#woman in her prime with the soul of an old man

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Heyy! Hope all is well!

Can I request Jason with a Shy! Reader but freaky reader? She prefers not to socialize with others that much BUT WHEN ITS JUST HER AND JASON ALL ALONE??

She’s quite literally snatching the soul from his body (got him seeing stars and the Lazarus pit all over again)

Of course, remember to take care of yourself!

-🥔 anon

This inspired me to do a little something based off a trope. The trope being “well-read girls know how to do it well.” This isn’t completely freaky, but you go for a ride. That’s all that matters.

Not fully smutty, but not sfw by any means.

—

Time Written - 1:16 a.m

You were the epitome of bookshop attendee when he visited a new said corner store one day, wearing cute blue light glasses as you typed away at your computer, nursing a warm latte from the next door cafe.

The prime example of cheesy first time meeting via you unable to reach a book you wanted off what Jason accidentally assumed was a horror shelf category. A unique, interesting read Jason politely snatched for you, taking in your thankful, flustered smile as fingertips brushed against eachother.

One of the most interesting compliments Jason got about his relationship with you had come from Barbara at first, who said he was an incredibly lucky guy to find someone so sweet and good natured.

Dick wasn’t aware Jason even had a girlfriend until Babs brought it up around eight months into the relationship, when you and Jason were certain it was getting quite serious.

He met you twice when coming over into your shared living space, greeting you with simple handshakes and minor conversation, though nothing note worthy. Dick thought you were awkward, plain and simple, cute to look at for sure though.

He didn’t know you were Jason’s type, though he never really put thought to what he looked for in a woman. A why, little bookworm introvert going for Red Hood?

Why didn’t he think of that sooner?

He’d never seen Jason sport such a goofy smile on his face every time he saw the two of you talking together on the side. Whatever made the broody man happy was all that mattered.

You met Bruce Wayne when he insisted Jason brought his mysterious plus one to the approaching gala that very Friday night.

A grand room full of high class people flaunting their wealth wasn’t in your list of experiences you wanted to have, and Jason didn’t blame you. All you could muster was an hour of full face makeup, pretty hair and an expensive dress to meet the main man himself, forming some small, respective conversation before murmuring to Jason that you wanted to leave.

He was glad you asked, he wanted to go home the second the two of you arrived.

Coming home to a quiet, calm environment was always something the two of you looked forward to. Just a safe space where you could be yourselves around one another, caring little for any judgements the universe threw at you.

Jason lounged on the couch back in the respective privacy of your shared apartment, his dress shirt opened a few buttons with his coat draped over the kitchen chair. His disinterested gaze was stuck on the television, mindlessly flipping through channels as he waited for his turn for the shower.

“Last night wasn’t too much for ya, was it?” Jason expressed with concern after he hears the bathroom door open down the short hallway.

“Believe me, old man always wants me to go to those parties. Hate it every damn time.” He turns his head, eyes slightly widening at your approach towards the couch. You were out of that gorgeous dress, your body comfortable in one of his old shirts. You could wear trash bags or a damn potato sack and pull it off like one of those magazine cover models.

With a blush coating those pretty cheeks, your body blocks his view from the television, bare feet softly scooting against soft carpet. Bracing your hands along the couch, you then proceeded to sit yourself ontop of Jason’s lap, nestling your knees along the cushions.

You held a certain giddiness about you as if you’ve drank a few glasses of champagne, though no alcohol touched your lips the entire hour you were at the event.

He emits a soft grunt, his right arm wrapping around your back in order to hold you close. He can’t help but smile up at you, taking in the sweet scent of your body wash and lotion.

“Something you want, pretty girl?” He casually asks, his voice soft and husky with a hint of that playful tone he reserves only for you.

In response, your hands spread out along his chest, trailing down the maroon fabric of his pressed shirt, fiddling with some loose buttons along his collar.

“You know what I want, Jason.”

“Do I?” He asks, cocking his head to the side.

His voice grew a little more teasing now, knowing that look in your eye quite well. He knew what you wanted, but he liked when you vocalized it. He liked that in a woman, knowing exactly what she wants.

“Enlighten me.”

You pout at first, pursing those supple lips before your teasing fingers proceed do undo one of his shirt buttons. Then another, and another.

“What do you want, sweetheart?” He asks again, moving his hand down from the small of your back to your hip, rubbing along the smooth skin.

“You know what I want, Jay,” You insist, proceeding to grow bold enough to shift your hips a bit, slowly rocking once against his lap.

Jason lets out a low noise from the gesture, taking a slow breath through his nose. You had on no shorts underneath your shirt, completely lacking those pretty, lacy panties you had worn under your dress. With the slightest movement, Jason could feel nothing but bare, soft skin, making the warm ache in his lower abdomen grow into a bright burn.

“You’re such a brat,” he mumbles, giving your hip a firm squeeze. “I swear.”

“A brat??” You nearly laugh, bracing both hands on his chest. “That’s meaaan.”

“Oh please,” Jason scoffs, his voice thick with amusement. “Don’t start with that whining, now. It’s not that mean.“

Without any warning, he hoists both of you up from the couch, keeping your legs secured around his waist.

A short surprise laugh left you as you scrabble to cling onto him, maintaining the short distance between the living room couch and the soft, unmade sheets of his bed.

“Why are you being so bratty, huh?” Jason questions after setting you down, catching those tits bounce under your shirt from the impact of your fall. He barely had time to catch sight of your eager little cunt before you purposely fold your legs, focused eyes watching your persistent fingers reach for his belt, eagerly unsecuring the buckle.

“Cause I can be,” You promptly sit up, not bothering to yank the loosened belt out of the loops.

“And you said it yourself. You like it.” You lustfully add, watching his teal eyes flutter closed, hearing the faint crunch of the sheets rustle in your ears as both his hands clutch fistfuls of fabric.

To further emphasize, you unfold your legs, promptly securing them beside his waist, further tempting him on such a sweet, irresistible offer.

Jason groans, tilting his head back a bit as he decides on his limited options. He was tired, wanting to take a hot shower and cuddle his sweetheart to rest.

On the other hand—

“I like a lot of things you do, princess. This just happens to be one of them.” His smile grows with his words as you lean up to kiss along his jaw, having him cradle your chin in between two fingers to properly kiss those rosy lips.

“You remind me of a little gremlin when you’re like this,” he murmurs. “Or just a greedy, spoiled little princess.”

“And you wanna fuck your princess, don’t you?” You tease, kissing him once more to spare a small nibble along his bottom lip, making him groan yet again in defeat.

Yes. He does want you, and you know damn well that you have him where you wanted him. There would be no way that he could say no to you.

And why isn’t he able to say ‘no’ to this girl? He should have a little more self-control than this.

His minor moment of being left speechless proved that, making him roll his eyes.

“You’re really are a little brat,” he laughs quietly, choosing to tease you regardless, looking forward to that quirk in your brow shortly after.

Realistically, if this was any other human being or meta monster of some kind, no way in heaven or hell would he get allow someone to willingly put him on his back. It’s a breach of vulnerability, of submission in his mind.

You weren’t anyone by any means, those soft hands grasping along his broad shoulders, using what strength you had to lean him onto the mattress space beside you, cushioning yourself once more on the gracious seat of his plush thighs once more.

Trust was a huge stability in this scenario, one built upon hours of heartfelt discussions on boundaries and healthy behaviors, sharing what the both of you liked and didn’t.

It was endearing to know he had your full trust to grow more comfortable, encased in each confident kiss you gave him while he reaches up to cradle your head, fingers deeply interlaced in locks of shower damp hair.

Jason’s hands slip up under your shirt as he holds you close, squeezing along your ass before pushing your hips down against himself, firmly rocking up against your sopping core to get a sweet whimper out of you.

His other hand worked under your shirt, squeezing along your tender breasts, pinching your nipples to draw out those eager little whines. A mere ounce of payback for your torturous actions.

“You know you could just ask, right?” He chided with a smirk, proceeding to do the work for you by unbuttoning his pants, hastily pulling the zipper down.

Your hands work to free his eager cock from his boxers, biting your bottom lip in excitement to feel his heavy girth in your palms.

Of course, there’s many chances you would have just been able to ask in this moment and in this position. You knew that.

Your middle finger trailed along the smooth tip, wiping off a fat bead of precum that came close to dripping down the side, bringing it to your mouth to graze it along the tip of your tongue.

“I know.”

Teasing him was just a whole lot more fun.

Raising your hips a bit, you rest yourself over the underside of his cock, rocking yourself back and forth. The sting of blunt nails soon irritated your hips, Jason’s impatience peeking through as he feels himself grow soaked with your juices. The tip bumping deliciously against your throbbing little clit.

He makes the tiniest noise as you take the reins, but it just fuels your desire to ‘ruin’ him even more. Once you had started, there’s not much of a chance he has to stay in control.

Important of all, out of all qualities he adored of you, he thrived on your incredibly sweet mouth, like fresh cherry juice seeping through warm, crystallized sugar crust holding in the compote.

Jason loved the tart bitterness of your sassy nature, your ability to talk back during those start moments where it mattered most.

He couldn’t ask for more, really.

His head cranes back, grunting in delicious euphoria of your wet walls perfectly clenching around his cock after mere minutes of torture, feeling like hours. You’ve never been so wet, needing more prep than this before he could even stuff himself halfway through your walls.

Your body accepted him easier, eagerly taking in every inch as you bounce yourself on his cock, squeezing your own breasts as you moan in complete ecstasy, feeling him kissing your sweet spot each time.

Jason could only marvel and admire the beauty above him, his own chest slowly heaving from the sight. The way your hips moved was like art, your back arching like a flower stalk in the breeze, your lips crying out the sweetest of music.

You were gorgeous, where Jason was impatient. There was little time before his hold on you reinforced, his legs bracing along the mattress before he takes the lead, moaning out himself as he thoroughly fucks the girl that got them into this mess. A constant staccato of clinking from his belt accompanied the relentless pounding of his heavy, full balls against your ass.

The rest of his shirt would be ripped open with broken buttons hanging by severed threads done by impatient hands. Manicured nails scratching across every scar down his chest, inventing new ones after every climax you had, his cum coating your gushy walls white.

His neck would be doused in love bites the size of rose petals, matching similar to the bruises that will show up around your waist come morning.

Jason Todd was incredibly fucking lucky indeed, since the second he unawaringly snatched a rather tasteful romance novel for you at the book store.

[gingersnap-17]

Eternal Love (Nanami Kento x Fem Reader)

Synopsis: After Nanami died, Y/N had never remarried and lived a long life. After she died of old age, she is reunited with her husband in the afterlife after years without him.

Contains: Possibly slight angst. Happy ending!

Y/N had never truly moved on from the day Nanami had left her in this world. It was a fateful day in Shibuya when he had been taken away from her, and since that moment, her life had been a bittersweet melody of love and loss. Nanami, her husband, was a man who had touched her heart like no one else ever could, and his memory remained etched in her soul.

They had been married for only a few years in the mortal world, but they have been together since high school. They lived a life filled with love, laughter, and shared dreams. Y/N had cherished every moment with him, and he, in turn, had been her rock, her protector, and her confidant. Their bond had been unbreakable, or so it had seemed, until the day when fate had taken him away, leaving her alone in a world that suddenly felt cold and empty.

Years passed, and the pain never truly lessened. Y/N was a woman who never remarried, who never sought solace in the arms of another. Her heart had been claimed by Nanami, and it would remain so until the end of her days. She wore her wedding ring faithfully, a constant reminder of the love they had shared.

As time went went by, Y/N grew old, her once-vibrant hair turning silver and her steps becoming slower. She spent her days surrounded by memories of her beloved Nanami. Their photographs adorned the walls, his scent still lingered on their shared pillows, and his laughter echoed in her heart.

One quiet evening, Y/N peacefully closed her eyes and drifted into a slumber from which she would not awaken. The world lost a devoted soul, but the universe had other plans.

When she opened her eyes again, Y/N found herself in a place that felt like a dream. She was no longer affected by old age, and she looked as if she were in her mid twenties. She blinked in astonishment, her surroundings a surreal blend of the familiar and the unknown. Before her stood a breathtaking garden, lush with vibrant colors and flowers she had never seen before. The air was filled with a gentle fragrance, and the soft rays of a warm, comforting sun bathed everything in a gentle glow.

Y/N turned around, taking in her surroundings with awe. The garden was vast, and she had also seen several building in the distance, with people walking about as if it were a normal day. A sense of peace and serenity washed over her like a gentle breeze. But what truly took her breath away was the figure approaching her from a distance.

It was Nanami, the love of her life, wearing a smile that could light up the entire cosmos. His eyes, so familiar and comforting, sparkled with joy. He was as she remembered him in his prime, strong and handsome. She couldn't help but run to him, her heart pounding with a mixture of disbelief and overwhelming love.

"Nanami," she whispered as she reached him, tears welling up in her eyes. "Is this... is this real?"

Nanami's smile remained, and he reached out to gently cup Y/N's cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb. His touch was warm, just as she remembered, and the world around them seemed to shimmer with an ethereal light.

"Yes, my love, this is as real as it can be." he whispered.

Y/N's heart soared at his words. She couldn't believe her eyes or her senses, but the warmth of his touch and the love in his eyes reassured her that this was no dream. It was a reunion beyond the boundaries of life and death, a love that transcended the limitations of the mortal world.

"I've missed you so much." Y/N confessed, her voice trembling with emotion.

Nanami pulled her into a loving embrace, holding her close as if he never intended to let go. "And I've missed you, every moment, every day since I left. But now, we're together again, and this time, it's for eternity."

Together, they stood, suspended in the boundless eternity of the afterlife. A world of infinite possibilities and endless love lay before them. With a sense of serenity that only true, eternal love can bring, they embraced, and the heavens themselves seemed to weep with joy.

Back in the world she had known, people mourned the loss of Y/N, a woman who had lived a life filled with love, and whose story had touched many. But those who knew her well could take solace in the thought that, in the end, Y/N had found her way back to the one who had always held her heart, and that they were bound to be reunited. 

As Nanami and Y/N stood together in the heavenly garden, their love blossomed anew, stronger and more vibrant than ever before. Time in this ethereal realm had a different meaning, and they spent what felt like both moments and eternities together, exploring the boundless beauty of their surroundings and sharing their stories of the time they had spent apart.

Nanami revealed how, in the afterlife, he had watched over Y/N throughout the years. He had been her silent guardian, protecting her from afar and sending her subtle signs of his presence. Y/N, touched by his unwavering love, recounted the moments she had felt his spirit nearby, comforting her during lonely nights and guiding her through life's challenges.

Their love was not just a reunion but a continuation of the deep connection they had shared in the mortal world. In this timeless paradise, they could practically do whatever their hearts desired.

As they ventured deeper into their heavenly realm, they encountered other souls who had found their soulmates in the afterlife. They met with many friends and family and family throughout their mortal years, finding no limit with time to spend with them. Their laughter and joy filled the air with a beautiful melody of love and togetherness.

As time went on, they walked through meadows of eternal spring, where the flowers never wilted, and the sun never set. They whispered secrets to the ancient trees, whose wisdom spanned millennia, and they gazed at the stars, which shone brighter in this realm than anywhere else. The universe itself seemed to sing in harmony with their love.

But most importantly, they cherished the moments of quiet intimacy, where they held each other close, their hearts beating in perfect unison. With every touch and every kiss, they reaffirmed the depth of their love, a love that had never truly left them, even in the face of death.

As they continued their journey through the infinite, hand in hand, they knew that their love would guide them through this celestial paradise, and together they would explore the mysteries of the universe. In a world where time had no dominion and their love was eternal, Nanami Kento and Y/N had found their forever home, bound by a love that was heavenly in every sense of the word.

[angelyuji]

i've had countless yandere thoughts about rick sanchez (i despise myself for falling for an old man with such low yandere/dark content, but hear me out). picture this: Rick sanchez, a man desperately trying to move on from his past. slowly, violently, painfullh but surely. he's using alcohol and drugs as his coping mechanisms, trying to finally let go of his wife, whom he loves dearly. he's going to therapy begrudgingly. he tries to face his emotions more often even though it hurts his soul, every bone in his body aches, his mind is throbbing because he doesn't want to forget, replace or let her go. he can't.

then, he stumbles upon you—a young woman who says/does something that reminds him so much of his wife. and he just, misses her so bad y'know?, so so bad that it haunts him everyday, you could be his chance, something he was searching for across the universe. Rick sanchez, who starts to use you as a new coping mechanism, projecting his feelings and memories onto you, becomes increasingly obsessed. possessive. insane because something about you makes him feel as if you are Diane in so many ways. hey anything was possible right? maybe you both are related? there might be some theory which he might have pulled out of his ass in his deep longing deperation.

he hears you say one day, when he finally takes everything away from you, your planet, family, a whole fucking dimension—that he probably didn't deserve Diane, because he was a sick man who didn't deserve to have a chance with her, in any conceivable universe. that he was destined and was as fucked up as Prime Rick. He didnt deserve a happy family, a dimension, anything. but he only stares at you, a disturbing look on his face as he clenches your face so tight, his eyes hazy with tears or some other shit, maybe he has lost his mind completely, with a sober fury. there's still that tight crooked grin on his face as he whispers, close to your petrified face below him.

"that's in the past, baby. she's gone. taken away from me, y'know maybe... maybe i just deserved you in the end after all, and unlike Diane, no one is ever taking you away from me. i will fucking destroy them if they even tried to."

in this essay, i will -

WGEBRBNENRJRJAHHHGGGG OMGMGMGMHMMHMG PLEASE I NEED HIM SO BAD

he’s so insane and lowkey scary omg u ate🙂‍↕️

he tries to use u as his do-over. he couldnt protect diane or even technically spend his life with her, so him using u as his do-over but also fucking up ur life cuz he’s crazy is sooooooo🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

by the time he’s completely taken over ur life, diane is a distant memory and his every waking thought is about u

[serene-sun]

The Emeritus bloodline, and the devils

Chapter 4b of my series 𝕽𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝕲𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖓 𝕱𝖚𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖆𝖑 𝕺𝖋 𝕾𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘

TW: mention of dead baby, details of murdur and sacrifice, mention of genitals and rapists

ENGLISH ISNT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

One of the oldest families in history, a bloodline said to have sprouted like a rose bush in the pull of blood under the divine crucifixion. The satanic church, the base of all Emeritus life, was essential to the family.

PaPa Emeritus, an unholy heir whom would soon sit upon the thrown of the beast. An old family, with old beliefs, rituals, traditions and heritage could never be forgotten…rather their message of sin was delivered through touch…or music. When a son is born, he is to reign as papa of the church. He will dedicate his life to his religion and people, and will be given a prime mover to gift the dark lord a new leader. 

Ghouls, devils, demons, which ever word you wish to call them, will be summoned amongst a pentagram to be dragged up form the fiery pits of hell by a mysterious masked mistress who remains anonymous. Devils that grew wild ideals were summoned at the birth of a son, The job of the ghoul is to work for their lord through the Emeritus family. Ghouls are feral and unruly creatures, to prevent the murdur or outrageous acts taking place by these inferno creatures, a bond would be put upon them. This bond is an ancient blood ritual, the papa will sacrifice a number of humans equivalent to the number of ghouls needed. An offering will be burned with the person during the sacrifice to bring upon a trait. For example, pure white rabbits symbolize innocence, charcoal will signal fire and wrath. The death of a virgin is key if you desire a new ghoul, a fresh soul tainted with the black oil of baphomets lair. 

The Emeritus blood is pure and sacred, as it shares half of what blood fills the fallen angel lucifer. Satans blood runs through this bloodline as they continue his work in a world he sees unfit. Creatures such as demons, vampires, strigoi, beasts and other entities share only little of his blood. This placed all Emeritus’s higher than any creature. 

The family has a dominate trait of each sin, every drop of emeritus blood swallows whole any normal traits. Emeritus DNA being much more powerful than an average humans.

With the chance of the lord, a daughter has only been born once, and she remains in exile ever since her mysterious death. 

There are many spirits special to this story, but there is the devil who brings the ghouls out of the pits of hell and into the cold human world.

Ajatar, one of the highest ranking devils.

A tall and curved woman, described only to be perfect. Her long black hair that curls at the end like wispy smoke. It is said that her eyes remain covered as they hold the final rays of heaven from the exile of Lucifer. A golden enchantment, that if you look into, you will be dragged away by hell hounds and locked away forever. Her pale skin is dressed in the finest of jeweled clothes, and a mask that covers her face. Her sword, long and sharp, carved from molten lava, slits the throat of any whom lie. She was created out of broken glass, molded together to kill man. She roams in the night, searching for men who are unworthy of life. Ajatar seduced them, humiliates them, and finishes it with a messy murdur. Some call her the karma god, or the revenge goddess. But most summon her to bring death or destruction upon someone. Often seen roaming the halls of the satanic temple, in her arms a bloodied still-born, skin as white as snow, for which she laments, constantly searching for an able womb to bestow her child upon.Others suggest she is seen slitting the throats of men in the halls, and dragging their nude bodies into the woods to be eaten by wolves. There have even been reports of her slicing the genitals of the filthy men, who fall guilty to rape and assault, and sewing them into clothes for the rich.

Ajater is known to push the lust in women over the precipice 

[vulpine-spectacle]

OMG HEAR ME OUT BBG (EIOB but... regency/bridgerton AU????)

I cannot even begin to explain the way my mouth started to froth...ask and you shall receive, my sweet dear. 0^0

EIOB : BRIDGERTON AU

Dearest Gentle Spice Addicts,

Winter has finally waned into the background, paving a path for the beginnings of spring and, by proxy, the beginnings of new theatrics within the ton. The noble and esteemed Atreides family are quick to catch the eye, of course, given the eligibility of the young future Duke of the Caladan Estate, Paul. But Paul is not the only eligible Atreides ... his twin sister, the beautiful and yet notoriously difficult Eurydice has caught the eye of a great deal of suitors ... but she rebuffs them in kind.

Leaving the Giedi Prime Estate in the country for the first time in almost a decade, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen has re-entered the ton under mysterious circumstances. Rumors of his uncle's failing health have sparked hopes in the hearts of various mamas and young suitable ladies that the fiercely handsome Baron-to-be is searching for a suitable wife. While a complete and utter rake, it would seem that Feyd-Rautha expresses very little interest in genuine courtships.

This all changes, however, during a masquerade hosted by the royal family. Behind a mask, a person can be anything they choose. Feyd-Rautha's attentions are caught by a enigmatic woman wearing black, with a cat-styled mask. They exchange meaningful glances throughout the evening, until they are compelled to dance together. They exchange quippy words with the other. Eurydice imprints to her memory those striking ice-fire eyes of his ... and he steals her glove.

Feyd-Rautha touches himself with that glove later on.

Eurydice cannot get the strange man out of her memory. They had not given each other their respective names, enjoying the animosity of the masks and the lack of expectations between them. As suitors come to call, Eurydice pays close attention to their eyes; none are him.

A week after the masquerade, Eurydice accompanies her family to a gallery hosted by a family friend. There is laughter and merriment, but none of it appeals to her. She slips away to a lone room, to look upon the portraits in peace. But her peace is intruded upon by a strange man, who speaks in a familiar accent ... and whose ice-fire eyes pierce her soul.

They have a face and a name, at last. But to each others' chagrin, they realize they are from opposite ends of dueling families. Due to old family squabbles, dating back a century ago, there is no reasonable way that Eurydice and Feyd-Rautha would be allowed to speak to each other, much less court. But this is not going to stop these two rebellious spirits.

No one can stop them from meeting in public, at social events. If they were to dance, it is only out of courtesy. If Feyd-Rautha's fingers brushed against the skin of her back, or if her body was flush to his, then it is by mere coincidence. Leto Atreides attempts to dissuade his daughter from engaging in even courtesy with Feyd-Rautha. Eurydice promises to entertain suitors. Feyd-Rautha ignores the mamas and the daughters of the ton; ice-fire eyes rested solely on the girl out of his reach.

When forced to watch Eurydice dance with others, Feyd-Rautha sits fuming. His heart is pounding and his hands flex at his sides. One night during a ball, Feyd-Rautha pulls Eurydice to an empty chamber - an office - and something shatters between them. There are roughened kisses and touches. Feyd-Rautha hoists her onto a desk, so that he might kneel before her; kiss her inner thigh, plunge his fingers into her ... and have her come undone all around him. It does not last long before they must retreat, yet it gives them a taste of desire ... a taste of the forbidden fruit.

Feyd-Rautha finds that he adores Eurydice's mind. During a social event, he watches her from across the room as she fawns over conversations concerning Socrates and Plato and Aristotle, speaking in philosophical matters to her fellow ladies, as well as to her father's associates. She is so vibrant as she expresses her interest in Socrates, specifically; a man who was willing to die for what he believed in, rather than to run. When dancing has commenced and little eyes are set upon them, they stand in shadows, and they spend seemingly hours debating ideas of love and duty, of science and philosophy.

Eurydice finds Feyd-Rautha in a rare moment of quiet. He is not acting swarthy or performing to the masses. He stands on a bridge overlooking the lake, alone and his eyes distant. Eurydice is on a walk with her lady's maid, enjoying the cloudier day and the threat of rain. She sits with Feyd-Rautha in the quiet, until he admits to her that he inherits more than the Giedi Prime Estate from his uncle; he inherits generations of sorrow and pain. Eurydice takes his hand in hers. She tells him he will not carry it alone.

It rains the day they first make love. Eurydice chooses to visit Feyd-Rautha's home in the city, a cloak drawn over her figure. The clouds are overcome by gray, the threat of rain looming in the air. But it does not yet fall. Eurydice is wearing a soft blue dress with her hair hung loose in curls around her shoulders. Feyd-Rautha is dressed simply. His sleeves are pulled to his elbows, revealing the muscles of his arms. They share tea in the drawing room, but they do not touch it. The rain begins, painting the windows and tapping against the luxurious home's roof. Feyd-Rautha has a fire lit. Eurydice can tell he is holding back. She is the first to kiss him ... and he begs her to tell him to stop, for he would have her honor. Eurydice is the first to undo the buttons of her dress.

They barely make it to his bedchamber. Soft moans slip past them as they pull at each others' clothes, laughter slipping out, until they both fall against the bed together. They are naked, their limbs twisting together in pleasure. He prepares her in every way he can imagine. He crawls down her body so that he might taste her, his fingers plunge into her warmth. She touches his member, twisting and palming it around her fingers. As the fire crackles in the hearth, they become one. For hours after, they learn each others' pleasure.

There is no turning back now. As they sit in the aftermath of their lovemaking, Eurydice knows that her father would never allow her to marry a Harkonnen, and Feyd-Rautha knows that his uncle would never permit it, either.

Hence, they do the only reasonable thing either of them can think of: they elope. Under the same rainfall, they take a carriage to a nearby church, where they conduct a simple ceremony only between them. It is informal and perhaps a sin, but they are bound to each other now. They contemplate retreating to the countryside to avoid the aftermath of the scandal in London, but decide that is the cowardly thing to do. Feyd-Rautha brings Eurydice back to her family's home, so that they might announce it formally.

It does not go well.

Leto had been so desperately fearful in Eurydice's absence. He feared something had gone awry, and had even sent his trusted friends Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck out to find her. Feyd-Rautha is met with animosity as he passes through the Atreides parlor. Leto attempts to dismiss him, but Eurydice is the first to step forward and state the truth. She has chosen to marry Feyd-Rautha. At first, there is quiet, and then there is an uproar. Leto demands to know what business Feyd-Rautha had in courting his daughter in secret, then marrying her. Eurydice attempts to soften this edge by proclaiming they had already bedded each other beforehand. Paul buries his face in his hands, as this only worsens their father's anger. Leto attempts to strike Feyd-Rautha. A brawl nearly breaks, but Eurydice and Jessica stop it. In the end, nothing can be done ...

Eurydice asks for her father's blessing. He begs for time. Feyd-Rautha writes to his uncle, informing him as to who he has married. The Baron replies that Feyd-Rautha is a fool.

Sure enough, come the next morning Lady Whistledown is ever vibrant with the news of the marriage. There is scandal, of course ... speculation surrounding their secret courtship and the even more secret marriage. Feyd-Rautha and Eurydice go to Scotland for the winter, and return the spring of the following year with a son, Hektor. The Baron died over the winter, so Feyd-Rautha has inherited the Giedi Prime Estate.

The absence of his daughter had softened Leto Atreides' heart. He welcomes her and her husband with open arms ... along with little Hektor.

... Eurydice and Feyd also very much continue to cause scandal and problems throughout the ton. Lady Whistledown will have a great deal to write about.

P.S.: the Lady Whistledown in this universe is Irulan. Shady bitch.

[thecomfywriter]

✨ head up seven up // tov editing tag ✨

—

i don’t even know how many people have tagged me in a heads up seven up, but thank you to everyone who did (most recently was @wyked-ao3, i know that much). since i’m editing tov right now, i’ll just use a paragraph from there. it’s technically 8 lines, but… shut up. 😌

without further ado, let’s get into it :)

—

His memories flowed within me like a chasm to a world unknown, filling my sight with flashing images of a time unforgotten. I witnessed in vivacity Hilbert’s youth beginning at the years of his childhood in the polished streets of the Elvon Ring, where he chased his friends and paralyzed them in gem and stone until he had the chance to catch up. Another memory featured a man of grey hair and bushy, knit brows reprimanding a teenage Hilbert, who stood in a deep squat and reattempted the magic he was apparently learning. The old Limious rebuked him once again, the demand for perfection weighing heavy. Once again, seasons shifted with the bright of spring’s colours as Hilbert’s memories revealed a beautiful woman-- with batting eyelashes and an amatory smile-- who leaned into his chest when he draped his arm around her and told her his lung and soul belonged to her. Pieces of Hilbert I was not entitled to discover revealed themselves to me as a guilty pleasure, one I knew better than to indulge in. Yet, the glory of his prime tempted me from leaving. Privacy, as much as it was a right, was not something I was willing to donate to my new mentor.

- Throne of Vengeance, Volume 1

--

I know I wrote the book, but I'm going to talk about it like I didn't for a second.

Passages like this are the reason why Alan's morality fascinates me. Even in the beginning of the book, this man was doing stuff like this. Things that are super hypocritical and ethically wrong, but he does it anyways. And the way he justifies these actions are just so interesting because it really shows the loopholes this man will go through to justify what he's doing, even if it's wrong.

idk. i love alan as a character. everyone who didn't vote for him in the character polls, i'm convinced yall just don't know enough about him. because personally, i find him more interesting than caramel sometimes, and that says a lot.

ill leave this as an open tag!

the tcw tag crew* :

*if you want to be added to the TCW tag list, interact with this post here.

@lunaeuphternal @the-golden-comet @renasdoodles

@drchenquill @zackprincebooks @wyked-ao3 @satohqbanana

@toragay-writing @the-letterbox-archives @kind-lion

@mysticstarlightduck @agirlandherquill @storyteller-kara

@dahliaontherun @writingismydrugs @authorcoledipalo

[midgarddaughter]

Witch Princess

CHAPTER 1

This fanfic. Is my first on this side. English isn't my first language. No voldi au

Draco x Y/N Morningstar

A few characters are inspired from other franchise.

Once there existed a very special kingdom. Here, all witches and wizards of the world found refuge and could live in peace. They didn't have to hide from the world or fear the people. Long before the great witch trials and even before the construction of Hogwarts, there was the Witch Kingdom, ruled by the Witch Queen. The old kings held great respect for this venerable witch family and their powers. In every kingdom, it was customary to have a court witch or wizard who advised the kings and, above all, maintained peace to ensure its eternal continuation.

The Witch Queen once adopted an orphan who enjoyed the love and warmth of the family as if it were her own. She grew into a beautiful young woman, her hair as black as ash, just like her soul. Despite maintaining the appearance of affection toward her adoptive family, she was tainted by malice and treated the kingdom's citizens far from lovingly. Firmly convinced she would become queen one day, she was shaken when she learned that the queen was pregnant with a daughter.

Every scheme she devised to prevent this backfired, and her true character became more apparent to her adoptive family. When the young woman went too far and almost killed the daughter, she was sent into exile. Unbeknownst to anyone, this would mean the downfall of the kingdom. A few years later, fueled by hatred and discord sown among humans, neighboring kingdoms declared war on the Witch Kingdom. Armed with unusually extensive knowledge of how humans could defend against witches, they triumphed after years of war.

The surviving witches and wizards hid among humans or in distant regions. The royal family now consisted only of the little girl, ten years old and entirely alone in the world. To prevent the kingdom from rising again, the exiled adoptive daughter cursed the family. Only the firstborn daughter could ascend the throne, as it had always been, but there would never be another firstborn daughter in their bloodline.

Among the witches and wizards who managed to escape were key members of the royal court: General Godric Gryffindor, Chief Librarian Rowena Ravenclaw, Chief Medical Advisor and Potion Master Salazar Slytherin, and Ceremony Mistress Helga Hufflepuff. With the ideals of the Witch Kingdom in their hearts and souls, they founded Hogwarts.

Today, the story of the Witch Kingdom is no longer told. Believing the royal family was eradicated, the memory became too painful, fading into oblivion. Yet, the family endured, secluded from a human town, residing in a cozy Victorian house meticulously cared for through many generations. The little girl grew into a kind woman, marrying a young Norwegian who introduced her to a new world of magic. They formed a family, celebrated seasonal festivals, and the royal bloodline continued. However, there was never again a firstborn daughter, until it happened, shaking the entire magical world.

Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, visited the family on the tenth birthday of the young girl. With curiosity in her large green eyes, she looked at him. "Please understand that we prefer to handle our daughter's magical education ourselves, as the last generations have," said Lucifer Morningstar, an elegant man in his prime, his green eyes mirroring the girl's.

"I completely understand, Mr. Morningstar, believe me. But do you know how crucial she is for the magical world, how important she is?" Dumbledore swallowed hard as the man's expression darkened, leaning inches from Dumbledore's face. "The most important role she has is as my daughter. She must be nothing more and nothing less." He growled, then stood and gestured to the door of the opulent and warmly decorated living room. "With that, our conversation is over. Go," a small tug on his expensive crimson shirt made him pause. He looked down, meeting the face of his daughter.

"Papa, don't send the man away yet," his expression softened. Dumbledore had already grabbed his coat and hat, ready to leave, but he too hesitated. "But why?"

"I want to hear more. Is there really a school with girls like me?" she looked at the older man.

"A whole bunch." He whispered mysteriously, sitting back down cautiously, with a glance at the father. "Can you tell me more?"

"Y/-" Lucifer was about to intervene, but his daughter interrupted him again.

"You always tell me I should find my own path. Why can't this be my path?" she looked up at him incomprehensibly.

"You will find it when you're older and can better assess what's good for you. At 21, like everyone in your family, you will go on a world tour and learn ancient magical practices from various cultures, just like your mother and her mother before her and her mother before her."

"I can do that now. Why can't my journey start earlier? Just that the first part isn't the vast world but a school." Even Lucifer had no answer to that.

"All right, little one." Defeated, he sat back on the sofa next to his daughter and listened to the headmaster.

Y/N Morningstar did not directly enter her first year at school. She received remote education because her father deemed it essential to complete family training first. Traditions and her own magic, developed over generations.

Now starting her third year, she finally gets to attend school. Instead of an owl, she had her raven in a cage on the cart, which she pushed across the platform at King's Cross.

"Don't forget to write," her aunt, a slightly chubby woman with a loving face, stroked a strand of blond hair from her face.

"Of course, Auntie." The farewell was difficult, especially for her father.

"Your mother would be proud of you," he whispered with a final hug in her ear, and then she had to board the train.

Arriving on the train, she searched for a compartment. Many were already full or so crowded with luggage that she hesitated to enter. Politely smiling and nodding, she passed other students—of her age, younger, older. As if by luck, she found a compartment that was almost empty. Even in front of the compartment door, there were no students, allowing her to open it comfortably.

"Is this seat taken?" she asked politely, causing the pale young man with light blond hair to look up.

[hippodamoi]

A friend said she read Crime & Punishment but wasn't impressed by it. All she recalled was an entitled man killing an old woman and pity party for the murderer's poor tortured soul. This was my response to her, I thought others might enjoy it too.

"It is a staunch criticism, not a pity party. There was this idea of a cosmopolitan man, a Nietzschean übermensch was someone capable of transcending social and moral codes. Prime example being Napoleon, a man without parallel. Them being 'great' would make them invincible to guilt because all actions they took would be something considered beneficial to society - Raskolnikov thought he was one of these men, and by devolving throughout the narrative he realizes he is not one of these "great" men, he is just like any other citizen and there is no excuse for thinking morals and laws don't apply to you. It's a direct message to the students and academic men of the time. The old woman is a horrible loanshark and abuses the woman she lives with, her niece, and he tries to convince himself that killing her would be excusable since he considers her a cancer on society. But he also ends up killing the niece to cover up his crime as she returns and witnesses it - removing even that sliver of argument or defense for his actions. He hoped to 'serve humanity' by eradicating the mean-spirited moneylender, but also had the utilitarian idea that he would steal her money and use said money to further his education, so that he could become a great man and have positive influence and help more people. The whole murder has the spirit of a psychological experiment which fits the theme and craft of the novel. Raskolnikov has delusions of godhood and this is after Dostovyevsky has been in a gulag for 10+ years, so he knows that the young think themselves immortal and anointed, a common misconception of the youth in western education at the time and even to this day,

After killing her he realizes just how much he is not beyond good and evil. Something he previously thought was petty, something for plebians.

It has three dimensions, his biography, his christian faith (there's several references to the bible and lazarus who he symbolizes) and criticism/exploration of philosophical ideas. Its a direct response to utopian socialism and rational nihilism. He even foresaw many of the horrors of the russian revolution.

The epilogue is not just redemption, but sanctification. Raskolnikov has become a saint. Russian religion at the time was very orthodox and process-oriented, so we follow the steps of his redemption in the narrative. He confessed his sin out of weakness instead of strength, his transformation from the snivelling arrogant youth to a saint is not verbal, its a lived out experience and process. even the title in russian refers to the carrying of a cross, the very first scene is him crossing a bridge from the dirty streets of Skt. Petersburg to fresh clean air of the pastoral. Both foreshadowing and commentary on the squalor most of the citizens live in. as well as the moral degradation of the cosmopolitan cities. Skt. Petersburg was usually described as extravagant and beautiful in literature, while he describes it as smelly, dirty and sort of a wasteland - a hell, you might say.

There's also this dominating motif of christian authenticity that is typical of russian lit. A christian heart will react in a christian way - meaning it will recognize good and evil in a way that a rationally educated mind does not. (especially in reference to that horrible scene with the horse)

Raskolnikov is described as a misanthrope, and alienated from both religion and other people, leading him to commit same sin as Cain, not killing his brother per se, but a fellow human being. that very act transforms him. something in him dies with the moneylender - his common humanity.

out of that death comes a different life, drawing parallel to Lazarus as I mentioned before. It's like a whole hermeneutic event, his return to common humanity starts with Sonia telling him the very story of Lazarus. anyway, enough of me writing novels about novels! It's so convoluted and deep and I genuinely love it. Its a prime example of literature being an educating, moralizing element capable of engendering empathy and inspiring positive social progress."

[saintmeghanmarkle]

Class to Trash by u/Black_Londoner

Class to Trash Not been super active on here for a while so just catching up.What the heck has Harry dragged his family into?Is this the true lifestyle that he wants for himself and his children? Having to hustle for friends, connections and an income?His family is the epitome of class, but to be honest I never thought he had any class. He was just a spoilt rich boy. And for a 'man' that is almost 40yrs old, he's still behaving like a child.He stupidly and hurriedly married a woman with questionable history, all because she would do kinky things that most of us only knew were possible from watching Pornhub.The girl is trash. Period.She absolutely is an ILBW, of which there are thousands on social media selling their wares. They're all about faking it / fakery and making money. The Kardashians are prime examples. These people are vacuous and have no soul. Is this the life that Harry thinks is better than his true family's? They're not perfect, but...c'mon!The RF have a purpose in society and to the people they serve. By and large they are honorable.What family history will Harry pass onto his children? That he's an only child born from a mystical egg? He foolishly thought that he could transport his royal life and status to a country that no longer have a monarchial system. All because his mother had a history with that country.He needs a reality check that NOBODY can replicate or replace Diana. Times have moved on since Diana passed and Harry needs to wake up from his Oedipus complex about his wife being his mother in character/virtue. It's sick.From a clip of the Invictus documentary it seems to me that Harry doesn't know WHAT he does. (I'm a dad of 2, look after dogs, a husband....😒). He's not an actor, presenter, CEO....or even a teacher.What does he offer Hollywood? Info on what he sees in the toilet bowl? He's an idiotic doormat.His 'beloved' wife sees talking trash about people and posing for cameras as a goal for her. But what happens when the cameras don't show up? Are the Kardashians still a draw for cameras? 👀This type of lifestyle comes and goes in a flash. In 2 years the both of them will be washed up with absolutely nothing to show for this life choice. He has no true friends in his life anymore. Just paid 'yes' men/women who will nod and smile at him until their salary stops.Royalty and nobility are above this way of life.I suspect the Wellchild and Invictus charities will part ways with him soon. He doesn't bring positivity to their causes.If he's not seeing it already, reality is about to smack him in the face. HARD.🙏🏽 post link: https://ift.tt/Q3GF6WO author: Black_Londoner submitted: September 06, 2023 at 01:12PM via SaintMeghanMarkle on Reddit

[revenant-ao3]

The Hounds of Fate - Ch 4

Read on Ao3: Here

The next four days test Shoto’s capacity for rational thought versus mounting paranoia. Whenever he hits the street, there’s a nonzero chance that the sensation of being watched will hit him. It comes on unpredictable tides and leaves Shoto uncertain of what’s real and what’s an imagined feeling.

It finds him when he goes down to the family-run konbini he found near Kabukicho Tower, but not when he takes a risky detour through the Marunochi line. Sometimes, the presence appears, like a breath on the back of his neck, but at other moments he’s free to walk the street without anything more than curious side eyes from unsuspecting residents. There is no rhyme or reason. He looks out of the corner of his eye and checks the reflection of windows he passes, but there’s not a shadow of a soul. Yet, he’s sure, so very, very sure, that someone is stalking him. It’s in the prickling of his neck and the heavy weight on his back.

It’s made him into a recluse. Those few trips he chanced were enough for him to figure out that he couldn’t identify a pattern to his stalker. If he’d been able to determine a certain area is riskier than another or a particular time is more likely to draw that gaze, then he could plan accordingly. Having someone incalculable tailing him is as dangerous as it is alarming. He can’t gauge how much of a threat being in populated areas is, if there will be collateral should a confrontation occur. It’d be monumentally stupid of him to risk alleys and industrial zones as those prime spots for ambushes. He feels cornered. It’s infuriating, to put it mildly.

What he needs time to think.

He’ll lay low for a little, see if interest in him wanes. Doubtful, he thinks with irritation. If that woman is involved as he suspects, then he’s a specific target for some unknown reason.

It’d also be wise to think of an escape plan. If they’re searching for him, then his home is at risk. All it takes is one slip-up for his safety to be totally compromised. He’ll need to find somewhere new, if worse comes to worse. Nichome could be viable. Gentrification and rising property values have seen some of the businesses and bars in the area close, so there’s likely somewhere he can squat for the time being.

He puts a pin in that thought for the moment as he slips back in through the side window of his self-claimed home. The bag in his hand rustles and he’s a little worried he’ll spill the container of food old man Tagawa from the konbini forced on him. The man was still grateful that Shoto had stopped a robbery, even though Shoto had only walked in to get some bento boxes. The would-be thief was too nervous to actually do any harm and went down without a real fight. Hardly heroic work on Shoto’s part. That little act allowed him to enter freely with his mask – and occasionally get a discount.

The offering of homemade food is new. Touching. Shoto isn’t used to seeing evidence of how his deeds echo out and impact those around him. Ishikawa was the first with her kind drawing. Now this. It fills him with warmth, but also an odd rush of anxiety. He can’t pinpoint why it makes him nervous.

His feet just touch the linoleum when a voice startles him from inside the room. Inside his room.

“So, this is where you live.”

Shoto nearly ices the whole block in surprise.

His head whips around only to see Eraserhead crouched down near the door, almost unnoticeable in the dim light. Soba is batting the hero’s scarf around like a toy while the hero occasionally tugs it to rile up the kitten.

Seeing Eraserhead here, in his safe space, is a little surreal. It leaves Shoto wrong-footed. That line he didn’t cross before seeking out Eraserhead on his turf? It feels sufficiently crossed. His metaphorical hackles raise at the intrusion.

Eraserhead knows. All it will take is one step too far in the hero’s eyes, one transgression too many for his hideout to get raided. For as much as he’s come to trust Eraserhead, he doesn’t trust him that much. He doesn’t know the pro’s ticks or limits. Shoto could mess up without even realizing it and then all his hard work will be undone. He'll be back to being the Masterpiece again.

It’s a good thing he’d already been mentally mapping out potential areas to move because now he most certainly is going to have to.

“You followed me?” he asks incredulously. Aggravation stains his voice and leaks into his posture.

It’s ridiculous to feel a little hint of betrayal because it’s only logical that Eraserhead would have tailed him at some point. Shoto knows he can’t fault the man for actually bothering to do his job. But logic and emotion don’t always see eye to eye. He sincerely doubts Eraserhead would appreciate it if he showed up in his house unannounced, after all. To make matters worse, though, his appearance muddies Shoto’s perception even further. How much of that feeling of being followed had been Eraserhead?

The hero glances up at him, expression unimpressed. He makes no effort to move from the corner he’s claimed.

“Astute observation,” he says. It's almost certainly a jab. That only serves to irritate Shoto further.

He sets his bag down with a deliberately heavy thud and folds his arms. The purpose of this house call is unknown but it can’t be anything good. It’s unlikely Eraserhead would tip his hand and reveal his knowledge of Shoto’s rather depressing home unless there’s a valid reason. He eyes up the hero, trying to parse his current state so he knows whether he needs to dive back out the window while the hero is distracted.

The man’s brows are pinched and the bags under his eyes are darker than Shoto recalls them being. There’s a terseness in the line of his lips; like a grimace that never came into full fruition. Eraserhead’s natural disposition tended toward ‘unhappy’, but he doesn’t look unhappy with Shoto in specific.

He’s no empath, but Shoto thinks that something might be bothering the hero, and something that concerning is likely no easy matter.

The tension in his shoulders unwinds bit by bit. He’s not elated with this sudden appearance and his need to move, but the anger in him dims. A resigned sigh breaks the silence.

“How long have you known?” he asks a little tiredly.

Eraserhead pauses his petting and looks at him. His stare is intense, studying.

“Since after giving you that update on Ishikawa,” the hero says, blunt and honest.

That answer both does and doesn’t surprise Shoto. He expected Eraserhead to have tailed him somewhere around the beginning of their first encounter. What catches him off guard in that admission is the implication that the hero has kept his whereabouts secret from officials. It would have taken little effort to pass on the information and see Shoto dragged away for his ‘unlawful’ actions. It actually puts Shoto a little more at ease to know it happened that long ago. If it were a recent development, that sting of betrayal would turn into a stab. He leans against the wall and watches the hero play with his kitten, as if doing so will solve whatever problem’s hounding him.

“Did you break in just to pet Soba?” he asks, even though he knows the answer. It’s an easy opening. Shoto’s gained the barest trace of tact in recent months. Not much, mind, but some.

“No,” Eraserhead confirms. That not-grimace grows in strength as he untangles the kitten from his scarf and stands up. His attention is now wholly and undividedly on Shoto. “That woman’s name is Yuki Mura. She was reported missing six months ago.”

Ah, an update then.

He tilts his head in thought. The woman looked remarkably well for a missing person – not that Shoto has any room to speak. He’s in a similar boat, after all. Sometimes a missing person isn’t exactly missing. Context matters, which is something he lacks in her situation. He sets aside her questionable condition for the time being.

“Something about this is bothering you,” he points out, stating the obvious yet again. “You wouldn’t show up here just to tell me her name and status.”

Eraserhead hums, low and short, a quick staccato agreement.

“Based on public registry records, she has an emitter-class information quirk. She can detect and gather intel on the quirks of those around her.”

His heart lurches. That mystified expression she’d given him and the way she kept looking at him like she couldn't believe her eyes, makes far too much sense now.

“Useful,” Shoto murmurs, not at all liking where this is going.

Eraserhead grunts, and Shoto thinks that means he agrees but it might also mean the hero is yet again unimpressed by his lack of nuanced answers. He thinks it’s definitely the former when the hero levels him with a heavy stare.

“The caveat is she needs to be within three meters of the target,” he says with a voice just as weighty.

Fuck.

He had been hoping his initial conclusion was wrong, but that’s looking less and less likely. The woman needs to be within close proximity to utilize her quirk. Staging a mugging is an exceptionally easy way to close the distance with high-profile heroes and vigilantes (and vigilante-adjacent teens).

“So, those were staged events. She was gathering information on our quirks,” he muses out loud.

His entire identity is compromised now. It isn’t just a matter of moving hideouts. He’ll have to entirely drop this non-identity he’s cultivated. To his knowledge, there isn’t another quirk like his around, at least not in Japan. She’ll know. What she can do with that information… God, the possibilities frighten him.

“That’s the assumption I’m working under,” Eraserhead says. His expression is about as foreboding as Shoto’s currently feeling.

He ran into her around eleven days ago. That’s a disconcerting amount of time to have this sensitive information. Who knows who has this information now.

And that’s the most unsettling part. There has to be an ulterior motive here. Why else would she vanish only to start gathering intel on quirks? Did someone set her on his trail? The idea that it was Endeavor came and went like a wisp in the wind. If that were the case, Shoto would have been found and dragged home already, that’s an almost guaranteed certainty.

“I thought those thugs seemed oddly well-prepared,” Shoto says, mostly to himself as he puts a mental timeline together. In this small room, however, there’s nowhere for his voice to get lost.

Eraserhead nails him with a hard look. Shoto thinks he’s misstepped for a minute.

“Explain.”

He’s investigating, never mind.

“That time I was trying to go to the laundromat and I was ambushed, they seemed better trained than the random criminals I’ve encountered. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was slacking in my training or because they were waiting for me,” Shoto explains.

He knew there was something off about the encounter. While he can attribute part of it to his lapse in training, he felt like they were oddly organized. There was a synchronicity in the way they fought that spoke of experience battling together. That isn’t common in normal street gangs. Shoto feels just a little vindicated by the realization. That momentary victory is quickly swept away by the reminder that he was being targeted by someone for some unknown reason. Someone who may very well know his identity.

Fuck, he thinks again with more feeling.

He can practically see the expletive pass across Eraserhead’s own face as the same pieces fall into place.

The hero seems to just barely hold back a sigh as he speaks, “And this happened—”

“—After I stopped the cutpurse. Two days after, to be precise,” Shoto finishes.

“That was a planned assault,” Eraserhead says, taking his turn with stating the obvious. It doesn’t lessen the impact.

The two fall into contemplative silence.

Eraserhead remains almost stone-faced, save for that pinch in his brows and the slight downward curl of his lips. Shoto is no more expressive beneath his mask.

He tries to keep his mind on the facts and start to plot out a course of action. It’s hard to do when fear begins to creep up his spine. The thought just keeps returning to him over and over, no matter how hard he tries to shove it to the side.

They know. They know. I’m going to be found soon.

This nebulous ‘they’ is driving him to distress. Someone, somewhere knows him and has been following him. His skin crawls. He hasn’t felt this unsafe and uncertain since he ran away. As awful as it may be, he felt like he could walk the streets more freely and securely than he could in his old home. There wasn’t anyone he could think of that frightened him the way Endeavor did, so there was a sense of safety to be found out here. But that’s been torn from him again. He hates it. Hates how fucking unfair life is. Why can’t he be left alone? Why can’t he just live in peace? Now he can’t even sleep without anxiety clawing at him, warning him that someone might be lurking nearby, waiting to strike.

It was one thing for him to have an on-and-off stalker, it’s another for that stalker to potentially be fully aware of what he’s capable of. Part of his advantage is his anonymity. No one knows just how powerful he can actually be in a fight. It’s his ace-in-the-hole if shit truly hits the fan.

“Could it be your father?” Eraserhead asks suddenly. “Have her sniff you out and then send in a retrieval force?”

The idea he dismissed earlier comes back. He turns it over in his head carefully. Endeavor certainly had the sway and money to hire outside help in retrieving him, but the idea doesn’t sit right with him.

“Unlikely,” Shoto says decisively after a moment of thought. “He’d never stoop to hiring others to do his dirty work. Not unless he’s significantly more desperate than I thought.”

And he’d have to be pretty damn desperate to reach out to someone who’s likely involved with something less-than-legal to do this. Even then, Shoto doubts he’d send a retrieval force to get him. It’d be a point of pride for his father to arrive and drag him back home himself.

Eraserhead makes a noncommittal noise as he considers Shoto’s reasoning.

“Don’t discount the possibility. Based on what you’ve said, he’s put a lot of time, money, and effort into creating you,” he says. His nearly blank expression breaks as his lips curl in distaste. “You might be surprised at the lengths he’ll go to get you back.”

True, Shoto haltingly concedes. Could his father really be that far gone? Shoto’s his masterpiece, the culmination of over twenty years of fucked up genetic tinkering and ego stroking. Could his disappearance be the final straw that breaks him? He immediately throws that notion away because if he confronts it and what it might entail, then he’ll be struck with such godawful fear that he might just dissociate and never return. A reality where Endeavor is possessive to that extent is one he wants no part in.

“I still don’t think it’s him,” he says slowly, less certain now but pushing on because he needs that to be true. “But, I’ll keep that in mind.”

It’ll be kept in mind, alright. In the very, very, very far corners of his mind, under lock and key.

He needs to move his train of thought before it derails into mounting panic entirely.

The facts. Focus on the facts. What’s tangible? What can be worked out?

Shoto taps his finger against the wall. A flake of peeling paint comes off after the third strike.

“When did you save her?” he asks, a connection forming that throws even more uncertainty onto his pile.

Eraserhead’s eyes are sharp, intuitive. It makes Shoto wonder if he’s on the same wavelength already. He probably got there before I did.

“Eight days ago,” he says without hesitation. It wouldn’t be surprising if the hero had memorized the encounter down to the minute. That certainly seems like an Eraserhead thing to do.

“I encountered her nearly two weeks ago. So, I was definitely the initial target,” Shoto says with a frown.

Another ambiguous noise comes from the hero. He looks deep in thought, eyes focused on the wall like it can solve this burgeoning problem. By the way that furrow deepens those thoughts aren’t particularly reassuring. The lack of comment bodes ill, Shoto fears. It feels like he’s missing something.

“Is there more?” he asks warily.

Black eyes shift from the wall to him. Eraserhead is quiet, internally warring with something.

Shoto waits silently for him to reach his resolution.

It comes when Eraserhead’s shoulders take a faint, almost defeated slump. He rubs the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“There isn’t much I’m at liberty to say as it involves an ongoing investigation,” he says, voice gritty and dragging, like even allowing this to meet the air rubs him the wrong way. “I’m telling you what I'm able to because I believe it affects you directly. This remains strictly between us, do you understand?”

He fixes Shoto with that familiar heavy warning stare. It takes him back to their first meeting. His eyes are sincere, both in the belief that this is a necessity and that consequences will find Shoto if he breaks this vow.

Not like I have anyone to tell.

Still, he knows how much it must frustrate the man to toe the line like this. There has to be a damn good reason. (That is not the reassuring thought it should be.)

“You have my word,” Shoto says with the utmost sincerity.

“I better,” Eraserhead mutters. Then, he sighs again before speaking. “There’s been a spike in missing persons cases. It correlates with just after Mura’s disappearance was reported. I have reason to suspect people are being targeted for their quirks and she’s the scout.”

The hero tilts his face down to hide the way his expression shifts into one that looks faintly like he just bit into a particularly bitter lemon.

This is decidedly bad news, in Shoto’s opinion. Those nerves he’s been slowly easing into submission kick back up. There aren’t many reasons these events would line up. The most likely scenario, unfortunately, is also the worst.

“Trafficking,” he says, voice far more nonchalant than he’s feeling. If that’s the case, he might find himself preferring it was actually Endeavor siccing the dogs on him.

...Actually, he’s still split on that. He’ll have to think it over some more. Regardless, it’s a lose-lose, in his eyes.

“That’s my current theory,” Eraserhead says. He at least has the emotional capacity and maturity to sound grim.

Shoto wonders how many times the word ‘fuck’ can cross his mind before it loses any sense of meaning because it’s putting in overtime today.

“And I’m a probable mark,” he states.

He reaches up to rub his face, mentally and emotionally exhausted by this revelation but ends up more-or-less facepalming his mask.

“It makes sense,” Eraserhead says, expression flat and voice teetering on the verge of displeased.

“It does,” he agrees.

Unfortunately. The moment that woman got a whiff of his quirk, it was over for him. There’s no way she wouldn’t report it to whoever she works for. Shoto doesn’t know how much his father paid for his mother, but he imagines the price is a fraction of what someone would pay for him.

Is this how Mom felt when the deal had first been brought up?

The thought makes him nauseous.

Shoto turns and faces the wall to slip his hands under his mask and press heavily against his eyes. He gives himself a scant few seconds to collect himself. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Now, time to work.

With his allotted time for mental recovery used up, he fixes his mask and turns back around. Eraserhead is looking at the opposite wall, where Ishikawa’s drawing is taped. Shoto thinks that maybe he just noticed the drawing. Then, Eraserhead glances at him, notices he's composed himself, and shifts to face him again. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that Eraserhead is respecting his privacy, but it still sends a tiny shock through him. Of all the heroes he could have run into and unofficially worked with, he can safely say – at least mentally – that he’s glad it was Eraserhead. It’s just unfortunate that Shoto dragged him into this mess.

The realization hits him late and he feels stupid for not having considered this sooner. He’s been too caught up in the horrific ordeal of being known to even consider how Eraserhead is tied into this. Since she showed up around him too, that means—

"You might be a target too,” he says suddenly, words a little rushed with comprehension.

Eraserhead's expression doesn't shift, as if it's hardly noteworthy. Shoto isn’t sure if it’s because he’s got a good handle on his emotions or if, yet again, Shoto’s behind the curve. Probably both, if he’s being realistic.

“How do you figure?” the hero asks. The question comes out flat, barely curious.

It makes Shoto a little uncertain with his sudden revelation. Still, if there's a chance he's correct, he owes it to Eraserhead to put it all out there. Anything that can help is good.

“Since her initial disappearance, you never ran into her even though she was in the area. But just a few days after you assisted me in their initial ambush, she appeared around you. I don't think that's a coincidence,” he explains.

The pro barely bats an eye. His gaze is probing now.

“And why would she have waited to approach me?”

There's an authority in his question that rings bells in Shoto's head. It reminds him of one of his old teachers who'd ask a question with a specific answer in mind. Getting it wrong tended to end with him writing the correct answer down over and over until it was memorized. Somehow, he doubts thats the case here. Even so, if Shoto didn’t know any better, he’d say this sounds more like a test than an exchange of information. It makes him carefully dissect his thoughts and arrange his words. He isn’t sure what Eraserhead’s looking for, but he doesn’t want to disappoint the man. That manages to feel more important at this moment than the very possible traffickers on his tail. Talk about skewed priorities.

“If your theory on her being a scout is correct, she likely wanted to avoid being around heroes,” he answers carefully, even though he feels like it's an exceptionally obvious answer.

It’s what made the most sense in his head. He’s done his damnedest to avoid heroes since he ran away and he isn’t potentially involved in quirk trafficking. He can’t imagine she’d be any more eager to stop and chat.

“But what changed?” Eraserhead asks in that non-questioning tone.

Shoto mulls it over. There’d have to be a good reason to risk being around a pro. If the roles were reversed, what would make me change my mind?

He always hated these hypothetical scenarios, putting himself in the mind of a criminal to determine what they may or may not do. It’s not that it’s hard, but that it’s easy. He doesn’t like the implication that brings with it. To ease his mind, he assures himself it’s just that criminals tend to be predictable and follow certain profiles. Study them enough and most follow a subconscious pattern. (It only quells so much self-doubt.)

But, if he were on their side in this situation, there’d have to be a great reward to take the risk of getting close to Eraserhead. And Shoto can think of exactly one reward worth it in that very specific line of business.

“During that ambush, you used your quirk on them,” he points out. He already dislikes this theory but it feels plausible, at least from his perspective. “Maybe it made it back to the others that you could do something that nullified quirks. It could have sparked their interest.”

Eraserhead’s quirk is unique and, to put it frankly, fucking terrifying in the right hands. The idea that someone can strip a person of their powers is horrific. Put that in the hands of criminals and there’d be absolute chaos. The world is supremely fortunate Eraserhead is a good man. Shoto loathes to think about what it’d be like if that weren’t the case.

The hero hums at the speculation, making Shoto suddenly doubt himself.

“And if no one has tried to attack me since that encounter?” Eraserhead asks.

That’s a good question. Shoto was ambushed just a couple of days after his run-in with Mura. It’s been over a week for Eraserhead. They likely would have tried something at this point, even if just to test his capabilities and formulate a real plan of attack.

“Has anyone?” he asks, mind running a mile a minute.

Eraserhead fixes him with a flat look.

“That’s what you should’ve asked first,” he says, not unlike a teacher correcting a wrong answer.

He feels a little chided, but not in a bad way. If anything, this is helping him see how much he needs to work on his analytical skills. He’s not bad, but in an active situation such as this, it’s now obvious he could be better.

Wait.

Shoto blinks behind the mask a little dumbly.

“Is this part of my training?”

He tries not to let himself get hopeful, but this does feel suspiciously like he’s being guided.

Eraserhead snorts and gives him a look that conveys the sensation that he’d roll his eyes if he felt the statement was worthy of it. Shoto would very much like to learn how he does those microexpressions so well.

“I never agreed to train you,” he points out apathetically.

Which, true, he didn’t agree. Is this one of those nonverbal things people seem to just get? Because Shoto never learned how to pick up on those. Or is Eraserhead being serious and he’s only walking Shoto through this as a consolation? Oh, how he hates trying to sort through social subtext.

He doesn’t get long to work through Eraserhead’s dispassionate answer before the hero is speaking again.

“If I haven’t been attacked, what’s your theory?” he asks more insistently.

With the way he’s staring, Shoto’s still of the mind that the hero already figured this out.

He tosses one possibility around, then another. They’ve scoped him out but haven’t made a move...His thoughts trail off and find their way down to his mouth, where he starts to think aloud, tossing a working idea Eraserhead’s way.

“Then, I assume that means you’ve been either classified as too high-risk to target or your quirk was deemed undesirable, though I don’t believe that’s the case,” he says slowly, thoughtfully.

That causes Eraserhead to raise his brows just a bit, a hint at his interest in his thought process.

“And why not?”

Well, that’s easy enough to answer, at least.

“Your quirk is exceptionally powerful in a variety of scenarios and most quirks are susceptible to it. If this really is a trafficking case, then I imagine plenty of people would pay extremely well for it,” he says like it’s a statement of fact. Shoto may not have first-hand experience with traffickers, but he does have plenty of experience with an individual obsessed with strong quirks. One like erasure? That’s a no-brainer. If they can concoct a way to turn the hero - either willingly or unwillingly - or utilize his quirk without his consent, then he'd be one of the biggest sellers, Shoto is damned sure of it. What's a dual quirk to one that cancels it out? Who cares if the Number Two hero is on the way if they can shut his quirk off?

The biggest obstacle would be subduing Eraserhead for capture. The first strike is the most important in his case.

Eraserhead has yet to blink and it’s starting to unnerve Shoto a little. His attention is absolute.

“So, then I’m too much of a risk?” he asks, more curious about the logic behind it than the actual statement.

“Yes, I think so,” Shoto says firmly.

“Why?”

At this point, Shoto’s almost positive this is some sort of lesson, but he’s hesitant to bring it up again. He doesn’t want to push any buttons or cut it short. So, he focuses on the question again, working through it like it’s a math problem.

“Not only are you a pro,” he starts slowly but confidently, “but a skilled one that can counter much of what they throw at you. Trying to catch you would cost them time, money, and men while they could be targeting easier marks.”

Eraserhead is quiet, like he’s waiting for more. It makes Shoto want to shift with inadequacy. There must be something he’s missing.

“Any other theories?” Eraserhead asks after another few seconds tick by in silence.

There’s definitely something I’ve overlooked. What the hell could it be?

He tries to mentally retrace his steps and not let the feeling of incompetency weigh him down. This is good, even if it’s uncomfortable. It means he’s learning.

Okay, point one: Eraserhead was scoped out. Point two: He hasn’t been attacked, meaning they’re avoiding him. Potentially from a lack of interest or, in my opinion, fear.

He taps his fingers against the wall again. It draws Soba’s attention who pounces on clumsy paws, trying to swat his hand. It momentarily breaks his concentration. He smiles at the playful kitten before sliding down so Soba can climb on his lap. While he brainstorms, he pats the kitten to the same rhythm he’d been tapping the wall. Just across from him, Eraserhead hides a faint smirk in his scarf.

Maybe I’m thinking too narrowly. He’s been naively assuming it’s an either-or situation. Either they want Eraserhead but he’s too much of a risk or he isn’t seen as suitable. But that’s foolish. Shoto was equating his ambush to what they'd do for Eraserhead, but their threat levels aren't the same. Eight days is relatively little time to plan an assault on a pro hero. Shoto is an alleged vigilante with a strong quirk and little other known information. They may have thought he wasn’t formally trained enough to handle a group, thus the quick ambush. But Eraserhead is a licensed professional. If it's an organized group, then they'd know better than to employ the same tactic - especially since it failed the first time.

They could be biding their time, waiting to find someone they think can confront the pro. It’d have to be either a heteromorphic quirk, someone exceptionally skilled in CQC, or a combination. Even then, they’d have to be able to catch the pro unaware – a feat in and of itself. That’s something Shoto’s become well aware of. It certainly doesn't help that Shinjuku is his turf. Every encounter starts in his advantage unless he's utterly surprised. Springing a trap on him would be wise, but an exercise in patience and strategy that many would fail at.

Shoto scratches under Soba's chin as he thinks. He looks up at the hero and tilts his head in thought, considering the slouching man carefully. It's easy to underestimate the hero, Shoto certainly had in their first encounter. The thugs in that ambush barely had a chance to realize what was happening before they were knocked out.

They'd need an excellent setup. What if...

A thought crosses his mind, reaching and a bit ridiculous, in his opinion, but entirely possible. In fact, the plausibility is what makes it ridiculous.

“You’d be too much of a threat to face head-on and on your turf. But if they could maneuver you into a favorable position…” he muses out loud, the uncertainty obvious in the way he leaves his sentence hanging.

He gets a reassuring nod from Eraserhead. That little gesture is a more encouraging sign than anything Endeavor ever gave during training. He tries not to let himself smile at the action. It wasn’t even praise, come on.

He ignores his own pathetically delicate sense of self-worth and trucks on.

“I think if they caught me, they’d set a trap for you,” he says. It’s almost embarrassing to even throw that suggestion out there. It puts a weight on their acquaintanceship that wasn’t present before, like he’s unilaterally deciding the importance of it. The fact that Shoto even cares that Eraserhead might be offended or disgusted by the notion is aggravating. He's done well enough up until this point alone. If Eraserhead thinks this connection is weak or that Shoto isn't worth the effort of saving, then that should be that. He's out here to survive, not develop some weird parasocial relationship with a hero he barely knows just because the man was civil to him. (Easier said than done when those small mercies and shows of kindness made him feel like maybe things would be okay one day.)

Eraserhead doesn’t exactly quell those doubts with his impassive expression, like he’s scoring each answer Shoto gives.

“Why would they assume I’d go for you?” he asks, distant as can be.

“Other than the fact that you’re a hero?” Shoto asks and it’s almost a miracle it didn’t come out with more sarcasm. He even managed to bite back on the scoff that wanted to come out. How very mature of him.

That lackluster answer gets him a tepid look in response. It feels strangely like he was just docked points on a test that doesn’t even exist. Goddamn it.

He just sighs and continues on, “We’ve been seen fighting together. Mura also saw us talking on the roof. It’d be a safe assumption that we’re acquaintances. If they’re set on getting you as well, then it’d be most logical to lure you into their home field where they have the advantage. Two birds, one stone.”

Shoto really, really hopes Eraserhead doesn’t give him another, And? He’s running out of brainpower here. Soba nips at his finger when he stops petting him.

“Behave,” he tells the kitten quietly, as if he’ll understand what Shoto’s saying, and more importantly, listen. He ignores the snort from Eraserhead.

“Decent reasoning,” the hero finally says, like Shoto just gave a nice little report on Quirk History and not a theory on why they’re both in immediate danger from traffickers.

Hey, he’ll take the victories and praises where he can get them. He isn’t that picky.

“You thought of all of this already, didn’t you?” he asks because he has to know.

Despite Eraserhead's efforts, Shoto can still see the way his face twitches. If it weren’t for his position on the ground, Shoto's willing to bet there’s a slight smirk on Eraserhead’s face now. That’s one of the few expressions he's picked up on that the man makes obvious, like it's the only acceptable one outside of 'tired' and 'annoyed'.

“Perhaps,” he says, leaving no room for doubt that it’s really an emphatic yes.

So, this had been some sort of mental workout or lesson after all. That makes Shoto a little happier than he probably should be, given this entire fucked up situation. He watches as Eraserhead pushes off the wall and turns toward the door.

“You’d be a good teacher,” Shoto says out of the blue before Eraserhead can slip away. He’s not sure why he says it, but he believes it, which is pretty funny as he can’t actually picture the man tolerating a room full of children for more than five minutes at a time. Then again, he did well with Ishikawa. The scruffy and generally dour hero proved surprisingly personable when it came to the child, at least in his own prickly way. And, maybe Shoto's strange in this department, but he appreciates the direct and exacting way Eraserhead approaches things, even lessons. There's no filler or platitudes to sort through, just the facts.

Yes, Shoto stands by his unbidden statement.

It causes Eraserhead to pause in his tracks and stare at him, expression devoid of emotion.

“Hilarious,” he deadpans.

Shoto blinks slowly, confusedly. He hadn’t meant it to be funny.

“...It is?” he asks, because perhaps he’s missing something? Did he offend the hero? Maybe he actually really dislikes kids and Ishikawa was a one-off?

Eraserhead stares at him, eyebrow twitching ever so slightly. Then, he rolls his eyes to stare at the ceiling.

“Just keep your earpiece on,” he says to the ceiling tile. (Shoto is, in fact, socially aware enough to understand that the hero is addressing him and not the ceiling.) Then, after mentally collecting his soul from wherever it tried to fly off to, Eraserhead looks back at him. “It might be vital now.”

Shoto gives a firm nod, trying to convey how serious he’s taking this, which is made marginally harder with the way Soba has now climbed onto his shoulder.

“Same goes for you, Eraser,” he says. “I’ll be there if you need me.”

He knows he’s likely the very last person Eraserhead would ever call on, if he’s even on the list at all, but he wants the sentiment to be known regardless. Shoto may still be working through his trust issues, but he doesn’t want to see the hero hurt if can help it.

Eraserhead gives him that ambiguous grunt he takes as an, I’m acknowledging your words but not agreeing to them, and exits the room with nary a goodbye. Shoto shrugs and plays with Soba more vigorously. He starts to mentally catalog everything he’ll need to pack. It’s thankfully a small list, but it’ll still be a hassle to move it all. Still, it’s a necessity now. He’s idled in one spot too long and it’s become a liability. If not because of heroes, then because he can’t be certain those looking for him haven’t figured it out yet. For all he knows, they could be planning an assault at this very moment.

---

Luck, rarely in Shoto's favor, seems to hear his musings and laughs.

---

Near Shinjuku Station’s East Exit:

“You sure about this?” a bored man asks with a voice like ash.

“Positive,” comes another voice to his left. Heartier, confident. “He’s been good at throwing me off, but I got him. I know it.”

[oldguy56-world]

Date Night

I am happily married so there is no need to go on any more dates in my life. Do I take my wife out? Of course I do but technically they are not dates because a date implies it is a meeting to decide whether or not you will end up with this person for the rest of your life. No pressure there. I suppose this means that people who date a lot are confused as to what (or who) they are actually looking for, or I guess it might just mean they are very horny.

Back in the old days of my youth there were numerous places where you could meet a person that could be a potential date/mate. Let's have a look at these.

Work. This was at one time a prime spot for finding people. Not so much any more. A lot of places of business like stores, offices, or just general working environments are now down to a couple of people. Good luck that the other person working with you is going to be your soul mate. But what if it is a large place with plenty of people to choose from? If you ask a person out and they say no, you cannot ask them out again or it is harassment. Don't even look at them. Ask out a second person and you are a predator. If someone says yes you better have lots of paperwork signed that it is okay. Perhaps it is a good thing that most places have people working from home. Saves a lot of problems. Now that people are working from home the only one they see in person on a daily basis is their cat, and well there are laws against that type of relationship.

Church. Do people still go there any more that aren't in their '80's? No thanks.

School. Seems like students are more interested in getting a degree these days than meeting a person. It is official. The nerds have won.

Bars. Everybody looked good in smoke filled rooms with a dozen tequilas in them. Remove the smoke, cut down on the amount of alcohol because the bars do not want to be sued, and everyone is a sane rational person who would never hook up with a stranger. Ever wonder why the birth rate is down...think about it.

Blind dates set up by friends. Who has real friends anymore? They are all virtual and living alone in their own parent's basement. No chance that their girlfriend/wife has a cousin who is nice once you get to know her. Best hope you have is that you make a connection with the Uber Eats driver.

Arranged marriages. Not common in many parts of the world but getting back to the point a couple of spots above ever notice that countries that embrace this activity have some of the highest birthrates in the world? Just saying.

I didn't even get into the cost of dating. Call me cheap but dinner and a move now costs an arm and a leg. You might only be able to afford one shot at happiness every 5 or six months so you better make it a good shot.

What is the main tool now? On-line dating. According to the profiles (Yes I did some research) everyone on these sites is wonderful. I have seen enough TV to know that they are never what they seem, and if you are old and they are young it is probably a man named Gus who is just scamming you for cash.

Even if they are legit no thanks. It was humiliating enough to ask out a woman and be turned down. How bad would it be if you post on a site that boasts thousands of members and no one swipes right on your picture?

I am happy to be married to my wonderful wife and not have to put myself through all of this dating nonsense. It is also the reason I do everything I can to keep my wife happy in life. She can do better, but I don't want her testing that theory.

THOUGHT OF THE WEEK: There is no algorithm for love. There is no dating formula. If it is there, it is there.

[rachelbethhines]

60 Years of Doctor Who Anniversary Marathon - C. Baker 9th Review

Temporal Logbook III: Changed Lives - Anthology Charity Book

I have never heard of fan published charity books until I started watching Doctor Who. I know of no other fandom, large or small, that does anything like it; professionally publish fan-fiction and sell it for charity. I can only guess that such a thing is possible because of differentiating copy-write laws in the UK, because I highly doubt Disney would ever let you release a Kingdom Hearts or Star Wars book like that, even if all the proceeds went to good causes rather then yourself. Temporal Logbook III: Changed Lives, is the third in a series of charity anthologies. Modeled after the the various official short trips collections, such anthologies are perhaps the most common of the charity books. While there are full novels out there, anthology collections allow for better spread of the work load and so are easier to get printed. This particular publication features a bit of a theme. "Changed Lives"... each short story focuses on the impact the Doctor has had an individual, for good or for bad. Here is just a quick run though of what you will find.

A Forward By Yee Jee Tso : The actor who portrayed Chang Lee in the TV movie talks briefly of the impact of Doctor Who has had in his life

Fifth Doctor – ‘The Return’: After Tegan has recently left, a remorseful Doctor decides to check on another companion that also chose to abruptly leave him.... Dodo.

War Doctor – ‘Lament’: The Doctor lands on a memorial planet; as in the entire planet is a graveyard. There he meets a young woman who has recently lost her whole family, and he makes a startling discovery about the Time War.

Twelfth Doctor - 'The New Doctor': One of the Doctor's students stumbles upon the Tardis, but a quick trip to the planet of dreams quickly goes awry.

Third Doctor – ‘Technical Adviser’: They're making a Doctor Who movie! And the Doctor and Liz Shaw are asked on to be advisers to the film. But certain elements of the fictional story appear to be too close to real events for their liking. The Doctor and Liz go on quest to find the financial backer of the movie; a mysterious producer that seemingly doesn't exist!

Sixth Doctor - 'The Heart of the Matter': An old man re-accounts his adventurous life to his granddaughter, and tells about the mysterious stranger called the Doctor who kept turning up to redirect it constantly.

Eleventh Doctor- 'The Last Tomb': A lonely old man on the beach gets caught up in local family's vacation to a dying planet... more news at 11.

Fourth Doctor - 'Kiss of the Dybbuk': The Doctor and Sarah Jane land upon a ship who's crew is being tormented by the legendary Dybbuk. The creature can possess anyone, and so it's up to them to find the evil spirit hidden among the crew before time runs out.

First Doctor - 'Something at the End of the Lane': The Doctor has finally brought Ian and Barbara back home to their own time! The time travelers couldn't be more happy, but celebrations are cut short when a medieval knight shows up in a coffee shop.... and is that mastodon stampeding in the street?

Tenth Doctor - 'Consequences': When the Doctor makes the choice to save a little boy from dying... He lays out a path with dire consequences for his own future.

The Second Doctor - 'The Harvesters': The Harvesters are supposed to mine for precious materials within the asteroid belt for their creators back home... and when a new metal 'asteroid' on rockets enters the belt carrying rare organic materials, well it's a prime opportunity for the Harvesters. Too bad the human crew doesn't see it that way.

Ninth Doctor - 'A Night in Santa's Workshop': She's the last of her kind... but not for long. Earth will make the prefect new home for her offspring. And they must feed... and the Doctor and his companion will be the perfect meal.

Seventh Doctor - 'Sepulchered Soul': Locked in a battle for a mortal's soul, who will win? The demons, or an angel called the Doctor?

Thirteenth Doctor - 'Emotion Quotient': A young woman is suddenly frozen in time, and no one can figure out how or why... not even the Doctor!

Eighth Doctor - 'Auld Acquaintances': The Master has escaped death yet again, and the Doctor's personal timeline is unraveling as a consequence.

Now of course this segment of the marathon is Sixth Doctor focused so, without spoiling too much, the most notable things about 'The Heart of the Matter' is that Frobisher shows up again, and the ending is indeed a mind fuck. Trust me, you won't ever guess how it ends. As for the Collection as a whole, it was really enjoyable and quite varied. My personal favorite story was 'Something at the End of the Lane' but that's probably my Ian bias talking. All of the stories with in were of very high quality and I absolutely would recommend checking out the whole novel. Fortunately, there are still copies in stock and for sell, and all proceeds go to SETTLED. A charity that helps to provide free and trustworthy information, advice and support in different languages to EU citizens in the UK. SETTLED helps to ensure that EU citizens gain Settled Status and to respond to the difficulties that they face in a post-brexit UK.

[aikoiya]

LoZ - Vae & the Spring of Talthïrï

Now, this line of thought might seem weird &, honestly, it very much is, but take that up with Greek & Hindu mythology as well as many, many others who all did it way before me.

Though, I mostly try to go over it from a cultural impact analysis standpoint.

FYI, mythology is just weird sometimes.

Also, Gerudo words with -n or -en at the end, are plural.

---

There is a spring at the southern edge of the Ûjïa Desert on the Continent of Baydaan to the southwest of Hyrule across the Gerudo Desert. It was created when Chief Nàtïrï & her husband, Talthan, wished to never be apart after he'd been fatally injured by a Lynel.

Talthan had acted as the old Gerudo Village's captain of the guard & protected those that lived there. (Gerudo Village being the one from FSA & is further southwest than the Gerudo Desert, in the Desert of Mystery on the continent of Baydaan.) One day, the village was attacked by a monster raid. He'd been backed into one of the springs in the oasis that Gerudo Village was settled around & was fatally injured by a Lynel & as he lay dying in Nàtïrï's arms, she prayed to the Goddess of Love & the Goddess of Life, Vah Kàvtrïna & Vah Sāqmàla respectively, to never part them. They both granted Nàtïrï's wish by fusing Nàtïrï & Talthan together.

The resulting entity became named Talthïrï who continued to rule the Gerudo for many years. Luckily, they'd had children beforehand. (Though, it was really a bunshin on the part of Kàvtrïna. Said bunshin had asked for Sāqmàla's aid in granting Nàtïrï's wish as bunshin have access to much less power than their source deity & Sāqmàla, being the one to direct the divine power, had a very odd idea of accomplishing the queen's wish while Kàvtrïna's bunshin's idea had been more along the lines of blessing their souls to find each other again in their next life. If it'd been Kàvtrïna herself there, she would've chosen to do that instead & could've done it without needing Sāqmàla's aid. Though, she supposed that it turned out for the best? She was, however, able to tweek the blessing upon the water afterwards to make the burden upon the Gerudo as a result of their curse somewhat easier to bear.)

This all happened during the time that the Gerudo were exiled from Hyrule. (Between FSA & HW, so after FSA Ganondorf was sealed into the Four Sword. My hc being that HW takes place around 500 years after FSA. So, somewhere in that gap.)

The spring that Talthïrï had formed in absorbed their blood & became enchanted. Now, when one bathes in its waters, they are turned into a hermaphrodite (meaning having both male & female reproductive organs). Or vāï as it's said in the Gerudo Language. The word is pronounced vhay-ee with a lot of breath behind the "h"s.

Talthïrï had been much like Garnet from Steven Universe, having 2 minds & souls that worked in perfect harmony together. Both 2 people & just 1 at the same time. Though in this situation, they couldn't defuse no matter what.

However, Talthïrï was a different sort of hermaphrodites to the ones that the spring creates out of Gerudo. The reason being that Talthïrï was a fusion of a man & a woman & was thus an entirely androgynous individual.

Gerudo vai, however, due to being exclusively female, when they become hermaphrodites they retain a 95% feminine appearance, just plus some extra equipment. As a result, they are instead referred to as vae. Pronounced vhay.

At the same time, only 3 people may become vae via the spring at a time. This has been tried & tested. 3 is the absolute limit.

As such, the Gerudo have a tournament whenever the previous 3 vaen have either all died or the remaining ones are about to die for one reason or another & whichever were the 3 best of the tournament, were allowed to bathe in the spring & become a vae.

The 1st place winner becoming the prime stud (Awlï Purvājah) of the village. If there are any of the previous vaen left alive at the time of the tournament, they always attend as esteemed guests with places of honor. If said elder vaen are still alive, then instead of the next generation of vaen being turned right after the award ceremony, then the Gerudo wait until after that elder vae has died & it's been at least a week after her funeral.

This tournament takes place at the old Gerudo Village, now Talthïrï Village, in the original homeland of the Gerudo of Ujïa. And whenever this tournament takes place, many Gerudo venture through the desert back there for a great to-do. This happens in the form of a sort of parade-like caravan.

It used to be that every Gerudo was required to enter the tournament, but nowadays, it's voluntary. The Talthïrï'è Ūpehkwa (Spring of Talthïrï) is heavily protected by Gerudo guards &, much like Gerudo Town, Talthïrï Village is a place where men are forbidden entry.

The spring is considered sacred as it was blessed by Vah Sāqmàla (the mother of the Gerudo's creator deity, Vah Gela) & Vah Kàvtrïna, a goddess originally from the now Ordona, Necluda, & Faron regions.

---

Typically, becoming a vae was seen as a solemn duty, not something to enjoy. The reason being that much like in real life, only about 4-5% of Gerudo have any real interest in other Gerudo vaien in such a way & because of the cultural & societal pressures put on Gerudo to find a man & reproduce, letting anyone know that you preferred other vaien was considered a death sentence.

Literally, the day a gay vai realized this about herself was the absolute worst day of her life & the day she left the village "in search of a husband" was the day of her salvation.

Even though being homosexual was still looked down upon in most other places, if nothing else then at least in Hyrule it wasn't literally a crime punishable by torture & eventual death.

In these situations, these vaien only had 2 hopes: leave the village & never return or stay & train for the next Tournament of Talthïrï & somehow manage to win.

Anyway, vaen were expected to, as you've likely guessed it, breed any Gerudo vaien that failed to find a husband during their journey abroad should they ask.

This was a means to allow those who'd failed to find a husband on their 10 year long journey to still help the Gerudo to continue on into the next generation if they so wished it.

And, yes, in the extremely rare instance of a transman Gerudo, the Blessing of Talthïrï was, indeed, seen as a ray of hope.

However, something very important to note is, that all of the Gerudo who did identify as such were all at the very least 18 at the time. Because that was the age when they left on their journey to find a husband. Which, in a lot of cases, would've been the first time many would've remembered seeing & interacting with real men.

Before then, men may as well have been unicorns to them. Some magical, mysterious, almost fae-like entity that has the power to give Vaien babies!

In all honesty, men are likely what amounts to the Stork or Cabbage Patch story to Gerudo children, when you think about it. Because, I’d bet that there’s been at least 1 Gerudo child who’d been utterly doubtful of such beings even existing. Because, in a way, if you’d never seen one & everyone around you says that you have to leave town to meet one & that these beings can just give you a baby even though you’d never seen one. Would you believe them? Because, it might actually sound very much like having a fairy grant your wish.

So, I just don't see any of them legitimately thinking about becoming vaen until they've actually had a taste of what men are actually like.

Also, due to the societal pressures of being straight in the Gerudo culture, the extremely rare homosexual Gerudo does tend to set her heart on becoming a Vae in an attempt to possibly turn the heads of fellow Gerudo towards her. However, this has only ever worked out, like… once or twice in all the millennia that the vaen have been a thing.

Because, when your population is so incredibly small to begin with, what are the chances of 2 Gerudo both being gay in the same lifetime?

Very, very slim.

So, inevitably, those vai-preferring vaen really sort of seal themselves into a life of never finding a real match. Which, since the Gerudo have a vested interest in keeping the very existence of the vaen a secret, causes them to inadvertently become trapped within the walls of Gerudo Town.

Because, vaen are automatically exempt from going on their journey.

Of course, this is all assuming that they even manage to place to begin with. Remember, they have to beat all but 2 other Gerudo vying for the same thing. And this opportunity only comes around once every 50-100 years.

There's also the change in hormones to consider. As vaen naturally produce a lot more testosterone than vaien, which results in emotional & mental changes to be sure.

That isn't even bringing up the physical ones yet. Such as sideburns. Though the closest they can really get to a beard or mustache is peach fuzz. XD

As such, there have very much been instances where Gerudo have regretted becoming one for one reason or another. Even those who had believed that becoming a vae would solve all their problems often found them realizing that it wasn't how they thought it'd be.

---

Originally, vaen were not allowed to marry as they were seen as married to the Gerudo in a sense, a makeshift husband of sorts, but that changed a while after allying with Hyrule. However, even back then, they were allowed to take vo'màzren (concubinusi, a.k.a. male concubines) & even had entire harems of them. In fact, vaen were considered part of the upper class. They also weren't kept from bearing children of their own.

When a vai refers to the one who sired them, specifically if it was done by a vae, they refer to her as their dajub. However, this is very much not a familiar term as it literally means "sire." In the case of actually having a relationship with her, she is referred to as vāda.

Which actually isn't a common thing as, there was this general (incorrect) concensus among the Gerudo that voen were basically unnecessary after conception. As such, some of those prejudices tended to bleed over into how they treated the vaen.

Generally, if the vaen had any sort of relationship with the vaivïn they sired, it was due to them seeking their sire out themselves.

Of course, this wasn't exactly discouraged, but many just didn't understand why a child would wish to do so due to how most of them were raised.

These vaen also tended to work in Surré Qasrehsen (Pleasure Palaces, a type of whore house), where vo'màzren were housed, trained, & sold. Vo'màzren that didn't have a specific mistress even working as enslaved prostitutes & were taught to treat the vàsitulïxan (dominitrixes paid to break in & train men taken into slavery) there as their mistresses.

Said vaen often also took on vàsitulïxa training. The awlï purvājah was often also offered a position as a Priestess of Life in the Cult of Vah Sāqmàla, though she was free to turn the position down if she so desired. If she did & eventually took vàsitulïxa classes & proved herself a good leader, she might be offered the position of vāmabïya (vae matron) of a Surré Qasrehs.

But since the practice of vo'màzren & sexual slavery was abolished, vaen could now marry men, however this didn't mean that it was easy for them to find men who could see past their... extra assets.

It does happen though.

After all, these vaen are more vaien than they are voen.

---

Another interesting thing is that becoming vaen tended to cause Gerudo vaien to grow taller. Not quite to the max of 10 feet of natural born Gerudo voen, but perhaps around 9.

Vaen are also known to have greater upper body strength & were seen as more physically capable than vaien. This is mainly due to the testosterone that they produce naturally. Again, not to the same amount as natural voen, but still.

As such, this, when paired with the innate vai-born greater lower body & core strength, agility, swiftness, & so on, vaen are considered natural warriors. However, vaen are required to sire at least 7 vaivïn before they are allowed to join the Gerudo military.

Which is the only time when vaen are expected to leave Gerudo Town.

Most are only required to bare a single vaivï so as to ensure that should that Gerudo die in battle, they won't be leaving the Gerudo with one less.

---

There have never been any documented voen to become vāïn, but there is a subculture of smutty romance authors who like to use the idea as a plot point.

There's definitely a small, niche group of Gerudo, & even certain female members of other races, who have... very odd fantasies, let's just say.

---

Though, keep in mind that being a vae isn't a natural state. Gerudo can't be born vaen.

However, if it did ever happen, it'd likely be considered a sign of that vae having most likely been blessed by Vah Sāqmàla as Vah Kàvtrïna very explicitly is against any form of sexual exploitation, sexual abuse being considered a cardinal sin amongst her followers, who'd all been starkly opposed to sex slavery from the beginning. Though, she'd since shown less anger since the abolishment of the slavery industry. After all, vaen choose to take up the mantle these days.

Though, both Vah Sāqmàla & Vah Kàvtrïna are said to be able to take on the forms of vaen whenever they wish. However, Vah Sāqmàla is the most well-known for doing this, specifically due to the myth of King Hànrys's Folly.

---

And, weird as it is, the Gerudo do, in fact, have a fertility festival. One based on the actual, real world Egyptian fertility festival in which the Pharaoh would go to the Nile river, be stripped down naked in front of hundreds of people, then proceed to masterbate into the river. Which was believed to keep the river from drying.

... I can't make this stuff up.

So, yeah, every year, on the day before the one believed to have been when Talthïrï came into existence, the current Vaen, a few priestesses of Vah Sāqmàla & Vah Kàvtrïna (kept far from each other, the 2 cults tend to have beef), the Chieftess, & her main guard, would all travel down to Talthïrï Village.

That night, there would be a ritualistic bath (specifically the one used after necessary infidelity in the case where one spouse is barren or sterile) to purify themselves of sexual corruption.

Then, the next day, at sunrise, there would be a ceremony proceeded by the Vaen... doing as the Egyptians did. XD

However, I'm gonna say that the Gerudo are a bit more modest than IRL, because only the abovementioned individuals are allowed to actually witness the... proceedings.

After which, they return to inform the rest of the Gerudo.

Everyone else would be prepping for the festival waiting for them to return. At which point, they will be informed if all went well &, if so, there would be much celebration.

Back when they all mostly lived in Talthïrï Village, everyone else was basically just temporarily evicted from the settlement, because wtf.

Now, though, it's a bit of an undertaking due to distance.

Though, I will say that the Vaen's friends will often razz them about the whole thing. Some of the more mischievous ones will even just shout "sàv'sopaaq" at them.

Which literally translates to "happy dick day!"

Which is often proceeded by embarrassed laughter as the Vaen try to hide behind their hands. Like, it's hilarious & they're laughing about it... but it's also just so, so, sooo dumb & embarrassing.

---

I know this is a weird-ass subject, but I just find the concept of hermaphroditism in humans very fascinating from a cultural anthropological standpoint. Like, who the eff first came up with this idea?? And I just wonder how something like that would influence a culture if they had free access to it.

There's also the fact that the Greeks had the myth of Hermaphroditus & Salmacis, as well as the Hindu myth of Ardhanarishvara, who was a sort of fusion between husband & wife duo, Shiva, god of destruction, & Parvati, goddess of fertility, nourishment, & abundance. There's also the Roman god, Agdistis. And I'm sure that there are many more throughout mythology.

So, it isn't like there's no precedence for it at all.

LoZ Cultural Masterlist 2

[venomous-ragno]

CHARACTER SPOTLIGHT: Septic

"I prefer saving lives over taking them. But go on, keep testing me."

Civilian name:

Giulietta Viviana Kreutzer (formerly Di Traglia)

Codename:

Septic

Birthdate:

[REDACTED]

Age:

Presumably 28 - 33

Nationality:

German || Italian

Alliance:

KSK || Task Force 141

Height:

167cm || 5"5'

Weight:

58kg || 128lbs

Background:

A bastard child born to an affair whose discovery would shake national and international news alike, Giulietta grew up as a secret everyone knew of but no one dare aknowledge. A life doomed to the shadows, where the pretty faces and high words of those cast in the light revealed their true nature.

Giulietta learned to adapt to survive: Trust is a luxury and secrets a necessity, the better you become at playing the ruthless games of the elite, the higher your chances of survival. One look at the wrong person was all it took to invoke someone's wrath.

The death of her mother came sudden, but to no one's surprise. Her very existence was proof to the scandal that was Giulietta's birth, an impure stain on the white silk that was her family's reputation.

Growing up, Giulietta had witnessed many a death at the hand of, supposedly, natural causes. Heart attacks, falling asleep behind the wheel or simply having a fatal allergic reaction were all common excuses to mask the real cause of death: Poison.

The weapon of the powerless, as they say.

The public didn't bat an eye when an old man long past his prime died to a bad cold. Magazines wrote some articles about condolences, someone new took over the family, and celebrities attended a funeral to wipe fake tears off their cheeks; anything for the reporters who'd move on to talk about the weather and whatever sports was on that evening.

Giulietta Viviana Di Traglia celebrated her 17th birthday on a plane, leaving Italy and her name behind.

Giulietta Kreutzer enlisted in the Bundeswehr, the German armed forces, and begun studying medicine as well as organic chemistry. She aced her studies and rose up the ranks, labeled as a prodigy by peers and superiors alike; little did they know the kind of education she'd enjoyed in Italy. The young doctor soon received an offer to join the KSK's medical staff.

Whatever scattered pieces of her past remained she brushed off like a leaf on her shoulder on the day of her acceptance ceremony.

During one of many deployments to warzones, Septic came into contact with captain Price, and later, Gaz. German troops assissted British ones during a ground breaking weapon bust on a cartel dealing with explosives. The cartel detonated a bomb on site; shrapnel hit friends and foes alike. The underground structure partially collapsed, thus cutting the trio off from the rest of their squad. Some metal shelling had buried itself into Septic's flesh, and the doctor knew she was knocking on death's door. A split second decision was all it took for her to bark at Price for cover while Gaz kept pressure on her legs - to keep them from thrashing. What little morphine was left after the explosion did nothing to ease the excruciating pain of performing emergency surgery on herself.

Price and Septic found themselves with a newfound respect and trust in each other. Price invited her to join his task force 141, to which she replied to give it some thought, but her answer is pending to this day.

Psychological report:

Beneath stern words and curt commands lay a deeply empathetic and caring soul. Giulietta roughened her edges as to prevent the world from cutting wounds ever so deep, yet she will always mourn a comrade's death like her own. Some may call her ambitions too big, too dreamy and too heroic when she wishes nothing more than to save and protect lives.

Giulietta is a woman marked by a strong sense of duty and morality: What others call shackles, she calls it her motivation to keep pushing where everyone else gave up. Always to the limits of her own capacity and further beyond; whatever it takes to move forward.

No sacrifice is too big; not even her own body and mind are an exclusion. Where there's a will there's a way, and Giulietta is strong willed, if not frustratingly stubborn at times.

Even more so when it's her reputation on her line - she has endured too much and come too far to allow insults to her capabilities. Proud and perfectionist in equal measure, Giulietta will prove she's deserving of her place at the top.

Training:

• 12th regiment of the German armed forces

• Medical regiment of the German special forces

• Joint training exercises with the SAS, GSG9, GIGN and GROM

• PhD in medicine and organic chemistry

• Advanced training in field medicine

Relevant experience:

• Travelled with "Ärzte ohne Grenzen" (doctors without borders) to provide medical aid in third world countries and war zones

• Assisted during operation Red Atlantic

• Deployed in [REDACTED]

[wanderdell]

Better the Devil You Know

Prompt response to "[WP] most people sell their soul to the devil. You, however, decided to let him rent out your soul instead."

[part 0.1]

The devil was a chain-smoking, overweight journalist in a grubby beige suit who held a battered briefcase that had likely never seen better days.

Slouched against the wall of the alleyway, face in shadow from the rim of a hat covered in unidentifiable stains, taking no notice of the woman who stood before him. The collar of his shirt, that may have once been white, was open and un-tucked, accompanied by a loosely-arranged tie that could only be called pink if one had the optimism of a used-car salesman.

Anna was not exactly surprised that the devil came in the form of a journalist past his prime. She had expected the summoning would happen in a back-alley of a disreputable neighbourhood, out the back exit of its least desirable and most whispered-about watering hole. The whirlwind of newspapers when he materialised and the waft of mixed stink of days-old unwashed man with cheap cigarettes and cheaper whiskey had simply fit the skin of the image the devil had pulled on for the night. What had surprised her, though, was the answer to her request.

"No. I can't give you that."

Anna stared. She had followed the rules. She had done the research. She had made the bargains, sacrificed the gold and jewels, burned the bridges and the buildings, traded the information, and had been swallowed up by the underworld of people who knew better and did it anyway.

"Why not?"

He coughed wetly, dropped the stub of a cigarette and stubbed it out with a boot heel that looked to be half rotted. Put down the briefcase on the oil-stained asphalt surprisingly gently. Stood back and looked at her with an assessing gaze, eyes faint glints of reflected neon sign light from the wall behind.

"Because. The repercussions are far greater than you could possibly estimate. You would need a whole network of warehouses filled with high-end servers just to hold the information, let alone process it. You have nothing to offer me that would hold equal or greater value to that information."

"My soul is not enough for you? All the power over my existence, now and forevermore?"

Nothing she had read indicated that she would need more than a soul. It had given men of ages past wealth, glory, and power beyond compare. A single soul had bought armies, nations, empires.

"The information you request is worth far more than that. The fact that you believe renting out your soul like it’s a lifetime subscription service is sufficient tells me you are not prepared to receive that information, nor prepared to deal with the outcome of having such knowledge."

Anna looked down each end of the alleyway and took a step backwards so she could feel her back press against the locked door. She had made the arrangements with the owner for this area to be clear for the night, but there were things she couldn't plan for, interference from players she couldn't guarantee would stay away.

"I gave you the contract. I've outlined the terms, indicated the plans, given you the offer of the price I am willing to pay."

He drew out a white box from the inside of the grubby suit jacket, drew out a cigarette, and she watched it light itself as he put it between his thin lips. The devil puffed away contemplatively, seeming to have all the time in the world, and Anna thought about the minutes ticking away on all the promises she had had to make to get to this moment.

"What you plan to do with the information is not my concern. My only responsibility is balancing the weight of the consideration you're going to give me in payment with the weight of the knowledge I would give you. Unless you have made bargains with powers greater than I, Ms Blackwell, I sincerely doubt there is anything you have or have access to that could be enough."

Anna had. She had hoped not to have to play that card. Made almost entirely certain in all her research and bargains and sacrifices that parcelling out her soul would be sufficient in the trade. She didn't care about her soul, her eternal damnation, the personal repercussions of the deal. It was the political; the repercussions of how the world functioned. The Earth would be unraveled. The fledglings on Mars would have their wings broken, and return to the dust from whence they came.

"In addition to the price of renting my soul in exchange for the information on all the people on Earth and Mars currently alive who have made a deal with the devil, I offer you a promise,” she told the devil. “The services of Poseidon Industries for up to and not exceeding 24 hours only, and the true name of the archangel Uriel."

"Done."

....

Here to practice writing. Any and all feedback is very welcome!

[colemansdimple]

New vicbourne fic YAY!

So this fic will be lighter than my previous vicbourne fic. It will have a certain level of angst but ⚠️BE WARNED⚠️ this fic is written purely for VICBOURNE SMUT INDULGENCE only. So obvs it's NSFW! I've planned 5 very steamy chapters for it! Hope y'all enjoy!

Not an ordinary woman

By colemansdimple

Chapter 1

Queen Victoria and her guests were having dinner at the palace when the storm began. A powerful thunderstorm that scared even the most fierce present. It's been a year since she was crowned Queen at the age of 18, having spent all her life secluded by her mother and Sir John Conroy. The new Queen knew barely nothing of the world and of her own kingdom.

But that lack of knowledge didn't diminish the royal blood in her veins and so she always tried to impose herself and make her voice heard amongst all the old owls that were part of her private council. She felt like she couldn't trust anyone but herself, since everyone around her seemed to want to control her and therefore to control the realm.

All except one. The strangely handsome Prime Minister, the Second Viscount of Melbourne, or, as she liked to call him, Lord M. At first, she thought he was just another, trying to impose his will on her. But as they spent more time together, she realised he never belittles her or makes her feel incompetent. Although their age difference was big, they always understood eachother and they even shared common interests. Soon, Victoria began to ache for his presence more and more. She made him her private secretary and often asked him to stay overnight at the palace so they could talk and play card games until late at night.

And her Lord M didn't mind that at all. He also enjoyed their time together as much as she did. In fact, she was the only reason he had to get up in the morning now, being a childless widower. She became his personal obsession. In the beginning, he only saw her as the daughter he never had. But, as days gone by, his feelings began to change. He cursed himself when he first realized he might be falling for her. Him, a man so used to scandal, but one she trusted completely. He was ruining her trust, her friendship, with his desire.

It became harder for him to deny it. Specially when she begged him to stay overnight. They had so much fun until late hours that he feared he would forget himself and do something he shouldn't. Tonight was one of those nights. It was pouring outside as they had dinner, so Victoria insisted he shouldn't go back to Dover House. As usual, he complied. But this night felt different from the others. The air between them was full of electricity. He could feel it. She could feel it. When the hour grew late, he excused himself and said he should probably get some sleep so he could wake early to leave for Parliament.

She grabbed his hand on his way out and asked him not to go. When he looked into her eyes he saw everything he was already feeling inside. It was like a mirror of his own soul. Desire. Pure, unadulterated, desire. He knew exactly what she wanted from him, although she didn't quite know it herself, innocent as she was. So, with incredible restraint, he bid her goodnight and left for his own lonely bed.

Victoria felt destressed. Another night that he refused her. She began to think she was being foolish and that he only saw her as a child. Heartbroken, she left for her room, called Skerret in to change her clothes and laid in her bed. The thunderstorm roared outside. It took a while, but she finally managed to sleep. A particularly strong lighting woke her up. There was someone in her bedroom. A man dressed all in black, and in the light of the moment, she saw he was carrying a knife. She didn't hesitate and screamed for help. The man ran away followed by the palace guards.

Lord Melbourne was woken by his servant telling him that a man had broken into her majesty's room. He didn't even dress properly before running down in the direction of her room. He needed to know if she was safe. When he was getting close, he could already hear her high pitched voice. The tone she used when she was particularly out of sorts with anger. Normally, he would need to wait for being called in, but now he didn't think twice and opened the door himself. Victoria stood in the middle of the room arguing with John Conroy and her mother.

“I thank you for your concern Sir John but no harm has been done to me and I believe I know that better than anyone! I am Queen and I shall not cowardly run from my duty! I will stay at the palace where I belong! I won't hear anymore words on this matter and if I require advice I will ask for it!”

There she was, he sighed, relieved. Safe and sound thank the heavens! William Lamb stared at the woman he loved as she stood her ground courageously, once again, facing the old owls in front of her, his brave girl, her cheeks burning with outrage, he hair tossed from recent sleep, wearing only a simple nightgown and a robe. He had never seen her looking so informal before. In the back of his mind he saw her with the same red in her cheeks panting hard beneath him.

She looked almost like any ordinary woman at that moment. Oh if she really was...he would take her into his arms and hug her tightly and reassuringly, kissing her with all his might, proclaiming his love for her in all the possible ways until the end of his days. But she would never be an ordinary woman, and so he had to force himself to wake from his dreamlike state and announce his presence by coughing a little.

When Victoria saw him, she gasped a little, instantly forgetting all her rage. There was her Lord M and he looked so worried for her. She had never seen him so disheveled. He was wearing only a night shirt, simple breeches and a robe. His robe was partially open in the middle so she had a marvelous view of his chest hairs. She swallowed at the sight, feeling a now familiar warmth that spreaded from that place between her legs. He smiled to her and she couldn't help but to smile back. The other two in the room kept looking at them, confused at what exactly they were seeing.

“Lord M! Thank goodness you are here! There was a man in my room, but the guards went after him. They didn't catch him yet, but I'm sure they will! I was explaining to Sir John and Mama that I'm perfectly well and that I shan't be away from the palace and my duties. My guards are perfectly capable of protecting me. Please tell them I will not return to that prison of a house that is Kensington.”

But if you had stayed tonight in my bed I would be more protected, she thought, blushing a little. He noticed, as he always did, and he almost regretted his decision of leaving her that night. Until he had a sudden idea.

“Your majesty, if I may, what happened tonight was unforgivable. The Queen of England was almost killed under this very roof! I understand that your majesty must show bravery to your people but I also beg of you to consider your own safety first. It's clear that person had help from inside these walls, so you're not safe here. You were lucky enough to react in time! We must not allow something like this to happen again.”

“So what do you suggest Lord M?” she asked, switching to a softer tone of voice that made Conroy and her mother even more confused.

“I suggest, Ma'am, if it's what you wish, that you would follow me tonight to my own residence at Brocket Hall. There, you will be more protected. The House is somewhat smaller than this palace, and my staff are of the highest trust. We can take you there incognito and use an unmarked carriage. But we must hurry to make good use of the darkness of the night.”

“If you think this is the wisest decision Lord M, then I will comply. I can take Emma and Skerret with me, can't I? I won't be able to manage my daily routine without them, surely.”

“Of course Ma'am, whatever you wish, will be granted.”

They smiled to eachother once more. Oh she liked his idea! She liked it very much indeed. A time with her Lord M away from the palace, her mother and Sir John. That would be heavenly! And so, the Queen hurried to her chambers to prepare. Two hours later, they were both dressed and inside the unmarked carriage with Emma and Skerret. The journey was long and, although the thunderstorm had passed, it still rained, making it very difficult for the horses to stay on the path. They were followed by a small number of soldiers. One of those soldiers, however, suddenly broke their formation and approached the carriage. He was bearing a pistol. He took aim at the Queen and shot.

Luckily, William saw the strange movement at the window and quickly covered the Queen with his own body. More gunfires were heard around them and the carriage stopped. He peaked through the door and saw guards fighting armed men. They were being ambushed. Someone must have told them their plan to transport the queen. He didn't know what to do. Victoria hugged him tight and shut her eyes, taken with fear. He needed to protect her at all costs, not just because she was Queen, but because to him this woman was everything.

He looked over at Emma and a thought came to his head. Emma nodded, as she seemed to have the same idea.

“Go William! Take her in one of the horses and go! Her majesty's safety is all that matters! I will explain to the others! Take this bag and go! Now!”

Without wasting anymore time, he took Victoria's hand and guided her out of the carriage. They stopped close to nearest horse and he helped her mount it. He took his bag and one of hers on his back and mounted behind her, making haste away from the fight and into the night.

It took a while for Victoria to comprehend everything that was happening. Suddenly, she found herself on a horse with Lord M holding her tightly as the gunfire sound became lower and lower. She was tired and she was scared. Her last thought was of warm lips on her forehead. Then, she fainted.

When she woke up, they were ridding slower. They passed a small peasant village and were heading for the closest woods. She looked up and saw the firm figure of her Lord M. He looked incredibly alert, although a bit tired. She could feel his strong tights touching hers and the beating of his heart within his chest pressed closely at her back. She let her head rest on it and sighed. She closed her eyes again and wondered if she had imagined that kiss. They arrived in a small cottage next to the woods. There, William dismounted and helped her. He opened the door and led her inside, quickly closing it.

“This used to be one of my mother's houses, before she married my father.” he told her “No one comes here in a long time. No one knows about it. You will be safe here ma'am.”

She nodded and looked around her. It was a small house with two floors. She and William carefully explored the inside. Downstairs had a small kitchen with a table, chairs and a fireplace, upstairs, a single bed and a bathtub. The watercloset was located in the backyard, along with a small vegetable garden. Luckily it was still habitable. William found some wood, but thought better and decided not to light the fire tonight, the assassins might still be looking for Victoria.

“It's better if we try to rest a bit Ma'am. In the morning, I'll do my best to sort everything out for you.”

She stared at the single bed and back at him, arching an eyebrow, almost daring. He realised what she wanted him to do but he would not risk it. On their current state he might do something he will surely regret later.

“You take the bed Ma'am, I'll sort myself downstairs. Don't worry, I'll keep guard of you.”

She felt distraught. She wanted to sleep next to him and feel his warmth and security all night long. She couldn't think of sleeping alone in a strange bed god knows where. But she was a bit scared of it too, she didn't know much about men, except from what she read in her books. So she didn't know what to expect or what was expected of her, as a woman. Still, she wouldn't allow her dear Lord M to sleep on the dirty floor.

“Lord M, I must insist for you take the bed also. It's big enough for both of us and I trust you completely. Besides we don't need to...be close to eachother...all night...I won't tolerate you to sleep on the dirty floor. If you become ill I won't forgive myself!”

William sighed and smiled. He knew better than to argue with her. And it was very late. He was very tired and he needed the rest, so he could look after her better tomorrow. They began preparations for bed. An activity that quickly became more awkward by the minute, as each piece of his clothing was discarded. He took off his coat, his neck scarf and his boots. Finally, he unbuttoned his waistcoat, leaving him only in shirt and breeches. He wouldn't risk removing those also.

He imagined what Victoria might think if she saw his naked body. He knew he was an old man but until now he had never received any complaints about his shape. Although, he thought, he shouldn't have participated in so many dinner parties. He was growing a little belly.

All while he disrobed, Victoria was staring at him, closely, observing his every move from the bed with increasing curiosity. She watched as more of his perfect body was revealing itself, when he removed his waistcoat she could see again those cute chest hairs. She wanted to touch them so much it hurt. She also noticed his big strong arms. She wanted nothing more than to sleep embraced by those arms.

William realised that she was not making any movements and then he remembered women of her status usually needed aid to remove their own clothing. He closed his eyes tightly at the picture. Him, disrobing Victoria. Touching her naked body everywhere with his hands and mouth. Smelling and tasting her. He felt a pulse from his lower region. This would not do.

“I apologize Ma'am. I forgot that...err...that you might need assistance for preparing for bed.”

With this, Victoria quickly stood and turned around so he could undo the buttons of her dress, and when it fell to the ground, the laces of her corset. Her heart was beating like mad. Lord M's hand on her body! His breath so close to her neck. His fingers working her clothes with purpose, with experience. She closed her eyes and bit her lip to suppress a wave of jealousy of all the women for whom he must have done it so. All the women that had his hands, his fingers, his body on theirs. She knew now that she hated them all but at the same time she wanted to be them all. One by one the laces of her corset were released and it dropped to the floor with her dress, leaving her only in her chemise, undergarments and stockings. Her hair was released also and fell freely on her shoulders.

William thought he was dreaming. Undressing his angel, his darling girl. He felt as if he was unwrapping the most precious gift of all. With every new bit of her skin he discovered, his mouth watered. She was so beautiful he almost forgot himself. Almost took her in his arms and possessed her with his mouth and cock, which already throbbed for her. He mustn't repeat what he did when they were ridding, when he felt so relieved that she was finally safe, that he couldn't resist and planted a kiss on her forehead.

She saw the look in his eyes. They were dark with a hunger she never seen before. She breathed heavily and felt a new wave of heat from her most intimate part. She felt the need to run but only so that he could catch her. Oh how she wanted him to catch her and never let her go! She didn't know what exactly she could offer him, but everything he asked of her, she would give.

She laid on the bed and rolled herself to the left side, making room for him. William waited a while, steading his breathing, before laying down on the far right of the bed. They weren't close or even touching, but Victoria thought she couldn't ask for more. Not tonight at least. She feared she might be rejected a third time. And with them alone in that house, the humiliation would be worse. Still, she reached out for him with one small hand. He took it, kindly smiling at her. A short gesture, but a reassuring one.

“Sleep well your majesty.”