#the most common way I read it is like short common words but gibberish - 'if can your most it' or 'i can you me i'

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Desperate Measures.

Pairing: Yandere!Kaeya/Reader (Genshin Impact).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Kidnapping, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Stalking, and Delusional Mindsets.

Kaeya was a man, distracted.

Distracted. Divided. Not inattentive, but pulled away from his responsibilities by a force he couldn’t name and couldn’t say he cared for, either. He wasn’t a stranger to romantic inclinations — fantasies, sudden flings, slow-burning inclinations that died the moment his attention was called elsewhere. Predictably, the few relationships he allowed himself were short-lived, at best distasterous at worst, but he didn’t have a problem with that. If anything, Kaeya appreciated it. He’d always thought of company as optional, and what little loneliness he was still capable of feeling could be drowned with a generous glass of wine. He wasn’t one to linger. He tried not to overstay his welcome. He’d been sentimental, once, too emotional for his own good, and he’d learned his lesson. He didn’t intend to change.

He didn’t want to change.

And yet, here he was.

Distracted.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t focus. It was all he could do to look like he might’ve been trying to read the most recent document left on his desk – this one from Jean, a directive for the younger knights or legislation she needed him to review or another vague, important report that he probably would’ve dealt with weeks ago, if he’d been able to concentrate.

He made a half-hearted effort to straighten his back as the door to his office began to open, but Kaeya dropped the act quickly, abandoning it completely by the time he heard the sound of heeled boots against hollow tile, caught a glimpse of a familiar (albeit, rarely used) catalyst, searched for eyes and found the cover of a thin book, instead, your face still buried in your newest novel as you stepped through the threshold, not bothering to knock. It was you. He should’ve known it would be. Who else did he deserve?

You, Lisa’s new assistant. You, the latest addition to the Knights of Favonius. You, his current, infuriating, unshakable fixation.

You, the new recruit who hadn’t paid him so much as a passing glance since your arrival, much to Kaeya’s frustration.

You didn’t look at him. You rarely ever did, but it hurt more than it usually did, today, as you dropped another form onto his desk, letting it replace the greeting you’d forgotten to offer. “Lisa needs you to sign this,” You started, laying out your priorities clearly, a skill Kaeya was beginning to resent. “It’s just next year’s budget. If you don’t want to read it, I think I’ll be able to look the other way.”

He glanced over the rows of numbers, the messy hand-writing, the columns of meaningless gibberish that blended together into a mess of ink and digits, and took your suggestion, scrawling his name across the only blank line. It was a lost cause, especially with you in the room. Especially with your unoccupied hand resting on his desk, your fingertips idly tapping an unsteady rhythm into the wood, and all he could think about was who he’d be willing to kill to feel that hand pressed against his cheek.

He considered asking you, for a moment, giving you an order and hoping you'd absent-mindedly obey. He thought about touching you, or running his fingers through your hair, or pulling you into his lap and mumbling sweet-nothings into your ear until someone else dragged you away.

He thought about a lot of things. Then, he said, “I take it your silence comes at a price?”

“Do I seem that selfish to you?” You were selfish. You had to be selfish. If you weren’t, then surely you would’ve been kind enough to put him out of his misery months ago. “I like helping people. Just remember this when I need a favor from you.”

“I’m sure we could work something more immediate out,” He went on, but you were already starting towards the door, calling the conversation to a close before Kaeya could begin to finish. In the back of his mind, something flared, the urge to catch your wrist, to go after you, to put himself between you and the only exit and refuse to move until you looked at him, but he forced it down, swallowing the temptation before it could eclipse his common sense. He couldn’t be impulsive. He couldn’t make rash decisions. He wasn’t prepared to deal with how difficult that would make things, not now.

Not yet.

“Join me for a drink?” He tried, again, attempting to sound unbothered. Nonchalant, casual, normal. Like he wasn’t itching to burn every book you’d touched. “I know you don’t have anything better to--”

“Another night, Captain.”

And just like that, you were gone, leaving Kaeya’s muttered response to echo through his empty office.

“Of course.”

~

Kaeya was a man, desperate.

Like a starving dog. Like a traveler who hadn’t seen water in thirty days. Like a distraught, distressed, disturbed knight, wandering through a maze of a library, cursing the existence of every shelf that separated him from you. He knew where you'd be. You were a creature of habit, and he’d already had more than enough time to memorize your routine. He’d had enough time to memorize everything about you, as ashamed as he was to admit it. It was a testament to his devotion, to how much time he’d spent trying and failing to win your favor.

It was evidence of how pathetic he’d gotten, over the course of his one-sided pursuit.

You were in your usual spot – tucked into the far corner of the library, perched on the edge of a windowsill, your attention monopolized by the tattered scroll spread across your lap. You were still pouring over it by the time he reached you, slumping against the nearest wall, taking in how brilliantly the muted sunlight looked as it danced across your skin. He didn’t try to hide the way he stared, anymore. He was long past worrying that you’d care enough to notice. Your hair was unkempt, proof that’d you slept in the archives again, if you’d slept at all. Your lips were bleeding, too, the lower one chewed raw and split down the middle, but it might’ve been stranger if they weren’t. It must’ve been a nervous tick, but Kaeya found it cute. Kaeya found it endearing. Kaeya found everything about you endearing, and to the archons, he wanted to see those lips wrapped around his co--

And he hated it. He found everything about you endearing, and he hated it. That was all.

He sighed, the sound airy, exhausted. You didn’t look up, but that was fine. It would’ve only hurt him further if someone as simple as that drew out your concern. “I’m in love with you.”

There was a hum, soft and contemplative. A rather generous response, by your standards. “I’ve noticed.”

“You’re all I think about.” It was an awkward confession, one he’d already used a hundred different times. He didn’t care. He’d use it a hundred more, if he had to. “I’m a wreck. I can barely remember my own name, and some days I can’t even do that. I can’t fight, I can’t eat, I can hardly breathe. Every morning, I wonder what it would be like to wake up to your smile, and every night, I stare at my ceiling and loath myself because I’m not holding you in my arms. For fuck’s sake, just yesterday, I almost kissed Albedo because the chemicals he was working with reminded me of the way your favorite kind of flower smells, and I’m just so fucking desperate, I convinced myself that was the closest I’d ever come to kissing you.”

He was rambling, by the end, panting, yelling, but you only blinked when he was done, once, then twice. Your dull nails bit into the edges of your scroll, but you didn’t seem to mind, nor did you move to roll it up as you finally turned to face him, the confusion written clearly across your expression. “You kissed Albedo?”

“You don’t get it,” He said, and you nodded in agreement. “You don’t fucking get it.”

“I think I do,” You admitted, more earnestly. Your gaze dropped back to the ground, and instantly, Kaeya deflated. “I just… I just don’t think it’d work out, if I’m being honest. I’m still new. I still have to give everyone else a reason to trust me, and I don’t think it’s in my best interest to start a relationship with one of my superiors so early on.” You paused, laughing to yourself, and something in Kaeya’s chest tightened. It was the happiest he’d been since he met you, and he still felt like you’d pushed a sword through his heart and twisted. “But, you don’t really want a relationship, do you? You’re just bored, and you need something to fixate on. I’m the most available option, so...” You trailed off, finishing your sentence with a vague, stilted sweeping gesture. “It’ll be easier for both of us, this way. I like you, Captain, but I don’t like you enough to put myself through that.”

It was all he could do to remember how to open his mouth. Once he did, the words came stumbling out on their own.

“Of course.”

~

Kaeya was a man, determined.

Determined might’ve been the wrong word for it. Too soft, too suggestive, the impression too positive and the meaning too vague. ‘Depraved’ might’ve suited him better, but that was too harsh, too primitive, and he’d like to think he’d been as gentle as anyone could expect him to be, given your stubbornness. He’d tried to be gentle. He’d wanted to be gentle. If he was going to do this to you, he could at least do it gently. You deserved that much, at least.

Or, maybe you didn’t. Maybe you didn’t deserve any of this.

He couldn’t really make up his mind, about that.

“Lisa?”

And he was gentle, more so than he had to be. Sure, you were on the floor, bare stone already beginning to chafe at your skin, but the shackles around your wrists were padded, and he’d given you enough slack to sit down, to ball yourself up, to act like it’d never crossed your mind that he’d resort to something so… easily misinterpreted. The blindfold was, similarly, an act of mercy. You’d panic if you woke up like this, chained to a wall in someone else’s cellar, and Kaeya didn’t want that. You needed time, and he could give you that. He would give you that. Even if it pained him to stay at arm’s length.

“Amber?”

He wanted to touch you. It’d be easy, now, easier than it’d ever been before. You wouldn’t be able to push him away, and even if you tried to, he could always overpower you. Take you by the neck, pin you against the floor, leave you shaking and trembling and begging, pleading with a captor you couldn’t see. He’d find a way to make it up to you, later on. He’d find a way to lie, to smile, to make it better, even if he’d failed to time and time again, out there. But, this would be different. You wouldn’t be able to cling to your excuses, and he’d be able to show you how much he cared, how much he wanted this, how much he loved you. This would be better.

“Kaeya?”

See? You were already coming around.

Your voice was already soft, hesitant, a sliver of a whisper that was constantly on the verge of dying out completely. You were trying not to make noise, trying not to seem as terrified as you really were, but he could hear the way your breath hitched as he took a step forward, your restraints rattling as you curled into yourself. You couldn’t hide from him, but you wanted to. That much was obvious. You didn’t want this.

But, he did. More than you could ever want to run away from it.

He wanted to touch you, but he held himself back. Instead, he only kneeled in front of you, letting himself linger for a moment before he spoke. “I’m here, love.”

“Where are we?” You were afraid, too scared to put the pieces together. Not while you could still hope there was another explanation. Not while you could still deny the apparent. “My head hurts, and I can’t--”

“I know, and I’ll make it up to you.” This time, he let himself reach out, cupping your cheek and chuckling as you tried to shy away. The two of you could work on that, later on. He could live with the guilt if he let himself enjoy it, now. “Just give me a moment, alright? Just a second, then I’ll take care of you.”

You opened your mouth, then you closed it again. Kaeya wondered if you’d be bold enough to refuse if he did try to kiss you, or hold you, or go further than the fleeting touches he’d swore would keep him satisfied, at first, at least. He wondered if he’d care, when you did. “Are… are you going to hurt me?”

He wanted to reassure you. He wanted to promise he’d be patient, that he’d understand if you lashed out, that violence wasn’t an option he was willing to consider, but he couldn’t, like this, could he? He didn’t want to hurt you, but he’d never wanted to kidnap you, either, not until you made it obvious he didn’t have another choice. He didn’t want to stoop so low, he didn’t want you to hate him, but…

But, he was lying again, wasn’t he?

To tell the truth, he couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely cared whether or not you loved him back.

You stifled a scream as his hand dropped to your jaw, his grip tightening as he jerked you forward, just close enough to wrap his arm around your waist, to bury his face in the side of your neck, to get a taste of what you’d deprived him of. It wasn’t enough, he doubted it’d ever be enough, but he had you. He had you, he was close to you, and he had you. That had to be enough, for now.

“We’ll see.”

[mostly-mundane-atla]

@paragonrobits @veryever alright, here we go. Technically-not-swears to give your writing a punch that "oh spirits" does not.

@terulakimban, @mikaslilworld, and @589ish were asking for this too so I'll mention them so that they're sure to see it.

Adjectives:

Misbegotten. Implying that someone is of questionable parentage is generally seen as in poor taste at best or incredibly insulting, vulgar "fighting words" at worst.

Cursed. Implying something or someone has done something deserving of a curse and have all the bad luck and unpleasantness that comes with it. Probably the most mild example here.

Damned. Considered more severe and material than "cursed" and often refers to a spiritual sentence or a fated misfortune. Whether or not this is an actual swear can depend on the person and the circumstance.

Poxy. This one is a little spicy because while on the surface it's just referring to illnesses like smallpox, cow pox, or chicken pox, historically, it referred to what English speakers euphemistically referred to as "the French pox" aka syphilis.

Nouns:

Animals. Referring to someone as an animal, especially one associated with unsavory personality traits (snakes and rats come to mind as a prime example), is often considered insulting and even dehumanizing. Note that asses and jackasses are actual animals and how off-limits those words are entirely depends on context

Witch. Often used in place of "bitch" becsuse it rhymes and can be used just as insultingly.

Scum. Refers to just about any icky substance that won't go away

Son of a ____. Insulting one's parentage is again in poor taste or straight up fighting words. The blank can be filled by anything: animals, unpleasant or unwanted things, people of any profession considered disgusting or demeaning. Have fun with it.

Inupiat words:

Honestly, if a fantasy version of Inupiat live in this world (and given two characters from this fantasy culture are named after Inupiat villages in Alaska, specifically, I'm going to specify Inupiat and will appreciate it if folks don't generalize it as Inuit) it only makes sense for Inupiat words to be used in other parts of the world. Influence and cultural exchange doesn't have to be a one way street where the "more advanced" only affect the "less advanced" and indigenous languages have always left traces behind.

Inupiat culture, and therefore language, is very matter of fact. Euphemisms aren't really used because no topic is really considered "too dirty" to talk about with any particular group. Insults are a way of showing love and familiarity. Offense is mainly conveyed through tone and context.

The phrase "anak niģiiñ" (anak meaning "poop," niģi meaning "eat," and -iñ being a suffix which in this case makes a verb a command aimed at one person) has been suggested as an Inupiat translation for the English phrase "eat shit." The words themselves are not bad words as you may think of them; the insult comes instead from how they're used to express anger at and disdain toward the person. Lots of words can be used this way, including any of the words for hell or for things I've alluded to on this post already.

If you're worried about this coming off as appropriative or insensitive, you may be lacking some cultural context for this to feel at home. Feel free to read through my "eskimo on main" tag for inspo on that. I'm willing to answer any other questions you may have as well, though be warned, I'm not exactly the quickest at responding.

Getting Creative - Basic Mode - Curses and Oaths:

We call bad words curses because at one point, they were exactly that. You were cursing someone and that was the greatest offense of it. Common curses include wishing death, illness, or injury on someone, sometimes milder but still unpleasant or uncomfortable experiences to befall them, and more rarely things like natural disasters. In a fantasy universe with fantastical abilities and animals, there are plenty of opportunities to customize this format into something exclusive to the Avatar verse.

An oath, in this sense, is a literal swear. English speakers may be familiar with "I swear on my mother's grave" or the more serious "for the love of god" being said when one is confronted. Here the offense comes from something sacred being invoked so flippantly. I think this is what people are trying to go for with "oh spirits" but it falls short for a few reasons. It doesn't invoke any one thing specifically. Anything can be a spirit and a spirit can take the form of anything. Are you invoking spirits of gentle breezes or torrential downpours? Of tadpoles or lions? Saying something like "by Koh's stolen faces!" or "lightning strike me down!" will make more of an impact than "Oh spirits" ever will.

Getting Creative - Advanced Mode - In-Universe Reference as Self-Censoring:

This one can be a little difficult to figure out, but it's probably my favorite one. Basically, you come up with, say, a historical incident or a bit of media that the people in-universe would know about because of its vulgarity. You don't have to explain it, because the whole point is that the audience doesn't know, just the characters. And you have the character's reference it to suggest vulgarity without having to spell any of it out. Allow me to provide an example:

"And then, well, let's just say I recited the last verse of The Earth Kingdom's Ode to the Firelord, almost word for word."

"The Kyoshi version?"

"The Omashu version!"

"And you got away with it?!?!"

Like most of them, this relies on the other character's reaction to sell it. It's loads of fun once you get it figured out because it feels like you got away with a lot when it's functionally just gibberish.

[superman86to99]

Superman #84 (December 1993)

Superman takes a short Paris vacation! Like, one day short. What's the worst that could happen?

Oh, man.

So, for the past few issues, we've been hearing about children being abducted in Metropolis. Now we see that they're being kept inside a giant toy house by some creepy bald man in Quasimodo clothes who seems to be obsessed with toys -- a "Man of Toys," if you will. Side note: no wonder the children haven't been found... all the articles about them are just gibberish! (See clip below.)

The kidnapper thinks that these kids' parents don't deserve them, and that they're much better off here, in an underground hideout with a man who threatens to starve them if they don't play with him. (And I do mean literally play, with action figures and stuff.) Meanwhile, as these children cry for help, Superman is having the time of his life. While helping move a stranded ship with some huge-ass chains, Superman spots a sunken galleon with a treasure chest inside and fantasizes about keeping the booty...

...before turning it over to the authorities anyway, the big boy scout. Then, he wakes up Lois at 6 AM and tells her they should go to Paris right now, which usually means your significant other is having a mental breakdown, but in this case they can actually do it. And so, after deciding that he deserves to use his powers for fun every once in a while, Superman and Lois drop everything and fly to France with super-speed for the rest of the day/issue.

Anyway: back to the child abduction! Cat Grant and her son Adam attend a Halloween party at Adam's school, but there's a disturbed weirdo in a hideous costume lurking among the crowd. Yes, I'm talking about Jimmy Olsen in his Turtle Boy suit.

Shortly after that, a guy in a dinosaur costume (see, all the creeps are dressed as reptiles) lures Adam out of the party with the promise of "superb video games." What child could resist that? Of course, that turns out to be the kidnapper and Adam ends up in his hideout along with the rest of the missing children and, worst of all, not a single "Lextendo" console.

The kidnapper gets angry at Adam when he refers to the toys at the hideout as "old-fashioned junk" (he was REALLY looking forward to those video games), and even angrier when Adam tries to free the other kids. Adam is brave and puts up a good fight, but...

And those were Adam Morgan's final words. "Uh-oh."

Next, we have a pretty harrowing scene of Detective Turpin letting Cat know Adam’s body was found, and Jimmy and Perry White taking her to the morgue to identify the body (most people probably wouldn't bring their former boss to something like that, but Perry sadly knows more than most about losing a kid). As for Lois and Clark, they were gone so long that the Daily Planet had time to print a headline about the murders. The issue ends when the lovebirds walk into the office smiling like two people who just spent the night fooling around in Paris... only to feel like jackasses when they find out what happened.

To be continued!

Character-Watch:

And that's it for little Adam Morgan who, unlike the also tragically diseased Jerry White, didn't even get any post-death appearances. Adam went from a little kid scared of Superman, to a huge brat, to a character who was approaching likeability as of last week. That's why I hate it when DC kills off young characters like Adam or Liam Harper: in long-form storytelling, children represent potential. Look at how much Wally West or Dick Grayson evolved over the years compared to their mentors! Sure, there's a huge probability that Adam would have ended up disappearing from comics for 25 years anyway, but who knows, maybe we'd now know him as Teen Gangbuster or something. GangbusTEEN.

This issue also represents a turning point for the kidnapper, who is never named or seen clearly in the story itself but I don't think I'm shocking anyone by spoiling the fact that he's Toyman (it's in the cover, for one thing). In his last two appearances before this storyline, Toyman helped Superman save some kids from Sleez and looked genuinely sad to learn about Superman's death, so this is a pretty dramatic change for the character. We'll find out why he went from big softy to child killer in Superman #85 (but don't get your hopes up).

Plotline-Watch:

The most disturbing part of the issue, all things considered, is still the part where Toyman climbs into a giant crib and hugs a huge stuffed bunny. Look at serial killer Tommy Pickles here:

Don Sparrow says:  “Even with the upgrade, Toyman is still just a man in a suit, a common complaint about Superman’s rogues gallery.” Funny you should say that, because I JUST shared an old Wizard interview in our Twitter in which Dan Jurgens talks about how Doomsday came out of his frustration with the fact that most Superman villains are dudes in suits (plus other interesting tidbits from the era, like how it was actually Roger Stern’s idea to bring back Hank Henshaw, so check out that link!).

Don again: “The entire Superman storyline of this issue feels like filler. Diving for buried treasure and soaring off to Paris -- it all feels like wasted time next to the Adam storyline.” I have a theory that the entire ship sequence is there as an excuse to put Superman in those big chains and make that Spawn joke (which I didn’t get until now, since I’ve always read this issue in Spanish).

Superman says that pulling that big ship was "a little easier than expected" -- that's either another hint that there's something going on with Superman's powers since he came back, or a subtle dig at the state of American ship manufacturing.

Another adorable "window tap" scene for the books, and this is the sexiest one so far. Is it me or has Jurgens started copying more than just Teri Hatcher's hairdo from Lois & Clark? (For anyone who thinks Lois has gotten implants, I refer you to this clip.)

While in Paris, Lois asks Clark if he's ever wondered what would happen if his rocket had landed in other countries. Don: “Clark’s conversation with Lois sounds like a bunch of concepts for Elseworlds stories. We eventually would see a Russian Superman, and a British Superman, but not yet the French Superman. (Hire us, DC!)” Yep, got my French Superman pitch ready, Jim Lee. Or just let us do Russian Superman again, since Red Son wasn’t even the first time you published that idea.

Don once more: “Another thing that makes no sense about the ‘new’ Toyman is his resentment of technological toys—when in previous appearances he himself had deadly high-tech toys to vex Superman over the years.” I especially resent his hatred of video game consoles. Incidentally, I wonder what types of games are available for Adam’s beloved Lextendo. Star Lex 64? Mega Man Lex? Sonic the Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles & Lex?

No one is more upset at Lois and Clark for going AWOL than Whit. NO ONE. He's so furious that his usually grey mustache turned black.

Patreon-Watch:

As always, shout out to our patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Samuel Doran, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush and Raphael Fischer! Last month’s exclusive Patreon article was about the recently unearthed sequel to Superman 64 for the PlayStation, featuring Metallo, Parasite, and Lois looking even hotter than in this issue:

Hot damn. Find out more at https://www.patreon.com/superman86to99!

And believe it or not, Don Sparrow has even more to say about this issue. Read his section after the jump:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow​):

I should start off my section with a big caveat:  I flat out hate this issue. There were several weird decisions made in the post-Death-and-Return era (most of them along the same lines of making the Superman titles more grim-and-gritty), and this story was one of the worst of them.  My theory is that, despite the praise and record-breaking sales of the Death and Return storyline, the Superman creative team felt pressure to have more extreme storylines, perhaps in response to the wildly successful Image books coming out at the time.  Between this story, and the upcoming “Spilled Blood” storyline, the Super books take a hard—but temporary--turn into more violent and upsetting storytelling—even though these stories are by the same writers as the previous few years. While death has always been a part of comics, and Superman comics was no exception, there is a jarring glibness and unfeeling toward the way violence is handled in these pages that is quite different from the stories that preceded it.  It’s made all the more jarring by the fact that well-established personalities suddenly veer wildly out of character, Toyman chief among them.  

We start with the cover, and while it is technically well-drawn (by the familiar team of Jurgens and Breeding) it’s also a very upsetting visual.  I think they should have gone with the pieta type pose with Adam and Superman, OR the scary badass bowie-knife Toyman (who apparently has a Cheshire cat smile now) but not both.  But the cover is a good hint at the tonal dissonance of the comic within.

We open with a splash of the now-extreme 90s looking Toyman, with his serial killer shaved head and spooky cloak, ignoring the pleas of hungry kids he has locked up in a tiny jail cell for days at a time (if that sentence doesn’t ring alarm bells for how wrong this is for a Superman story, I don’t know what will). For much of the issue Toyman’s eyes are obscured by glare on his lenses, further de-humanizing a character who was once one of Superman’s more empathetic bad guys.

We cut to Superman tugboating a huge tanker with giant chains and it’s a cool visual (one repeated in the Batman V Superman film).  It feels especially out of place to focus on, given how upsetting this issue is otherwise, but throughout the whole comic, Lois is drawn smoking hot, especially on the two page spread on pages 9-10.

The scenes depicting the actual murder, while still wildly out of place in a Superman comic, are well done, and give a real sense of darkness and menace, which I suppose is the intent.  Perhaps my least favourite visual is the Big Bird stuffie, silently bearing witness to what’s about to occur.

The edges of the panels on get more slashy and off-kilter (to me, looking very much like the layouts more typically seen in Image comics of the day) and I suppose I appreciate the restraint of how little Dan Jurgens shows of the death of a child, showing only a bloody slash on a black background.  This is still a pretty baroque image for a Superman comic, but certainly less violent than it could be, given what is happening.

Cat Grant’s silent horror is well staged, and powerful in its way.   Lastly, Clark Kent bending in sorrow and regret is a powerful image.

While this issue is handled marginally better, and more maturely than other comics on the shelf at this time, I still believe it is one of the biggest mistakes of the era.  Giving a long-established character an unceremonious death for shock value is gross on its own, but making it a child definitely crosses a line for me.  Making it worse is that, while the Toyman is a criminal and a killer, he has shown in past issues (a similar kidnapping storyline involving Sleez) that he genuinely cares for the well-being of children.  So for a long-time reader, this also felt like a betrayal of a long-established, fully developed character.   Adding to the ugliness of this is that Adam dies heroically, trying to free the children who have been caged, unfed, for days, but even in that regard, he fails.  The headline at the end of the issue confirms all the children are dead.  Adam’s death did not buy the other kids enough time to get away. It was all for nothing. Had Adam died, but the other children lived, maybe this issue wouldn’t leave quite as bad a taste. [Max: It’s weird because it’s all told in a way where it’s told in a way where it would make sense, narratively and within the story universe, that the other kids survived, but then it’s almost casually revealed that nope, they died too. A scene of one of the kids relaying Adam’s heroism to Cat in a future issue would have gone a long way.]

Superman doesn’t come off well in these pages, either.  It’s honestly the type of story they should just stay away from, because the more you think about all the calamity that is going on around the clock, the less defensible the whole Clark Kent persona becomes. Superman carving out time to romance his fiancée directly led to the preventable deaths of innocent children—how do you come back from that?

STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I’m always looking for hints that perhaps Jimmy or Perry know Superman’s secret identity deep down, and Jimmy’s anger at Lois and Clark on their return to the Daily Planet offices would seem to give that theory some credence, as he’s as angry at them as if he knew Clark really were Superman.  Either that, or he’s ticked that it fell to him, and none of them to escort Cat into the morgue. [Max: Has this issue finally converted you to the “Jimmy is terrible” side now, Don?]

I don’t think I’m the only one who disliked the new Toyman—SPOILERS BE HERE: years later, in Action Comics #865, Geoff Johns retconned this whole story, reverting Schott into the criminal who over-relates to kids, rather than the child-killer of this story.  Apparently the infantile Schott, who speaks to “Mother” a la Norman Bates, is a robot so lifelike it fools even Superman, and the “Mother” he’s constantly replying to was the real Winslow Schott trying to recall the malfunctioning robot. [Max: That’s one Geoff Johns retcon I really didn’t mind, even if it felt kind of derivative of his similar “all the Brainiacs are robots made by the real Brainiac” reveal.]

[errantinfinity]

head canon corner ; gsod heads and important members

Since people displayed an interest in more important about the GSOD heads, I am here to make a post about it. I was going to make separate posts but then I didn’t want to make too many, so this is instead a master post for the GSOD heads and other important members that I have had ideas for.

This post actually got really long so if you don’t read it I will absolutely not be offended, once I started I just couldn’t stop.

The Six Heads and how they work together.

For the most part, Philip and Arthur are in charge, and any decisions in the end come down to them.

The other four heads were the first four people they invited to join them to help run GSOD. They are invited to any and all meetings about the future of GSOD and also other general operations meetings. All of their opinions are taken into account before any decisions are made, but in the end Philip and Arthur are in charge and the decisions come down to them.

The Six are all friendly with each other and have known each other for many years. Philip and Arthur are the closest, but they all generally get along well, minor disagreements aside.

They are all very well respected in their line of work, and they are well known in the government for being efficient and helpful whenever they are needed to help with anything.

Philip Pullman - ability ; The Amber Spyglass.

One of the men who spear headed the idea of GSOD and got it set up, along with Arthur Conan Doyle.

His ability, when activated, allows him to locate other ability users. It “pings” more the closer he gets to an ability user, allowing him to track them down effectively even in very crowded areas.

A straight forward man, with Philip you will always know where you stand. He is a thoughtful speaker, and a generous boss, and always tells every member of GSOD that they are welcome in his office should they ever need anything.

He and Arthur run the recruitment branch together, but also goes out to help find any ability users that may be eluding capture and are not using their ability to hide from authorities.

Has a large tropical fish tank in his office, and can regularly be seen watching or feeding the fish if he isn’t working.

Arthur Conan Doyle - ability ; A Study In Scarlet.

He and Philip are friends from university, and they came up with the idea for GSOD after leaving.

His ability, when activated, allows him to discern what a person’s ability will allow them to do. It doesn’t strictly let him understand an ability, just the basics of what the ability is capable of. For example, if he used his ability on Kunikida, he’d say that Kunikida is able to pull small objects from a notebook by writing the characters for them. It does not help him to understand the strengths, weaknesses, and limits of an ability.

A shrewd man, Arthur usually knows more than he lets on. Highly intelligent and observant, Arthur can usually be relied upon to decipher body language, facial expressions, and the way things are phrased after meetings with other organisations.

He goes out with Philip and uses his ability to discern what the ability users they find can do. They offer a place at GSOD to any and all ability users, it just helps them to get a better idea of which branch they would be best suited for.

He keeps a large python in his office. When asked the name of the python, Arthur will smile slightly and tell you it is Monty.

Roald Dahl - ability ; Fantastic Mr Fox.

Roald used to run the Policing Aid branch of GSOD, his ability allowing him to be an effective detective in cases where he could blend in. As he got older, however, and as more members had children and there was more call for childcare, Roald asked to step down and run the childcare at the GSOD members building. There is a daycare for younger children, baby sitting services for anyone that wants them, and after school, weekend, and holiday clubs for when parents are working or the kids just want to take part.

His ability, when activated, allows him to transform into a red fox. He does still sometimes use it in the field, where it helps make him inconspicuous, but largely it is used to entertain the children.

Roald adores kids. He can often be found surrounded by an enraptured group of children of all ages, weaving them wondrous stories, or transforming into a fox and allowing them to pet and play with him. He is much better suited to this role and he loves it.

A gentle, caring, and loving man, Roald cares deeply for any of the kids that come through his childcare branch. He invited Zadie Smith, when she arrived at age thirteen, to help teach the kids sign language. He is the person that helped to make her feel the most at home, and he became a father figure to her. They are still very close.

Roald has a pet parrot named Pelly. She can talk, and he often brings her with him to introduce to the kids.

Virginia Woolf - ability ; A Room Of One’s Own.

Virginia, who tells the people she likes to call her Ginny, owns and runs the large building where many GSOD members live.

Her ability, when activated, allows her to create rooms in a building providing that she owns it. (Don’t ask me exactly how this works it just does. Lucy can create a space out of nowhere and Gogol’s coat can manipulate space, it just works sdfsidk.)

Although many think of her as stern, she just runs a tight ship. She wants to ensure the safety and comfort of all the members that stay in the building, and her and her staff work hard to ensure that the building is clean, safe, and well stocked with everything they may need.

She is the only head that rarely sees any fieldwork, because she is most useful in her building, helping to run and maintain it along with her staff.

Despite her generally rather brusque exterior, Ginny is very motherly to those she is close to. She cares deeply, but when in work mode she is very serious and, some would say, a woman you shouldn’t cross.

Angela Carter - ability ; The Magic Toyshop.

Angela is a well respected lawyer, and runs the legal aid branch of GSOD. She does a lot of legal work herself, but also assigns lawyers to different cases. Her branch also offers legal advice, and does both paid and pro bono work. She is a prosecutor herself.

Her ability, when activated, allows her to manipulate toys as she sees fit. Think Toy Story, except she is in control of them rather than them having a mind of their own. She uses this a lot in court to show how crimes may have played out.

A serious and severe woman in the court room, outside of it she is known to be loud, proud, and, by her own words, common. She swears like a sailor, could drink most people under the table, and gets very invested in football.

Angela is very competent, known to be a scary prosecutor for any defendant to go up against. She works very hard, does endless research, and is highly intelligent. It is generally advised not to challenge her to a debate.

Her office is considered deeply creepy by a lot of people. She keeps a lot of toys in it, and has shelves of dolls and stuffed toys. The dolls all sit behind her desk and stare at anyone sat opposite her. Most believe she has done it on purpose to unsettle people (and they’d be right).

Sarah Waters - ability ; Tipping The Velvet.

Sarah runs the combat training for GSOD, and is a hard task master. Her training, she says, could be the difference between life and death, and she works her students hard.

Her ability, when activated, allows her to affect the equilibrium if people in a small area around her. She uses it to help train people to work in unusual and adverse circumstances.

She works very hard, but it is with good reason. Her mother died because she didn’t have the combat training that might have helped her, and so Sarah takes what she does very seriously as a result.

Despite being such a hard task master, Sarah is helpful and kind, and will take time out of help people when they are struggling, often in her own time after or between training.

Sarah is trained in several different martial arts, as well as being gun trained and a good archer. There are few weapons or combat types that Sarah isn’t able to do, and this allows her to help teach others.

She has a big soft spot for cats, and has three of them. They’re called Peaches, Pudding, and Pip, and she is always willing to share pictures of them.

Other important members.

A short list and brief overview of other important GSOD members.

Ursula K. Le Guin - ability ; Those Who Walk Away From Omelas.

Ursula runs the police aid branch of GSOD. She was recruited from America while visiting GSOD from an America organisation. She was very impressed with them, and when Arthur and Philip asked if she’d like to join, she didn’t have to consider her answer long. She took over from Roald when he stepped down, and was personally recommended by him to take his place.

Her ability, when activated, causes people to forget what they are doing and walk away. She uses it to stop people from loitering around crime scenes, car crashes, and other sites where people loiter because that is what they do.

Douglas Adams - ability ; The Babelfish.

Douglas runs the foreign aid branch of GSOD. A somewhat clumsy, very good natured man, he is very funny, quick witted, and eccentric. He is thought of very fondly by all who have met and worked with him.

His ability, when activated, allows him to create an area in which he can manipulate the ability of people to understand languages. It looks a look like Rimbaud’s ability in the anime, except his creates a dome rather than cubes. Douglas enjoys making people in the affected area speak absolute gibberish to each other entirely for his own amusement, although when using it for work he does take it seriously (mostly).

Oscar Wilde - ability ; Picture Of Dorian Gray.

Oscar runs the ability control branch of GSOD. A charming, fashionable Irish man, Oscar likes to look good and likes beautiful things. He is known to collect art and other beautiful items.

His ability, when activated, allows him to transfer injuries her obtains to a portrait of himself. Oscar uses this ability very sparingly, because whenever he uses it, a piece of his soul and humanity is also transferred to the portrait. Oscar is well aware that he will eventually become inhuman, in whatever way that means for him, if he continues using his ability. He uses it when he receives fatal or near fatal injuries in the field, or an injury that would cause him to take a fatal injury such as broken bones.

William Shakespeare - ability ; The Tempest.

William does not run a branch, but is the second in command of Sarah Waters. A flirtatious, romantic man, he is known a lot as Billy Shakes - a joke he started himself - and loves to write poetry and wax lyrical about beautiful people.

His ability, when activated, allows him to create and control violent storms. He uses it largely to help with combat training in a similar way to Sarah - by creating adverse conditions for the GSOD members to train in. He enjoys making heavy rain and snow storms and watching people try to fight their way through them. If you can make it through William’s tests, it is said that there is nothing in the field that could possibly be worse.

[stragglewort]

Days of Our Othron -- “In the Swamps of Shaskil”

Photo Property of New York Public Library, digital collections; “Cypress swamps. Fla.” - 1890

        Otunn cried out to the swamp, tearing away at the tendrils of mud that pulled him to the ground. His eyes were crusted over with muck and his head spun in pain and confusion. It was more than enough for him to handle on it's own. But all his panic magnified when something, something, grabbed him from behind – Its grip cold and metallic with mats of tangled fur about halfway up its measure. He couldn’t tell, though, if what had cuffed itself around his neck was the arm of something vaguely human-shaped or just the finger of some significantly larger beast.

        He tried to call out against it, but a stiffly unpleasant hand covered his mouth –

        “Ddmyt foozrr.” It hissed into his ear in a sharp, coldly harsh sort of way. “Vvio oozra’m boozy.”

        Those sounds, those words! He knew those words! At least a more awake, safely reasonable version of him did. Though, at that very moment it might as well have been complete gibberish. He pried at the thing’s grip, scratching and kicking, but whatever series of events led to his being there left him wholly and utterly strengthless. It was only when his muddy, fuzzed thoughts darkened and grew silent that he realized he wasn’t breathing. With a sharp inhale that was cut all-to-quickly short, it dawned that the creature wasn’t mauling, tearing, or ripping him apart as most monsters were prone to do – but strangling him.

        “Oii –!“ He sputtered with no clue over what exactly he was trying to say. “Oii – oiimaos! Mercy!” He coughed, mindlessly. The cry was involuntary and the words, common-tongue or otherwise meant nothing to him. But the unfaltering grip the creature had around his throat jolted like it’d been startled, and in one swift motion it threw him back to the ground. At its feet, peering through the crust of the mud caked over his face he could’ve sworn the monster was humanoid. They murmured to the forest, bitterly and confused – sounds he couldn’t quite catch in succumbing to his breathless exhaustion.

…

          “Lvvao, Maaloe. You must be careful, I can’t begin to explain –“ A man started, this nasty twinge of frustration in his voice. He shifted between arguments of common-tongue and exclamations of the sharp, quick language the creature spoke. As fluent as that implied him to be, something about his voice didn’t sit quite well with the language.

        “Vle! Oik am’bai eem!?” The shrill, annoyed cut of a young woman’s argument shot quietly back at him. She was pacing around in short, irritated circles.  

        “Of course I do! And you’d do well to show some manner.” He implored.

        “Manner!” She scoffed, mimicking and (dare it be said) almost mocking him. Rounding out her voice in an irritated, overly-enunciated sort of way.

        “Of all people for you to be angry over, he’s got to be the least of ‘em –“ the man said, motioning to the stranger they’d dragged out of the swamp. He was about to continue with the argument before out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure of a very shabby, poor looking fellow trying to crane himself up from his bedroll. Otunn found the effort needed to get up off the ground was more than his arms or legs were willing to give. Trying to move struck this pang of nauseous aching through his stomach. He was rightly stuck for a moment, planted firmly on a bedroll that smelled faintly of sweat and grass. The mud had been cleaned up off his face, he was warm (comparatively so), and as far as he could tell? He wasn’t dead.

        The two weren’t sure how long he’d been awake, and in all honesty, he wasn’t too sure himself. So, there he sat, staring, trying to force his eyes to focus on their faces – on their figures – trying to place a name or something useful.

        The first and largest of the two was a gruff looking gentleman. He had a square, broad chin lined by a loosely braided chestnut beard that barely hung past the length of his neck. Though he was quite a muscularly large and imposing sort of person – he had an undeniably gentle face that wasn’t keen to intimidate.

        Unlike the second figure.

        Though she was much shorter and thinner, the metal and fur-lined armor she wore filled out her form. Even in the blurriness of his own vision, Otunn could make out the malicious, frustrated scowl that stabbed into him – only him – like daggers. Though the two were arguing, he assumed it wasn’t their own company that caused so much conflict.

        “I - Sorry if I’m intruding.” He stuttered. The girl met it with a scoff, but the man got up – giving this face of pleasant pity.

        “Can’t imagine you can intrude on a swamp, friend. By the looks of it, the swamp intruded on you.” He motioned to Otunn’s clothes. Now that he wasn’t sinking in the mud, he was plastered in it. “What in the good land’s name is the likes of you doing all the way out here?”

        Otunn gave him an odd, confused look. “…The likes of me?” His head was still swimming, whatever had sent him into the swamp had left him with a good wallop – he barely remembered his own name.

        “I’ve heard well enough about you – can’t imagine your sorts being the foresting type.”

        He laughed, heartily, trying to keep a pleasant light on the situation. But either because of his friend’s unwillingness to play nice or Otunn’s unfaltering confusion, he found it rather hard to keep the joke going. “You’re… not sure what’s happening, are you?” He huffed, slowly, and bit his bottom lip. It was small tick he’d picked up that showed itself when he went deeply into thought.

        “I –“ Otunn groaned a second. He’d tried to get up and succeeded to some extent, balanced against shaking, wobbling legs. The man stayed closed, afraid he’d tumble headfirst into the dim fire. “No, I can’t say I do.” Otunn hesitated as the world started to come into a better view. “Who are you?” His anxiety spiked with his vision, the man seemed trustworthy enough, but he wasn’t yet in the state to be trusting anyone. He was in a camp, no-doubt, out in what smelled like some sort of bog. He couldn’t explain why, but the thought of being in a swamp scared him. All that subconscious know-how he was too beaten-up to get a hold of still shined through in spouts here-or-there –  

        And for some wildly inexplicable reason, it told him the monster, stranger, and possibly bandit-filled bog was nothing but trouble.

        “Brutus.” The man started, out of courtesy. “Brutus Faefellow – pack and sword for hire.” He finished, quietly – his face had gone softer than before, and his smile fell into a line of worry as he moved to offer help to the wobbling man. “And you’re Otunn Toav’eimm, or Outnd as the folk around here like to say it. Are you not?”  

        “Yes… I believe I am.” He answered, after some thought. “How could you possibly know that?”

        “You’re still all out of it, aren’t you?” He shook his head. “‘Course I’d know who you are, can’t imagine a single well-read brute that wouldn’t.”

        “…Why exactly would that be?” his voice dropped to a nervous whisper. There were spouts of memory here or there, (and in due-time he imagined it would all clear up and he’d be back into his own) but at that very moment he was barred well enough from any good, coherent thought.  

        Brutus laughed, a half of it out of pity, and another out of some absurdity he seemed to be the only one understanding. “It’s hard to miss the face of the man that practically runs the kingdom. Even if you don’t live in the walls of it!”.

[hayleysstark]

Hug

Words: 2405 Warnings: None Summary: Merlin had a tendency to say some strange things, but--

"You," Merlin jutted his chin out obstinately, and jabbed a resolute finger at Arthur, "owe me a hug."

--but this was by far the strangest. 

Notes: I have literally zero explanation for this bit of schmaltz, except that it occurred to me that, if Arthur had lived long enough to hear all of Merlin's magical adventures, Merlin would have 100000000% told him about the Fomorrah incident, and promptly demanded a redo hug once he heard about the one he didn't remember. GIVE MERLIN EMRYS A HUG 2KFOREVER ARTHUR.

Read on Fanfiction or AO3

Merlin had a tendency to say some strange things.

Well, he said stupid things, for a start, things like dollophead or clotpole or, once even goosebrain—words that weren't actually words at all, just a whole bunch of nonsensical gibberish, made-up, a few sounds he'd just smashed together when he felt he'd been using prat too much. He said treasonous things, too, of course, but that bit went without saying—he said things that could get him—should get him, if Arthur was being honest with himself, the things Merlin said should get tossed in the stocks or dungeons or even outright hung for even letting the words pass his lips—things like Arthur, if you get mud on your armor like this again, I'm going to kill you, or Arthur, if you try to go on that dangerous quest, I'll drug your breakfast and lock you in your chambers and I'll tell all the guards you're enchanted so they know not to listen to you, or once, even a Arthur, the next time you say we aren't going to get ambushed by bandits and we get ambushed by bandits, I'm going to cut off your mouth and sew it back on inside out and upside down—that one alone could have earned him about a thousand death sentences, but Arthur had been, much as he hated to admit it, highly entertained by it all the same.

Look, Arthur was trying to make a point here. The point was this. Merlin said things. Stupid things. Treasonous things. Things that would have had Arthur's father rolling in his grave should they ever reach his ears—I'm not going to enchant a flagon of ale that never runs out for you, Gwaine, or how about if I just turn Lord Rodney into a toad and be done with it, come on, Arthur, he's insufferable, or damn dragon's being cryptic again—

But. But Arthur had gotten used to it. Merlin had magic, and Merlin had a dragon—two dragons, sorry—and Merlin was, whatever the idiot's own insistence to the contrary, some kind of—err, royalty to other sorcerers. Ruler. Monarch. Lord, maybe. King, perhaps. Arthur didn't know, and Merlin outright refused to admit to it, even when the druids' ambassadors dropped to their knees at the sight of him, and he turned several different shades of red in quick succession.

Getting off the point. Merlin said strange things, that was the point, things about destiny and magic and spells and dragons and coins and once and future kings. Arthur really didn't want to get into all of it.

But this—

"You," Merlin jutted his chin out obstinately, and jabbed a resolute finger at Arthur, "owe me a hug."

—this was by far the strangest.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?" Of course, prophesized warlock or not, Merlin could be a bit of a girl at times, but this was taking it a bit far, even for him. Maybe he was hearing things?

"You owe me," Merlin repeated, without missing a beat, and he seemed so indignant about the whole thing, Arthur was almost tempted to laugh, "you owe me a hug!"

Arthur blinked. All right, so he wasn't hearing things. "What?"

"You hugged me," Merlin said, the perfect picture of dignified affront, "you hugged me, and I don't even remember it!"

"Merlin," Arthur set the latest report from Sir Tristan facedown on the desk—he had a feeling he wasn't going to be getting to the end of it anytime soon—and leaned across the polished surface to get a better look at the man, "have you been on the cider?" It was a bit of a low blow, and Arthur knew it, what with all the times Merlin had never actually been in the tavern, but it was the only rational conclusion he could draw.

Merlin had a way of looking at people, sometimes, like he was seriously weighing the merits of turning them into a roach. This was one of those times. "No, I haven't," he said, with admirable composure. "And you know that, so stop being an ass, Arthur, it suits you a little too well."

"Merlin—!" Speaking of things that could get the man a thousand death sentences. Arthur decided perhaps the stocks were getting a little lonely as of late.

"Look, Gwaine and I were talking—"

"Oh," Arthur relaxed, and settled back in his seat. "That's it, then." He picked Sir Tristan's report back up. An invisible force plucked the paper from his fingers, and sent it fluttering out of his reach, facedown on the floor at Merlin's feet.

"Merlin!" Arthur glanced around for something to throw. Perhaps the inkwell?

"Listen!" Merlin put his hands on his hips. Had anyone ever thought to tell him how he looked nothing so much as an angry housewife when he did that? "Do you remember that time when we were out on patrol, and we got attacked by bandits—"

"Could you be more specific?"

"—and," Merlin continued, with another should-I-turn-him-into-a-roach look, "you and I got separated from everyone else, and I got hit by a mace, and then there was that big rock fall, and you thought I'd got lost—"

"Vividly," Arthur said flatly. It wasn't a day he liked to think about, to put it lightly.

"—only I didn't actually get lost, remember, I told you, Morgana found me, and she put that snakey thing in my neck that made me try to kill you and—"

"The point, Merlin."

The idiot must have realized he was rambling, because he stopped short. He even had the grace to blush. "Well." He huffed. "Gwaine tells me you hugged me."

Oh. So that's what they were getting at, then. Arthur's face began to burn like fire. "Gwaine," he said, as seriously as he could, and oh, he hoped to the gods Merlin couldn't see the flush crawling up his neck and flooding into his cheeks, "is about the most unreliable source in the entire kingdom, Merlin."

Merlin must have expected the resistance, because he countered at once. "He seemed pretty sure of himself when he told me."

"Yes, and how many had he knocked back by that point?" Arthur sniped. Logic told him he should just swallow his pride and cop to it—fine, all right, so he'd hugged Merlin, but it had been quick and one-armed and decidedly very manly, and also, he'd thought the idiot was dead for the past three days, so that had to count for something, right?—but logic also said that if he did swallow his pride and cop to it, Merlin would never let it go, and. Well. He couldn't have that.

"He was sober!"

"And you're sure it was Gwaine?"

"Arthur!" Merlin's hands were on his hips again. They were back to the angry-housewife stage.

Arthur bit back a sigh. "Look, Merlin, not that I don't love a nice stroll down memory lane every now and then, but I fail to see what this has to do with—"

"You hugged me!"

"That's still up for debate."

"And I don't even remember it!"

"Common occurrence for things that didn't happen." Arthur wondered if it was worth it to get up and get the report off the floor, or if he ought to just start on a new one.

"I don't believe it." Merlin collapsed into the seat opposite Arthur. "The one time you hugged me, and I don't even remember it."

"Merlin," Arthur dragged in a breath, and rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose, "if you're going to insist on spouting nonsense—"

The last dragonlord, the slayer of the High Priestess Nimeuh and the immortal sorcerer Cornelius Sigan and gods knew who else, the ruler-slash-monarch-slash-lord-slash-king to the magical community, the almighty warlock Emrys, gave what Arthur could only describe as a pout. "I deserve a hug that I remember."

Arthur ran out of patience. "I'm not going to hug you!"

The almighty warlock Emrys pouted harder. "I could die tomorrow, and if I did, I would go to my grave without even the memory of—"

"Merlin, you're immortal."

At least that seemed to pull Merlin from his sulk, because he snorted, and sat up a little straighter. "Yeah, I'm immortal if no one, y'know, stabs me, or poisons me, or shoots me, or starves me—"

"Yes, yes, I get the point," Arthur waved a dismissive hand, and tried not to dwell on the image the flippant words had conjured up of a bleeding and poisoned and arrow-ridden Merlin. "Look, I've got quite a lot of work to do, in case you haven't noticed, we can't all sit around practicing spells and riding dragons and getting worshipped by druids—"

Merlin turned red. "I-I'm not—!"

"—so, if you won't leave, why don't you make yourself useful?" Arthur nodded at his favorite pair of boots at the foot of the bed, the leather tops still crusted over with a fair bit of mud from their last patrol.

Merlin slumped from his chair, slumped over to the boots, slumped to the floor at the foot of Arthur's bed, and slumpily picked up the boots.

Slumpily. Arthur stifled a groan. Damn it, Merlin, you've got me using your idiotic made-up words now.

Arthur shook his head and returned to his reports. All thoughts of Merlin's terrible influence aside, maybe now he could actually get some proper work done and—

His thoughts scattered to a million different corners of his mind when the soft, unmistakable swish of coarse bristles on dirty leather met his ears. Oh, for gods' sakes, what on earth was the idiot playing at now—?

"Merlin," Arthur looked up, "what are you doing?"

"Er—?" Merlin lifted his head, his eyes decidedly on the hesitant side. "Polishing your boots? Like—like you said?"

Arthur frowned at the familiar sight—Merlin, sprawled at the foot of the bed, his back to the wooden frame, a polishing brush in one hand and Arthur's left boot balanced on his knee. It wasn't something he'd ever expected to see again, was it, not after—and he'd made it quite clear, hadn't he, he'd made it clear that Merlin could—? Well, perhaps he hadn't, it wasn't like they had really talked about it much, it wasn't like it was high on anyone's list of priorities when the truth had first come out, but—well—never mind, never mind, he'd set it to rights. "I—I don't mind, you know."

Merlin stared back at him blankly. "Mind?"

"The—erm—" Arthur held up a hand, and rather awkwardly wiggled his fingers. It wasn't anything like the baffling, complex, fluid sorts of motions Merlin did when he was casting spells, but the king was fairly confident it got the point across. "The magic. You can use the magic. To—to polish," he added, just to be absolutely clear. "I thought that's what—I thought that's what you'd—you know."

"Oh." Merlin looked down at the brush in his hands like he hadn't even realized it was there. "All right, then." He shrugged, and he went back to polishing the boots. By hand. With the brush.

Arthur ran out of patience. To be fair, it wasn't something he'd ever had in spades. "Really,Merlin?" He pushed his chair back from the desk, stalked over to the idiot—all crouched on the floor with his long legs tucked up to keep them out of the way—and snatched the half-done boot from his grasp. "For all your incessant whining about chores, I'd have thought you'd jump at the chance."

A small smile flicked at the corners of Merlin's lips. "Well." He made a wide grab for the boot, and missed spectacularly. His abysmal aim, his nonexistent coordination, his complete lack of athleticism—the only things about him that hadn't changed. The reminder that somewhere inside the all-powerful sorcerer who spoke six different languages and cast magic more extraordinary than any High Priestess could ever hope to achieve, somewhere inside Emrys, there was still Merlin.

"I like," Merlin said, softly, "to do it by hand. I'm happy to be your servant," he added, sincerely, not a trace of mockery or mirth in his voice. "Until the day I die." The smile bloomed into full, brilliant being across his face. "It's an honor to serve you, Sire."

It wasn't the first time Merlin had said something like this—of course it wasn't the first time Merlin had said something like this, the man was an absolute girl's petticoat at the best of times, always with the talking, and the feelings, and the heart on his sleeve sort of thing—but this was the first time he had said it with such feeling, and over something so simple. The immortal warlock Emrys called it an honor to clean the mud from his boots, and Arthur had to stop, and swallow hard, before he could speak again.

"You—" say stupid things and mad things and treasonous things and you have magic and two dragons and druids worship you even though you cry when you see baby rabbits and you could rule a kingdom but you want to be a servant, you want to be my servant, you think it's an honor to be my servant— "—are such a girl, Merlin."

And maybe Arthur was a girl, too, because—

—well, because he maybe pulled Merlin into a hug.

[neosaysno]

FantineAquane (Danganronpa)

So I decided to come back to this blog after a year, and I took on a new character. Meet FantineAquane, the SHSL Secret.

...

I’m already scared.

(CONTENT WARNING: Mentions of pedophilia and noncon. Seriously.)

Warning! Because of the nature of this fandom, I will be going into spoiler territory.

Name:FantineAquane Gender: DOB:13 October Blood typeO+ Height:1.78 meter Weight:55 kg

Okay, let’s unpack this, because there’s a good bit here. And we already have problems.

... FantineAquane is NOT a name. That looks like a username of some kind, and when I googled FantineAquane, I discovered that it was indeed used as a username! I also managed to track down the creator, but I’m not really going to bother...

Why is the Gender thing blank? Even if you’re nonbinary, agender, whatever, that would be listed. However, the rest of the profile uses “she/her” pronouns and calls her a “girl”, so I’m going to go ahead with calling Fantine a girl for the rest of this.

No issues with the birthday, but she’s slightly underweight, which is an unfortunately common thing in OCs. Thankfully it’s not too egregious (Less than ten pounds underweight).

FantineAquane is tall-slim girl.She has long straight-wavy purple-black acid type haired.She weared purple short jacket with a long sleeves,old white worned brassier and worn daisy dukes.She has big blue-bright cerulean eyes with long eyelashes.She has a faded scars inside her jacket.

That grammar... Ughhh. It’s not /that/ bad, but it clearly tells me the writer isn’t a native English speaker. Or if they are, they’re flat out terrible at it.

Pray for me while I decipher this. It feels like I’m solving a worse Metheus puzzle.

Tall and slim... Okay, she’s about 5′8, so she’s actually decently tall for a... wait, how old is she?!

This is an actual problem. We don’t even have a listed age range. This is a problem for a Danganronpa OC! Even the DR1 students at least had age ranges, from sixteen at the youngest, presumably. (Well, they were a year or two older because of the lost memories, but that’s not too much to bring up.) What IS the problem is that we have no listed age. Yes, I am nitpicking that.

And “acid”... I’m gonna assume that’s neon hair. I am not going to provide a visual reference because that would mean your eyes will hurt.

That’s not even that appropriate! We don’t see Danganronpa students walking around with neon hair! Ibuki and Souda are the only people who remotely fit that, and their hair is toned down enough to not be painful to the eyes. Our solace here is that the art doesn’t hurt to look at.

And why is she only wearing a jacket over her bra?! Where’s her shirt?! Even Aoi had a shirt! While yes, girl power and all, that’s just flat out inappropriate! I’m assuming this is JUST killing game garb, but I sure as hell hope Fantine wears the uniform during school years! Most, if not all schools would take disciplinary action if you walked in wearing that kind of outfit!

(Note, Angie technically is wearing a swimsuit, so I’m not going to bring that up, but the clothing description confirms that this is a full out bra that Fantine has, not a bikini top.)

No comment on the eyes, but the scars (or... scar? See, this is why you need to have decent grammar) don’t seem to be brought up elsewhere, so -1 point.

FantineAquane is a kind,curious,sociable,clueless,funny,sensitive girl.But instead she’s the revengeable and up raged girl as someone who insulted her as a prostitude and insulting her friends.She kinda bitchy as she loves the lust and sexual things.But it doesn’t mean she’s an idiot and prideless person.She wants to be a hopeful person who saves the suvivors from death.She can knows someone secret only a sight.

AUGH. This is pure word vomit. Gibberish. Nonsense. Whatever you want to call it. What the shiny mystical hell am I looking at?! None of these line up! This is complete nonsense! It’s like the creator just slapped all these personality things on without thinking about how they work together, or in this case, don’t!

And... “ She can knows someone secret only a sight. “

Oh god... is she a mind reader? PLEASE do not be a mind reader. I’m now actually scared to read through this more...

Super High School Level Secret

Super High School Level Hope (Her dream to protect the innocents)

Super High School Level Tackler

Super High School Level Fate

I should have known better than to wish for things. I have no goddamn words for this. This is in no way feasibly possible. I’m almost tempted to give up right here.

WHY is she the SHSL Hope?! Nothing we’ve seen here shows that she is a candidate! What the hell is Tackler? Secret? Fate?! These talents are an absolute disaster.

♢ Possible Execution ::

Gangbang Or Reveal Her Secret Until Death(Insane Diary)

I AM VERY TERRIFIED RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK. DEATH BY GANGBANG?! SERIOUSLY?! WHY?!

Get me. The hell. Out of here. Insane Diary-whatever, how does that kill her? How does any of this work? I’m not talking about this further, I need to get out of this so I can get through the rest of this. This is the worst execution concept I have EVER seen.

FantineAquane was an orphan since she was a baby.In her surrounding,she become one of the insulted person in the homeless city.She been pedofilia with some citizens as her attraction makes all the men want to sex with her.All the fate has been changed as one city was ruined and rule by Super High School Level Despair.As she know the person who ruined all people lives,she attend the Hope Peak’s Private Academy as she wanna to prove that insulted person can help this city and ruined or realise all the Super High School Level Despair’s members.Without any letter that she needs to be that school student,she makes a bargain with Monokuma as she need to save the world with HOPE or die in DESPAIR.

WHAT THE HELLLLL

THIS IS JUST AIFURYEIULKEYHRLIUHE NOOOOO

I... I have no words. This so. BLATANTLY. Defiles canon that I feel like this person tried to rip Danganronpa off to make their own story.

And what the shit? I’m sorry, but this girl is not that attractive. Not nearly enough for “all the men” to want “to sex with her”. What the hell. This backstory is a mess. How can she attend Hope’s Peak without an invitation? HOW IS SHE STILL ALIVE IN THE POST-DESPAIR WORLD?! How is she not batshit insane?! Most people like her would be dead or have already fallen to despair by the time the first game takes place! And how-- How did Monokuma not let her in without wiping her memories first? What the hell is this?! Why is she trying to be the protagonist?! At least it potentially explains her horrendous choice of clothing...

I’m not even going to talk about this more. This is just a disaster and makes me want to get through this even further so I can scrub this OC from my brain.

♢ Likes :

Sex,electronic items,helping people,socials,solving clues,willing to friends someone,Yaoi

SELF INSERT SPOTTED, SELF INSERT SPOTTED!

No, seriously, whenever an OC has ‘yaoi’ in their likes, I default to Self Insert. And the creator legitimately put THIS in their profile. “Pro in Doujinshi,Hentai & Yaoi“ So... Fantine over here is a self insert on top of all of this.

Back to the actual review... yeah, if she was forced into prostitution, I have a feeling she wouldn’t actually like sex all that much, especially if she’d been forced into it from a young age. I don’t have much comment on the rest, as FINALLY something lines up with the rest of her.

♢ Dislikes ::

Being insulted,Having sex without taking permission to her,Being advice about her clothes,up of rage,her secret has been revealled

Welp, we’re back to impossible grammar. Semi-readable was good while it lasted, I suppose. The hell does “up of rage” mean?

Also, nonconsensual sex being in the dislikes makes sense, but... why not just bring normal sex over too? And what’s her “secret”? That she used to be a prostitute?

Aaand she doesn’t like criticism on her clothes. Lady, you’re wearing something that would get you kicked out of half the places I can name.

♢ Friends ::

Best friend:Nagito Komaeda,Aoi Asahina,Alter Ego,Leon Kuwata,Makoto Naegi,Sakura Oogami,

GODDAMMIT SHE’S A SEVENTEENTH STUDENT. AND HAS PROTAGONIST SYNDROME. Also, why is Nagito top of the list? He joined SHSL Despair. And she’s supposedly fighting despair. God damn, Fantine.

And I’m pretty sure NONE of these people would want to be around her, except maybe Makoto because he’s a nice person and would feel bad for her.

Friends:Souda Kazuichi,Gundam Tanaka,Hagakure Yasuhiro,Hifumi Yamada

Why is she friends with Hifumi? Oh, right, she’s a fujoshi. And I don’t think any of THESE people would want to be around her either. Ewwww.

Crush On:Chihiro Fujisaki,Alter Ego,

God damn. I think this chick would scare Chihiro more than she’d actually be a potential romantic partner. She’s like Chihiro’s total opposite, and no, opposites attract isn’t a thing here.

And is she using Alter Ego as a substitute after Chihiro dies? Not exactly unexpected...

Enemies:Monokuma,Junko Enoshima

Boriiiiiiiing. Generic good guy stuff. Because of course the bootleg SHSL Hope hates Despair. I’m going to give her the benefit of the doubt-- Wait, how would she know Junko was behind this? Did she somehow manage to not get herself murdered or executed? Ugh.

♢ Quotes ::

“Don’t judge the book by it’s cover”

“You have to kidding me?”

“Although all of you loves to insulting me,it doesn’t mean I been insulted.But you all gimme a great support”

“Don’t kill all these innocence suvivors except me!”

“You’re got it wrong”

“Monokuma,I challenge you for a fight between HOPE & DESPAIR”

“Although they’re diffent in executions or death,their hope is to kill and put you all in the hell!”

“Although I’m atheast,it doesn’t means I disrespect all others religions,especially Islam”

That grammar is back! How do you mess up the iconic quote?! How has she challenged Monokuma like that without dying?! How can she handle others insulting her like that even though she clearly dislikes it? What the hell is going on here? Well... She’s got a poor judge of character, because she’s saying all the killers’ intentions was to damn everyone else. Nope. Not true.

And that last quote seems a little out of place. I’m gonna assume it connects to the creator in some way.

-

Final Verdict

Unsalvageable.

I’m (not) sorry to say this, but FantineAquane, the SHSL Secret, is UNSALVAGEABLE. There’s just too much wrong with her to be considered remotely salvageable, and it’s better off to just scrap her and start from the beginning. This OC was a disaster from beginning to end.

[juupajaa]

🥀Suffering phase:

Ah man this is gonna suck. I hate this. Just feck everything about this stage. This is where it just turns so dark and brutal that there’s nothing that can make it work. I hope it’s at least informative and reaffirming. This might get heavy so read when you feel you’re ready.

So one day you wake up and go to engage in your disordered behaviour, but for some reason it didn’t really make you feel any special way. You don’t think too much of it yet. You try again later, but still you don’t get that good feeling from it. You do it again, and again, but it’s just not doing it for you anymore. I’m sorry to say this, but honeymoon is over.

Ok so here’s where eds and de split. I’m gonna go through de route first, since this is pretty much where de stops. 

Some with disordered eating might recover right now. If your quality of life has improved, seeing your coping mechanism not work anymore can turn you back and make you run back to real life. For example, let’s say you started to use de to cope with pressure from school/work/hobbies. The pressure has now eased up and you don’t need to deal with it anymore. Your disordered eating isn’t needed and you can phase out of it in a short period of time and best case scenario, you never go back.

For other’s the situation hasn’t improved, they’re still at a bad place and can’t deal with the shit that’s going on in their life, so the disordered eating stays, despite it not helping anymore. Some might wallow in a state of not really getting worse or better, which can be extremely distressing since there is never any improvement or relief. Other’s might get into a cycle where their disordered eating perks up every now and then when they feel negative emotions, and sometimes is backs off and leaves when things get a bit easier for a while. 

The thing about disordered eating is that it doesn’t solve your problem, so there might be pressure to try harder to engage in disordered behaviour, which can lead to your de turning into an ed. I’d like to point out that de is getting more and more common in western/modern society. Some things that probably have contributed to this are sugar addiction, high accessibility of already prepared food, and snacking instead of eating regular meals, but I didn’t check any of that so don’t take that as anything but my own ramblings. Here are some examples of what disordered eating is like and how to differentiate it from a full blown ed:

experiencing anxiety about food/nutrition/your body on the daily basis (eds have this too)

disordered behaviour, for example, restricting, purging, binging, obsessing over nutrition, other abnormal eating habits (eds have this too)

 being able to take part in meals with others and act out normal behaviour most of the time, despite the extreme discomfort from the disordered thoughts (in eds, this ability is fading or completely removed)

being able to do things that go against your disordered thoughts most of the time, despite feeling extremely terrible about it (in eds, going against the disorder becomes near impossible)

being able to “switch it off” when needed, for example in order to keep it secret or to “take it easier for a bit” (in eds, there is no off switch, the disordered thoughts are constant and there’s no way around them)

being able to go on for long periods of time without really having that many disordered thoughts or without letting them bother you and hinder whatever you’re doing at the time (in eds, the disordered thoughts are intrusive, overwhelming, and they prevent you from doing unrelated things constantly)

I know this can be hard to hear for some, since the need and desire to get a full blown ed can be extremely strong. There’s no shame in that and I’ll tell you why. Your de isn’t helping you cope anymore and your life is overwhelming. Thanks to that bitch honeymoon phase, you know for a fact that this can help you feel better. The problem is however that it won’t help you, but you don’t have a lot of options, since you don’t know how to cope with your situation. The assumption is that you need to get even “better” at your thing in order to cope better again. It makes perfect sense, so don’t feel stupid for wanting for it to get even worse. For some it does, for other’s it don’t and we don’t know what exactly is that thing that makes the difference, but we all need help and new, better coping mechanisms, no matter if it’s de or a full blown ed we deal with. Disordered eating can be dangerous too and the discomfort alone is enough to start affecting you negatively. Further down I have written a list of stuff that you might experience from having disordered thoughts and engaging in disordered behaviour and a lot of what I will write about eds can ring familiar to you too. I’m not gonna talk more about disordered eating, but if you feel like you have it, I recommend looking more into it in order to understand it better.

So now let’s talk about eds. Ok so let’s say one day you get up to do something you were planning on doing, but suddenly you realize, you can’t do it. Your de prohibits you from doing something you wanted to do. And then it happens again. And again.

And AgAiN anD aGaiN. 

You’re out of the honeymoon and your ed has fully formed. The difference between an ed and de is the frequency and intensity of your obsession with food/your body. It’s starting to take up hours upon hours of your day to do everything that your ed asks you to do and the pain, sacrifices, shame and guilt, are just barely worth the tiny bit of relief you get when you perform your disordered behaviour. 

So by now some of you are getting malnourished. Now, being malnourished doesn’t mean you’re underweight, nor does it mean you haven’t eaten in two days. Being malnourished means you haven’t been getting proper nutrition in months. This can be because you don’t get enough calories in, you purge too much of your intake, or you are eating foods that don’t provide you with enough nutrition, such as eating only one or few things or not eating enough of something specific. You can be malnourished at any weight and you can be malnourished even if you eat multiple times a day or have some “good days” in between. Here’s what being malnourished might feel like:

You’re in a whole another world. It feels like other people aren’t even in the same universe as you

It can feel like everything’s a bit slow, even if days go by quickly, colours aren’t quite as bright as they used to be and sounds seem muted

Your work memory is so minimal that you’re having trouble getting through basic tasks without stopping to think about what you’re doing

You feel exhausted all the time, there’s no point in talking or doing anything, you just want to go lie down and even then you don’t feel like you’re resting

You’re either irritable or apathetic, rarely anything else

Even something as small as reaching for something feels like a task

You’re having trouble communicating your point to others and your point seems lost on yourself too

You’re having trouble following conversations and sometimes it feels like people are speaking gibberish and not real words at all.

Being malnourished is not fun, that I can tell you. It can sound similar to depression and those two usually go hand in hand. A lot of people with eds also have anxiety or depression and as we have already established earlier, other mental disorders play a part in your ed as well and equally, your ed might be making your other disorders worse.

Getting malnourished isn’t a requirement for an ed (or de) by no means and even if you aren’t malnourished, there are several physical symptoms you might get from the mere strain of having an ed (or de). Eds (and de) cause a lot of physical instability in your body, since your eating is disordered and you experience anxiety and stress over food/your body. Here are some physical symptoms you might experience from the continued stress alone (but trust me you probably are also malnourished):

digestive problems (constipation, diarrhea, bloating)

headaches, clenched teeth/tight jaw, neck and shoulder pains

hair loss, brittle nails, dry or irritated skin, dry mouth, bad breath despite dental hygiene

heart palpitations, a sudden sinking feeling in your chest

numbness in your limbs/shoulders, pain or weakness in your joints

excessive sweating, cold sweats, shaking/shivering for no apparent reason

irritability, fatigue, exhaustion, difficult to focus

insomnia or other sleep problems (too much, too little, not waking up feeling rested despite getting a good amount of hours in)

weakened immune system

So let’s talk about this stage itself, since we’ve been rambling about pretty much everything else. Suffering phase is pretty much what it sounds like. You’re just suffering. You’re not getting worse and worse and everything just kind of rots around you. You might be losing friends or hobbies, since your ed is making you avoid a lot of situations. You’re becoming isolated and you can’t really talk to anyone out of the fear they might intervene with your behaviour. Most of your day, if not every minute of it, is consumed by your ed and you have to keep on doing what you do, just to feel little less horrible. Here are some thoughts and feelings you might experience:

apathy over the loss of your other hobbies/interests/friends

increasing loneliness and isolation, yet you don’t want anyone to get close either

feelings of worthlessness, shame and guilt about yourself

disinterest in others, such as your friends, family, significant other

overwhelming and all-consuming disordered thoughts that get mixed into every situation, no matter if food is involved or not, making it impossible to focus on anything else most of the time

difficulty do handle anything unexpected or just mildly inconvenient without having to resort to your disordered behaviour for comfort

increasing fear, anxiety and discomfort

Suffering phase doesn’t have a time limit. It can go on forever. Some people die here, some keep coming back over and over again on endless repeat. Those with chronic eds stay here for years upon years. This is such a dark and miserable stage and while you’re in it, you might be so lost you don’t even realize to feel sadness for it. It can feel like there is no way out, there’s no way for you to ever recover, you don’t even want to recover, let alone try. I know it can feel like this is what you deserve and this is just how things are, but trust me, there is more stages to eds. It doesn’t have to end here. 

The next stage is just around the corner, you just gotta start eyeing it. It is so hard to shake anyone out of this phase and we all know by now that the will to recover has to come from the inside. You’ve got to start hoping for something better. I know for a fact that you can still get a new start and there’s a reset button a little further down the road. Just please, start thinking about things you’d like to do. Places you’d like to go. People you’d like to meet and the person you want to be. Whatever these things are, think about them and try to get that spark of hope going.

[nicolepremier]

Nano’s Knife

I’m currently writing a Nano/Akira fic and it occurs to me that I need to explain to everyone what’s really going on with Nano’s knife and its mysterious inscription that appears on so much iconic TnC merch. I was planning to write a brief summary in the author’s notes, but I wanted to go into a little more detail here, since I thought some of you might be curious.

Fandom lore would simply state that Nano’s inscription reads “wish” in some mysterious language, a symbol that he “wishes” to meet Akira again, and leave it at that.

It’s a lot more complex than that. And spoiler alert - the inscription on that knife does not literally read “wish” in any language.

For starters, there is some confusion in the translation from Japanese to English. The word the Japanese use that is translated to English as “wish” is 願い (negai), and that word has another meaning, a meaning that contextually makes a lot more sense. “Negai” also means “prayer,” and the context that it is used in throughout Nano’s route suggests that “prayer” would have been a more accurate and appropriate translation. For example, when Akira finds Nano sitting alone in the church with the black kitten, Nano says that he is there because he is “wishing” for another person’s happiness (obviously Akira’s, though that goes completely over Akira’s head) because it’s the only thing left to one whose fate has already been determined (referring to himself). What he’s actually doing is praying for Akira’s happiness. You don’t go to church to “wish,” you go to “pray.”

This distinction becomes very important when translating Nano’s knife inscription.

The inscription on Nano’s knife is written in Elder Futhark, a pre-viking Norse and Germanic rune system. (Though popular perception today simply refers to them as “viking runes.”) Being of Scandinavian decent from a family who loves anything and everything to do with vikings, I recognized the writing immediately since the same runes are on a ton of decorations all over my family’s home.

If you try and translate Nano’s runes phonetically, you get “hingath,” which is complete rubbish and means absolutely nothing as far as I can tell. It most certainly does NOT mean “wish.”

There is some additional complication due to the fact that N+C is horribly inconsistent with the runes from one set of merch to the next (presumably because they mean nothing to the designers), and the designers sometimes write them in ways that make the inscription even MORE nonsensical.

I actually sent a number of the different versions of the inscriptions to a professor friend who studies runes in several dead languages, and he came up with exactly the same nonsensical gibberish I did - it’s badly written Elder Futhark mixing several time periods that says nothing. He said it wasn’t all that uncommon for people to write nonsense runes on all sorts of stuff just because they like the look of them. For example, a well-known rune translation guide book has runes going around the cover which translate to “These runes don’t say anything, but they sure look cool, don’t they?”

But I wasn’t satisfied.

Elder Futhark is not purely a phonetic language like the Latin alphabet. The god Odin “sacrificed himself to himself” by hanging on the world-tree Yggdrasil for nine days and nights, receiving no form of nourishment from his companions. At the end of this ordeal, he perceived the runes, the magically-charged ancient Germanic alphabet that was held to contain many of the greatest secrets of existence.

The fact that the runes have, since their conception, been thought to be imbibed with magical powers is the reason they have been so extensively used by modern Neopagans in so much of their ritual practice. Simply the act of inscribing the runes, or keeping inscribed objects close, can confer power and blessings. Each rune has multiple meanings, but keeping that in mind, I believe I have cracked the code of Nano’s mysterious knife inscription.

The knife isn’t a “wish” or a symbol of a “wish” - it’s a “prayer.” It’s a prayer to the old gods.

Name: Hagalaz, “hail.” Phoneme: H. Meaning: destruction, chaos, change, invocation

This is a common invocation to begin a prayer to petition the gods.

Name: Ingwaz, “the god Ingwaz.” Phoneme: Ing or ng. Meaning: male fertility, the beginning of something, the actualization of potential via sacrifice

He must offer a sacrifice. The old gods don’t work for free. One must give something up in order for one’s prayer to have a chance of being answered.

Name: Ansuz, “an Aesir god.” Phoneme: A (long and/or short). Meaning: prosperity, vitality.

He’s calling on one or more of the aesir gods for help - Odin, Thor, Frigg, Tyr, Loki, Baldur, Heimdall, Idun, and Bragi.

Name: Thurisaz, “Thor, Giant.” Phoneme: Th (both soft and hard). Meaning: danger, suffering, solitude. (Note that this rune is often written with shorter vertical lines so that it looks more like an angular D. Both versions appear on different TnC merch.)

He wants an end to his suffering and solitude. His prayer is a desperate cry for help.

To be clear, I do not believe that Nano is a time traveling viking, or even of Norse decent - if he were, he might have written a more sensible inscription that actually meant something in one of the Scandinavian languages - all of which use the roman alphabet nowadays, and that is NOT the alphabet that Nano’s book uses, since Japanese use romanji as well and Akira has never seen those sorts of letters before. No one writes books in Elder Futhark these days. Here is what I believe happened:

Nano was the son of academics. He mentions in Kou Un (his official afterstory) that his father whose face he can’t remember made the knife. That’s not a normal skill, and even a rudimentary knowledge of Norse runes (and Norse gods) isn’t common knowledge among the general populace. This is consistent with how Nano dresses and presents himself - he isn’t the sort of person who puts a lot of thought into his clothing, but he likely tends to subconsciously gravitate towards what some part of his brain still registers as “normal” - things his father might have worn, and which he probably wore himself as a child before he was taken to ENED. His primary hobby is reading, and his eloquent speech and precise pattern observation makes clear that he’s quite intelligent, despite his naivety and eccentricity.

I headcanon that Nano’s father was an engineer, and his mother was a history professor (probably NOT in Norse studies), both of whom worked for a Russian university with government funding in South eastern Russia, in close proximity to both China and Japan. His father may have been involved in the design or manufacturing of weapons during WWIII. Likely both parents had an interest in historical reenactment and were eager to involve their children. Nano likely spent a good deal of time with his mother as a child since his father would have been kept extremely busy during the war. He was almost certainly taught to read at a very young age and given books on his mother’s favorite subjects to keep him occupied while she worked. When he developed an interest in vikings and Norse mythology as a young boy, he was almost certainly encouraged to pursue it. Therefore, although he was raised Russian Orthodox Christian, he was aware of (and likely fascinated by) mythology from various cultures. His speech in the game illustrates that he does indeed have a distinct interest in Christian mythology in particular, and likely that of other cultures as well, given that his only known possession was a knife inscribed with Elder Futhark. His father likely recognized his interests and made the knife for him as a gift, then let him help inscribe it with a prayer. To a little kid who really liked vikings, that was probably very exciting, so it isn’t surprising that the knife would become his most prized possession, even after his memories were altered and he could no longer remember anything else about his family.

After Nano’s family was killed, he was put into an overcrowded Russian orphanage, then later taken away by the Japanese for use as a nameless test subject in what was often lethal experimentation. At that point he was so scared that he was willing to try just about anything. Having no control at all over his own fate, his only recourse was to pray for salvation. When no one answered his prayers and his circumstances kept going from bad to worse, he almost certainly started to lose faith in the Christian god, and tried to invoke the old Norse gods in hopes that maybe he was just praying to the wrong god and there was still SOMEONE out there who would listen. He may even have forgotten what the inscription on the knife actually meant, only recalling dreamlike bits and pieces. It was a prayer. To be completely honest, I find it completely unrealistic that Nano could have kept that knife hidden for so long from ENED, given that it’s fairly large, he had no privacy, was watched 24/7, and only wore a medical gown inside the facility. I think it is slightly more likely that he was allowed to keep it, given how submissive he was to the researchers, since the end goal was to brainwash him into BECOMING a weapon himself.

In the end, when Nano had lost all hope and knew he was about to lose even himself… the sacrifice he made to invoke his final desperate prayer WAS the knife itself, his last remaining possession, the last reminder he had of his humanity, and with it his last remaining hope of salvation. He gave it all to Akira, in hopes that maybe one day, they would meet again.

Now, Nano’s fate, and his salvation, depends entirely on Akira.

[strawberriestyles]

Part 1: Kidney

(BANNER MADE BY MY TALENTED SWEETIE PIE @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which you’re persuaded to help a young witch named Harry.

Read previous part here.

Word count: 4k

Author’s note: Originally, everything was kinda supposed to line up and the part that I was going to post on Halloween was actually supposed to be set on Halloween night, but life gets in the way and things don’t work out. :( I’m sort of sad I wasn’t able to get everything done and give it to y’all the way I had envisioned. This is the best I can do, and I hope it’s enough. Please let me know if you enjoy it or if you have any thoughts at all! Happy Halloreading. Xx

The telltale signs of fall have truly begun to reveal themselves. Along every sidewalk, there seems to be chunky knit sweaters and scuffed Chelsea boots, pumpkin-flavored snacks and mulled apple cider. Normally, Harry would roll his eyes at the widespread commonality of it all, but he’s too preoccupied. He’s got his nose buried deep in a page of words that he can’t seem to make out, nothing more than a bunch of gibberish.

If anyone was watching, they might notice that the heavy library door swings open before Harry has even made contact with the handle. They might catch the way his eyes seem to glow as this happens. But no one is watching and no on notices.

The thick heels of Harry’s boots click against the stone floors. He carries himself across the deep lobby, eyes still perusing his sheet of paper, until he reaches the stairs that will lead him to the library’s next level. At the top of them, he swings left, maneuvering between shelves so effortlessly that it’s like he’s in his own home. Books on Latin language are tucked away in a dark corner, one that he’s very familiar with. He spends large portions of his free time here. And he’s never worried about books being checked out, because after all, Latin is a dead language. But Harry is confused when he reaches reflexively for the book he always uses, the one that’s easiest to navigate, and his fingers find nothing but air. 

His eyes finally lift away from the paper in his hand. Layers of dust have settled over everything in this section, but in the empty shelf space for his book, there are tracks through the dust from his constant readings. It’s coated the tips of his searching fingers, and he wipes the residue on the side of his jeans, sighing. Frustrated and disoriented, Harry yanks another book from the shelf and retreats from the corner, back into the main walkway. He taps across the room to his usual spot, at a table disconnected from the main reading area, but again he’s surprised.

Your foot is bopping out of beat to the song playing through your earbuds, and a ready pen is caught between your teeth as you skim a few pages of text. You don’t even notice that someone has approached you. You don’t notice the man leaned up against the edge of your table until your music suddenly begins to cut out. You jump when you do notice him.

“Jesus!” Without even removing your earbuds, you can hear your own voice echo off of the stone floors. You clap a hand over your mouth. You’re not supposed to make noises that echo in a library.

Pulling your earbuds out, you take a moment to examine their cords, looking for any damage that might explain their spotty sound. You find nothing. The stranger clears his throat and when you look up he’s staring at you. His eyes are bright, almost glowing in the dim light from a wall sconce.

“Can I help you?” you ask when he still hasn’t spoken.

“Yeah. Are yeh gonna be usin’ tha’ book for much longer?”

You notice his gaze divert to the thick Latin book you’d been studying. Your fingers splay over your page to make sure that you don’t lose your spot.

“Um, yeah. I was gonna be here for a few more hours.”

You can see the man grit his teeth, see him twist to stretch his neck. The wall sconce, your only source of light in this corner, flickers momentarily. It draws your attention.

“You read Latin?” he asks, pulling your gaze back around to him. Maybe you imagine it, but you’re sure you can hear sarcasm, condescension in his voice. “Yes, a bit,” you answer, shifting in your chair. “I’m a language major.”

“Are yeh?” The man seems to consider this, glancing down at his own book. Then he settles his mind and looks back up at you with challenging eyes. “Yeh think yeh could try t’translate this for me?”

He holds out a piece of paper to you. After a brief hesitation—you have an exam coming up later this week—you take the sheet from him. It’s scribbled across with sloppy Latin. You flatten the page out on top of your book.

“What’s this for?” you ask. “A class?”

“No, ‘m not a student.”

You frown, but this is all the information he gives you. He watches you expectantly until you turn your attention to his page of text and begin to piece together words. Then you glance back up at him, unamused.

“Wha’?”

“Is this a joke?”

“No, ‘s not. Wha’ does it say?”

You slip the paper toward him across your table. “It’s nonsense. Something about boiling the kidney of a raccoon.”

The stranger’s face lights up, and you don’t think you’ve ever been so confused and uncomfortable. “Yeh’re pretty good with your Latin, aren’ yeh?”

“I like to think so.”

“I’m Harry.”

You lick your lips and hesitate when he holds out a hand decorated with old-looking rings. But he raises an eyebrow after a moment, so you shake his hand, nearly flinching at how cold the metal of his jewelry is against your skin.

“Y/N,” you introduce.

“Well, Y/N, d’yeh think yeh could do some more translations for me? I have a whole book at home tha’s takin’ me forever t’get through, and yeh would speed the entire process up a lot.”

Your face contorts as you finally set your earbuds down. “Is that supposed to be a pick-up line? Because it’s the strangest one I’ve ever heard.”

“If yeh’d like it t’be a pick-up line, sure.” Harry grins, and it seems genuine and charming. “But if tha’s not enough, I’ll pay yeh for translatin’.” By now he’s set his book down and his hands lay flat on the table. He’s a lot closer. You notice that he doesn’t smell like most men your age, like cologne and sweat. Instead, he smells of earth and spices. It’s a comfortable scent.

“Before I agree to anything,” you begin, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms, “what is this book? And why are you reading it?”

Harry grins again and his eyes almost sparkle. “‘S a spellbook and ‘m workin’ on an important spell.”

Despite yourself, you crack a smile. “So, you’re either crazy or you don’t wanna tell me,” you observe. “How much are you paying?”

“How much would I need?” Harry asks. He straightens back up and runs his fingers slowly through his hair.

“Well,” you answer, closing up your book. You don’t feel completely unprepared for your exam, and your grades won’t suffer much even if you are. “I guess we can figure that out once I know how much I’m translating.”

***

“You live here?”

Harry glances up at the house as you slam the car door shut. He shrugs. “Yeah. Rent’s cheap.”

“Probably because people were murdered here,” you mutter under your breath. You’d been surprised when Harry had led you to a car from the library and not directly to his place. You’d been slightly cautious as he took the road out of the town and turned into a dirt drive. But now that you’re here, you find yourself feeling apprehensive. It’s not that the little house is scary. It could certainly use a paint job and some trimming of the ivy that has wrapped its way up the corners, but in fact, it’s quite charming. It’s more the seclusion of it from town, and the strange air that seems to hover around it, thick and perfumed. Trees, beginning to bare their branches, form a tight circle around the building. A short gust of wind blows a group of leaves past your feet.

“Y/N,” Harry calls from the front door, which he has unlocked, and where he’s standing in the frame. “Yeh comin’ in?”

Stuffing your hands into the pockets of your jacket, you trek across the lawn to where Harry is holding the door open for you. He lets you pass by him and then follows you inside. It’s dark. The windows that you can see appear to be coated with a layer of grime. Some thick, dark residue that you’re sure would stick to your skin.

Harry leads you deeper into the house until you’re standing at the edge of a living room. You can’t see much, but then Harry approaches the wall beside you and reaches up. His forefinger and thumb press together over the wick of an unlit candle held in a candelabra. When he pulls his hand away, a flame has sparked. He repeats the process twice more with the other candles on the candelabra, and you can feel your body begin to turn icy from your feet, up through your legs.

“How did you do that?” you ask, licking your lips habitually.

“Magic,” Harry answers, turning to smile at you. There’s a twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips that somehow dulls your anxiety. Despite yourself, you let out a short chuckle.

As Harry rounds into a hallway beside the candles, you take the time to observe your surroundings with the fresh light. It’s rather bare furniture-wise. A single couch is placed in the center of the room. A wooden chair has been tucked away into the far corner, carved with ornate designs that you can’t make out from where you stand. Next to the chair are two windows which barely let any sunlight in. But along nearly every wall stand tall shelves stacked with books and knickknacks. Things that sparkle in the flickering candlelight, things that seem to glow all on their own, things that look to be spinning.

You shriek and jump back against a wall as something rubs up against your ankles. When you look down, green eyes are glowing up at you. It’s a cat.

Harry pokes his head out from the hall that he disappeared down. He chuckles at your defensive body language.

“Tha’s Nicks,” he informs you.

“Is he nice?” you ask softly. The cat sits before you, flicking its tail rhythmically as it watches you. A strange humming reverberates from its throat, and you know that’s not a purr.

“She is nice, as long as yeh don’ offend her. And it looks like yeh might’ve already done tha’, so.” Harry walks around Nicks, who keeps her eyes trained on you as he reaches for your hand. You give it to him, carefully avoiding the cat as Harry pulls you toward the hall. Nicks's head twists around as you leave.

"She gets kinda jealous when I give someone else attention," Harry explains. He drops your hand at the doorway to another room and moves across the floor.

Glancing around, you find that you appear to be in a kitchen, though a small one. There's a short row of counters and dark cabinets to your left. A sink is situated in the center of them. In the middle of the room, taking up a majority of the floor space, is a thick wooden table that looks home-built. On top of it lays a handful of herbs and an unlabeled bottle of something that you can smell from where you stand. Choking on the scent, you take a step backward until you hit the wall. Something digs into your back and when you turn around, it's a light switch. But there is another candelabra hanging on the wall to your right. It holds flames which light up the area of the room that sunlight from the windowed door on the far wall doesn't reach. You look to Harry, who is digging through what appears to be a pantry at the other end of the kitchen.

"Do you not have electricity?" you ask. You take a step forward to observe the bottled material on the table.

"I do," Harry answers. He steps back from the pantry, and what he brings with him isn't food. It's a bouquet of purple wildflowers. You frown as he sets the flowers on the corner of the table and returns to the pantry. "I prefer candlelight. Feels more natural, yeh know?"

"What are you doing?" You round the table to stand behind Harry. "I thought I was supposed to translate a book for you."

He must answer you, but you don't hear his words. You've stumbled back away from the pantry door and Harry. The things that you see on the shelves inside are enough to make your blood run cold. There are the high-stacked piles of herbs and flowers, like the ones that Harry's already placed on the table. But then there are tiny skulls that you think must be the heads of helpless animals. On the shelf at face-level, there's a giant jar of something so red and thick that you can't think of anything it could be other than pure blood. And on the top shelf, tucked to the far right there's a smaller jar full of spheres suspended in a clear liquid. Eyeballs.

The breath leaves your lungs as you hit the edge of the table and it impedes your retreat. You gasp as Harry twists around to look at you, another jar of something in his hand. He's frowning, but he still looks calm. You feel anything but.

"Y/N, before yeh start—"

You shriek as Harry takes a wide step toward you, hurrying back to the other end of the room, where the long table can keep you separated. Harry looks slightly annoyed, but not angry. You stand poised on your toes, ready to run.

"I already told yeh what I was—"

"There is a jar of eyeballs in your kitchen pantry, Harry,” you snap as he takes a step toward you again. The candle flames flicker, almost extinguished as though a breeze has whipped through the room, but you don’t feel any movement in the air.

“Yes, there is,” he agrees. “I need ‘em for spells sometimes. But ‘s not like they’re human eyes, Y/N.”

“What does that matter?” you shout. “You’re crazy!”

Harry rolls his eyes and begins walking toward you. In a fit of panic, you knock the mysterious bottle onto the ground and rush around the length of the table until you can reach the door at the other end of the room. You yank it open, tripping over the threshold as you escape into the outdoors.

The wind has picked up, lifting flurries of dry leaves into the air and making the tree branches above you moan. Your thoughts churn quickly until you throw yourself around the corner of the house, pressing yourself up against the exterior wall. Heart thumping wildly in your chest, you hear the kitchen door swing open and then slam back into place. You take a chance and peek around the corner to see Harry strolling out into the woods. You wait until he’s disappeared between the trees and then you take off in the other direction, toward the front of the house and the long, winding, dirt driveway that will lead you back to the main road.

The air has cooled since you’ve been here. The sun has begun to fall with the late afternoon. You’re glad that you didn’t shed your jacket inside as you trek along the path.

You don’t know how long you walk for. It took a good few minutes to drive from the main road to the house, and it will take much longer to return on foot. But then you see a building in the distance, old with peeling white paint and ivy growing up the walls—Harry’s house.

“How did I...”

“Ah, good.”

You jump as Harry pushes himself away from a tree to your left. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He keeps his distance this time, hoping not to scare you off.

“That doesn’t make sense. I was walking in the other direction.”

Harry nods, flashing you a sympathetic half-smile. "Not really. Yeh just followed the path."

This does nothing to clear it up for you, but you don't respond.

"Yeh must be gettin' cold. D'yeh wanna come back inside?" Harry asks. He tilts his head and waits patiently for your response, eyes calculating. Then he smiles again. "I'll keep the eyeballs hidden."

You frown at his attempt to joke, but you nod. There's no point in staying outside when it will only continue to get darker and colder, and Harry's the one with a car.

He leads you back to the front door of the house and into the living room. "Why don' yeh sit down?" Harry suggests. He watches you settle onto the couch, though you don't look to be anywhere near comfortable. Your veins, which were humming with adrenaline, have dulled to a sort of acceptance. "Do yeh believe me now?" Harry asks, leaned up against a set of shelves, keeping his distance, and you nod. Maybe it's shock, or curiosity, or something else, but your fear seems to have dissipated.

"Tha's good." Harry grins at you in approval and then stands up straight. He reaches up onto the second shelf behind him and pulls down a thick leather book. Its spine is cracked and worn. There are characters on the front cover, but you can't see them clearly enough before Harry presses the book to his chest. He catches you watching him. "I'll be right back," he says. "Need t'copy some things for yeh t'translate."

“Can’t I just read right from the book?" you ask. "Your handwriting is not that neat.”

“No, yeh can’." Harry ignores your comment about his writing and heads toward the hall into the kitchen. "Yeh’re a mortal," he adds as he turns the corner. "It’ll burn the eyes right outta your skull.”

You don't move for a few moments. Your mind is too focused on the picture Harry's words have conjured up. In your palms, you hold your own eyes, alive and slimy. Your sight is aimed at your face, the features slightly familiar, but where your eyes should actually sit there are just empty craters pooling with blood that drips down your cheeks like tears.

You shiver and try to recover from the disturbing image before you glance around the room, this time paying closer attention to the details. The chair in the corner isn't covered in decorative woodwork, it's carved with Latin letters and even more ancient symbols and runes. On the shelves closest to you, you see books similar to the one you had been reading earlier at the library, only older and perhaps less detailed. And there's a large hunk of glass. A crystal ball, you realize. You're in the home of a witch.

Harry returns to the room carrying a big ceramic mug. You sit back again so it doesn't look like you were snooping, but he's not fooled.

"Very subtle," he commends with a short chuckle. "Drink this."

Your eyes widen as Harry holds the mug out to you. You look up at him, perplexed. "Why the fuck would I do that?" you ask. “What's it gonna do, make me grow a curly pink tail? Shrink me into a beetle?"

"'S tea."

"Oh." You can feel your skin tingle with embarrassment.

"T’calm yeh down," Harry explains. He smiles again when you take the mug from him. You note that he smiles a lot. "Yeh have this crazy agita’ed aura around yeh. ‘S makin’ me uncomfortable."

"I'm making you uncomfortable?" Steam unfurls from the tea up into your face and it smells herbal. "What's in this?"

"Rosemary, chamomile, cinnamon, a couple other things." Harry nods encouragingly. "Try it."

As you take a small sip of your tea, taking care not to burn yourself, Harry slips his mysterious book back into its place on the shelves. Then he clasps his hands together at his front, his rings clinking together as he watches you.

"What?"

"Nothin'. Come into the kitchen."

You stand, hands wrapping around the warmth of your mug of tea, and follow him back into the hall. The chair closest to the kitchen's entrance is pulled out from the table and a sheet of paper lays before it. Harry motions for you to sit and leans up against the counter. Just as you take your seat, he turns to the stove and a pot that sits on a burner. He removes the lid and stirs its contents slowly with a wooden spoon before replacing the lid crookedly. Without a word, he skirts around you to leave the kitchen. You lower your eyes to the Latin scribbles before you.

It's then, when Harry's left you and the palpable weight of his presence is gone, that you notice the scent of spices. You haven't so much as skimmed Harry's paper before your gaze is drawn to the stove. A cooling kettle sits off to one side of the grates, on the other side is the pot that is positioned over a blue flame. Steam rises from the cracked lid and you're sure that this is the where the smell is coming from. You cross the floor before you realize what you're doing. Then a black shape is whipping through the room, between your legs, nearly knocking you off your feet. You stagger to keep your balance and let out a hiccuped gasp.

"Don' seem t'be gettin' on very well with her."

Attempting to catch your breath, you turn to find Harry in the doorway again. He takes a step into the room and reaches out to pet Nicks, who after tripping you has found her way onto the table. She purrs at the touch of his fingers. You watch, unsettled, as she stands and creeps along beneath his hands, arching her back, until she's facing you, her beady eyes calculating.

“Are you cooking something?” you ask in an attempt to switch subjects, reaching for the lid of the pot.

“Yeh don’ wanna look in there," Harry warns. His voice has a sharp edge about it that makes you pause.

“Why not?”

“‘S that raccoon kidney yeh told me about.” Harry chuckles as you draw your hand away from the pot quickly enough to tweak a muscle in your shoulder. "Maybe yeh'd be best not t'keep snoopin' through m'stuff."

"I'm not snooping," you protest, but the reality of your behavior makes you keep your mouth shut when he shoots you a pointed stare.

You get the hint and slowly return to your seat, attempting to divert your attention to translating. It's hard to focus.

“So, where’s your broomstick?” you ask after a few moments.

“Wha’ the fuck do I look like t’you?” Harry lets out a breath of disbelief from beside the stove. He's removed the lid again and is stirring in what look to be flower petals.

"I thought you were a... magician, or something."

Harry rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch. "Can call me wha' yeh want. I prefer 'witch'. Has more of a ring to it. But don' get distracted, now."

You remember why you're here. Taking another gulp of your tea, which has cooled just enough to be comfortable, you get back to Latin. But it's hard when you're so preoccupied, when there's a real-life witch standing in front of you, and you barely have any information about him. Harry can see the questions coming before you even look up.

“Do you, like, transform into a bat or something, then?”

“Tha’s vampires, for fuck’s sake.” Harry lifts his hands frustratedly to his hair, but he laughs.

"Do you know a vampire?" you ask, intrigued.

Harry shakes his head, closing up the pot and shutting away whatever solution is cooking inside of it. "Vampires aren' real. Just a creature made up for mortals' entertainment." He sighs and turns to settle into the chair to your left, giving up. "I take it yeh're not gonna get t'the Latin, then."

"I just have a lot to ask you." You slide the page away from you, across the table, and turn your body toward him. He's settled in, his hands tucked behind his head, his eyes resting shut.

"Fine," Harry says, taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the onslaught of questions he's about to receive. "I'll answer your questions." His lips curve upward after a short pause. "But 'm not payin' yeh for today."

Part 2: Hellfire

[limitededitionsanderssidesblog]

Speech Impediment - Chapter 1

Sympathetic Deceit Week- Day 4: DLAMP

Ships: Logicality, pining-Prinxiety, platonic DLAMP

Summary: Deceit has gone through much of his life alone and being called a liar, all because of something he can’t help, but once he makes it to college he gets adopted as the little brother and son of a very strange group of friends without his permission. Going from life long outcast to being in a circle of friends is a little overwhelming, and not short of bizarre.

AO3 - Here

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Dexter had always been seen as strange to those around him at school, in public, and even at home. Maybe it was due to his unnaturally golden eyes or his, as some might say, creepy fascination with snakes, he never knew the reason. Well whatever it was, it was the reason why Dexter was always left behind by the other kids. It wasn’t too troublesome for him though, Dexter liked the solitude and quite. Often times he’d spend hours upon hours alone in the library reading about murder and supernatural mysteries. During class he’d stick to his seat either reading a novel, or playing with his magic trick cards. Magic was one of the few things Dexter was ever good at, even though it wasn’t really a skill.

When he was about nine years old, Dexter grew a habit that still sticks with him even ten years later. He became a compulsive liar. It wasn’t as if he purposefully bent the truth to take advantage of others, it was more like a speech impediment. He would say the opposite of what he meant without meaning to, in fact it would take much more energy to speak ‘normally’ then it was to say it backwards. His parents took him to speech therapy and mental health therapy, but nothing worked, so his parents and teachers just learned to accommodate for him. The other students, not understanding his situation, took to calling him Deceit, a name Dexter did not mind. They poked fun and teased, but it was never anything serious, and Dexter never let it get to him.

This was how Dexter went through the entirety of elementary, middle, and even high school. Now he was standing in front his new University, nineteen years old, his mind set on becoming a novelist, and expecting nothing different. There were maybe hundreds, if not thousands, of other students around him lazing about in the grass and courtyard, almost all in their own little circles of close friends, none of them noticing Dexter. 

Not minding the lack of acknowledgement, Dexter continued though the campus and walked to one of the several boys’ dorms. Getting his key and room number he then headed to the stairs, never being a fan of elevators, and made his way for the third floor. Once there Dexter searched for his room number. 200. 201. 202. Ah, there it was, dorm room number 203. Dexter took out the small key he was given by the old man at the attendance desk and slipped it into the lock and opened the door. 

The room was empty, but on the left side there were partially unpacked suitcases and colorful pictures tacked to the wall. Dexter walked over to look at them and saw different photos of the same four guys. Two of them had glasses, one looking strict and stoic like a robot, and the other looking goofy and wild, another looked extremely emo, and the last looked like a prep. Under one of the pictures were words written in red sharpie saying: We’re famILY. Dexter smiled slightly at the picture and moved to what he assumed was his side of the room to unpack.

About an hour and a half of calm passed in near silence, save for the rowdy boys across the hall, and Dexter was nearly done. Half of the closet was filled with his coats and jackets; his dresser was organized by garment in both alphabetical and spectral order; and his bookshelf that he had shipped in ahead of time had been organized with all of his favorite books based on genre and height of the book. As of now he was setting up his snake’s, little Dee Dee, terrarium on top of his dresser.

Eventually a loud group of voices appeared in the hallway, but Dexter ignored them, thinking it was just more rowdy neighbors. But soon the sound of the door being unlock startled him into realizing that it was in fact his roomate who had at last arrived, and most likely his friends as well. Not ready or prepared to speak with anyone yet Dexter did the only thing he could think off. Run into the closet and hide in a dark and enclosed area like a snake. A mere second later, in walked there very same four people from the photos, talking loudly. Well, so much for his peace.

“Hey Patton, looks like you’re new roomate is here!” One enthusiastic and regal voice said.

“I wonder where he is.” Another, robotic, voice pondered.

“Bro, you can’t just assume it’s a guy.” A very sarcastic voice spoke.

“I can’t assume anything else either, we don’t know who Patton’s roomate is yet.” The robotic voice responded. “When they’re here they can notify us of their identification.”

Dexter thought this was the perfect time to pop out from his hiding place. Well no he didn't, but he was getting cramped and it would be even more embarrassing if they discovered him on their own.

“I’m not a guy.” He stated as he stepped out of the closet, earning him a chorus of screams. All four of them instantly turned to face him in surprise. The emo one sitting on ‘Patton’s’ bed, the prep sitting next to him, the robot standing near his bookshelf, and the goofy one standing in the center.

“What the fuck was that?” The emo one said, holding a hand over his chest, obviously more shaken up then the rest.

“Sorry.” Dexter apologized. “I wasn’t nervous when you all arrived.”

“Um, okay...” Said the emo.

“What’s you’re name kiddo?” The goofy glasses guy asked.

“It isn’t Dexter, but I don’t prefer Deceit.” He responded, cringing inwardly when he realized that he did it again, watching as the confusion grew on their faces. Really not wanting to come off as rude or weird, Dexter hastily followed up with an explanation. “Sorry, I don’t have a speech impediment where I don’t say the opposite of what I mean.”

For a good three heartbeats no one said anything, but instead just stared at him awkwardly. Dexter would love nothing more than for a meteor to fall to the earth and hit him right now, or maybe the floor would give out beneath him, anything to end this mess. However, as he was contemplating the quickest away to escape the dorm by means of a quick death, the one in the middle smiled brightly like a radiant sun, not at all put off by him.

“So it’s like opposite day on repeat? Wow! I’ve never heard of that before.” He said brightly.

“Yes, I’ve never heard of that speech disorder before either.” Said the robotic one skeptically.

“Uh, well it is very common.” Dexter told him.

“So Dexter-”

“Deceit.”

“-let me introduce myself and my friends. I’m Patton Sanders, the dad of the group. That’s my boyfriend Logan, the mom-”

“I am not the mom.”

“The one in the hoodie is our love child, Virgil-”

“Sup.”

“Don’t call him that.”

“-and that’s our dramatic son Roman.”Patton finished, practically jumping up and down in his spot, filled with excitement.

Dexter didn’t know exactly how to respond to their introduction. What do you say back to a group of friends who label each other as different rolls of an immediate family. He didn’t know if it was endearing or creepy. Maybe a sniper would have been a faster option.

Logan, noticing his discomfort, let out a heavy sigh and rested a heavy hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Pat, I think you came off a bit too strong again.” He said in a soft, but lecturing tone. Patton was able to calm down slightly, but stilled rocked back and forth on his feet. “I apologize, I’m Logan Winchester, a physics major, Patton here is an art major.

“Virgil Black, majoring in music theory.” The emo joined in next, still sitting in a ball on the bed, curled like a cat.

“And I am Roman Sanchez, actor, singer, and future Disney prince.” The preppy looking one then finished the introductions.

Once again, Dexter didn’t how to respond to them. He already told them his name so what else could he say? His major was probably a normal human response, but they’d probably ask if they could read any of his work, and he’d just as soon drive a bus into the ocean then show them his horror stories. So, maybe he could ask a question and... Wait, how long has he been standing there not saying anything? Oh shit they probably think he’s a socially inept introvert, well he was but oh no their staring- say something! Anything!

“Are you all gay?” What the fuck was that?

“Bi actually.” Both Logan and Patton answered at the same time.

“I’m pan, Roman is the only gay one.” Virgil shared.

“Gayer than a unicorn eating skittles on a rainbow~” Roman then sang, resting his head on Virgil’s side giving the small, cat-like emo a seductive wink, to which he was promptly shoved off.

“How about you kiddo?” Patton asked, taking a seat on the floor and resting his back against his bed frame. Logan followed close behind and sat next to him, crossing his legs.

“I’m not asexual.”

The smile Patton had been wearing the entire time began to grow impossibly large until Dexter was sure that his cheeks would rip wide open. With absolutely no warning, the dad friend bounced up off the ground and bounded over and enveloped him in a bear hug, scaring no one except Dexter.

“That settles it, you’re now my son!” He cheered and spun them around in a small circle. The others looked on like this was nothing new, perhaps this was how all of them met Patton, but Dexter could have sworn he’d turn into a puddle of blushing, stuttering gibberish. To say that he was caught off guard and confused would be the single most largest understatement of Dexter’s whole lonely life.

“I-i’m y-y-you-your so- wha- huh???”

Little did he know that this big bunch of weirdos would be the best thing to ever happen to him.

.

.

Well here's my contribution to this week. Chapter 2 will be out on Day 7.

[belgrade25]

The Swamp Map Ch.1

Foxxay: The two witches find themselves lost in the swamp they were supposed to know well.

---

“I think it’s this way.” Misty looked up from a map and pointed to her right. Her feet didn’t move, however. She instead turned around to seek approval from her companion.

Cordelia came to stand next to her, a little out of breath. “Are you sure? You said the same thing twenty minutes ago, and I feel like we’re only going deeper.”

She looked back. The tall grass and sloshy ground of the swamp concealed their footsteps, keeping them from going back. There was no way of calling for help. Her smartphone had turned into a non-smart, non-phone machine when they stepped into the swamp. The pedometer indicated that she had already achieved her daily activity goals, giving her celebratory and inspirational words. Push the limits! Go farther! She’d really rather not.

The phone beeped, and she turned the sound off without looking.

“I thought the phone didn’t work?” Misty said with a hint of hope.

Cordelia shook her head. “It’s just the alarm for the lunch meeting. Well, at this rate, I’m standing the Mayor up.”

It had started when Misty insisted on stopping by the shack on their drive home from grocery shopping. It was going to be a short stop. They would’ve had plenty of time before the Supreme had to leave the academy for the meeting.

The fault was on Cordelia’s part. She didn’t want to make a detour to their usual path to the shack, which was far from where they were driving. There didn’t seem to be enough time for that. So, they had entered the swamp from an unfamiliar spot.

What a terrible lack of foresight that had been. Haste makes waste. Or, as Myrtle liked to put, premature orgasming pleases none.

“I’m sorry.” Misty ducked her head. “It’s all because I dragged you out here, Miss Cordelia.”

Cordelia put her comforting hand on her shoulder. “Let’s focus on finding our way for now, okay?”

But there seemed no path --not even an animal trail-- to be found around them. The thick clouds hid the sun, and it was impossible for them to even get a sense of direction.

“Oh, I know!” Misty said. “We could use teleportation. Go to the shack, and you could even make it to the meeting in time.”

“It wouldn’t work. To use teleportation, it’s crucial to know one’s location in relation to where you wish to go. Witchcraft 101, Misty.”

“I may or may not have skipped that class.”

“It’s also in the textbook.”

“Never opened it before.”

“Misty--”

“Hey, so, can we teleport back to the car, then?” Misty sounded extra cheerful, dodging further lecturing. “We know where we parked the car.”

“But we don’t know where we are. So, no.”

Misty sighed and buried her nose back in the map. “What if we have walked through a portal to another dimension without knowing? Maybe that’s why everything looks strange.”

“Well, that would be a nice excuse to tell the Mayor, at least,” Cordelia said. She knew that when Misty began talking nonsense like this, she was either hungry or sleepy. Considering the time, it was most likely the hunger.

Misty nodded and hummed, lost in thought. Then, she made up her mind and started walking. Cordelia tried her hardest to walk on the less muddy part of the ground as she followed.

“What do you think lives in other dimensions, Miss Cordelia?”

Cordelia shrugged, only taking a side-glance at her. “I don’t know. It has never occurred to me.”

“Do you believe in aliens?”

“The universe is immeasurable. The size and the age. It’d be ignorant to assume we are the only living organism.”

“I think they are already here on Earth,” Misty said. “But they are so common that we don’t realize they’ve come from other planets.”

“Is that right?”

Misty noddeed with a proud grin. “The octopus. They’re so intelligent, Miss Cordelia. And, they may not use spoken words like us, but they can communicate through their skin color. Humans can’t do that. And the dragonfly-- Did you know these suckers have zero blind spot?”

Despite their situation, Cordelia couldn’t help her smile. “Someone has been binge watching nature documentaries.”

“I swear, I never thought I’d like that tiny computer. I always get the heebie-jeebies around all those machines.” She shrugged. “But it’s nice, getting to learn about the animals I’ve never known before.”

“I’m glad,” Cordelia said. “Perhaps I should give you a VR set for your next birthday so you could go to the safari or the Papua New Guinea jungles.”

“What’s VR mean?”

“Virtual reality. You wear a headset like giant goggles and immerse yourself in the digital world-”

The moment Misty heard the word digital, her curious eyes clouded with doubt mixed with slight disgust. “That means they are fake, though. Nature can’t be controlled. It’s fun because it can only be observed. That's where happy accidents come from.”

“Oh, like getting lost?”

Misty gave her a guilty glance, which made her laugh.

“I agree with you, Misty. But this better be over soon.” Cordelia looked up at the grey sky through the naked branches. “The forecast said it would rain around noon.”

Although this uncalled-for exercise was keeping them warm for now, the air was crisp. It would be freezing in the rain.

Misty wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “The girls must be chilling in front of the fireplace now, with hot cocoa . . . and s’mores . . . Hollywood is maybe taking a warm, candlelit bath.”

This made both of them shiver even more.

As they kept walking, they stumbled upon what looked to be a huhman trail. Misty opened the map again. Cordelia, on the other hand, looked at the trail in suspicion.

“Misty, I think we are going in circles.”

“What are you talking about? We’ve been walking in a straight line.”

“But, look--” Cordelia neared the biggest tree  in their vicinity and pointed at the small pile of stones at the root. “I put them up in place of footprints.”

Misty’s hesitant gaze travelled back and forth between the stones and the map. “How’d you know it’s your doing, though? Maybe some people got lost before us and did that.”

“With my magical signature in it?” Cordelia picked up the stone at the top, pushing it into Misty’s palm.

The doubt on Misty’s face vanished in an instant. The trace of the Supreme power was too evident to ignore.

“Right?” Cordelia said.

With tight lips, Misty sighed through the nose. “Alright, Miss Gretel. You’re right. We’ve been going in circles.”

“Hansel. It's the brother who leaves a trail of breadcrumbs. Not the sister.”

Misty’s sigh turned into a groan. She sat on the protruding root, folding up the map in surrender. “I wish I had a bagel right now.”

They had bought blueberry bagels at the supermarket along with her favorite sesame ones. But everything was left in the car.

“Why isn’t there a spell for conjuring food up?” Misty said.

“Witchcraft doesn’t work miracles, as regular people think. It has to abide by the law of the universe like everything else. You can’t create something out of nothing.”

“We make fire out of nothing.”

Cordelia smiled. “Not exactly. There are certain molecules in the air that produce heat. Magic just helps you collect those molecules, pack them so dense that they start to combust.”

“I understood none of that.” Her stomach grumbled as if in agreement. “Are there molecules that could produce food?”

“No.” Cordelia sat next to her on the root. Her hand reached for the folded map in Misty’s hands. “May I?”

Misty obliged to the request without a word, too tired and hopeless. It pained Cordelia to see her like that. It was way better when Misty was rambling on all gibberish.

Cordelia ran her hand up and down her shawl-clad back. “It’ll be alright, Mist. I promise. Now, can you tell me where we might be?”

It goes without saying that the swamp map didn’t compare to the sophistication of the city map. It only had a few markings here and there. But it still showed the circumventing highways and the bodies of water spread across the place. Until now, it was more than enough.

Near the center of the map was a cross mark.

Misty’s index finger hovered over the area between the cross and the south-east edge of the swamp. “Around here, I think. The car is parked somewhere here, because this is the road we were driving on, and--”

“Wait, no.” Cordelia’s index finger joined over the map. Her eyes scrutinized it as if it was a Latin spell book. “No, Misty. This is our highway”--She pointed at the one almost on the opposite side of the map--“We were supposed to go east. But we’ve been . . . going west.”

Misty held the map closer to her face, turned it upside-down, and looked at Cordelia with deer-in-the-headlights eyes.

“Misty.”

“Hmm?”

“Have you been reading the map upside-down this whole time?”

In grave silence, Misty gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “It appears that it is the case.”

It was Cordelia's turn to let out a groan.

“I’m sorry, Miss Cordelia.” Misty took her hands and blinked her puppy eyes. “Please, don’t be mad at me.”

Cordelia swore Misty knew that look could get her away with anything, at least, as long as the Supreme was concerned.

“I’m not mad, Misty. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes.” She gave gentle pats on the back of Misty’s hand before returning her attention to the map. “Okay, so, the river we walked by earlier is not this one, but more likely this one. If we follow the water, we may be able to get out.”

But the look on Misty’s face betrayed her apprehension. “What if-- Not that I doubt you, but what if the water led us deeper instead of out? How’d we know if we should go upstream or downstream?”

“Shit, you have a point.” That was a possibility that Cordelia didn't like to dwell on. “But you know what? Either way, the swamp would end if we kept walking.”

Misty’s stomach grumbled again as her expression turned into that of despair. “I should’ve had an extra begel this morning,” she said, standing on her weakening feet.

Cordelia wrapped her arm around her waist in support. “You can have as many bagels as you want when we get home. I won’t stop you.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

And in her typical quiet way she encouraged that illusion. What investors still don't get is how clueless and tentative great founders can seem at the very beginning. In grad school I was still wasting time imitating the wrong things.1 They can either catch you and loft you up into the sky, as they do in the 90s. When I was a kid I used to believe what I read in newspapers and magazines.2 Life is short, we should be prepared for whatever PR mutates into to compensate. The problem with this: in a specialized industrial society, it would just look like gibberish to someone who didn't know Lisp; there isn't room here to explain everything you'd need to know? How big is the hacker market, after all? Google doesn't try to force things to happen their way. However skeptical the Blub programmer might be about my claims for the mysterious powers of Lisp, this ought to make him curious.

An example that will be familiar to a lot of them. But when our hypothetical Blub programmer wouldn't use either of them. He'd seem to the kids a complete alien.3 Programmers get very attached to their favorite languages, and I have not seen a single reference to this supposedly universal fact before the twentieth century.4 And that means there may be a struggle ahead. I think even Spamhaus would admit is a rough guess at the top. Deals are dynamic; unless you're negotiating with someone unusually honest, there's not a single point where you shake hands and the deal's done.5 In a startup you're judged by users, and our competitors would get none, and eventually go out of business. In 1994 my friend Koling wanted to talk to his girlfriend in Taiwan, and to want to be considered startups. That's their secret. If the other kids.

Do religion and politics have in common?6 The energy and imagination of my fourth grade teacher, Mr. Ajax, democracy, and not dissing users. I learned this until college. Palo Alto, the original ground zero, is about thirty miles away, and the ones that turn out to be. For me, as for many users, it's a mistake to conclude that because a question tends to provoke religious wars, it must have no answer.7 If you walk around a museum trying this experiment, you'll find you get some truly startling results. The Men's Wearhouse was at that moment running ads saying The Suit is Back.8 Singapore seems very aware of the importance of startup hubs. It was painting, incidentally, that cured me of copying the wrong things.

Though really it might be good to add a social component to their software.9 Another way to figure out what you'd need to reproduce Silicon Valley in another country, it's clear the US is disorganized about routing people into careers. In a competitive situation, that's an advantage. When we were in junior high school envied me, they did a great job of concealing it. That may even make you less attractive, because it affects their investment decisions.10 Reporters like definitive statements.11 So I want to be using the most powerful reasonably efficient language you can get, and using anything else is a mistake, of exactly the same motivation.12 That sounds cleverly skeptical, but I didn't miss it at the time whether this was a proper use of the Internet, which was still then a quasi-government entity. This trend is compounded by the obsession that the press has with founders.

Notes

In fact, for example. Wisdom is useful in solving problems too, and we should, because living at all is a constant.

But this is mainly due to recent increases in economic inequality to turn into them. The real decline seems to have been in the room, and so don't deserve to keep them from leaving to start with consumer electronics and to a partner, which people used to wonder if they ultimately choose not to make art that would have.

I had no choice but to establish a protocol for web-based applications, and configure domain names etc. But in practice is that the path from ideas to startups has recently been getting smoother.

But the usual suspects in about the same thing—trying to work on a wall is art. Perhaps it would be reluctant to start over from scratch, rather than risk their community's disapproval.

For sufficiently small audiences, it has to be about web-based apps to share a virtual home directory spread across multiple servers. He did eventually graduate at about 26. Http://www.

6/03 Nielsen study quoted on Google's site. His critical invention was a bad idea the way and run the programs on the partner you talk to an audience of investors.

Steven Hauser. So far the only significant channel was our own Web site. In A Plan for Spam.

But because I realized the other. At one point they worried Lotus was losing its startup edge and turning into a great idea that evolves into Facebook isn't merely a subset of Facebook; the Reagan administration's comparatively sympathetic attitude toward takeovers; the idea upon have different needs from the DMV.

I haven't released Arc. They would probably be the model for Internet clients too. But filtering out 95% of the causes of the best are Goodwin Procter, Wilmer Hale, and a company selling soybean oil or mining equipment, such a statement would merely be eccentric. The constraint propagates up as well.

Bullshit, Princeton University Press, 1996. At YC we try to make money from writing, any more than the long term than one who shouldn't?

I said yes. Xkcd implemented a particularly alarming example, there are no misunderstandings. The empirical evidence suggests that if they were supposed to be hard on the partner you talk to an employer, I can't safely omit any type I startups. IBM seemed a miracle of workmanship.

Obvious is an interesting sort of investor is just the local area, and making money on Demo Day by encouraging them to make fundraising take less time for word of mouth to get users to do is leave them alone in the 1990s, except then people who did invent things worth 100x or even why haven't you already built this? It would have been the first philosophers including Confucius and Plato saw themselves as teachers of administrators, and can hire skilled people to endure the stress of a placeholder than an ordinary adult slave seems to have done and try another approach.

[cinnaminsvga]

La Douleur Exquise Pt 1 | Incubus!Yoongi AU

➵ summary: in which you accidentally summon an incubus in the middle of your shitty apartment and he won’t leave until you agree to have sex with him. until then, min yoongi, incubus extraordinaire, is now your sexually promiscuous and grumpy roommate. aka, the incubus au no one fucking asked for. ➵ warnings: demon summonings, lots of swearing, and a grumpy min yoongi (what’s new?) ➵ genre: fluff, angst, humor, eventual smut (none in this chapter!) ➵ words: 6.2K ➵ a/n: the preview got such good responses that I had to finish this right away! hope it stands up to your expectations! enjoy! 

➵ part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7

In retrospect, it was probably a bad idea trying to recreate an ancient demon-summoning circle in the middle of your living room. If anyone asked you what had possessed you to do so regardless, you’d point fingers at your history professor for assigning the task in the first place. Although, you might concede that he didn’t technically ask you to assemble the summoning circle; all you were assigned to do was do some research about ancient summoning techniques with five to ten sources maximum. The problem with the assignment lied with the latter part of the requirements: the motherfucking references.

No matter how hard you tried to search for reliable photographs of professionally reenacted summoning circles, none of significant quality had popped up anywhere. You were seriously starting to consider attaching some DeviantArt fanart by the time you had reached page 67 on the Google search page.

In short, you were desperate—and desperation meant that you didn’t really think things through.

Your search was leading you nowhere, so you decided begrudgingly that you were going to have to make this work yourself. You had gathered enough information from some moldy books from the library on how the summoning circle was supposed to look like, so authentic instructions were not a problem. The more pressing problem, however, were the materials needed.

“What the fuck does ‘something precious and indispensible’ mean anyway?” You grumbled to yourself in exasperation. You had been arranging the faux summoning circle for what seemed like hours, chucking large amount of salt across your carpeted living room floor into a barely recognizable circle. You wondered tiredly if you should care that the circle looked fake as fuck, but you decided that you’d just print the pictures in black and white so that your professor would be none the wiser.

Currently, you were still trying to understand what “something precious and indispensible” could possibly be suggesting. Did they mean gold, diamonds, or other precious gems? Or could they mean valuable in the sentimental way? You weren’t really sure, but at that point you honestly couldn’t care. It was a Friday night, and instead of sleeping, you were trying to summon a demon—or at least theoretically. Sadly, you had been procrastinating too much on the assignment, and the essay was already due in two hours—you still had about four pages to go.

You groaned in frustration, looking around your measly apartment for inspiration. Unluckily, you were the definition of a broke college student, so nothing remotely extraordinary in value could be found in your home (unless you counted the two month old cake in the fridge—that was extraordinary but for the wrong reasons). You supposed in terms of sentimentality, you had a few mementos from your childhood that you liked to keep around. You had a photo album filled with childhood photos, an old vase that you had made in craft school with your mom when you were a kid, and some musty books that you had collected over the years. You also had a pair of white sneakers that you had bought with your first paycheck; the shoes were so old and worn that the sole wasn’t even connected to the shoe anymore. You weren’t really sure which one of them could pass as “precious” until you realized that you had an easy solution: you’ll just bullshit your way through this paper (as you do).

In your defense, this summoning circle wasn’t supposed to be authentic anyway; it wasn’t like you were really aiming to summon a demon. You could just explain to your professor that you had recreated the circle yourself for the sake of immersion, and you were sure that with your acting skills, he’d be swooning over your “commitment.” Better yet, you’ll “sacrifice” your shoes in the picture, and you’d explain how you believed the shoes represented how the greatest sacrifice came in the shape of losing things that you worked the hardest for.

You grinned to yourself, mentally patting yourself on the back. You supposed this is what you get for going to Sunday school every week when you were a kid—you were great at making up shit on the go.

“Alright, goodbye Converse shoes, I’ll miss ya.” You muttered jokingly to yourself, placing the worn shoes in the middle of your crude circle. You stood up from the floor, dusting the stray salt crystals from your faded jeans and admiring your work. Despite the obvious sloppy nature of your efforts, you were surprised that it actually looked mildly decent. Not enough to be photographed and put in a history book, but good enough for a C. Maybe even a B.

You were just about to reach over the salt circle and grab your phone to take the photos when your eyes happen to glance down to your still open laptop. You had already written the descriptions of the more common rituals, and you had copied the incantations of the most popular demon-summoning techniques. You had scoffed when you had read the unintelligible gibberish, hardly believing that the ancient people of this earth had thought that these words would somehow summon a demon of the most epic proportions. One of your favorite incantations had to be the one for the incubi/succubi, because the words were so horribly silly that you had to reread them a few times just so you could copy them properly through your laughter.

Instead of getting your phone, you decided to grab your laptop from the coffee table. As you reread your work, you cannot help the snort that escapes you when a stupid idea suddenly popped into your mind. You mused; it wouldn’t hurt, would it?

Trying to say the gibberish? Just for kicks?

Of course it wouldn’t hurt. This was all fun and games, anyway. You needed the break, so you supposed you could spare a few minutes goofing around, pretending you were a witch from ye olden times.

That’s it, you decided. You were going to summon a demon today, and you knew exactly which incantation you were going to use.

“Oh my god, this is literally the stupidest shit ever,” you laughed giddily, already standing up near the edge of your salt circle. You balanced your laptop on one hand, with your other one scrolling haphazardly for the correct chant.

Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself with as much sincerity as you could gather (which meant you were giggling the entire time, but the details weren’t important right now). You raised your hand as if in blessing, and recited the following words:

“Heu! Opus est aliquo modo de iure

Veneris voluntati parere.

Daemones autem fuere satiare

potuisti mihi cornea inde necessario

vult dimittere multum commendatur.

Et ecce ego do coram vobis daemones

in hoc ipso quovis nomine appellamus,

quod est equivalent motus ad officia

accipere volo a vobis.

“Now, come forth demon!” You finished the ridiculous incantation in English, your mouth tired from trying to enunciate the weird Latin words.

For a second or two, you watched in mild anticipation for something to happen. Somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind, you had actually wondered if what you were doing was legitimate or not.

You stood there for another moment before realizing how stupid you must have looked. What the actual fuck were you thinking? Did you honestly think something, or someone would pop out from the demon dimension? How fucking silly was that—

Wait. Why were your shoes sinking into the floor?

You had to do a double take at first to see if your eyes were deceiving you. Because right in front of your very eyes, your shoes were seemingly disappearing in the middle of your salt circle, right through your carpeted floor.

You tried grabbing onto it, but the force pulling it down was stronger than the speed it was moving at might have suggested. You watched as it sunk lower and lower until only the star logo of your sneakers could be seen, and until it all but disappeared into the nether.

You stood there in silence, not really processing the information that was being fed into your retinas.

Well. You definitely had not expected that to happen.

As it just so happened, the higher beings of this damned universe didn’t allow you to have more time to process what the fuck was going on, because right after your shoes vanished, the salt circle began to smoke and glow. The smoke alarms installed in your apartment started ringing obsessively, as if you weren’t already aware that your whole damn living room was starting to look like the 7th ring of hell.

You knew that you were supposed to do something, like, maybe grab the fire extinguisher located conveniently near the doorway. You really really should be doing something, and it was only now that you realized that your driving instructor was right all those years ago: you really did have the reaction speed of a 70-year old grandmother.

The smoke was gradually rising higher and higher, and while you had expected to choke on the thick fumes, the smoke actually smelled... pleasant? Like your favorite scents: the saltwater of the beaches near your childhood home, freshly laundered clothes, the cologne of your ex—

Woah there, partner. There’s now a goddamn pale arm extending out of the middle of your carpeted floor. You should probably be panicking right now.

Just like how delayed your reaction speed was, your panic speed was just as slow. In no time at all, the pale arm was joined with another equally pasty white arm, with both of them grasping the floor to help pull up what you assumed was the owner’s body.

Just as you finished that thought, aforementioned owner’s head was the next thing to pop up from the gaping hole that was now your living room floor.

And it was a dude. A pretty good-looking dude, but you digress.

Oh look, the head was talking now.

“Ow, what the fuck? Why is the summoning circle so small? I can barely fit through,” the head growled, shaking the remaining salt crystals off his messy mop of black hair. He stood there for a moment longer when his hooded eyes finally met yours. You were locked in silent conversation for a while, a feeling of unconcealed tension rising in the atmosphere. You felt the way he was sizing you up, and you could not help but notice the way his eyes trailed your body with some interest. Yikes, awkward?

So now, you had a strange, pale man checking you out whilst he had half his body stuck in the middle of your apartment floor, seemingly having risen from the very depths of hell you had summoned him from, all whilst your smoke alarm was still blaring noisily around you.

Thankfully, the smoke had since cleared when you finally managed to snap yourself out of your stupor long enough to run over to the smoke detector’s power switch, turning it off as quickly as possible.

The silence that ensued after the alarm was turned off, coupled with the palpable tension, sent shivers of discomfort through your body. Turning slowly around to face your unwelcome intruder, you instantly made eye contact with him.

Most heroines from the dramas you frequently watched might have screamed, run away, or even shot the stranger in the head with a gun they were conveniently holding onto. But you, on the other hand—

“OW! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK? WHY ARE YOU HITTING MY HEAD WITH A FUCKING BROOM?” The strange man in the middle of your floor yelled indignantly, and in the back of your mind, you couldn’t really blame the dude. You supposed that it wasn’t fun being stuck in a small hole in a middle of shitty apartment, whilst being hit with a broom. It didn’t stop you from continuing, though.

“WOMAN! WILL YOU STOP WITH THE BROOM ALREADY? HELP ME OUT!” He screamed, but you hit him one last time for good measure. It seemed like he wasn’t going back where he came from, so the best way to get rid of him was to probably pull him out and then kick him out.

“No offence or anything, but who the fuck are you and why is your head popping out of the middle of my floor?” You asked.

He gave you a look of mild displeasure, with his nose upturned in that snooty way that read ‘are you fucking stupid or something?’

“Are you fucking stupid or something?” He verbalized, after realizing that the confused look on your face was genuine and not some act of faux ignorance.

He groaned, rubbing his forehead in annoyance. “Oh great. Another one of those fucking skeptics. You know, if you really wanted to prove that ancient demons didn’t exist, shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, not summoning demons? Because honestly, I’m sick and tired of being called out of my home and having some weird skeptic prod at me and call me fake when I could easily be sleeping with someone right now—“

“Hold up,” you raised your hand to ask him to stop, and you were half-surprised to find that he actually did as you asked. He raised his brow in question, prompting you to most probably explain yourself.

“So, what you’re saying is...”

“That I’m a demon? Pretty much,” he concluded, picking at his cuticles disinterestedly. Looking at him closely, you had to admit that the whole rising from the gaping hole in your apartment was surely proof enough. If that wasn’t a dead giveaway, the purple horns protruding from his head was probably another good indicator that he wasn’t kidding.

Either that, or he was just some weird, over enthused cosplayer.

“Alright.” You said.

“That fucking figures that you wouldn’t believe me. All of you are the same! What is up with you stupid humans and your tiny brains unable to connect the dots despite having numerous evidence—wait.” He paused in his monologue, belatedly realizing what you had actually said. “You said ok? That’s it? You’re actually believing me just like that?” He spluttered, looking up from his nails long enough to shoot you a disbelieving look. You only shrugged callously.

“Well, I was recreating a demon summoning ritual, so your story lines up well. Even if you weren’t an actual demon, aren’t there those people who believe that they’re actual werewolves or Goku or something? Like that dude on Youtube who thought he could go Super Saiyan?”

“What the actual fuck? Are you actual comparing me to a fucking weeaboo?”

You shrugged yet again. “Well, you do kinda look like Sasuke...”

He pointed a finger at you threateningly. “Take that back. If anything, I’d be Naruto.”

You snorted. “Weeaboo,” you muttered under your breath. Wait. Why were you having a conversation with a demon in your apartment as if he were a greasy college kid who watched too much hentai?

You voiced your question out loud, and the demon did not seem pleased by your analogy.

“We are having this conversation because you fucking summoned me here. Now let me do my job and I can go on my merry way, thank you very much. But first,” he added, pointing exasperatedly at his still half-submerged body, “will you help me out of here first?”

You ignored his request. “Wait, you have a job to do?” You inquired.

At your question, the grin on his face reminiscent of the Cheshire cat probably should have warned you of the hell that was to come, but by then, everything was already too late. You were fucking screwed.

“Oh silly human, don’t you know? You summoned your very own sex demon, and I’m here to please you as you wish.”

In hindsight, you wondered how the demon had expected you to react: cry and scream from terror, call the nearest exorcist in fear, maybe cream your pants from a sudden influx of sexual arousal?

If anything, he probably didn’t expect you to laugh at him, much less make fun of him.

“Oh my—what—the—fuck??” You gasped out in laughter, doubling over from the sheer strength of your amusement. The smoldering look on the demon’s face instantly dissipated and was replaced with pure confusion, his eyebrow raised in bafflement.

“What? What’s so funny?” He demanded angrily, pouting at your giggling.

“You—you expect me? To have s-sex with you? A literal fucking demon from hell?” You managed to say through your mirthful tears, after which you run over quickly to your kitchen to grab a glass of water to help you stop choking on your spit.

From the kitchen, you heard the demon let out a chuckle. “Oh, I get it now. Is your laughter a defense mechanism? Understandable. You’re not the first one to be at a loss of words after meeting such a delectable creature such as I.”

Oh my shit. Was this demon even fucking hearing himself speak right now?

Before returning to the living room where the demon was still stuck in the floor, you refilled your glass to the brim. Without any shred of remorse whatsoever, you walked over to the demon and promptly—

“WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? DIDN’T YOUR PARENTS TEACH YOU THAT ASSAULT IS AGAINST THE LAW?” The now drenched demon spat at you, his teeth snapping at you like a dog.

He looked so pathetic at that moment, with his body stuck save for his arms and head, whilst dripping with water, that the giggles came back in full force.

“Oh my fucking GOD you are just ridiculous, you know that?” You chuckled, placing the glass on the coffee table and plopping your ass on the floor. You made sure to stay clear from the demon, lest he try to grab you and do something you wouldn’t like (i.e., touch you with his creepy long fingers).

You watched amusedly as the demon gave you an exasperated stare, the effect only heightened by his ‘angry-drenched-kitten’ face he was currently pointing at you. After a few more minutes of the demon angrily breathing at you, you said, “You know, you aren’t that handsome.” The grin on your face widened exponentially as his eyes squinted in anger.

“What?”

“You said my laughter was a defense mechanism because I couldn’t, what did you say? Handle your handsomeness?” You snorted.

He raised his brow. “And you’re saying it isn’t?”

“Yup. In fact, I wouldn’t have sex with you at all, even if we were the last two sentient beings in the world and we were tasked with the heavy responsibility to procreate to replenish the earth’s population.” Wait, was demon on human procreation even possible? Stash that under ‘musings you shouldn’t waste time thinking about’ for later.

The shock on his face was probably more arousing to you than the thought of having any type of intercourse with him. “What the fuck? Why the fuck not?” He stammered articulately.

You held up two fingers. “Two words: demon STDs.”

“For your information, I do not have any STDs! We incubi pride ourselves in safe and clean sex—HEY PUT THAT GLASS DOWN THIS INSTANT!” He growled, the fire in his eyes indicating that he was probably murdering you in his mind.

The sarcastic smirk on your face probably only worsened the demon’s mood by a fuck ton. “Honey, I’m just going to put the glass back in the kitchen. Don’t you worry your tiny little demon butt.”

“Excuse you! I will have you know that my ass is above average, thank you very much! You would know, if you would—I don’t know—help me out of this FUCKING HOLE IN THE MIDDLE OF YOUR LIVING ROOM?” He screeched.

Oh right. You kept forgetting he was stuck there and not actually having the time of his life.

“Maybe that’s the reason why you’re stuck; your ass is too big that you can’t get out.” You snickered, but you eventually acquiesced to his request. You don’t do this out of the goodness of your heart, however. The poor sap looked like he was going to bust a lung out of anger, and you didn’t really feel like cleaning up blood on your carpet again.

(For reference, the blood was from a science project you had to do before. You have not killed a man on your carpeted floor. Yet.)

Using all the strength you could muster, you pulled on his freakishly pale arms. He seemed to be stuck real good, because the screams of bloody murder he was currently directing at you seemed to indicate that he was very much in pain.

Well, like they say: no pain, no gain.

After several tries and a stick of butter later, the demon was eventually released from his hole. Thankfully, the portal closed the moment his other leg got out, so all that was left was a semi-naked (thankfully, the upper portion of his body) and buttery incubus on your floor. He was lying down on the floor in a fetal position, small puffs of air escaping his lips in exhaustion. You nudged him lightly with your foot, checking to see if he was ok. Then he just—

Welp, now you were on the floor.

For someone who looked like he hasn’t touched any type of exercising equipment in his entire life, he was pretty fast at bringing you down with him.

“Ow! That’s rude,” you said lamely. Your arms were held above your head by the demon, with his legs trapping your own in a strong straddle. To any passing stranger, one might assume you were going to do the nasty.

If only your screams of terror were screams of pleasure, then those bystanders would be correct.

“STOP TICKLING ME! I’M SORRY FOR HITTING YOU WITH A—HAHAHA—BROOM AND FOR DUMPING A—HAHAHA—GLASS OF WATER ON YOUR HEAD! PLEASE STOP!” You pleaded, but the evil smirk on his face said that he still wanted one more apology.

Rolling your eyes through the tears, you finally said, “...and I’m sorry for calling you ugly.”

He released your arms and legs in an instant. “Thank you. Now, was that really so hard to say?”

Rubbing your wrists petulantly, you shoot him a glare. “You poop. Now I’ve got butter on my arms.”

“And whose fault was it for making the summoning circle too small in the first place? Speaking of,” he paused, his eyes lighting up in remembrance. You stared at him confusedly, as his face morphed in irritation at his sudden epiphany.

“I just realized. Did you fucking sacrifice a pair of ratty ass Converse as your offering to summon me? What type of shitty summoner are you?”

Oh right, you did. The summoning seemed like it happened ages ago. “Well, I’m sorry! The fucking sources said I need to offer something precious, and those shoes are really precious to me!”

“How the fuck are a pair of broken shoes precious? In what sadistic dimension?”

“I’m a college student! I only have like, three pairs of shoes. Now I’m down to two.” You said hotly, crossing your arms defensively. “Speaking of summoning, I don’t even know your name. I’m Y/N, by the way. I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but it really hasn’t been.”

He snorted. “Honestly, same. And what type of rude motherfuckers doesn’t introduce themselves when they first meet? Oh right, the type of rude motherfuckers who bash their guests on the head with their FUCKING BROOMS!”

You raised your hands defensively. “HEY! I was caught off guard!”

“Didn’t stop you from being a brat though,” he scoffed. “And my name is Yoongi, by the way. Don’t forget it, because you’re going to be screaming it real soon.”

If it was possible to feel your ovaries shrivel up, then that was exactly what happened when he finished saying that.

“Yoongi, or whatever the fuck your name is, I already told you. I’m not going to have sex with you.”

If Yoongi had fur, you were sure they would all be bristling right now. “Excuse me? Why not? I already told you, I don’t have any ‘demon STDs,’ as you put it. And besides, once you summon me, I’m contractually obliged to sexually please you until you are satisfied and then I can be on my merry way,” he sighed, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “Look, I’m not entirely enthusiastic to do this myself, but given the fact that I would pretty much get killed by my boss if I don’t fulfill my duty, well... we don’t have much of a choice now do we?”

“What the fuck? So are we like bond by this weird demonic covenant that I had no idea I signed up for?”

Yoongi, once again, looked at you like you were an idiot. “Are you an idiot?” he groaned, reaching past you to grab your laptop. The document with your research was still open, so he immediately started scrolling through it to look at your sources.

He really couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “What the fuck is this bullshit? A tentacle demon? What is this, a hentai dissertation? What fucking sources did you use?” He sneered, reaching the references page. His eyes bugged out of their sockets. “Are you fucking serious? You used an ‘Idiot’s Guide to Demonic Summonings?’”

“Hey! The other demon summoning books were already checked out of the library. I didn’t have much of a choice,” you defended, offended by his condescending glare. What did the demon know about college survival, anyway? As long as it wasn’t Wikipedia, then it was good enough for the professor (probably).

“Well, that’s probably why you didn’t know about the contract. Basically, the moment you sacrificed your shitty shoes—“ You glowered at him for that comment, which he pointedly ignored. “—you pretty much asked for sex in return. My job can only be considered completed once your sexual urges are sated by me. If I can’t fulfill your wishes—which I can, by the way—I’m pretty much stuck here until I do.”

Sounded simple enough. There was one, teensy problem though.

“Uh. Dude? Yoongi? There’s like one problem though. I’m like, hella asexual. I don’t really do the whole sex thing, you feel?” You tried explaining to the demon, but judging from his cute head tilt, he probably didn’t know what that meant.

“You know what a homosexual is right?” He nodded.

“You know how it’s when a person of the same sex are attracted to each other, right?” He nodded again.

“So when I said that I’m asexual, it’s when a person... doesn’t have sexual feelings. Towards anyone. Understand?” He didn’t nod this time.

He scrunched his forehead in thought, most probably trying to wrap his tiny sex demon brain around the foreign concept. “Hold up, so what you’re saying is... you don’t like sex? Like, at all?” He asked, baffled. This time, it was you who nodded.

“Yup. Pretty much.”

A sudden realization hits the both of you after that: If you didn’t have any sexual urges, how the fuck is he going to leave? It’s not like he can just bang and scram—you have to want it and be pleasured and all that crap.

So now... He’s stuck.

“Oh give me a fucking break.” You both groaned simultaneously.

Well, you could always use a helping hand around the house. Even though that roommate was a sexually promiscuous, kind of good-looking (shh who said that?), grumpy incubus roommate. But you digress.

Fuck.

––♡♡♡––

Somewhere in the clouds above, an ethereal being by the name of Kim Seokjin had just slammed his head on his desk. A short notification from his celestial phone just informed him that his charge had just summoned a demon in her home and was now essentially locked in a covenant with said demon.

Kim Seokjin had a lot of experience working as a guardian angel, but he doubted that he could ever remember someone being this stupid.

“What did I do to deserve this,” he muttered to himself pitifully, already arranging a portal in his office straight to hell. More specifically, to Incubus Inc.

What? Did you think incubi just roamed around hell waiting to be summoned? Nah son, incubi summoning was a capitalistic junction in hell. Very lucrative, if Seokjin had to admit anything about the damned place.

Incubus Inc., located in the second circle of hell, was pretty much a boring, stuffy, office building. On the 666th floor was the big boss, Kim Namjoon himself.

What, did you think Satan ran this place? He hardly knew anything about business economics, much less how to run a whorehouse. Fat chance.

“Ah, Seokjin. So nice to see you. Are you finally going to avail that coupon I sent you?” Namjoon drawled, not even flinching when Seokjin suddenly materialized in the middle of his lavish office. Seokjin scoffed, sitting himself on one of the plush couches. His perky ass sunk comfortably into the material.

“No, I am not,” he groused. “I’m here to demand a refund, in the name of my charge Y/N L/N.”

“Oh, Y/N L/N? Didn’t she just seal her contract an hour ago? What, is Yoongi not up to standard or something?” Namjoon asked, flipping through his clientele files. “He has the most impeccable record; I doubt that he would be anything less than stellar.”

“Joonie.” Seokjin gave him the look.

“Uh oh. You’re giving me the look. Why do I get the feeling this isn’t some strange overdue familial visit?” Namjoon sighed, closing the book. “Ok. What’s the problem?”

“The problem, Namjoon, is that Y/N is innocent. Pure. And also under my watch,” he informed him, his jaw set in determination. “If anything bad happens to her, if she gets cursed for life...”

“Seokjin, we aren’t a cursing service. We would never hurt our clients, unless they request for it,” he grinned cheekily. Seokjin rolled his eyes at the innuendo.

Namjoon continued, “If it makes you feel any better, we do have a safety net in the contract. If our incubi cannot fulfill their mission within 90 days, he has to go under trial for investigation.”

“Investigation?” Seokjin questioned.

“Yeah. Nothing bad. It’s rarely the client’s fault. If anything, Yoongi is put under much more pressure than your silly little human is. He can’t force anything on her, by the way. We are proud citizens of the second circle of hell. Such savagery belongs to the seventh circle,” Namjoon said as a matter-of-fact.

Even so, Seokjin remained unconvinced. “As much as I would like to believe your words, you’re still a demon.”

“And your brother to boot,” Namjoon hummed.

“Even worse,” Seokjin deadpanned. “I guess I’m going to have to do some field work after all. See you around, Joonie.”

Good thing your apartment complex had a new vacancy open.

––♡♡♡––

“Yoongi, can you please put some clothes on? I have to finish this essay which is due in 30 minutes.”

He winked saucily at your hunched form. “Oh? Am I distracting you?”

“You’re as distracting as having my grandma naked. Now get off the dining table; your ass cheeks are going to leave a mark on the wood.”

Yoongi had only been in your apartment for approximately an hour, and he was already getting on your nerves. You still had that essay about demon summoning due tonight, and you cannot write in peace knowing that Yoongi was pretty much pressing his dick onto every available surface of your apartment.

In short, Yoongi had been trying very hard to seduce you in every way he could, but you were simply just not having it.

Even in bed, Yoongi was not necessarily known for his patience. He liked to get down to it, and if his partner was also willing, he also preferred to go hard and fast.

You were essentially everything he hated: a slow burn and a prude.

“Hey, I am not a prude,” you objected, since Yoongi had actually voiced his thoughts out loud. Yoongi snorted at your response, the heat from his rage and suppressed libido making him itch all over.

“Well then, don’t fucking act like one. Fuck, I am really getting pissed off right now. I think I’m going to let go of some steam, or else I might end up really fucking your table out of anger.” He snickered at your affronted look, amused by your blatant disgust at his words.

“Let go of some steam? Does that mean you’re going to leave me to look for someone to fuck?” You queried.

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Pretty much. I heard a couple of girls outside the hallway, I think I’ll start with them.”

“Oh, so does that mean the contract doesn’t bind you to just me?”

“Oh sweet little Y/N, haven’t you ever heard of threesomes? Orgies? Damn, I love those,” he sighed dreamily.

You pinched him on the arm, causing him to yelp and rub the sore spot tenderly. “Of course I know what those are, idiot. I just thought you weren’t allowed to have sex unless I was included.” You clarified, puffing your cheeks in annoyance.

He smirked cheekily at you. “Oh, you’re welcome to join, honey. If you need me, I’ll be next door. And FYI,” he added, already about to turn the door handle. The grin on his face was downright sinful, and not in the good way. More like the ‘I enjoy making your life a living hell’ kind of way. “I like my partners loud, so I hope you have headphones.”

At his words, panic surged within you because despite having headphones, you knew that the walls were paper-thin. No amount of music was going to block the sounds of high pitched moans and a rocking bed, so you needed to stop him if you wanted to submit your essay on time.

So what do you do?

Yoongi had only just inched the door open slightly when your hand quickly beat him to it, slamming it shut immediately. You turned the lock quickly, using your arms to cage the taller man to the door.

Immediately, Yoongi’s Cheshire grin resurfaced, visibly excited (in more ways that one) at this sudden turn of events. “Oh, are you finally reciprocating? Are we going to fuck or what?”

You hit him with your own sinful smirk. “Not a chance,” you said, your voice trailing off into a whisper. Just as his eyes fall to stare at you lips, you kissed him.

Nu-uh. No, not as in lip-to-lip kiss. You placed a little bunny kiss on his cheek. Then, you replaced it with a butterfly kiss. Then, penguin kisses. ‘EVERY FUCKING ANIMAL OUT THERE’ KISSES.

You didn’t even stop at his cheeks. You sent him a barrage of tiny nuzzles and chaste kisses all over his face: his cheeks, his little nose, his forehead, even his eyelids.

At first, Yoongi was very much unamused, maybe a little confused. “What the fuck are you doing?” He said, sounding annoyed, but he wasn’t stopping you. You weren’t even holding him back anymore. He could easily overtake you.

You paused long enough to grin sleepily at him. “Distracting you,” you said simply, and you continued on as if he hadn’t said a word.

After ten more kisses, as though brought back to his senses, Yoongi finally tried getting away from you (weakly, you noted), but because of the tiny scuffle that ensued, you ended up pining him to the couch instead.

“Oh, I get it. Are we going to fuck on the couch? Is that it? Is this some weird type of foreplay?” He asked, but your giggles short-circuit his brain and he thinks for a second that his heart stopped. Wait a minute, you’re not supposed to be cute to him! This is just a crazy one-time thing!

“Noooo. I’m just kissing you until your grouchies go away.”

With your confession, Yoongi started blushing bright red. “What the fuck? I don’t need your silly fucking kisses. And you aren’t even properly kissing—“ The sweet kiss you leave on his nose shuts him up instantly.

Throughout the kissing session, he was just starting wide-eyed at you, telling you to stop molesting him (which you weren’t, because you weren’t even touching him. You’re just lying on his chest, and he hadn’t pushed you off yet.), but he couldn’t stop the blush from spreading on his face.

After what seemed like a lifetime to Yoongi (it was probably only two minutes), you finally stopped. To your amusement, he even started pouting.

“Are you done?” He tried to sound irritated, but you both knew he enjoyed it. He enjoyed it way too much, in fact.

“That depends. Are you still angry?”

A pause. “...No.” He conceded. You grinned happily at the demon, patting him lightly on the head before getting off him and skipping merrily back to your laptop.

Now with your blissed-out demon completely sated and pacified, you returned to your homework in peace. Instead of distracting you like he had been doing, Yoongi chose to sit beside you and watch you silently, a thoughtful look on his face.

The game had changed, but neither of you even noticed.

[happysen]

I met a guy.

He was just a tourist in this city and we matched on Tinder. Most of his pictures were him and his band and I swiped right cause he wrote Arctic Monkeys down in the profile. Only two days after we started chatting, he set up a date for us. I never had Tinder date before as the only reason I used the app was to read some fucking hilarious profiles or to chat away the temporary sadness in a moment of weakness. That’s why I was a bit reluctant, thinking about actually the chemistry in the conversation was not that, you know, strong. Or to put it in another way, I was shy. But yeah, I took risks, accepting his invitation to dinner cause I didn’t have any other things to do except the trip with the Idiots and obviously, the “Communism” gang from my university was all busy with their internships and “personal business” and I was sick of their bullshit :) 

We met in front of a bar at 6, which I thought was too early when he suggested but agreed anyway and kinda regretted later, wishing we should have met way earlier, idk maybe right after we matched lol. His friend dropped him off while I was waiting for him on my bike. 

“Hey, are you Hannah?”- said somebody.

I turned around and like “BOOM”. It wasn’t as strong as “being struck by lightning” but for a second I bet I looked like a fucking retard. There he was, standing in front of me, holding a helmet in his hand, wearing a black leather jacket and a pair of tight black jeans with black ankle boots. His extremely curly perms were combed onto the front and he had this kind of slightly shy smile as he approached me. The first impression was good, him getting dressed quite neatly for the date I give him that. Not you know, backpackers style with shorts and crumpled tank tops. There was something really classically cool and dreamy about him but at first, I couldn’t really tell and just got that tingling feeling in my stomach. 

He got on my bike and I rode about the Old Quarter looking for somewhere to eat without any specific places in mind and I was lowkey freaking out on the scenario that I couldn’t take him to any nice places. We stopped at a famous sticky rice store and sat down for some. I was always talkative when I was nervous. Guess that’s why I kept scrambling about stupid shit and putting on the most commercial smile I had. For a second, I thought he was intimidated by my gibberish and lost his interest cause he talked quite little but he kept eye contact. He told me a bit about his life in Beijing, the job, his travelling,… Putting up with me when I asked whether his perms were natural or not. Turned out they were natural. *internally screaming* 

He spoke in this gentle standard British accent, very polite, a bit reserved at first. So far the date hadn’t crashed into the ground. Glad. He paid for the food. +10 points for the Hufflepuff (I guess he was a Hufflepuff). We rode back to the bar earlier cause it was supposed to be the Open Mic night and as we shared some common in our taste of music, live music seemed to be a suitable date venue. But yeah it was about 7 and it was too early for music so he got a beer and I had water then we talked. By this time, well I got fonder of him. He was calm, very chilled, knew how to keep a conversation properly without any over the board flirting. An hour or so of music talking and some other small talk, he went to the toilet before we left the bar and I was squirming like a teenager over her idol and had to text one of my close friends to let out a bit of my excitement nearly to the point of explosion. I put it in Capital as I texted that bitch lol : “HE LOOKED LIKE A FUCKING ROCK STAR”. Yeah that’s how I pictured him. Looking like a fucking dupe of Alex Turner while pouring all of that British accent all over my ears. 

I suggested we get out of there and go for a little walk around the streets and come back later for the live music. At this point, I guess I was really into him and I’m gonna tell you why later. He walked next to me and gently moved me to the other side so that he was the one next to the road and the traffic. ;a; That was fucking another 10 points for the Hufflepuff. For better balance (yep, trust me) and you know I like him and wanted a bit more intimacy, I put my arm around his as his hands were in his leather pockets and we wandered around aimlessly while getting more laughter and I think he started to get more loosened up and comfortable. We ended up in another restaurant in an old house and he asked me if I wanted to share a pancake and let me choose the flavour. (+5) We started to talk about food as I started to act a bit like a little bitch about how sugary and fat those pancakes were :’( (shouldn’t have done that) and why I resented this kind of food as my ex-boyfriend dumped me saying I was a bit fat and I was scarred by that. Why the fuck did I say that???? Luckily, he didn’t seem to be offended by my saying on his choice of food. The conversation was smooth, more laughter, he had another beer. We started the topic of ladyboys and other sexualities, laughing it off on the joke that he was actually a ladyboy trying to give me some “services”. Another hour or so, we decided to leave there to get back to the bar and I realized I forgot my backpack at the bar. I told you I was so excited to take a walk with him that I did forget my back. Fortunately, the purse and bike key and phone were in my coat pockets. lol. 

We walked back hand in hand and I leaned onto him when we laughed. It felt so good to have somebody so cute and understanding and chilled next to me. By the time we came back to the bar, it had already filled with people and the music was playing. He ordered a coffee and I had another water lol As people were performing, we quite focused on watching the music and sometimes had to shout into each other’s ears as he laughed at my story and laid his big cool hand on my thigh while taking a sip of coffee with the other hand, still  looking at the band. I shamelessly got mesmerized by his figure in the blue and red light of the stage of the bar and the way he moved his head to the music while still trying to listen to what I was saying. We sat for another hour and the music started to get to my head so I suggested we head out for some late night desserts knowing he has a sweet tooth. 

We went for some caramel pudding, sitting on some red plastic tools on the pavement at 11 p.m and I forgot all about my father, my mother and my cousin who I promised to that I would get back by 10 :) After that, he got into the convenience store for another beer and tea and we got teased by the cashiers who complimented that we looked good as a couple and I laughed happily looking at his confused face cause he didn’t understand a word lol. As we held hands walking out of that store and he excused himself to the toilet, I made up my mind. I called dad asking him if I could sleep over at my cousin’s as it was pretty late and after a while of lying my best, he gave up and agreed. 

He took me back to his friend’s place. Okay so if you’re expecting some steamy sex scene, there is none for you. At this point, to be honest, I was wishing I hadn’t been on my period and yes somehow as a virgin, who was head over heels for this guy, I was shamefully expecting it too LOL He took me to some benches by a lake and he sat on those with a beer in his hand while I stood between his legs. The conversation was pretty stupid, we talked nonsense but I love it :)) I leaned on to his side and he started to caress the back of my knees. For the first time, I touched his face, his beard and messed with his hair, played with the buttons of his jackets and as I was laughing, I put my hands behind his neck and pulled him closer to me. That lasted for a while before I finally sat down next to him, putting my big fat short legs onto his long finely carved ones in fucking black jeans and he pulled mine closer to his chest and we ended up in a really intimate position. He listened to me and my depression stuff, how I got lonely in Japan and even my friends let me down, how I was dumped by the guy I got to know exactly a year ago and got scarred into thinking I was fat and overweight because of him. I don’t know why I did that. It just came out of my mouth and he was willing to listen. We were sitting in the dark at midnight by a lake and I was pouring all my shit on the guy on our first date.

And suddenly he stared at me with these eyes, approaching his face to mine while his eyes were looking all over my face like he was waiting for my permission, and naturally he kissed me. I let him. It was so warm, sending electricity all over my body and my mind just went numb. His lips opened mine and our tongues met, he threw his hand over my shoulder and used the other one to hold my face. I was just so into it and lost for air that I had to pull away to catch my breath. His nose caressed the corner of my lips patiently waiting for me and I let out: “I’m not experienced in this shit. I’m a virgin”. He was like “What?”

For a second I thought he would dump me at the spot and I felt like an idiot. But no. He didn’t pull away, seemed only a bit surprised and only want to confirm what he just heard. I repeated and he said: “ For a virgin, you are quite confident in kissing ”. At least he wasn’t my first kiss, at least I know what I was doing thank god. At this point, the line of the day was spoken: “You taste like caramel pudding”.  I mean fuck me. Are you fucking serious? Isn’t that the most fucking romantic, the cutest thing one person could say after a kiss???? 

Then we kissed again and again and again with some small talks in between that always ended up in us clashing our lips. The bitter taste of beer just got all over my mouth and my lungs were filled with his cologne and shampoo scent. In a moment I was filled with this feeling of tasting somebody's soul, my senses were full of him. It just got more and more intense and passionate and he moved his hand all over my body, slightly squeezing my ass and my breasts and held my face. But that was it. He didn’t try to get into my pants, just pure kissing and small kisses on my neck which I actually wanted more but seriously I was trying my best to contain my shit then.There was a point that I got so fucking close to it I had to pull myself away and said while gasping for air: “ Stop or else I’m not gonna make it out of here”. In response, he just chuckled and kissed me some more. 

It lasted until 1 in the morning and he told me I should get home or else both of us would get into trouble. 1 a.m me and him holding hands under the dim yellow lights of the streets, he leaned for a kiss and I kept saying Stop for a couple of hundreds of times. Speck of kisses all over my face and then we parted ways. Just like real lovers. Even for one night.

[universal-translation-services]

25 English Idioms With Their Meanings

The most interesting thing about the internet is reading slangs and phrases that are common in a foreign country but sound like gibberish to you. If you have ever been on Scottish twitter, you know exactly what we are talking about. But this is the thing with languages, each of them has phrases unique to it that may not make much sense in the literal sense. Such phrases have been assigned unique meanings by their speakers. Sometimes, there is a whole story behind such phrases. In any case, they make languages a lot more interesting. Adding them in a conversation can improve the quality of speech by manifolds. In English, we use idioms for the same purpose. They may not make sense when you try to understand each word, but together they have come to mean something for all the speakers of English.

25 English Idioms with Their Meanings:

If you suddenly started quoting poetry in daily conversations, everyone would be very impressed by you. Things that have deeper meanings can always improve the quality of conversations. But you don’t always have to learn poetry for that when idioms can serve the same purpose. And they are easier to learn because of their interesting meanings. Here are twenty-five English idioms with their meanings that you should learn today: Bite off more than one can chew: It means to take on more responsibilities than you can handle. It can be used when talking about a colleague who said yes to overtime but is struggling now to complete all their tasks. Give someone a hand: If you ever need help from someone, ask them to give you a hand. It translates as asking them to assist you in the task you are doing. It could be as simple as moving the couch to the other side of the room. Know something like the back of your hand: Is there a part of your town that you know very well? Then you can say that you know it like the back of your hand. The idiom means knowing something very well. Sleep on it: There is a custom in some parts of the world that warns people against making decisions at night. In English, you can say I would like to sleep on it before I make a decision. That would mean you would like to think about it in detail before you can make your call, or you would go to bed with the idea and decide in the morning. To feel under the weather: This can be used to tell people that you are not feeling good. For instance, when you are sick, you can call your boss and say I am feeling under the weather, so I won’t be able to come in today. To cut corners: This means taking shortcuts. When you see a government project completed so quickly, you can be certain that someone cut some corners. Leave no stone unturned: It means doing every possible thing to achieve your goal. For instance, I left no stone unturned and got the job I wanted. Wrap your head around it: You can use this to say that you were able to understand something. For instance, after studying for an hour, I was finally able to wrap my head around the concepts written in the physics book. Hang in there: This is the idiom everyone uses to calm their friends and family members down in times of distress. It is also used to tell people that they should be brave in the face of adversity. Ring a bell: It is used when people remember something after observing visual cues. For instance, saying that painting rings a bell, but I can’t remember who the artist was is one example. Learn the ropes: This can be used to talk about someone who is new at work and has to learn the basics. By the book: This was created for those who do things strictly by the book. These people follow the rules and regulations and don’t like engaging in lawless activities. In a nutshell: This is a fancy way of saying in short. It is used to summarize conversations or documents. Back to square one: This one means starting from the beginning. When nothing works out then, people have to go back to square one. Call it a day: If you don’t want to work on any more projects, you can simply call it a day. See eye to eye: If two people agree with a topic, that means they say eye to eye. Once in a blue moon: If you drink coffee rarely, then you can say you enjoy it once in a blue moon. To cost an arm and a leg: This can be used to refer to things that are unbelievably expensive. A piece of cake: If your test was super easy, then you can say it was a piece of cake. Giving someone the cold shoulder: It means ignoring someone. The elephant in the room: This idiom is for the problem that is very important but is not discussed by anyone. Stealing someone’s thunder: This is used to refer to people who take credit of other people’s work. Vanish into thin air: When something disappears, this is the idiom you can use to talk about it. Cut it out: This can be used when someone is doing something annoying, and you want them to stop. Shoot yourself in the foot: This idiom describes the situation when you do or say something that can create problems for you. Learn these interesting idioms today and start making your conversations unique. Read the full article