” you throw your head back and let out a brief moan.

“Oh is that what gets you off? Thinking about hooking up with Calum?” He laughs.

“Not lately.” You mumble under your breath. “But for real… do you think he would?”

“I don’t think you’re his type.”

“I thought if he asked a girl if she’d fuck him and she said yes, then that was his type?”

“That’s Luke.” He laughs.

“Ugh.” You groan, “you want another?” You ask, holding up your beer bottle. Ash hands his empty bottle over and you walk into the kitchen and get another for the both of you, popping the caps and contemplating Luke before walking back in the living room. “I could settle for Luke… he’s got those thick fingers so even if he isn’t as well endowed as say… you or Cal… at least he could probably get me off.” You declare, standing in front of him and handing him a beer. “What do ya say? Wanna hook a girl up?” You raise an eyebrow up.

“I think you can do better.” He laughs.

You groan again and fall to the couch beside him, now resting your head on him. “I just need to get laid Ash, I need someone to make me cum. I can't do it myself anymore. My body just doesn’t seem to respond. I’ve tried toys and my hands and watching porn and fuckin nothing is working.” You whine.

He wraps his arm around you as he stifles a laugh, “you poor thing… you’ve essentially got blue balls.”

“YES! I DO! And I’m about to lose my mind.” You whimper.

“Well…” you look up and he’s chewing his lip like he’s thinking really hard about something. “What are you thinking you want?”

“No no… that’s a trap, talking about it is gonna get me all riled up and then I’m gonna be left with no way to get off and then I’ll be even more frustrated.” You push your face into his side and groan again.

“I wouldn’t leave you high and dry like that babe… or low and wet as the case may be.” Ash laughs, rubbing your hip. You look up at Ash and catch a mischievous glint in his eye.

“What’s up your sleeve, Irwin?” You ask.

“I’m just proposing you let me get you off. If it’s that bad babe…” Ash gently pulls the beer bottle from your hand and he sets yours and his on the coffee table in front of you before pulling you into his lap.

His teeth gently tug at your ear lobe as one hand grips your jaw and the other grips your ass. “I know you’ve heard about me… you’ve been around girls when they talk about me. It’s ok if you want me… I didn’t think Adam was ever good enough for you and I’m happy to know I’m right. I could work this out for you.” He whispers, smacking your ass and causing your hips to jolt forward, getting a tiny bit of desperately needed friction to your core.

“Ash.” You whimper, hands gripping his shirt.

“Just say you want it baby… I saw you playing with that toy earlier… I can do a much better job, give you exactly what you need. Fuck you senseless and leave you satisfied.” He promises. Your face burns red at the mention of the toy and he chuckles, “it’s nothing babe, we’re adults and we all need a little help sometime.”

You collect yourself and grind your hips down on him, “I feel like this would be more than a ‘little’ help.”

Ash gets a cocky grin on his face and looks up to you. “What do you say babe? Want some help? Shoulda asked you when I saw you earlier but you threw that dildo so hard.” He chuckles.

“Fuck yes Ash, please? Even if you just let me bounce on your cock…” you moan.

He grins and immediately wraps his arms around you, picking you up and taking you to your bedroom, “You’re gonna do more than bounce on my cock.” He sets you on your feet and immediately pushes your shorts down. “I’d ask what you like, but I already know.” He groans, pulling your top off. His hands immediately go to your now bare tits. Ash spins you, so your back is against his chest. His hand slips into your panties and he teases you with his fingers, you can feel the cold rings against your suddenly burning skin. His lips press to your neck, “what do you say to us giving that toy another try?”

“No Ash.” You whine, “need you… want you.” You demand.

“You’ll get me, but this first.” He lets you go and pushes your panties down. “On the bed.” He winks and you do as your told, he takes his shirt and jeans off before heading over to the corner you chucked the dildo toward earlier and he picks it up. He walks back toward you, “spread those legs for me.” He orders. You waste no time. “Fuck you’re so wet, you naughty little slut.” He groans. He rubs his hand against you first, spreading your wetness around.

You let out a moan, “fuck Ash…”

“We will babe, show me how you fuck yourself with your toy first.”

“God you’re a kinky mother fucker.” You grab the dildo and lay back, spreading your legs further and using it to tease your clit first. You gasp a little as the head spreads you. Ash gets on his knees between your thighs and watches as you fuck yourself with the toy.

“Shit babe.” He groans, “this is hot.” You pick up the pace a bit and let out a soft moan. “Thought this wasn’t doing it for ya anymore?” He chuckles.

“Maybe… uhmm…” you bite your lip, “maybe it’s you watching.” You moan again.

“Got a bit of and exhibitionistic streak in ya? Eh?” He asks, kissing the inside of your knee. His eyes rake over your body, but ultimately are always drawn back to the thick, blue dildo working between your thighs.

“I guess.” You moan, letting your free hand grip your breast. Ash shifts slightly and your eyes wander his body to find his cock in his hand now. You let out a loud groan while watching him stroke his cock.

Ash grins, watching you watch him while still using the dildo. Ash shifts, losing his underwear in the process, his heavy cock slaps up against his stomach and he pumps it a few times before he lays next to you. He grabs the dildo from you and keeps working it at a slightly faster pace than you had. You grab his cock in your now free hand.

Ash watches you for bit before pressing his lips to your neck. “If you cum from me using this toy on you, I’ll fuck you harder.” He bargains, his teeth tease at your ear and you whimper. You push your free hand down your body and start to rub circles on your clit. “Hey.” Ash says, and you turn your face towards him. He moves his face closer to yours and licks your lips before biting your lower lip.

Ash hungrily kisses you. It’s teeth and tongue, and if anyone were watching, it’d probably be provocative and obscene. Ash uses the toy to fuck you harder. And you whimper and moan for him.

“Ash, ash… fuck.” You moan.

“You close?” He teases, slowing the toy down.

“Don’t stop.” You whine, “I’m gonna…” and then you were cumming, legs clamping closed.

“No no. Keep rubbing that clit baby, we’re gonna work you through this.” He grins, he pryes your legs open, “keep em open.” You let go of his cock and hold your leg, fingers of your other hand rubbing gentle circles against your clit. Ash slows the pace with the toy, “That’s it baby… you just needed someone to watch you.” He whispers, gently biting your shoulder before soothing the teeth marks with his tongue.

“Ash.” You whine, stopping your fingers at your clit.

“S’ok baby.” He pulls the toy out of you and drops it on the bed between your thighs. He pushes two fingers into you and he pulls them out and sucks on them. “Creamy for me.” He smirks and winks. Suddenly Ash is moving, and he’s holding himself above you. “You want a minute?” He asks, pressing his lips to yours.

“You promised you’d fuck me until I was satisfied.” You raise an eyebrow at him.

“Don’t get mouthy with me little girl, you’re not gonna like the outcome.” He promises.

“Maybe I want that outcome… like you said, I know about you.”

He kisses you rough, “you asked for it. On your hands and knees slut.” He pushes himself away from you and gives you the room to move into the position he asked. You position yourself, and shake your ass a little to show him you were ready. He places a firm smack on your ass. “I know you’re not used to this… I need to know boundaries, and I want you to have a safe word in case, babe.” His fingertips soothe over the hot flesh and then he spanks you again and you jolt forward. “Stay still, answer me.” He demands, grabbing your hip before delivering the next one.

“I’ve had a lot of vanilla sex, I don’t know the boundaries myself.” You admit.

“Promise you’ll tell me if it’s too far.” He asks, stopping everything, and even separating himself from you. You look over your shoulder and nod at him and he quickly lands his hand on your ass again. “Good, now… Safe word?”

You hum for a minute trying to think of something, “peanut butter.” You declare.

“I think it’s too long, pick one word or the other.” He demands.

“Peanut.” You breathe, just wanting his hands on you again.

He smacks your ass one last time. “Peanut it is, my little slut.” He coos. Ashton grabs his cock and slicks it through your folds, spreading your wetness and forcing you open for him. The skin on your ass was on fire. And the only things you could really feel were Ashton centric.

Ash catches you off guard as he grabs both of your arms and pulls them behind you, wrapping one large hand around them and using them for leverage. You squeak as your face hits the bed from the unexpected action. Ashton is grunting and it’s turning you on more.

“Fuck.” He groans. “The shittier I treat you, the wetter you get, you slut.”

“Ash.” You whimper as he picks up the pace.

“Shut up.” He demands. “It’s Daddy and you only speak when I tell you to speak.” He reaches up and grabs your shoulder, pulling your back against his chest. His hand wraps around your throat and he applies a light pressure to start, “Do I make myself clear, slut?” You nod. “Need to hear you say it.” He punctuates it with particularly hard thrusts and you almost lose your balance. His hand squeezes your throat a little tighter.

“Yes Daddy.” You pant. He lets go of your throat and pushes you forward, allowing you to use your arms to stop you from face planting with so much force.

You do your best to stay quiet but moans and whimpers keep falling out of your mouth and Ashton keeps spanking you harder each time you do. He’s grunting and gripping your hips so tightly. “Quiet slut… I don’t want to tell you again.”

You push your face against the bed spread to muffle yourself, and Ash reaches for your arms, pulling them behind you again. “If that’s how you want it slut.” He groans “this perfect ass.” His hips slam particularly hard against you. “You ever let anyone fuck you in your ass? Bet you have, bet you loved it.” He taunts. His finger is wet as he teases the hole.

You let out a loud gasp as he starts to slip his finger in, but he doesn’t stop, gets his finger in and then holds it there, slowing his hips a bit. You pant harder into the bedspread.

Ash slips the second finger in and slows down his hips even more. You let out a loud whimper and jolt forward thinking he’d spank you again. “S’ok, you can talk, is it too much?” He asks, a little worried that he’s pushed you too far.

“It’s so much stretch.” You whimper.

“I know babe, I want you used to it though. I want you ready for when I fill your ass with cum.” He says it almost soothingly.

“Oh fuck… I’m gonna… I’m… Daddy, I’m gonna cum.” You whine.

He immediately slips back into his more dom role and grips your hip hard again and starts to fuck you harder, working his fingers in and out of your tight ass, he spits to add lubrication. “You didn’t ask permission, slut. You’ll be punished.” He warns.

“P… pl…. please Daddy…. can… ca… can I…. cum?” You barely choke out.

“Admit you’re a slut.” He demands.

“I’m a dirty slut.” You pant.

“Good girl, you can cum.” He agrees.

You’re barely holding on as the orgasm floods your system and forces your body to go limp. All you can do is keep chanting “Daddy.”

“Oh fuck princess.” He pants. He pulls his fingers from your ass. “Keep squeezing my cock, slut, that’s so good.” Ash fucks you the hardest yet, not at all caring how you feel, as long as he gets off, and if you’re honest, you love how he’s using you.

His hips slow their assault on you and he grunts as he fills you with his cum. “Fuck… I can’t wait to see my cum drip from your pussy.” He moans. You feel him slowly pull out, and his cum is quick to start dripping. He uses both hands to spread you, running his fingers through the mixed juices and gently pushing them into you before pulling back completely. “Sit up, open your mouth.” He commands. You do as you’re told and he pushes his covered fingers in your mouth, his other hand closing around your throat. “Clean em, slut.” He says quietly, nipping at your ear lobe.

You expertly suck on and lick his fingers, moaning around them and looking in his eyes while doing so. His hand on your throat grips tighter as he watches you. “Such a good slut.” He whispers, “takin my cock so well and cleaning my fingers. Bet you’re good at sucking cock eh? We’re gonna find out.” Ash relieves the pressure of his hand around your throat and moves that hand to your chin. He pulls his fingers from your mouth and leans in to kiss you. Ash presses against you again, his chest to your back. “You’re so good… how has no one fucked you like this before.” He says, wrapping his arms around you. “You ok?” He asks, slipping out of the dom role for a moment.

You nod your head and he presses his lips to your neck. “Can we chill for a few?” You whisper.

“F’course. We’ve got all the time.” He kisses your shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” He mentions quietly. He comes back with water and a cloth to clean you up with. He notices the dazed look on your face. “Hey.” He pulls your attention. “You sure your ok? I was a bit rough with you.” He admits.

“Yeah… think so.” You nod.

“K. Let’s hang out for a bit before anything else.” He says, wiping between your thighs and handing you the water. He watches as you take a sip but you don’t really talk or say anything to him. You stare at him blankly as he looks at you. “Come lay with me.” He says quietly. You move, allowing him to pull the blanket down and you slide into bed next to him, he pulls you close, giving you no choice.

Ash doesn’t want to say anything but he recognizes the spaced off look in your eyes, and he definitely notices the lack of ability to form a coherent sentence. Your fingers draw absent minded shapes into his chest as your head lays upon it. He’s holding you tight against him, rubbing your back. “You were so so good.” He says quietly, smoothing your hair. “Took what I gave you and willing to take more. I couldn’t be happier babe.” He admits.

“Mmmhhh.” You hum.

Ash stays quiet for a while, just rubbing his hand along your back. He presses random kisses to the top of your head but you don’t ever say anything.

Some of his concern dissipates when you roll away from him, to the other side of the bed. He follows but doesn’t immediately press himself against you, instead he rests his hand on your hip.

You rest your hand on top of his and look over your shoulder. “Sorry, weird headspace.” You say quietly.

“No… I should have paid more attention to you, we should have talked about it more before I did that to you.”

“It’s fine Ash… I’m fine.” You assure him, rolling back over to face him. “Were you serious about sucking your cock though because I’m so into it.” You grin at him.

“I was serious about everything I wanted to do to you.” He chuckles. He rests his hand on the side of your face and leans in for a kiss. “But I think we’re gonna relax a little longer. This is all new to you, I don’t wanna push too hard.”

“Well, I’m already ruined for other men… just the size of you. Fucking Christ. The boys I date ain’t nothing next to you.”

He chuckles, and blushes a little. “I am curious, because you seemed ok with me touching you there... anal?”

“Never done it, but always been curious. There are few people I trust more than you so I figured if you wanted to, I’d let you.”

“IF we do, I’ll take it easy. Nothing like what we did a bit ago.” He confirms.

You nod, showing him you understand.

“I wanna fuckin taste you too. I’ve barely gotten to. Babe, you have no idea what you’ve always done to me.” He admits.

“Ash.” You whine at him. “I’ve always wanted you too, I just didn't know how to ask. How do you ask one of your best friends if you can fuck him.” You laugh.

“I struggled asking you.” He shrugged. “Today was just kinda perfect because I caught you playing.” He teases. He leans over and kisses you and it quickly turns into more. His hands become grabby, he’s not capable of just kissing you anymore.

You gently push him on his back and start kissing along his jaw and his scruff, down his neck and chest and he knows where it’s going and gets excited, his cock hardens beneath your body.

“I’ve always heard good things about your blow jobs.” He mutters.

“Yeah well, I’ve never done one on a dick this size so we’ll have to see…” you smirk.

“I’m sure you’ll do great, with that dirty mouth of yours princess.” He encourages.

You settle on your stomach and grab Ash’s dick in your hand, using your tongue to lick up the shaft, and swirl around the head. Ash watches intently as you sink your mouth down onto him. You pull off and look up at him, “will you hand me that hair tie?” You ask, pointing at the night stand.

He hands it to you and you sit up on your knees, putting your hair in a high messy bun and then you move back to your stomach and focus solely on giving Ash the best blow job that’s ever come from your mouth.

Ash lets you do your thing, not worrying about being his dominant self, he wanted to see what you’d get up to. He does help you a little, as you try to deep throat him, gently pushing your head further down his cock, “oh fuck you take it so well.” He praises. He’s very vocal through the whole process, letting you know what a good girl you are.

You pull off and pump his cock with your hand as you catch your breath. You happily go back to sucking and licking his cock, taking the time to suck on his balls.

“Fuck.” He grips your hair tight in his hand. “I’m gonna cum babe… want you to swallow.” He groans.

“F’course Daddy.” You say slyly, wrapping your lips around the tip and pumping his cock while you swirl your tongue and tease his slit. Ash cums and he cums a lot, you swallow it all down.

He reaches down and wraps his hand around the back of your head and pulls you up for a kiss. “Holy fuck.” He moans into the kiss. His lips move along your jaw to your ear as he holds you against him. “You naughty little slut.” He praises. “Suckin cock like a pro.” He bites your ear lobe and you whimper for him. “I am gonna fuck your tight little ass.” He promises, “but first I’m gonna eat your pussy.”

He flips you on your back and immediately his lips move down your body, teasing your nipples, sucking hickies into your hips. He pushes your legs wider apart and uses his fingers to hold your pussy open. “Fuckin hell, you’re so wet… did sucking my cock do this to you?” He asks, taking his first lick, hard over your swollen clit. You bite your lip and let out a noise of approval. “Pretty little pussy.” He hums before he starts to suck on your clit.

Your hands are gripped tight in the sheets as he pulls off with a slurp. You whimper. “Your body just keeps giving…” Ash admires. His hand is rubbing against your clit and he pushes your leg to spread you further. “You can touch me, princess. You don’t have to grip the sheets, id rather you pull my hair.”

“Yes Daddy.” You murmur, letting go of the sheets and moving a hand to his hair..

“Speak up princess, I didn’t hear you.” He slaps your pussy and you jolt and whimper.

“Yes Daddy.” You say louder. You can barely contain yourself otherwise, the moans are obscene as they fall from your lips.

“Much better.” He praises, going back to work on you with his mouth. He quickly figures out what feels best to you and he keeps doing it, and you cum against his mouth without him ever putting his fingers in you. He had more skill than anyone you’d ever been with.

You lay there panting, and his lips move up your body. The kisses become more gentle the closer he gets to your mouth. He very gently kisses you.

“You feeling better?” He asks, holding himself above you, kissing you.

“I am, actually.” You slide a hand around his back and pull him closer to you.

“We aren’t done yet.” He promises.

“I know.” You nod and kiss him, the nerves start building in your stomach. You’re totally cool with everything up to this point, but you know there’s still anal in your future, and you’d practically asked him to do it.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not one thousand percent comfortable with.” He's checking on you. You’ve had a big day and you’ve agreed to let him have you in a way no one else has.

“Mmm.” You hum into the kiss.

“You got lube babe, we aren’t doing this without it.” He declares.

“Bathroom. Top drawer on the right.” You explain.

“K. I’ll be right back.” He presses his lips to yours.

Ash comes back with the tube of lube, a towel and a smirk on his face. “If id ever opened that drawer, I would have know exactly how much you weren’t getting. Got enough toys babe?” He laughs.

“Clearly not, if I still wasn’t able to get myself off.” You snark at him.

“You tried all of those?” He asks.

“Yep.” You nod.

Ash starts to arrange pillows, throwing the towel down over them. “Why don’t you just call me next time?” He says it so nonchalantly.

“Well maybe I will. I didn’t know it’d be an option.”

“C’mere.” Ash pats the side of the bed. You make your way over to him and he leans in and kisses you. “You sure about this?” You nod. “You tired?”

“A little bit.” You confirm. He looks at you a little longer, “Yeah, actually, really tired.” You admit.

“We’re gonna take this slow.” He kisses you again and then rests his hand on the side of your neck to look at you and make sure you understand. He watches your eyes. “I’m gonna open you up a bit more, with my fingers. If at any point you don’t like it or it’s uncomfortable you let me know. You can just say stop, we’re not even worrying about the safe word right now.” He presses his lips to yours. “I’ll let you know, before I’m looking to put my cock in you. Just… it’s gonna be important for you to communicate with me. You’re likely going to hit that weird headspace again. I'm here for you though, babe. We can stop at any time.”

“Ok Ash.” You nod in agreement, pushing your lips to his again. Ash kisses you hard at first, gently biting your lip.

“K. This is gonna be pretty uncomfortable, so let’s get you comfortable.” He lets you go. “Hips over the pillows babe, get situated where you want. I’m probably gonna stand right here when we get into you.” He explains. You situate yourself on your stomach, using that information. He rubs both hands over the back of your thighs and then up over your ass, he gently grips it, knowing you must be sore from all the spanking. He sits on the bed next to you and you look at him, he leans over and starts kissing you. “Relax babe, like I said, we don’t have to, it can stop at any time.” He reiterates.

“I know. I’m not likely to ever be this into it again. I’ve cum 3 times and I feel so good right now.” You admit. You grab his hand, “I trust you.”

Ash lays next you, his hand caresses your back as he kisses you, he just wants you to relax some. He pulls away for a moment, you watch as he pops open the lube and lubes his fingers. “Mmk. This should at least be better than just my spit earlier.” He starts with two fingers, knowing you can take it. “Relax.” He reminds you, pushing his lips to your shoulder. He gets them about halfway in and you turn your face away and whimper. “Want me to stop?”

“Ash, I’m trusting you, you have to trust that I’ll say when it’s too much. I’ll tell you to stop if I mean stop.” You insist.

“Ok.” He nods, his fingers push further into you, and you let out another whimper. He lays down next to you, “focus on me.” He whispers, pressing his lips to yours.

Your hand wraps around his upper arm and you squeeze it as he slowly starts to pull his fingers out. And he gently pushes back in. He spends around five minutes doing this, occasionally moving his fingers a different way, or spreading them to stretch you more. He’s kissing you the whole time. “Baby, you ready?” He asks finally.

“Uh-huh. Yeah.” You agree. He kisses you again.

He pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the towel. He grabs the lube and slicks his cock with it. You feel the bed shift and Ash gently repositions you, pulling you slightly closer. One hand grabs your hip, and you turn to face forward instead of watching. He positions himself against you, holding his cock against your ass. “Mmk babe. Relax.” He gently pushes in, pushing until he bottoms out. “Tell me when.” He says quietly. He rubs his hands soothingly along your skin, your thighs, your back.

“Ash.” You reach your hand back and he slips his into yours. “Thank you.” You whisper. “You can move… SLOW.”

“I know.” He says quietly. His hips move slowly, as he begins to work into and out of you. “How’s it feel?” He asks, clearly holding back a moan.

“All I feel is stretch.” You whimper.

He slips his hand under you, fingers gently rubbing your clit. The next whimper from your lips is a little less pained. “Better?” He ask.

“Uh-huh.” You moan out.

“Can I move more?” He asks, you let go of his hand and grip the blankets, nodding your head.

Ash watches you, as you go from cautious to seeming to fully enjoy yourself, you push back on him a bit and he knows you’ve reached that point. Your legs shake as you orgasm for him again, the fourth time today.

He cums shortly after spilling into your ass. “Fuuuck. Baby girl.” He praises. He leans over you pressing kisses down your back, taking your mind off the fact he was about to pull out and possibly leave you in a world of hurt. His fingers pressed harder against your clit as he pulled out.

You let out the loudest gasp, biting the bed spread. “Ash!” You whimper.

“I know baby, that’s the worst once you get used to the stretch.” He hums. His lips press along your shoulders. He falls to the bed next to you, “C’mere.” He pulls you tight to him, pulling the towel with you to catch any spilling cum. He presses his lips to your forehead, then the tip of your nose and lastly your lips. “We should get cleaned up.” He hums.

“You don’t have to stay and take care of me Ash. You’ve held up your end of the deal.” You whisper, closing your eyes.

“Actually I do. I do something like we did today with you and I have a responsibility to make sure you’re ok.”

“K… m’tired though…. exhausted.” You yawn.

“I know.” Ash whispers, kissing your forehead. “You did so fucking good for me today princess.” He whispers.

“Can we do this again?” You mumble, cuddling into his chest.

“Not tonight.” He laughs. “But sometime, yes.”

masterlist || ashton || calum || luke || michael

[jesatria]

Fic: Simple Pleasures, Chap 4

Title: Simple Pleasures Fandom: Kushiel’s Legacy Characters: Isidore d’Aiglemort, Anne Livet Pairings: Isidore/Anne Word Count: 3,026 Rating: NC-17 Summary: The story of Isidore d’Aiglemort & the gardener’s daughter of Lombelon. WIP. Disclaimer: I do not own Kushiel’s Legacy. This is only for fun & no profit is being made from it.

I finally got this chapter done–it only took me over 6 months! I will try to not go so long without updating again.

Previous Chapters:

1. The Visit

2. Desire

3. The Harvest Festival

Chapter 4: The Triumph

         “That was some triumph!” Baudoin declared. He took a large gulp of wine. “Everything was perfect. I do believe I could get used to this.”

         I sipped my own wine. “That makes two of us. The entire scheme worked out perfectly.”

         “It was a good idea. We ought to do it again sometime.”

         “I’d be happy to assist you on your path to this throne,” I replied. That had been the reason for the entire scheme. I’d let the Skaldi through the passes at his suggestion, allowing him to conveniently swoop in and defeat them while visiting me at Aiglemort. Baudoin had always been ambitious and no longer bothered to hide his designs for the throne. The guilt I felt over betraying Camael’s sacred trust for his sake was quick to disappear in the aftermath of our victory. My father would never have approved, but he was dead. Baudoin becoming King would only be to my benefit.

         He put an arm around my shoulders. “I’m so lucky to have you for a friend! Never could’ve done it without you.” No, you couldn’t have, I thought but declined to mention. He took another swig of wine. “How about we head to the Night Court to celebrate?”

         I started at my glass, considering his offer. It had indeed been some time since I’d visited the Night Court or bedded any woman at all. My duties, along with the fighting and subsequent triumph, made it impossible to visit Lombelon. I’d been too busy to dwell on it much, though in quieter moments I thought of Anne. Could word of my victories have reached her at Lombelon? I’d not had time to write her during the madness of the preparations for it. “All right,” I said, “a visit to the Night Court sounds like the perfect way to celebrate. Which house did you have in mind?”

         Baudoin smiled. “I’ll let you choose this time.”

         I pondered the choices for a moment. I had only visited half of the thirteen houses and didn’t have a particular favorite. After brief consideration, I elected to visit one of the houses I hadn’t been to before. “I believe I’m up for a visit to Jasmine,” I answered with a grin.

         Baudoin chortled and squeezed my arm. “An excellent choice. Let’s see if we can outlast a Jasmine adept, eh Izzy?”

         I frowned at the nickname—Baudoin had an extremely irritating tendency to call me that when drunk. He never seemed to remember it afterward, because I told him not to use that obnoxious nickname more than once. Eventually I just gave up and tolerated it. Baudoin wasn’t exactly the most considerate person. One grew used to it after spending a great deal of time around him.

         We were greeted quite enthusiastically in Jasmine House. The Prince and the Duc d’Aiglemort would’ve been welcome any day, but today the entire city was fairly buzzing with excitement over our triumph. The adepts flocked to us and tried their best to earn our attention. Baudoin positively basked in their attentions as he always did on these occasions. I wished I could get used to such treatment, but instead I sat stiffly on one of their couches while adepts paraded themselves before me. I ultimately selected a woman with a figure like Anne’s, though she didn’t resemble her at all otherwise. I was not at all sorry to leave Baudoin behind when she led me to her room. Lying on a sofa with his arms around two adepts while a third sat on his lap, he’d be well-occupied for a while.

         The night proved to be a very satisfying one. I soon learned that all the rumors about the stamina of Jasmine adepts were true. When we were done, I went looking for Baudoin. I found him in a well-appointed bedchamber, reclining on a bed with the same three adepts from earlier draped over him. A flagon of wine stood on the nightstand. “Izzy?” he slurred drunkenly. “Done already? Don’t you want another go?”

         “I’m well-satisfied. I thought I’d return to my chambers in the palace.”

         “Why not stay here?” Baudoin retorted. “The company’s so… pleasant.” He punctuated his statement by patting the arse of one of his companions.

         “I’d rather return to my own bed, by your leave.”

         Baudoin waved a hand. “Very well. You can take the carriage back. I’ll be spending the night here.”

         I smiled. “In that case, enjoy yourself.” With those words, I took my leave of him and returned to the palace. I collapsed into bed immediately after undressing, my mind filled with thoughts of glory. They had cheered me at the triumph, as much as they had Baudoin. That was a new experience, as most people immediately focused on Baudoin and paid me little mind, even after I became Duc d’Aiglemort. No, they noticed me now, and I liked it.

         The next few days only proved that point. Crowds of admirers clustered around me wherever I went in the palace. Many were filled with admiration, but quite a few of them were obviously interested in me for other reasons. All of that was still somewhat unfamiliar territory for me. I supposed I would never get used to it.

         “Oh, you’re so much more handsome up close,” cooed a Namarrese baroness I’d seen at court before.

         “Thank you,” I replied, giving her a polite smile.

         “It must’ve been so dangerous, facing all those savage Skaldi,” she continued, moving closer to me. “You and Prince Baudoin are so brave.”

         “I am a Camaeline. It is my duty to fight the Skaldi.”

         “Of course.” She laid a hand on my arm. “But surely war isn’t the only thing you’re skilled in.”

         I moved my arm out of her grasp. I had no particular desire to take any new lovers. “I’m afraid I’m not giving any demonstrations.” I’d never been one for playing the game of courtship and sleeping with a good portion of the court, and I was not inclined to start now. The Namarrese baroness took my meaning and pouted. It did nothing whatsoever to alter my decision.

         “There he is! The man of the hour!” Marmion Shahrizai’s voice cut through the crowd in the noisy salon. He made his way through my cluster of admirers, followed by several of his kin. The Shahrizai always moved in packs. Melisande was among them. I’d thought she’d be with Baudoin, but on second thought he was probably still sleeping off last night’s indulgences. Marmion put an arm around my shoulders. “Well done Isidore! We’re all proud of you.”

         “Thank you, Marmion,” I said with a small grin. “I’m beginning to get used to the attention.”

         He laughed. “Never thought I’d hear you say something like that. When you were fostering with us, you were always more content to stay in the background.”

         It was true—when I was sent off to the Shahrizai, I’d preferred to avoid attracting much attention to myself. It had been hard enough fitting in with them when I already stuck out like a sore thumb. But that had changed in the time since. Victory in war brought with it fame and glory and I was beginning to realize I had a taste for both. “I’ve changed since then,” I said to Marmion.

         He laughed. “Come back with us to the lodge tonight. We want to properly celebrate your victory.”

         I’d been around them long enough to know exactly how a Shahrizai party typically went—a night of debauchery culminating in an orgy at Valerian House. One visit with them had been enough for me. “What do you have in mind? Baudoin and I already celebrated in Jasmine House last night.”

         “Oh, just a nice, small fête at the lodge, you and the family only. Does that suit you?”

         That was somewhat of a relief. “It would suit me very well.”

         “Then I’ll see you there tonight.” Marmion clasped my arm briefly, then took his leave. Most of his kin followed after him, pausing to offer me brief congratulations before leaving.

         “At last you have the recognition you deserve,” Melisande purred after we exchanged the kiss of greeting.

**

         The Shahrizai fête was subdued, as far as Shahrizai fêtes went anyway. It was a pleasant evening of dining and drinking and passed without any of them heading to the pleasure chamber. When it started to wind down, I took my leave before any of them suggested a visit to the Night Court. The attention I was receiving was certainly appreciated, but I found myself longing to return to Lombelon and see Anne. Had she heard about the triumph? Lombelon wasn’t far from the City and word spread very quickly. I hoped she hadn’t so I might tell her myself. That I’d let the Skaldi in the passes deliberately was irrelevant. I resolved to keep that bit of information secret. Only Baudoin and I needed to know the truth.

         Another week passed before I was able to get away. Ganelon summoned me more than once to discuss shoring up the border defences. During the conversation I had the distinct impression that he knew exactly what Baudoin and I had done, though he said nothing openly. He dared not take action against Houses Aiglemort and Trevalion. Our houses were too powerful and Baudoin and I too popular right now. The realm thought us heroes. Besides that, I had my own personal army in the form of the Allies of Camlach. No, the King would not target me openly, no matter what his suspicions were.

         I was glad to finally leave the City. Though I had enjoyed some of the attention and praise I’d received, I found myself eager to be away. It was, in many ways, the complete opposite of the City. As we grew close to the estate, I sent a rider ahead to give them some warning that I’d be arriving shortly.

         Sure enough, Anne was waiting at the front door when I arrived, along with a handful of others. She wore a fawn-brown cloak, which covered her from head-to-toe. Her face brightened as I rode up to the door and dismounted. This time I didn’t bother exchanging pleasantries with Bargot or anyone else; I made straight for Anne.

         “Your Grace,” she breathed. I noticed then that her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold. It was a very appealing effect. “You are most welcome to Lombelon.”

         “I am very glad to be here,” I replied. “I’ve been away too long. There has been increased activity on the border as of late.”

         Her eyes widened and she tensed. “The Skaldi?”

         I nodded. “They came through the passes of Camlach, but Prince Baudoin and I were able to drive them back.”

         “Thank Camael you were able to do so.”

         I smiled. “I’ll tell you all the details later, when we dine together.”

         A broad smile came across her face. “You’d like me to… dine with you? Actually sit at the table and eat instead of serving you?”

         “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t desire it. It feels somehow wrong for you to continue serving me at meals. I’d like you to eat with me.”

         “I would be honored to accept your request,” she replied with a smile, stepping forward to wrap her arms around me.

         Later, I seated myself in the dining room and waited for Anne to join me. It didn’t surprise me in the least that she was not already present when I arrived—it was unlikely she’d be excused from her usual duties to dine with me unless I specifically requested it. Even so, I did not have to wait long for her to appear. The doors opened and Anne entered, accompanied by our dinner. “What is this? Did you forget we’ll be dining together tonight?”

         “I didn’t forget,” she answered, “I simply insisted that I handle the serving.”

         “Why?” I honestly couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t want some time away from her servant duties.

         “Well, there’s always jealousy directed at me from the others whenever you are here. They were hoping they might catch your eye,” she explained.

         “I see. I was unaware that I was the subject of such attention.” It was true—I’ve never been particularly good at noticing such things.

         “Oh, you were. Still are, in fact. A significant portion of the staff here are jealous of me for earning your attentions. I didn’t want to endure the stares from the other ladies any more than I already do every day, so I offered to do the serving myself.”

         I chuckled lightly. “Very well. We might as well begin then.”

         “So what was it like?” Anne asked after we began to eat. “The battle, I mean.”

         I had to pause for a moment and consider my response. How exactly to describe battle to someone who’d never even come close to experiencing it? I did not think Anne the sort of woman who’d want to hear all about the glories of war and less about its unpleasant realities. I’d dealt with plenty of the former in the City after my triumph and I’d had quite enough of them. The truth, then. “Bloody,” I answered earnestly. “War is an ugly, messy business. In this case there was little contest—my forces and Prince Baudoin’s fell upon the Skaldi after they broke through the passes. We were able to defeat them easily.”

         Anne’s eyebrows rose. “The Skaldi are fierce fighters, are they not?”

         I nodded. “They’re barbarians who live for blood and battle. Fortunately, strategy is not a strength they possess. They lack cohesive leadership.”

         “What do you mean by that?”

         “I mean they aren’t ruled by a single king the way we are in Terre d’Ange. The Skaldi are a bunch of disorganized tribes, not a united people. Their loyalty is to their own chieftains. Sometimes one of the stronger chieftains will manage to unite a couple of tribes, but it never lasts long.”

         She watched me with wide, fascinated eyes. I suppose no one spoke of the dynamics of Skaldi society to L’Agnacite gardeners as a rule. “That’s all very fortunate for us if they are as fierce as you say, but what if they did find a leader who could unite them?”

         It took me a moment to decide how to answer her. Should I tell her that there were rumors of such a figure emerging? No, best not to trouble her unnecessarily. Here in L’Agnace any threat from the Skaldi seemed far away. “It is… unlikely that any single leader could unify the Skaldi for long. They are a fractious people who place loyalty to their tribe above all else.” She relaxed slightly at that. “As Camaelines, it is our sacred duty to protect Terre d’Ange. We are more than capable of dealing with the Skaldi,” I assured her. The role I played in deliberately letting them through the passes so Baudoin could play at being Prince Rolande I kept to myself. It was better that she not know these things.

         When the meal was over, we retired to my bedchamber. Both of us were quite hungry for each other, this being our first night together after some time apart. Later, after we were sated, Anne lay in my arms, her head resting on my chest. I pressed her body tightly against mine, savoring the feel of her. In that moment I found myself feeling more grateful for her than ever before. It was an entirely different life in Lombelon with her, as far as possible from the life I had in the City. It was more like to Camlach than to the City, but there were several key differences, the lack of warfare being the most significant one. Yet despite the differences, there was a certain similarity as well. When the border was quiet, life in Camlach could be a country idyll, perhaps even moreso than Lombelon due to its remoteness. Anne and I were alike in that we were both creatures of the countryside. Of course she’d never been to the City, despite living only a short distance from it. I couldn’t imagine her fitting in well at all there. It had been that way for me when my father brought me to the City as a child. I was overwhelmed by the crowds, the sights, the smells—but most of all the crowds. Camlach is sparsely-populated compared to the rest of Terre d’Ange and lacks any large cities. Aiglemort might’ve been the ducal seat, but the number of people there was small in comparison to the population of the palace. Time had helped me grow used to these differences, but my preferences remained the same.

         “Would you like to see the City, Anne?” I inquired, curious.

         She stirred and lifted her head from its resting place on my chest. “The City of Elua?”

         “Yes. Have you ever thought about it?”

         “A few times. My father told me about it—he’s been a handful of times. He always said it was a sight worth seeing, but he would never want to live there. I think I would likely feel the same if I ever visited it,” she answered.

         “I see you take after your father in that regard. Both of you are far more comfortable here among your country gardens.”

         “And are you not also a creature of the countryside, your grace?” she asked, almost as if she’d read my earlier thoughts. “Your words about Camlach indicate as much.”

         “Guilty as charged,” I replied. “I suppose this shared disposition makes us suitable for each other.”

         That marked the end of our conversation, as she soon fell asleep and I followed not long after.

**

         My visits to Lombelon took on a familiar routine after that. I went whenever my duties permitted, which never seemed to be often enough. You might say it was turning into something of an addiction for me. The entire thing had taken me somewhat by surprise, as I never thought I’d take such a liking to the place, or to a certain woman who lived there.

Note

I’m back! I’m sorry I took so long to update this fic. I never actually forgot about it--this chapter has been written for a while, but I was too lazy to type & edit it. I don’t intend to go so long between updates again. I’m in a Kushiel mood right now & feeling motivated to write fic in this fandom again.

[kyletoom]

Let’s make a Gameboy Advance game! Part 1

If you’ve come here, then you’re probably either here for my Gameboy Advance game development or are (at the time of posting) a time traveler who has already seen what else I will be posting in the future and came to the past to see the beginnings of it all play out. Both are completely valid reasons to be here, but first, let’s cover the basics:

About Me:

I’m a hobbyist game developer/college student studying Computer Science. I have an interest in Japanese things and have recently studied abroad there. I am also my University’s Game Development Club president, and I haven’t been mutinied yet, so that’s a good sign. My first game system was the Gameboy Advance (there is no such thing as coincidences, eh?) and my favorite game is Pokemon Emerald.

Why Tumblr?

Simply put, I wanted to share my adventure in game development with more people, and this seemed like a good place to do so. I also have a few friends here already, so might as well join the party. I have a Twitter too (@kyle_toom) but that platform isn’t particularly well suited for long devblogs.

What will you post?

At the moment, I am considering posting about once every two weeks. The reason for this is that I want to deliver quality posts... and am a busy person who can’t spend all day blogging and making games :P As for what I will be posting, for now, I will be talking about making games for the GBA, but in the future you can expect me to talk about another very special mostly-secret(TM) game. I am a programmer by nature, but I want this blog to be accessible to non-programmers as well, so I will leave the technobabble confined to technical note sections of the blog and explain things from a non-programmer’s perspective otherwise.

GBA! GBA!

Alright, alright. Let’s get to it.

Well first things first: how does one get started? There are two main ways to program a GBA, but we will be taking the C route. C is a programming language that is significantly easier to work with than the other option, assembly. Here is a sampling of each to see the visual differences:

Assembly:

C:

Yeah okay, it looks complicated either way, but at least with C you can give things names to make it a lot more readable. Both codes simply fill the screen with a given color, so nothing too fancy. However, thanks to modern compiler technologies we can turn C code directly into a GBA game file (referred to as a ROM). If anyone is wondering where I got the information to make GBA ROMs, you can find the tutorial I used here. Needless to say, though, it is geared at experienced programmers, so be warned.

So let’s make a simple GBA ROM! Well first thing’s first, we have to get an image, “sprite”, onto the screen.

Yay! We got a tiny 8 pixel by 8 pixel sprite onto the screen! That was easy enough right? Yeah, it wasn’t too bad. I made a sprite that uses two alternating colors in a palette and then put it at the coordinates (16, 16). As opposed to what you learned in math class, the coordinate system in the GBA starts with (0,0) at the top left, with the y-axis increasing as you go down. The reason it does this is because of how memory is structured and how the GBA handled scanlines. Yes, scanlines, just like an old CRT screen TV. Normally computers can flash an image onto a screen all at once, but GBAs do it one line at a time. This means that if you change a sprite’s position in between lines, you could end up shearing the image! Thankfully, there is a few millisecond period between finishing a frame and starting the next, so we actually change the sprite’s position in that brief time.

Another thing about images in the GBA is that they are almost always paletted images. This means that instead of using any color under the rainbow, an image has to use a small selection of colors. Technically you can draw to the GBA with its full range of colors, but this is actually too slow to draw at 60 frames per second with. Thanks to the Tools menu in VisualBoy Advance, the emulator that I use, you can actually see the palettes stored in memory:

The first (technically 0th) spot in sprite palettes is actually reserved for transparency, so I started adding colors at the next two spots.

Next, let’s make the square move! Because the GBA runs at 60 fps, it is pretty easy to write up some code to add consistent movement to a sprite.

But a little 8x8 square is pretty boring, huh? Why don’t we add a 16x24 sprite then? Well, things get a little bit tricky with that, actually. We can have 16x8, 16x16, or 16x32 sprites with the GBA, as well as other dimensions that satisfy the expression 8*2^n, but we can’t actually have 16x24 sprites. This leaves us with two options: take up extra space and use a 16x32 sprite to draw a 16x24 sprite, or use two sprites, a 16x16 and 16x8 sprite. I actually like the second option better so I will do that.

Player sprite borrowed from my friends at Monster Crown, an upcoming monster taming game! Woo! You can check out their fully funded Kickstarter here.

So that was no problem, right? Well, this time I have been vastly oversimplifying it. You can’t just take an image’s data and store it in the GBA’s memory directly. If you did, it would look something like this:

Now THAT harkens back to the good ol’ days with Missingno on Pokemon Red and Blue! This is because while normal computers take images row by row, the GBA can only work with 8x8 “tiles”. If you split it up correctly, this is one of the ways you can represent it:

The main thing that you don’t see happening here is that each third of the image is actually split into two 8x8 chunks. The data of the first chunk has to completely finish before you can get to the data of the second one, as opposed to storing the information row by row like normal. This is how the 8x8 tile that is the left side of the character’s head is actually stored:

Because this is a pain in the neck to do by hand, I actually made myself a tool to do it for me. After all, the motto of programming is “if you keep having to do something, make a function or program to do it for you.”

Well anyways, that’s enough for now. Next time I will show you how I add backgrounds and animation to my demo.

If you would like to try the demo out for yourself, here is the GBA ROM file.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!

Programmer time

Okay, time for me to let my programming talk run free! This time, I would like to talk about what we call I/O registers on the GBA.

You know how normally to get something on a computer screen you have to call a function? Yeah nope, not on the GBA or similar systems. Instead of calling a function to get a sprite on the screen, we have to write to a certain memory address. Except not even that! For instance, address 0x6000000 isn’t actually at that location in memory, as the GBA doesn’t even have that much memory to begin with. Rather, the top few bits of the memory address indicate which chip on the GBA to send the data too. While 0x6000000 is byte 0 of VRAM, 0x4000000 is byte 0 of the BIOS.

Anyways, to get a sprite on screen we have to do several things. First, we have to load the sprite’s image data into a certain part of VRAM. And then we have to load the palette into Palette Memory (yes it’s separate). Finally, we have to go into what we call Object Attribute Memory (OAM) to tell the sprite where to go on screen, which palette to use, which properties to have, and if it’s even supposed to draw or not.

Okay, so that’s not too crazy. But of course, every bit of every type of memory has to be utilized! Something that threw me off for a bit was that the y coordinate for a sprite takes up 8 bits of memory... While the x coordinate takes up 9 bits. Lots of bitshifts and bit masks.

The final caveat with memory has to do with how each memory is built into the circuit. Some chips are 16 bit, some are 32 bit. While this generally doesn’t do much, if you try to write a single byte to VRAM then, well, you’ve written two bytes with the same value. It very much enforces that 16 bit value when it comes to VRAM and I believe a few others. I can already tell that working with memory is one of the hardest parts of working with the GBA...but onwards none-the-less!

[kiruuuuu]

Tachanka/Vigil oneshot in which Tachanka is sensible and an upstanding member of society. (Rating E, filth and depravity, dubcon, humiliation? all the good stuff basically, ~3.2k words) - written for @blitznbandit  IN EXCHANGE FOR THIS BEAUTY

.

Tachanka is a reasonable man. He knows what to expect from life, knows his limits and knows how to stay in control – of himself, his temper, most situations. He’s practical, independent, realistic and doesn’t give a damn about what people think; he’s being paid to protect civilians, not to care. Some people give him shit for it, most don’t dare, it’s all the same to him. He values loyalty higher than friendship because friends might still stab you in the back, though a mix is unsurprisingly ideal: people who will protect him with their lives despite what they think of him are good company though his boys are the best company, sticking to him like glue and family and blood brothers for no other reason than they belong. The blind devotion is not something he could explain.

Regardless, he’s not a passionate man. Overwhelming emotions are biased and justice needs to be devoid of emotions, objective, neutral or else it’s not fair, cannot claim to be just. It’s a principle that follows him throughout his life, guides his social interactions and colours his relationships that have always been benefit-oriented, pragmatic, sensible. Mind games are not for him, he’s brutally honest to a fault and makes his intentions clear. The ones who can appreciate that in him have proven excellent partners.

And then there’s this young Korean with his nervous smiles and restless hands and he fucking pisses Tachanka off. It’s like he was raised in a barn, never learned to speak up, make eye contact or behave like a goddamn normal human being. Just seeing him in the first week after he joins Rainbow is enough to spark Tachanka's anger and during a briefing, he snaps, has had enough of Vigil hovering uncertainly in the background and barks at him to sit the fuck down and not be such a nuisance. Oh, and how he comes to regret this loss of composure the very next second.

Because Vigil’s eyes go wide, he freezes for a heartbeat before almost throwing himself onto the next available chair, visibly shaken and intimidated, avoids looking at Tachanka and oh.

That’s interesting. The boy is scared of him.

The realisation is too delicious to ignore. Vigil probably dreads interacting with most of the other operators, that much is clear, yet Tachanka has never seen him react this fast or obey without question. He decides to test his theory by snapping at him a few more times, giving more and more ridiculous orders that the boy carries out quietly and without even telling on him and it’s… he can’t lie to himself, it gives him ideas. If he’s very honest, he wants to hold him down and fuck him until he can’t walk and this is surprising. Because Tachanka is not a passionate man. He doesn’t let himself be swayed by whimsical notions, flights of fancy.

Tachanka is a reasonable man. He’s a generous lover and demands explicit consent. He’s not lacking in options usually, so why attempt to take what isn’t his? He has a type: self-sufficient, confident, preferably his age, composed and experienced in bed. He rarely strays from the tried and tested formula, everything else just begs for trouble.

So why is he grabbing this infuriating Korean boy by the collar and stuffing him into the supply closet again? He really should stop this before it gets out of hand. “You’d look so pretty gagging on my cock”, he tells Vigil without meaning to and no, who is he kidding, the sight would be delectable.

And then the moment of truth happens. Because while Vigil still looks terrified, he sinks down to his knees and puts his hands on Tachanka's belt, biting his lip and eyelids fluttering nervously. Tachanka has trouble believing what he sees but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The whole affair is messy, Vigil has really no idea of what he’s doing, drools all over himself and chokes repeatedly yet he’s astonishingly determined, uses his hands and tries to swallow as much of Tachanka's dick as he can, allows him to push his head forwards, at some point just grips Tachanka's thighs and holds on for dear life as he thrusts into his mouth not as deeply as he’d like to. Tachanka comes with a loud groan, unloading first down Vigil’s throat and then on his face while he’s coughing. He was right though. He does look extremely pretty.

“What am I supposed to do with you?”, he grumbles, wipes some of his come off Vigil’s brow and pushes his finger between the wet and swollen lips. The young man merely sucks on it, looks up at him, wordless yet calmer than Tachanka has ever seen him outside of a mission. He makes a decision. This lost soul needs guidance.

.

Two fingers hooked into the already tight collar, ready to pull if necessary, Tachanka muses on how quickly his pet has improved. He’s sitting on his bed, Vigil on the floor between his legs, obediently lapping and sucking at him, still struggling to fit all of Tachanka's length into his throat but a sharp tug on the leather between his fingers convinces Vigil to at least try. His mouth is a wet heat of which Tachanka can’t get enough, his lips silky and his chokes music to his ears. “You’re such an eager little slut”, he murmurs because Vigil is and in response the young man glances up at him, perpetually worrying about whether he’s doing it right, some pride sneaking in whenever Tachanka lets out a pleased groan. “Go deeper. You know how I like it.”

He couldn’t even say how often they’ve done this by now, Tachanka dragging the Korean to his room at the end of the day, demanding things some of which worry even him in quiet moments and Vigil obeying for reasons unknown, ready to learn and readier to hand himself over to Tachanka completely. The power his words and gestures hold is intoxicating, the rush he feels when Vigil silently obliges addicting – he can’t get enough of the shy gazes, the occasional hesitation, the complete and utter submission. A tongue slides over the underside of his cock and he growls, so Vigil does it again and holds his breath when Tachanka pulls him in and holds him there, enjoying the tight heat of the Korean’s throat working around him as Vigil tries to swallow.

This is one of his favourite parts, together with the way Vigil shudders around his thick fingers on the occasions Tachanka feels generous enough and preps him himself: he can see tears forming in the corners of Vigil’s eyes, desperation seeping in as the need for air increases and yet he keeps perfectly still, for some reason trusting Tachanka not to go overboard. “You’re the perfect plaything”, Tachanka says, “you wouldn’t even care if you passed out, eh? Die happily as long as my dick’s anywhere inside you.”

For obvious reasons, Vigil doesn’t answer but Tachanka notices movement in his peripheral vision where there should be none. Mercilessly, he drags Vigil off his length and barks at him while he’s gasping and gulping in air: “Who told you you could touch yourself?” He kicks the offending hand away from the Korean’s crotch, earns a whine and presses his sole against the weeping erection, makes Vigil’s eyes widen and his hips actually buck into Tachanka's foot even though the pressure can’t be comfortable. “Keep your fucking hands off your useless dick, it’s not like you’re ever going to fuck anything with it anymore.”

Vigil is too far gone already, there’s this reckless glint in his eyes that means Tachanka can basically do whatever he wants, say whatever comes to mind – in this state, he’s malleable, gives himself up completely and Tachanka has to admit he capitalises on this. The first few times, it took a while for the younger man to reach this state, nowadays his own fingers up his ass and Tachanka's cock down his throat already do the trick. With reddened cheeks, he pulls his fingers out and uses that hand to support himself, leans back while the other wraps around Tachanka's foot, keeping it in place as he grinds his hips against it, moaning wantonly. He reminds Tachanka of a dog in heat, desperate for any stimulation, begging to be allowed to mate.

His toes push against the dark head and Vigil’s breath hitches. His lips are shiny from spit and precum, the black collar a tasteful contrast to his pale skin and Tachanka wants to destroy him. He never stopped irritating the Russian, his social skills have barely improved over time and he steadfastly refuses to open up about his demons. Still. They don’t need to talk while Tachanka fucks him.

“Get on the bed”, he orders with a last push of his foot before he withdraws it and Vigil scrambles to do so, crawls onto the sheets on his hands and knees, grips the fabric in anticipation but Tachanka is not having it. He’s used to Vigil’s habit of trying to conceal his face, so he kneels behind him, takes a moment to appreciate the view of his inviting hole, his erection pointing down, his strong legs and muscled back before he brings down his hand on one of the round buttocks forcefully and with a loud smack that makes Vigil jolt, gasp and look back at him hurt and confused. “Turn around, you’re not going to hide from me. I want to see what a whore you are.”

The Korean’s expression turns conflicted and he even starts to protest: “But – I don’t –”

Another slap, this one harder and leaving behind an extremely satisfying red handprint. Tachanka knows that the younger man likes the pain, sometimes is even sloppy in his preparation on purpose so he can feel it more keenly; Tachanka always notices and never holds back. “Don’t make me punish you.” Predictably, Vigil chews on his lower lip a little longer so Tachanka spanks him another time, hitting the same patch of skin that must be tender by now but at least it convinces Vigil to lie down on his back, legs spread and visibly embarrassed. “I’m not going to hold back for you.”

The younger man nods, the blush deepening, so Tachanka lubes up his throbbing cock, scoots closer and hooks Vigil’s legs over his shoulders unceremoniously. He knows Vigil hates this position, feels exposed, he reads it in the way he avoids eye contact and tenses up. Tachanka guides his tip with one hand, lines it up and pushes into the waiting ring of muscle, increases the force when he feels resistance, hears Vigil utter a strangled moan. His limbs relax, his face goes slack and he’s utterly lost now, drowning under Tachanka and revelling in the feeling of being filled. Tachanka is familiar with it, has seen it countless times before and never gets tired of it, just like he never tires of the tightness that encompasses him right now, clenches around him and soothes his need.

Once he’s bottomed out, he pauses to examine the Korean under him, cheeks pink and a thin sheen of sweat covering his body, returning his gaze dazedly. “I wonder what that colleague of yours would say if she saw you like this”, he ponders out loud and though most of his words are lost on Vigil in this state, these ones penetrate the fog in his mind, induce a slight panic Tachanka whole-heartedly enjoys. “Impaled on my cock, begging for it, shameless. Hm? What do you think she’d say?”

He doesn’t give Vigil any opportunity to answer, instead pulls out almost all the way and slams back in, forcing another moan out of Vigil’s abused throat that he likes so much he does it again straight away. The walls of Vigil’s insides accommodate him effortlessly, he was thorough today, probably anticipating Tachanka's impatience and urge to inflict discomfort – Vigil is not bad at reading his moods. Maybe he should really keep him.

The pace he sets is brutal but nothing the younger man can’t handle, his nails digging into creamy thighs as his hips snap forward again and again, his shaft driving into the willing body that’s really quite pleasing to look at, Tachanka has to admit. Vigil’s got a lot going for him. Most of all he’s tight and compliant, allows himself to be bossed around and Tachanka finds himself wondering how far he’ll actually go. “You think I should invite someone to watch?”, he grunts, his words emphasised by hard thrusts, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the space between them, “I bet my boys would appreciate the sight.”

He can feel Vigil clench around him, added stimulation to the already heady sensation of shagging him raw that’s starting to cloud his mind, lust pulsing through his body. He indulges in the fantasy, imagines Kapkan lazily jerking off to the two of them, egging Tachanka on, Fuze impatiently grabbing one of Vigil’s hands so he can fuck his fist. On a whim, he stops, pulls out his cock and forces Vigil’s knees almost down to his head, displaying his hungry entrance for his viewing pleasure and teases the rim with the tip of his erection, the touch electrifying and the effect on the younger man just as intended.

Vigil’s eyes are wide and wild and almost black, mouth gaping open in shock, his hands scrabbling for purchase, digging into Tachanka's hips, trying to get him to continue, despairing and frantic and oh so lovely. “What do you want? Use your words, kid.” He drags his shaft along the entrance and can’t suppress a smirk at how the Korean trembles at the feeling.

“I need –” He’s gasping like a fish out of water, usually Tachanka doesn’t stop once he’s started the merciless pummelling, only today he craves seeing Vigil squirm. “Please, please, just –” A helpless groan claws its way out of his throat as Tachanka forces his thick head back inside, feeling the sphincter contract around him, only to withdraw yet again. “Tachanka”, Vigil whines and he almost can’t resist the sudden urge to slam back home upon hearing his name, instead he keeps dipping his tip in slowly.

“We could share you”, he continues and watches the Korean writhe under him, roll his hips into nothing, his neglected penis dripping precum, “your hole can take a beating. The boys can pass you around and you’d still be gagging for my cock, even filled with their cum you’d come begging.” The friction is overwhelming, his control waning. He can’t keep this up for much longer but he wants to hear Vigil admit to how much he’s come to rely on Tachanka.

“Yes”, Vigil whispers and nods his head eagerly, “yes, please.”

“Please what?” The younger man is conflicted, embarrassed, so Tachanka unhurriedly slides in all the way, forcing him to inhale deeply and stretch uncomfortably, still folded in half. “Look at me, you dirty slut.”

The younger man struggles to oblige and shudders as Tachanka pulls out once more, leaving him empty and gaping. “Tachanka.” His voice is quiet, broken, pleading. “Take me. I need you.”

It’s good enough. He growls and snaps his hips forward, breaching him and reaching deep into Vigil’s insides, satisfying the primal desire pulsing in his groin. Again his thrusts are merciless, his mind still toying with the idea of whoring Vigil out, watching idly as his boys stuff him on both ends, culminating in him dominating the younger man, using their cum as lube and marking him with his teeth, scratching him up so he doesn’t forget to whom he belongs, at whose mercy he ultimately is.

His hips are moving on their own, fast and so hard Vigil has to relinquish his hold on the bedsheets to grip the headboard, moaning in ecstasy and sinking deep into his almost spiritual state of pleasure with which Tachanka is intimately familiar. He himself makes no attempts to suppress any noises either, grunting and groaning at the feel of velvety heat around his cock, muscles convulsing around him, pleasure building up with each sharp thrust.

“Don’t come before I do”, he pants and Vigil understands, wraps a hand around his twitching shaft and pumps himself in time with Tachanka's thrusts, aiming to time his orgasm to the one that’s fast approaching in the Russian, inevitable and quicker than usual, a result of the mental image of Kapkan humping Vigil with a blissful look on his face while Glaz kneels over his face and feeds a blushing Vigil his cock in small movements. He could probably genuinely convince Kapkan to join them – Vigil himself needs no coercion, Tachanka's word alone is enough. That, or he just jams his fingers up his ass and massages him until the Korean doesn’t care about anything anymore.

The tightness is becoming too much: now that Vigil’s jerking himself, he contracts even more around Tachanka's girth, sucking him in greedily. Tachanka decides he doesn’t look out of it enough and adjusts the angle, points his thrusts upwards and drags his cock over Vigil’s prostate which earns him a strangled gasp and an even tighter passageway, so he keeps at it, making the Korean tremble and keen, hears himself moan at the increased friction.

He is pushed over the edge when Vigil cries his name, his actual name, the syllables foreign on his tongue and the pronunciation wrong but Tachanka's dick quite obviously doesn’t care. With a last thrust, he slams into the Korean and stays there, shoots his sperm into his guts and feels Vigil come around him, clamp down in waves as he shivers and spurts come all over himself, both of them lost in their own orgasm. Tachanka feels pure bliss, all tension and stress drained out of him, sweet relief the only thing that remains. He lets Vigil’s insides milk him, extract every last bit of viscous liquid out of him, then he withdraws.

For a few moments, he basks in the afterglow, relaxes his limbs and admires the utterly fucked out mess before him. Vigil is still catching his breath, avoiding Tachanka's gaze and trying to cross his legs to hide his shame but Tachanka spreads them, strokes his thigh with one hand and touches the pad of a finger on the other to the abused hole, making Vigil jump. Curiously, he pushes in, feels the muscle grip it tightly, feels his own warm semen inside, swats Vigil’s hand away as he tries to interfere, discomfort written clearly in his expression. It’s tempting.

“Maybe I should really get someone else to fuck you before I do”, he muses. Surprisingly, it’s not all trepidation on the Korean’s face at this, he believes to have spotted something else too. Excitement.

Thinking about it, maybe he shouldn’t share Vigil after all. Others might want to corrupt him, he should protect him from possibly negative influences. After all, Tachanka is a reasonable man.

[plantdad-dante]

Book #14 - City Of Lost Souls by Cassandra Clare

(collected thoughts on the fifth book of the The Mortal Instruments series, a book which, for the most part, I very much did not like. consider yourself warned, I really couldn't hold back the rant this time.)

A preface: Rants are never as much fun as we sometimes think. Neither to write nor to read. They can be cathartic, though, and catharcis is what is needed right now. So. Nothing I say in this post is meant maliciously. I am not trying to take away anyone’s authentic enjoyment of this book. And I do not intend to offend anyone with this, least of all Mrs Clare herself. That being said....

Whatever this was, I never want to read it again.

I mean, to be fair... it wasn't as directionless as City Of Fallen Angels. Or as uninteresting. Instead it made me feel angry, disappointed, puzzled, uncomfortable, sad, sick to my stomach (*glares at the second half of Chapter 19*), defeated, fed-up, tired.... Yeah. No. I didn't like this. And I dread the fact that there is still one to go. And that it will be way longer by the looks of it.

By the way, I'm reading Clockwork Princess now (because the The Infernal Devices series knows how to hurt me the proper way) to remind myself that I don't actually hate Cassandra Clare's writing. That is the level of misery we are dealing with.

I hate how Malec, still, in the fifth damn book, was written as a weird mix of genuine emotion and clumsy represantation (yes, Clary, I get that Alec and Magnus are just like you and Jace, wanna hit me over the head with it again, to be sure?) And why did we need to make Alec such an unaware, self-absorbed, uncommunicative idiot? Camille was so obviously manipulating him, I wanted him to just go "hey, your ex is trying to get in my head, any idea how to stop that" at Magnus at any time, but no! No, they need a break-up, because fuck u! And we won't even establish them as a happy, functional couple for more than half a scene and some blurry background screenshots, so the break-up scene will only hit wherever it reminds you of the show! Feel satisfied with the plot yet?

Ugh. I quite liked Clary's plotline, right up until the second half of Chapter 19, when the book briefly made me want to throw up and I decided that, even though I really didn't like City Of Fallen Angles in any way, this one was gonna be my new least favourite of the whole series. Congratulations, Sebastian, you did it. Can we throw him into a woodchipper now, please?

Jace's brief moment of clarity kinda threw me, because it wasn't the least bit set up and everything about it just kinda came out of nowhere. I liked it as a character moment for him, showing how he definetly, absolutely, hated Sebastian (hell, this whole name thing bothers me to no end, but if I get into that, we'll be here for half an eternity), but all the other stuff? Eh.

Although I liked her storyline, Clary's character arc in this is, in my opinion, very jumbled and unclear. I have no idea what she went through or what I was supposed to feel except agony at the continued violations of her personal freedom, freedom of choice, general autonomy, (sense of) safety, emotional well-being, physical well-being.... (Is it just me or has her "artist vision" almost completely evaporated?)

Also, can Clace stop being horny around each other for, like, one scene. Please. At this point, I have to assume this is like a carrot these books want to dangle in front of the noses of Clace shippers, but I am neither that, nor am I a person who is interested in reading the carrot. So. Can we not, maybe.

[smokingtomas]

Thank you so much for the Alice x Ryou ship meme, I loved it *o*. The Angst/fluff prompt for SoRina 46 and/or/maybe 100, pretty please? Is just that I can't never have enough of the wonderful way you handle these two😍. Thank you so much in advance and a big hug for you!

Thank you so much! Sorry this took some time to complete, but I hope you like the combination of your requests x proposal :) 

Also, this may or may not be inspired from a true event.

46. “Dance with me.”

100. “You’re the only one I wanna wake up next to.”

Getting engaged to Yukihira Soma, in contrast to everyone’s belief, was something that had never crossed Nakiri Erina’s mind– don’t judge, it was just that she liked what they were currently having. Great career, great amount of money, great sex life; couldn’t have complained, right?

Until that night she woke up to find him completely dozed off on their bed. With his chef jacket still on.

She knew it must had been one of those nights, but she also knew those chef whites hadn’t been washed for god knows how long. Gross.

“Yukihira, wake up.” She offered him gentle nudges. “Change your clothes first. They’re filthy.”

So he did, quickly (but clearly sleep deprived) stripping himself out of his whites before he tossed it over to the corner of the room and went back inside the duvet with his brief, which Erina rolled her eyes at.

“Nakiri,” He called her as he buried his face on the crook of her neck, which she responded with a nonchalant hum– that article she was reading on her phone must had her hooked so bad.

“Let’s get married.”

Her heart almost stopped. Her phone almost slipped off and fell on her head. Where did that come from?

“W-What did you say again?”

Of course, in pivotal moments like these, all she had to get is a Soma’s signature snore.

They didn’t talk about it at breakfast, nor did she dare to brought it up. To her,  he was clearly unconsciously talking in his sleep, so she thought it’d be too pointless to mention anyway.

Just when she had finally shrugged it off, the following week when Soma was driving her to a client’s restaurant in Kensington (she remembered precisely because they were passing her favorite pastry shop), the topic came out again.

“Don’t ya think outdoor wedding ceremony in Japan would be rad? Wanna do it next year?”

She was startled (and a little annoyed how he said things like that as if he was asking her to bake him a chocolate tart), but she recalled he forgot to drink his daily dose of americano that morning. “D-Do you even know what you’re saying?”

He jested her question, “Think about it. It’d be cool having you as the wifey.”

Oh, how she’d had enough with the combination of slangs with his impromptu jokes, but of course the marriage talk didn’t end there, and she had reached her breaking point when Soma brought it up again that other day he came back from Dubai.

“Yukihira, haven’t you had enough with the marriage jokes?” She felt the urge to pause Riverdale she had been binge watching for this.

“Who said anything about a joke?” Soma, who was already sitting next to her, sang a touch of disbelief.

Alright… so he wasn’t totally joking. “W-Well, you tell an awful lot of jokes! I can never tell when you are being serious.”

“Aight. I’m serious.” He put a feet on the table, “Y’know we’re stuck together, and you know damn well I’m gonna marry you sooner or later.”

“N-Not like this, obviously!” She swerved, hoping her face didn’t turn crimson, “Listen, it’s the men’s job to do a proposal to a girl they want to marry. Don’t act like this is some sort of barbaric nonsense as your life, and I’m not accepting anything until you bring me to a romantic place, get me a diamond ring, look me in the eyes seriously and tell me you want to marry me.”

He seemed to be listening pretty keenly to her demanding (yet reasonable) preach. At least the expression scattered through his face screamed seriousness, and it was quite satisfying to Erina since she wasn’t talking about food– see, he could listen if she just-

“You secretly hope I have a ring here inside my coat, eh?”

Dang it. “Stupid!”

One would had thought the next thing he’d do is to follow the order of the mighty Nakiri Erina, but Yukihira Soma being himself meant that was never going to happen.

He had taken her to fancy sky dining restaurants around London and Singapore, the romantic cliff side restaurant in Puglia, even that highly exclusive undersea restaurant in Maldives, and each of them she had nervously anticipating the proposal that never came out of that idiotic mouth.

Though knowing Soma, the proposal could had been at his all-time favorite Shake Shack or that old 24-hour pizza place he always goes to– guess she was pretty thankful it didn’t happen there as well.

But the strangest thing was, he never spoke of the topic ever since that night on the couch.

So by the time they were in Paris and he had asked her to have dinner with him on a Seine River cruise, she had forgotten about the particular matter… well, almost had.

She still thought it was one of the loveliest dinner she had in years, though– nothing can beat the lights that lit up Eiffel Tower in the evening as she was swayed by the slow beat of French music.

“Can I have your tuxedo?” She asked him when they were sightseeing at the bow of the cruise after their 5-course meal, “It’s a little cold.”

“Uh… what about a hug instead?” The redhead immediately wrapped her in his embrace– yes, she was a tad annoyed.

“You can rent the whole cruise for tonight, but not lending me your tux?” Erina folded her arm. Weird guy. “Explain the logic, please.”

“Nah, just feel like hugging ya. Oh look, Notre Dame!”

Her eyes were instantly glued to the twinkling, majestic cathedral. It was even more mesmerizing at night that she forgot what she was asking him and quickly moved forward to bathe herself with the warm lights, leaving him behind.

“Hey, Yukihira. Can I say something?” She asked without looking at him.

“Spill.”

“The thing that… you used to talk about, you know, about g-getting married to you… things like that. I-I’ve been thinking, maybe i-it’s not right to ask for such proposal since… you know, you and I. We have been through so many–”

“Nakiri, you’re blabbering.”

“I-I was getting to my point, idiot!” Erina barked, and she could practically hear Soma giggling in the background, “My point is, I… I always want to be the one you wake up next to, o-or the woman you always cook for, or… the one you’ll have your last dance with, and maybe you don’t even want to dance with me anymore, but–”

“You can have all my dances, Nakiri.”

And when she turned around, he was standing there. With a Cartier box.

“Y-Yukihira… you–”

“Told ya I was serious.”

She knew she was blushing as soon as those Salvatore-covered feet of him stepped forward.

“Man, I knew you were bad with words, but you were kinda overlapping my lines a lil bit there, y’know.” He offered her a smile as he popped the velvet rectangle open, “Guess uh… since that’s outta the way, there’s only one thing left to do, eh?”

“A-Are you sure?”

Without hesitation, he got down on one knee right there, at the bow of the small cruise, overlooking Hotel de Ville.

“Nakiri Erina-sama,” He breathe, “Will you be my forever muse?”

At a normal circumstances, she would probably roll her eyes, but with Paris, Yukihira Soma who looked stupidly dashing when he kneeled, and with a drop of tear that almost rolled down her cheek and almost ruined her mascara, the queen had been conquered.

“I…I suppose I will.”

When he slid the 1895 Solitaire into her ring finger, she knew she couldn’t ask for a better way to get engaged.