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cuubism · 7 months

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I've written something very silly. Dating apps, texting fic, crack, smut. desire messing with dream. onlyfans creator hob. trans dream. Enjoy.

U up?

The notification from an unfamiliar app stared up at Dream from his locked phone screen. He frowned, perplexed. Nobody texted him. Certainly not with such vernacular.

Dream opened the notification. It pulled up the messaging page of a dating app, one he himself had certainly not installed—

Desire. He grit his teeth. Unfortunately, they weren’t nearby to receive his ire.

Dream looked again at U up? on the message interface. He clicked on the profile of the man who’d sent it, a “Kyle” who would not have looked out of place shotgunning a beer at a rager. Of course, Desire had not only gone to great lengths to establish him on this insipid app, but had also spent time matching him with the exact opposite of his type, presumably to cause him never-ending grief and annoyance. As usual.

Dream should probably have just deleted the app. Instead he responded, For?

What he received in response, a few minutes later, was a poorly-lit photograph of Kyle’s penis. Dream pinched his nose between thumb and forefinger with a sigh. He should have known.

I have seen better, he replied, and closed out of the app.

He had been back at his writing for ten minutes or so when his phone buzzed again. He checked the notification.

Brad: you could be MY good boy, kitty cat 😽

Dream gagged, but opened the man’s profile out of perilous, morbid curiosity.

Brad, 28, Hedge Fund Manager, “Looking for something casual on the DL”, likes golf and cryptocurrency— oh, dear. Somehow, Dream doubted this Brad truly wanted Dream to become a part of his life. Nor did Dream want to be his ‘kitty cat’.

He was going to have words with Desire.

You strike me as a man who brings choking into the bedroom without knowing what a safe word is, he wrote. Am I accurate?

I can choke you if you want, baby 😜, wrote Brad. Which may as well have been a yes.

Dream did not think that Brad was the person he wanted that from. Not to mention that his utter lack of kink safety knowledge would probably land Dream in hospital, and there were more interesting ways for that to happen than mediocre sex in a finance associate’s penthouse.

I would prefer to keep my brain cells, he wrote, and closed the app.

Over the next few days, Dream fielded many strange, annoying, and obscene messages from people on this app. He certainly had not “swiped right” on anybody himself, so he could only assumed Desire had done so on his behalf and had now left him to suffer the consequences of “matching.” By all rights, he should have just deleted the app off his phone. But Dream rarely communicated with anyone, certainly not strangers, and there was something a little bit entertaining about seeing what kind of drivel was being thrown his way. Was this how people attempted to court over the internet? Or perhaps Desire had merely “matched” him with the dregs of humanity.

By the end of the week, Dream had received seven “dick pics”, four offers to share one or more of his body parts in exchange for cash, and a request to become a seventy-five year-old man’s “sugar baby.” He was uncertain precisely what that entailed, but he was fairly certain he would not like it.

He had also received a text from Desire that read, enjoying yourself? ;) to which he did not respond.

His meager entertainment expended, Dream was on the verge of finally deleting the app when he received a different message:

Hob: Do you think it’s possible to cheat death by force of will, or are you too busy craving its sweet release to consider it?

Dream frowned, perplexed by the specificity of the message. Finally it occurred to him to actually look at the profile Desire had made. He swiped over to said screen, and sighed in aggravation.

Desire had, at least, chosen flattering photos of him. He supposed if the goal was to have Dream sexually harassed over the internet, this would have been a requirement. The photos definitely suggested something other than “serious, committed relationship”, but they weren’t terrible, at least.

As for the text—well, Dream finally understood where some of the more unhinged messages he had received had come from. He read through the given prompts, and Desire’s answers to them:

Dating me is like: You found a stray cat and brought it home and fed it and you were going to take it to the animal shelter but now it won't leave. It’s pretty cute if a bit mangy but it won’t stop biting your hand and mewing pathetically. The sex is pretty good tho.

“Pretty good.” Desire had written all this and couldn’t even manage to make Dream sound like a satisfying hookup. Typical.

He read on:

I’ll fall for you if: You tell me I’m a good boy 😳

Things were falling into place in Dream’s mind now.

Hob’s strange message seemed to arise from the main part of Dream’s profile, where Desire had listed his “religion” as “worshipping l’appel du vide.” An interesting element for this “Hob” to focus on. Dream did not think it was typical for messages on these apps to open with a discussion of death.

He switched back over to the messaging page of the app, and replied: I consider death often. As to your query, it depends: are you thinking of death as an entity one could escape, or a force like gravity? Or perhaps a place one must go?

Hmm, Hob responded, good question. I think it’s like a state. But a state of nothingness. See, if I thought it was a *place*, might be willing to go, see something new and all. But what’s the point of nothingness?

Nothingness is its own satisfaction, wrote Dream. It seemed peaceful, to him. Quiet. The lack of need for satisfaction in the first place.

But you won’t be there, so you won’t get to experience it, said Hob.

Precisely.

Huh. The void really is calling to you. You don’t like experience, then?

Is that innuendo? Dream asked.

Could be. If it is, do I get to be part of the toxic codependent relationship that ends horribly for everyone?

Another reference to Desire’s profile choices. What Dream was apparently “looking for in a relationship.”

That depends on the quality of your experience, he wrote.

I’ve received good reviews, said Hob.

You’ve yet to call me “kitten,” so I suppose I must concur on that front, replied Dream.

You started that one, little stray cat, said Hob.

Technically Desire had started it, but Dream had to grudgingly admit that his profile did invite such comments.

Having a smashing time in your dm’s, then? Hob continued.

I have received several unsolicited pictures of genitalia, wrote Dream.

Oh yeah? said Hob. Anything good?

Random strangers’ genitals did not interest Dream. There was a reason he did not watch porn. Mediocre at best, Dream said.

There was a long pause, and Dream hastily added, Do not send me a picture of your dick as comparison.

My dick is already all over the internet, you don’t need to get it here 😛, said Hob.

Dream blinked several times at his phone screen, as if to clear away a fog before a message that might make more sense.

What, he wrote.

Before Hob could reply, it occurred to Dream that perhaps he should actually look at Hob’s own profile. He had gotten too caught up in the strange conversation to remember to do so.

He opened it and— froze.

Dream had already deduced that Desire had intentionally matched him with whoever they thought Dream would be least interested in. He could see why they had thought the same of Hob, primarily because he was very different from Dream. In the past, Dream had tended to have flings with people who were rather like him, in some respects. “Tortured artists,” Death would say.

This was not Hob. For one, unlike Dream’s pouty and morose profile photo, Hob was actually smiling in the first picture on his page. And what a smile.

He was handsome, too. At least, Dream thought so. Handsome in a homey, comfortable way, the type of handsome that suggested really good hugs, and coffee in the mornings, and someone to come home to. Dream scrolled through more photos, and caught the spark of mischief in his eyes that belied his easy nature. This best matched the way Hob spoke in his messages, he thought.

It was not so much that Hob was his usual type, and more that Desire had unintentionally uncovered a type Dream had not known he had. He swallowed hard. Scrolled back up to read the details of Hob’s bio, in search of answers to the strangeness of Hob’s response.

Ah. His profession was listed as “OnlyFans creator.” That would explain it. He supposed he could track down Hob’s profile on said app. Dream was historically not very interested in porn, however. But he was finding himself interested in Hob.

He moved back to the messaging page, and wrote, before Hob could question why Dream was confused about information that was clearly stated in his profile, Ah. I see. I’m afraid I don’t watch porn.

That a moral stance? Bcuz I get enough of that already, trust me.

Personal taste, said Dream.

Prefer to get it in person, eh? said Hob.

Yes.

You’d do numbers on OnlyFans just fyi, Hob wrote. If u ever wanted more cash. Or does Poetry & Malaise pay better than I thought?

Dream’s “career,” according to Desire.

He supposed Hob's comment was flattering, in a way. Is that your own bias, Hob? Or your considered opinion as a professional?

Both ;), said Hob.

If that is your situation, then why are you on this app, dare I ask? Most people I have encountered seem to just be interested in sex but I doubt you are suffering from a dearth of it.

What, porn stars can’t want to get married? :(

Dream could imagine his pout. It was surprisingly endearing.

THAT is why you are here?

Sure, be judgmental about it, mister “I want to get consumed.” Or was that about vore and I misread it as metaphorical?

Dream spluttered, though Hob was not physically present to see it. Indeed, Desire had written that Dream wanted “someone he could consume and be consumed by in turn,” which was surprisingly accurate considering its intention had been to mess with him.

It is not VORE, he wrote. Then followed it up with, I have frequently been accused of being intense, possessive, and overbearing.

Well then we have that in common, Hob replied. By the way, sex for work is not the same as sex with someone you really care about. Or would you feel emotionally fulfilled after fucking your colleagues?

I don’t have colleagues, said Dream.

Right, right. Poetry and malaise.

And have you achieved much emotionally fulfilling sex from this app?

No :(, said Hob.

You are too handsome for that to be the case, wrote Dream, and realized what he had said a moment after he’d hit send.

He panicked internally until Hob replied, And here I thought I was just annoying you 🥰.

I might be having a crisis over your photos myself, Hob added, but let’s not discuss it or I’ll embarrass myself.

We could discuss it in a different venue, Dream wrote, heart in his throat. I am interested also in hearing your plans to thwart death. Perhaps over drinks?

Thought you’d never ask :)

So they set a time.

Drinks turned quickly into tumbling into Hob’s flat turned quickly into Hob pushing Dream up against the door and kissing him senseless turned quickly into falling into Hob’s bed. Dream was feeling quite happy about his decision to go on a date with this weird, death-obsessed OnlyFans creator. He had been right about Hob giving good hugs, he had learned that when Hob had greeted him at the bar. He had also learned that Hob really knew how to use his tongue.

“Fuck, Dream,” Hob said, looking up at him, lips wet. He had his hands wrapped around Dream’s thighs and his face between Dream’s legs, and yes, Dream was feeling very satisfied with his decision, indeed. He might even have to send Desire a gift basket. “You taste so good.”

“Your mouth is ungodly,” said Dream, tipping his head back against the pillow with a groan as Hob continued teasing him with that mouth, swiping his tongue through Dream’s folds and sucking on his clit.

“Converted you to a new religion? You’re done with the void, then?”

Dream twisted his hands in Hob’s hair, holding on tight, thighs trembling, heartbeat racing in his throat. “Perhaps.”

“Is Dream your real name, by the way?” Hob asked, pushing one finger into Dream, and then quickly two, as Dream moaned and clenched down on him. “I kind of thought it was fake.”

“No,” said Dream, though it came out as another moan. “It is real.”

“Fascinating.” And he went back to torturing Dream with his mouth, fucking him deep on his fingers, until Dream was squirming and writhing under him, trying to get away from Hob’s relentlessness even as he wanted to throw himself into its fire. He felt hot, feverish, taut all over, Hob’s hands were so good, and his mouth—

“Hob,” he whined, “please.”

Hob paused, looked up at him, lips and nose wet with Dream’s fluids. Then grinned cheekily. “Yes, kitten?”

And why did something that had sounded so revolting coming from anonymous strangers only make Dream laugh when Hob said it? He laughed, a horrible, choking laugh, and Hob laughed too, incredulously. Dream could not remember ever laughing during sex, it had always been a torrid and serious affair. But Hob was so charming and handsome and Dream wanted to kiss him.

“Come,” he commanded, drawing Hob up towards him by his hair, and Hob went, and Dream brought their lips together. Hob’s mouth was slick and tasted of Dream. It was heady.

Dream wrapped a leg around his waist and pulled him closer until their bodies were pressed together, and Hob ground his cock between Dream’s legs, between his folds and against his clit. He didn’t try to actually fuck Dream, though, which Dream figured was Hob’s professional good sense considering they hadn’t discussed birth control or anything in that vein in their haste. He imagined what might have happened if he had instead gone home with Brad of the un-negotiated choking kink, and laughed despite himself.

“What are you laughing at?” asked Hob, lifting his head to look at him. He really was so appealing, with his dark eyes, hair falling long over his forehead, his voice that was much more honey-warm than Dream could have imagined over text.

“I was thinking of the catastrophe that would have resulted had I slept with one of the questionable individuals I’ve encountered on that app, and my good fortune in finding you instead.”

Hob smiled, and kissed him, a proper first date type kiss, sweet and kind. Then he said, dragging his hand through Dream’s hair, tugging on it, “Don’t think about anyone else.” He kissed Dream’s jaw, then down his neck, nipping at his skin.

Dream dug his nails into Hob’s back, into his strong shoulders as Hob ground against him. He wished Hob was fucking him. His cock felt so good even just moving between Dream’s legs, and the weight of his body over Dream’s was so grounding. Next time, maybe.

He shivered as Hob moved faster over him, claimed his mouth with a hard kiss. “Come on me,” Dream urged, pulling Hob in tighter again with his leg wrapped around his waist. He reached between them and got his hand around Hob, and Hob groaned.

“Dream—”

Dream pulled him off in time with Hob’s own thrusts, and soon felt Hob’s hips stuttering, his grip tightening in Dream’s hair. He came over Dream’s hand and stomach, breathing hard against Dream’s throat. But he didn’t pause very long to recover himself, instead slipping three fingers back into Dream, making Dream arch against him with a shout.

“Hob!”

Hob worked him mercilessly until Dream was clenching around him with a gasp, body shaking as his orgasm ramped back up and hit him, fast and hard. Hob grinned against his throat as Dream panted, then gently pulled his fingers free and raised his head to look Dream in the eye as he brought them to his mouth and sucked them clean of Dream’s spend. Fucking. Hell. And this man couldn’t find someone to marry him?

Hob kissed him again, and again it was sweet, and firm, like his hugs. Dream kissed him back, petting Hob’s hair. Pleased with the position he’d found himself in. Pleased with Hob.

“Good?” Hob asked, stroking a hand up and down his side.

“Very,” Dream sighed.

“Good,” said Hob. “For me, too.”

He kissed Dream’s cheek, and then went and got a soft wet cloth to clean them both up, and even brought Dream a glass of water. Truly Dream’s good fortune was unparalleled on this day.

Hob slipped back into bed beside him, and Dream laid on his side, head pillowed on his arm, gazing at him. Tucked an errant strand of Hob’s hair behind his ear. Ran his fingers over the stubble on Hob’s cheek. He really was quite handsome, especially mussed from sex, in the low bedroom light. Perhaps Dream was going to have to find his OnlyFans. Just so he could… take this home with him.

“You really are even prettier in person,” Hob murmured, studying him. “Although I don’t think the rest of your profile was really doing you justice.”

“That is because my sibling initially created it to annoy me,” Dream admitted. “However, I think I am the one who’s come out on top in the end.”

“That does explain some things,” Hob said with a chuckle. He took Dream’s hand and kissed his fingertips, met his eyes again. “I promise I won’t break your heart. If you stay.”

My BFF’s take on why you should date me, Desire’s profile fills had read: With luck you can be the next person to break his heart <3

Once again, it had not been entirely inaccurate. But perhaps it would be this time.

“I think I am inclined to,” he said quietly, and Hob smiled, that warm, endearing smile.

So Dream did stay that night, cuddled up in Hob’s arms. Feeling all warm inside, even when Hob had fallen asleep, and Dream was still awake, lying beside him. He often had a hard time sleeping, but he didn’t mind so much, right now. Hob was pleasant to cuddle up to, even if Dream couldn’t sleep. Hob was pleasant all around, in fact. Dream tended to fall fast and hard and he could already feel it hovering over him like a cresting wave. Fortunately, Hob didn’t seem inclined to be any more casual about him than Dream was feeling about him.

Dream thought he could get used to this.

With Hob’s arm still wrapped around his waist, Dream swiped his phone off the nightstand and opened his text thread with Desire, which still had enjoying yourself? ;) as the last message, as yet not responded to.

Having made Desire wait for several days already, Dream wrote, with a little smile, I think I am going to get married, and turned off his phone.

#yes i did create a fake hinge account mockup for dream. i will share it in a bit XD it's very silly. it took me 3 hours in photoshop #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #nsft

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swordcreature · 5 months

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Rolan deserves to get pegged. Someone needs to come fuck the brat out of him.

i will take this sacrifice for us all. i will fuck the brat completely out of Rolan. you are all welcome!

but in all seriousness. i had so much fun writing this. i know this wasn't a request per se but 3,000 words later and here we are. our boy just really needed someone to fuck him with the magical strap (that we are all going to pretend is a very real thing that exists in his world. along with the magical bottle of oil/lube).

it doesn't really work anyway

i couldn't think what to name this monster so excuse the stupid title, it fits into like on tiny part but it made me laugh so. yeah.

Now I Know My ABCs

Rolan x Reader

“You could have just fixed it, you know? You don’t have to be an insufferable prick about every little mistake you notice.” “Maybe if you didn’t make so many mistakes, I wouldn’t have anything to comment on.”

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content MDNI/18+, Pegging, Anal Fingering

Word Count: 3,028 | [Read on AO3]

Okay, so, in hindsight, calling Rolan “the biggest fucking brat to ever grace the mortal realm” probably wasn’t your finest move. But gods if it wasn’t completely fucking accurate.

All day he was wondering around the tower, nit picking the work you so graciously volunteered as you both tried to organize the mess Lorroakan left behind after his completely deserved demise.

“Oh, this is interesting come look at this,” Rolan ushered you over to the shelf you had been working on before lunch. You walked over, brow furrowed as you looked at the tomes he pointed to: a copy of Illusionary Arcana: A Complete Study and Illusion: A Spellcaster’s Guide to the Unreal. “I had no idea the Common language had changed recently, did you?”

“Here we fucking go.”

“Surely that must have been the case, otherwise this book would have been placed before Illusionary Arcana, yes?” You wanted to smack the disingenuous look of confusion off his smug face.

“You could have just fixed it, you know? You don’t have to be an insufferable prick about every little mistake you notice.” You flipped the position of the books.

“Maybe if you didn’t make so many mistakes, I wouldn’t have anything to comment on,” he offered back, facing the books with a matter-of-fact expression as though they were discussing breakfast plans or the weather.

“Maybe, you should find someone else who is willing to put up with your contemptible drivel so-”

“I’m surprised someone who does not know their alphabet knows what contemptible means.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides and your nostrils flared. You were doing this for free. It would be a cold day in the Hells before you continued to let him talk to you like that.

Without saying a word, you turned scanning the room for where you laid your things. This caught Rolan’s attention; he eyed you over his shoulder as he continued to fiddle with the row of books.

“What are you doing?” he asked, unphased.

“Leaving.” This at least elicited some sort of reaction, his head whipping around to watch you grab your things.

“Why? You said you would assist me. And we still have two more cases to go today if we are to remain on track.” His face scrunched in frustration. He couldn’t honestly expect you to just continue on as though he hadn’t just acted like a complete son of a bitch, right?

“Are you serious- ‘Why?’ Because Rolan, today you have been-” well, you know what came next. He didn’t take it lightly.

“I- you- you insolent little witch! I’d rather be a brat than being a classless degenerate like you!” He took an angry step towards you.

“Classless? You arrogant, pretentious arsehole!”

“Indolent, mindless fool!” Then another.

“Hateful wretch!”

“Talentless hack!” He was so close now that you could feel his breath on your face as he stared down the length of his nose at you. It was a shame he was such a knob head, because he was so nice to look at, even from this angle.

“You-” you paused, trying to think of the most poetic way to tell him that he could take every book in his big fancy tower and shove it right up his ass.

But something else came to mind.

With a scowl, you sank your hands into the front of his robes and yanked him downward, forcing his lips against your own. Much to your surprise, and delight if you wanted to be completely honest, he relented, allowing himself to be kissed with an almost bruising intensity.

You tore your lips away. The look on Rolan’s face at the loss of contact would have made you laugh if you weren’t so fucking fed up with him. His chest was heaving as though he had just ran a mile around the tower, and the way your stomach twisted at the sight made you even more frustrated. Stupid wizard with his handsome face and pretty lips.

You pushed him back against the nearest bookcase, hard enough that a book tumbled from its home high above you. Rolan’s eyes were fire and hunger as he glared at you, silently urging you to continue what you started. You pressed yourself flush to his chest, noses touching, lips barely a hair apart.

He craned his neck lower to try and catch you in a kiss, but you were quicker, fueled by an intense need to see this man squirm.

“Now now, Rolan. Where are your manners?” You chastised with a click of your tongue. “Say please.”

He swallowed thickly and grit his teeth. The room fell silent as seconds ticked by, Rolan seemingly weighing his words.

Just as you thought he was going to end whatever this was, too proud to continue, he muttered out, almost unintelligibly, “Please.”

You smiled sweetly, and then you were slotting your mouth over his, kissing with as much force as before. Your hand snaked into his hair, dragging your nails roughly against his scalp, tugging at the roots. The sound he made in response was nothing short of a growl. Oh did it spur you on.

Your free hand squeezed between your bodies to palm over the erection pinned against his thigh. Even under his robes and trousers you could tell he was hot, long, and so very hard. You pet his cock with a firm touch through several layers of clothes, Rolan forcing his hips forward in response.

After a few tentative strokes, you removed your hand completely – pulling yourself backwards slightly so that he had nothing to grind himself against. He whined in frustration.

“Mmm, I don’t think you deserve that yet, do you?” You pressed your lips to his ear, your tongue slipping out to follow the outer shell. Rolan shivered. “You’ve been a little brat today, Rolan. I don’t think you deserve to be touched yet.”

For the first time since you met him, Rolan had nothing to say. His head hung low, almost hitting your shoulder as he clenched his jaw.

“You think you’re so clever, with that sharp tongue. But I'm going to make you forget how to speak, pretty little wizard.” His breath hitched, stopped dead in his throat. “Only if you’re good, though. Okay?” Rolan nodded eagerly, eyes closed, and brow furrowed. “Okay. Now, go be a dear and take your clothes off for me, hmm?”

Rolan fumbled forward as you stepped away from the bookcase. His hands shook as he undressed, clumsily unlacing his trousers to slide them off, along with his underclothes. You walked over to sit on the edge of his desk and watched as he pulled his robes from his shoulders. He murmured something to himself that you couldn’t quite discern, but you didn’t care enough to push. Because with everything discarded to the floor, Rolan stood completely bare, cock jutting upwards from a dark swatch of hair on his groin. It was already leaking with excitement.

He looked up to find you staring, leering at his lithe form in appreciation. It must have been written on your face because the bastard’s lips quirked up in a smug grin. That wouldn’t do. You needed to wipe that smirk off of his face.

You hopped off the desk’s edge and pointed towards it. Rolan eyed you with suspicion but acquiesced, moving so that he stood between you and it. Raising a hand to your mouth, you spit into your palm, eyes fixed on his. Your hand found his erection, spreading your saliva down his length in one motion.

Rolan’s chest heaved with a moan, thrusting into your hand for more. He knew as soon as it happened that he had made a mistake; you removed your hand from him and gave him a pointed look.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “I’ll be still, I promise.”

You had to bite back a smile as how desperate he sounded from just a few touches. But an apology did sound good on his lips. So, you began stroking him again, fisting over his shaft with a tight grip. Rolan’s thighs shook with the exertion needed to keep himself still and little whimpers left his mouth with every pass of your hand.

And then you stop, completely removing your hand from him. Before he could even make a sound in protest, though, you grabbed his hips and spun him in place so that his rear was pressed to your front. One hand smoothed its way up his spine, settling between his shoulder blades. And with a firm shove, you urged him to bend so that his chest lay on the cool wood of the desk.

Your free hand circled his ass, caressing the smooth, plump skin. A sharp thwack echoed through the room as your hand lifted and then connected with his rear. Rolan yelped, jolting forward slightly, but didn’t complain – in fact you were almost positive his hips canted against the desk in a desperate grind for friction. You repeated the action again, bringing your hand down to smack him with enough force to leave a darkened handprint. Rolan’s moan was high pitched and needy as he braced himself for another smack that didn’t come.

Both hands now groped at his cheeks spreading him so that you could see all of him – every last inch of his red skin heated in desire as he keened below you. Leaning forward, you reached around to press two fingers to his lips and Rolan accepted them greedily. His hot tongue laved over your digits, coating them in his saliva. You pulled them out with a pop to tease at his hole, the wetness of his spit making him slick enough to dip a finger in to the second knuckle.

Gods he looked so good taking you, back arched to offer himself more fully, desperate whines slipping from his lips. You worked your finger in and out as he rocked his hips against the desk. For a moment you thought about stopping – chastising him for seeking his pleasure without your permission. But you most certainly did not have the willpower to do so as you watched him take your finger down to the last knuckle. You were only mortal after all.

“Think you can take another?” you asked, tone sultry and low, though your question was sincere; you wanted to make sure you weren’t overstepping. He responded with an eager, shaky nod and a soft gasp.

Mumbling a spell under your breath, a small vial of oil appeared in your palm out of thin air. You uncorked it with your teeth and, with a very disappointed whine from Rolan, removed yourself from inside him to slather some of the liquid over your fingers.

The noise he made when you returned them to prod at his hole was nothing short of debauched – for a moment you thought he may cum right there. But he took the added stretch in stride, panting as you began to set a rhythm.

You were satisfied with your work, the man beneath you squirming and gasping and not saying a godsdamned word.

That is, until he turned his head to the side, peering at you from the corner of his eye to beg, “More.”

That wouldn’t do. He was still able to form a coherent thought and that just wasn’t going to work for you.

You slipped both fingers from his ass in one quick motion. Rolan, although quivering and breathless, looked as though he was going to object, to say something that surely would make your blood pressure rise. Your free hand tangled into his hair to force his head back down to the desk.

“Not a word, or else I’ll leave right now,” you hissed. You had never seen Rolan behave so easily, relaxing back against the wood as he waited for you to make the next move.

Another muted spell left your lips, the room slightly tinged with the crackle of your magic. The summoned object was heavier than you anticipated, but oh did that make it even more exciting. Commanding Rolan to keep his head down, you stepped into the harness of the conjured strap-on and pulled it up to fasten around your groin snuggly. You spilled the rest of the oil bottle over the thick base of the strap and spread it around with a loose fist.

Rolan wiggled with impatience, still obeying your orders to keep down and not look. So, without further delay, you notched the tip against him then slid the length over his entrance. His body tensed with understanding as he rocked against you ardently, his tail wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

You teased his rim with the head of your strap, providing just enough pressure to have him writhing for more but not enough to actually enter him. He groaned in frustration as he tried desperately to force himself back to satisfy his need for more.

“Oh? Is this what you want? You want me to fuck you Master Rolan?” His moan was high and keen – more pathetic than you had ever heard him before. It was music to your ears. “I didn’t hear you. What did you say?” The tip of your strap pushed into him ever so slightly more, enough to spread his entrance in preparation. Dangerously close to where he wanted you most but still so very far away.

“Mmf- ye- ah- yes!” It seemed forming words was proving to be especially difficult for the erudite wizard. Perfect.

And then you gave in; your hands gripped his hips as you slid the thick length of the strap into him slowly. Rolan’s head hung low, forehead pressed to the cool wood of the desk. He sighed in relief, finally feeling the fullness he craved.

With an iron grip, you held his hips still, slowly pulling out of him. Then, without warning, you thrusted forward to sheath the strap’s entire length inside him with perhaps maybe a touch too much vigor. Rolan jolted forward by the force of it, gasping as he adjusted. You repeated the movement again. And again. And again.

Soon, you had set a punishing pace, clothed hips smacking the back of his bare thighs as you drove as deep as he could take you. Every thrust had Rolan whimpering, words dying on his tongue before they were fully formed. It didn’t take long to find that perfect spot that had him stuffing his fist in his mouth to muffle his shouts. Oh you liked that spot.

You weren’t gentle, overcome by an intense need to fuck him until every bratty thought was emptied from his mind through his cock. You raised your hand to roughly slap his ass where your handprint had formed from before. Rolan cried out as the pleasure of you inside him mixed with the pain from your hand.

“I’m- ah. So-” Every syllable was cut off by a garbled sound as though he couldn’t figure out if he wanted to scream or laugh or cry. The only thing he seemed to know was that he wanted more. “Fu- yes there right there-”

You stopped with the strap buried completely inside him. Rolan nearly screamed, the sudden lack of motion bringing tears to his eyes. He craned his neck to look at you; he was absolutely furious. You leaned over so that you could press your lips to his ear.

“Now. Did you want to say something about how you spoke to me earlier?” Your hips caged his, keeping him from seeking his own pleasure.

“Fuck y-” You began to pull out. “No no no, sorry- I'm sorry, I apologize. Whatever you want to hear I’ll say it.”

While you weren’t exactly pleased that he had the mental wherewithal to form a complete sentence, you certainly preened at his desperation. “Is that it?” You pulled out even further.

“Fuck! I was a stupid fucking brat, I’m sorry! Okay? Is that what you wanted? Will you please just-”

He didn’t get the chance to finish as you thrusted forward as quickly as possible, immediately establishing a pace faster than before. Rolan’s legs shook as though they were ready to give out and you thought for a moment they might if not for the desk under him.

It only took a couple deep thrusts against his most sensitive spot before he came. His orgasm was a rough avalanche of pleasure; his hips ground against the wood beneath him as his whole body seemed to tremble at the almost violent intensity of his release. You couldn’t quite understand what he was saying – or more like chanting – repeating the garbled word over and over again like he was trying to memorize the sound.

You realized with pride that it was your name, almost unrecognizable through the fist he still bit down on.

Your hand ghosted over the red mark on his ass – your own apology for perhaps being too rough. The conjured strap on disappeared as soon as you removed it from him, leaving behind the faint feeling of the Weave.

Hushed sounds from the shop below you started to filter into the room, and you realized that somewhere along the way Rolan had cast a modified form of silence. The cheeky bastard. You’d definitely remember that for next time.

It took him longer than he would ever admit to finally stand up, legs still unsteady and wobbly. Both the desk and his stomach were painted white with cum, and you had to admit, it was quite the sight. You brought a finger dangerously close to where his cock stood, still softening, and whisked a drop of his spend from his skin. Rolan’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as you took the finger into your mouth to taste him.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, “You truly are a degenerate.” Despite his words, he was smiling.

“And here I thought you were done being a brat?”

“Well, maybe perhaps your little lesson didn’t have the intended effect, hm?”

You eyed the mess on his desk with a smug smile. “Oh, I think it worked out just as intended.”

#bg3 #bg3 smut #bg3 rolan #rolan #rolan x reader #my writing #requests/suggestions #lemonandhoneytea

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rottenpumpkin13 · 11 months

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SEPHIROTH HEADCANONS

[these are my headcanons, meaning the way I view him in my head and may not follow popular fanon]

↘︎ Sephiroth is a big enjoyer of puzzles of any kind. Mahjong, sudoku, jigsaw puzzles, riddles, you name it. He doesn’t see the allure of video games but will jump at the opportunity to play a multiplayer that has him competing against someone else.

↘︎ He’s generally a calm and intorverted person in his day-to-day life, but when angered he becomes scary as hell. For lack of better words, he shows signs of the in-game callous monster he is.

↘︎ He does have a sense of humor, okay?? It’s just what most people would describe as dark and dry. His kind of humor is saying the most off-hand comments with 0 expression and making people lose their shit. He is also proficient in sarcasm but has to be annoyed beyond measure to use it.

↘︎ He can drive, however friends and people who have previously been driven around by him refuse to do it again. He drives likes he’s playing Mario Kart while maintaining a scarily calm composure. He manages to do this while still abiding by the traffic laws.

↘︎ Sephiroth maintains a healthy diet and prefers not to stray from his strict regimen. Having said that, he will never turn down: a) Angeal’s cooking, b) pasta, c)sweets.

↘︎ Due to his sheltered childhood, Sephiroth was never allowed to indulge himself in sweets and other junkfood like the other kids. So when he’s old enough to control his own diet, he includes moments of utter gluttony where he inhales candy like a madman.

↘︎ “Sephiroth why don’t you cut your hair?” With his JENOVA cells? If he cut it shoulder-length one morning, it’d be down to his waist again by the following afternoon. After many attempts at keeping it at a reasonable size during his youth, he gave up.

↘︎ Now he simply keeps it long because he thinks it looks cool. Vanity spares no one. He also has a habit of sitting on his hair accidentally.

↘︎ He’s notoriously knows as being cold and unwelcoming toward people. However he does a complete 180° when he’s with his friends, and people have even reported seeing him act extroverted.

↘︎ Unintentionally a cocky bastard.

↘︎ Sephiroth isn’t a very creative person, which is something he laments greatly. He isn’t apt at drawing, writing or anything that could allow him to express himself artistically

↘︎ Give our boy any mathematical equation though and he can solve it

↘︎ Sephiroth takes joy in fucking with troopers and other SOLDIERs. He loves saying weird and uncharacteristic things and watch the realization that he’s joking dawn on them

↘︎ Big into astronomy and loves reading books about it. And he has a disdain for astrology and thinks it’s nothing but drivel

↘︎ He abhors gossip and thinks it immature and unprofessional. But if you feed him certain tales he’ll become angrossed and not let you leave until you’ve thoroughly recounted every detail of it.

↘︎ Claustrophobic. It may have everything to do with being given mako showers and being kept in those tight tanks for hours. He developed a certian disdain for being enclosed in tight spaces. He also can’t stand to wear multiple layers of clothing and can only handle one layer at a time.

↘︎ Yes he likes cats.

↘︎ People who say he’s humorless don’t know he once laughed so hard, he had to be sedated because he was on the floor unable to breathe. Context? Genesis angered a chocobo and it chased him for an hour. Angeal has it on video.

↘︎ Sephiroth can cook. How? Do you really think a SOLDIER trained to survive in the wilderness wouldn’t know how to hunt, prepare and cook his own food?

↘︎ That being said, he can only cook very basic things.

↘︎ He yells at the TV, but only when it’s a nature documentary and the prey is making unwise decisions while running away from the predator.

↘︎ He makes overexaggerated faces while eating something he doesn’t like, but that’s as far as he’ll go complaining about food-wise

↘︎ Sephiroth’s favorite kind of gifts are the practical and functional ones like socks, blankets and sword oil.

↘︎ Impulsively buys toys and childish knick knacks. Proceeds to keep them in a secret drawer with a lock and key. Don’t judge him. He’s making up for lost time.

#ffvii #ff7 #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy #sephiroth #ff7r #final fantasy vii #ffvii crisis core #sephiroth headcanons #ff7 rebirth #headcanons

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betterbooktitles · 2 months

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What makes a Jesuit boys’ school so entertaining is the irreverence in the face of certain damnation. There were adult authority figures, some imbued with the ability to forgive Mortal Sin, telling us we were going to Hell if we didn’t take our morality seriously. In response, we laughed and cracked jokes. We laughed so hard, in part, because the stakes were so high. If you could mock the Most Important Question, you could likely laugh off anything.

Humor was what opened me up to the idea that I didn’t share the values of the men teaching me to be a “good” person. Humor also taught me that I didn’t have to accept any of it.

The first time I heard shade thrown at the Theology department was during my freshman year when my favorite teacher sitting in a room in the fourth floor English department, in an entirely separate building from the Theology and History classrooms asked “what movie are they showing you over there this week?” It was true that for half the year, Theology teachers showed movies 40 minutes at a time to make important philosophical points. They screened The Matrix, Life is Beautiful (watched in tandem with our reading of Man’s Search for Meaning), and, my personal favorite The Shawshank Redemption which they showed to us in the summer before 9th grade to let us know what Jesuit school would resemble: something close to surviving solitary confinement. If you had music in your mind, you might make it out. I don’t doubt the efficacy of showing these movies to us to teach moral lessons. It was a better strategy than trying to force teenagers to read. I had never heard anyone mock the department, though, especially not another teacher.

To be clear, this scrutiny, at least of the lay teachers in the Theology department was justified. They fed us one-sided anti-intellectual drivel that had almost nothing to do with Catholic Dogma. Instead of learning about a biblical text, we spent hours listening to a guy tell us evolution was “just a theory,” that being gay was a choice, and that abortion was wrong in any instance (whatever your personal beliefs, understand that it’s kind of hard to hear both sides of that argument at an all-male school where the adult men were the authority on ethics). Then they showed us clips from Fox News of Terri Schiavo and told us the “correct” Christian response to the news.

One day, again in my freshman year when I was scared to question anything because of an inordinate fear that I could be thrown out of school at any moment, our Theology teacher pressed play on The Emperor’s Club (a 2002 Kevin Kline movie about a boy’s prep school that served in our teacher’s mind as some ethic antithesis to the more beloved (and frankly more entertaining) Dead Poets Society). A student in the back row raised his hand, and our teacher paused the movie. We sat in the dark room and rolled our eyes. Make this quick, buddy. We’ve got a movie to watch here!

“Jeff?” our teacher said, lifting his eyebrows.

“Yes, I was wondering about the prayer we read before class today,” Jeff said. He was a senior, a bit portly which was only noticeable because many kids did not bother buying new dress shirts every year. Once the stress of school forced you to eat your feelings four years in a row, you wound up with a gut putting pressure on your old shirts’ buttons. “It says in the prayer…” Jeff continued, “that Jesus descended into Hell. What’s that about?”

“Well,” our teacher said, looking excited to finally talk about religion instead of answering some weird kid’s question about the ethics of having sex with aliens should they ever land on Earth, “according to scripture, we know the gates of Heaven were closed for a time, so when Jesus died he descended into hell first to free other righteous souls…”

“Yeah, a quick follow-up on that,” Jeff said, sounding interested, “does anyone believe this shit?”

The cackles that erupted in the room nearly overwhelmed our teacher’s angry tirade. Jeff was sent to the Vice Principal’s office to await his judgment. It hadn’t occurred to me until that moment you were allowed not only to question those teaching us about religion but you were allowed to reject the faith altogether.

From there, every argument began to collapse, mostly through funny moments:

A teacher tried to tell us IVF was wrong because “you have to jerk off into a cup. It’s not right.” One kid announced: “I’ve done weirder!” Guffaws. Cheers.

Another teacher claimed gay sex was always wrong because the sex itself was not ‘open to creating human life,’ to which a brave gay student volunteered “Oh, I’m open to it. I’ll keep trying and let you know if there’s a miracle.” Applause.

When a teacher said video games could be considered a sin if they distract you from work, someone, half-asleep in the front row, let out a loud “Ah, shut up!” that made us all giggle.

My fellow students weren’t playing the game, arguing with the teacher on his terms, using logic. They were dismissing the arguments flippantly, and no adult could reply unless they were funny themselves.

Read the rest here.

#funny #lit #lol #writing #dan wilbur #essays #essay #long post #long reads #atheist #atheism #religion #catholic #catholic school #literature #humor #better book titles #books #reading #memoir

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eco-lite · 3 months

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Finally got to read Volume 6! I didn’t think anything could top Volume 4, but this one is a very close contender for my favorite. Here are my unedited thoughts:

“Sinhalite Beckons, Part 1”

* An extra case first??? Okay then.

* Who is this female version of Seigi? This is hilarious, they’re way too similar!

* Very curious where in the timeline this story takes place…

“The Wandering Conch Pearl”

* WAIT WTF?? That was Seigi’s dream? Did he dream of himself as a woman interacting with Richard in Sri Lanka??????

* Not the milkman omgggg.

* Oooh Richard’s assistant in Hong Kong. That’s probably the sleezy guy he was talking about in the last story. Can Seigi see into other peoples’ pasts now? Didn’t know there was going to be a supernatural element lol.

* “I couldn’t decide if I should serve tea or not, so my brain cells had a meeting and came to the unanimous conclusion not to” (34). I love Seigi so much. 😂

* “I couldn’t stop smiling. Richard thanked me. He said he thought I was dependable. His smile was beautiful enough to start, but boy, a direct hit from his charm sure packed a punch. I was glad he’s withdrawn to the back room, because I was pretty sure my face wasn’t going to go back to normal for a while” (42). Oh, honey… 😌

* Wow, I did not think I would be learning so much about post-WWII politics between Japan and the Dominican Republic from this series, but here we are.

* This conversation between Richard and Seigi from page 62-67 is all over the place. Richard shutting Seigi down when he invites Richard over, but obviously still wanting to let Seigi in. And he ends up asking Seigi to dinner even though he just made the argument that Seigi should go home and go to bed early. And then he gets frustrated that Seigi is being so amenable to going out to dinner with him?? Bro, get your emotions together! You of all people should know that Seigi is not a mind reader. Let him know how you feel, for fuck’s sake!

* “To me, Richard’s beauty was like Mount Fuji at sunrise or the windswept sand dunes in a desert. Anyone else’s beauty was…very human. When I looked at Richard, I felt a mysterious calm, like if I were looking at a lake or the sky or the sea. Normal human features weren’t even in the same category. But if I said any of that out loud, I was pretty sure I’d offend literally everyone” (67). Yes, would would offend literally everyone. You’re learning, Seigi!

* “To have someone look upon the grain of truth hidden within the most tender part of yourself, and tell you their unvarnished opinion of it—I thought that would, without question, be cause for joy” (69). Okay well then you better tell Richard how you feel about having to leave Étranger in the next story, Seigi! Expose that grain of truth!!

“Resplendent Spinel”

* Seigi is really too nice. Filling in for someone in a club where you don’t know any of the other members? Could never be me.

* Ayame describing the “insincere drivel” her boyfriend spouts at her and Seigi’s reaction is “I felt like I was about to go into cardiac arrest” (93). 😅 Is he finally gaining some self-awareness about how ostentatious his compliments of Richard are?

* Ayame: “‘And if you think that a compliment can’t cut as deeply as an insult, you’re terribly naive’” (93). Seigi: “I felt like I’d been sent flying by a body blow” (94). Seigi is really going through it…

* “‘But you are different. Your words are different. When your words brush my face, it’s like a playful wind. With your absurd vocabulary, you are expressly telling me that my appearance brings you joy. It does feel a bit peculiar at times, but perhaps I find that peculiarity oddly endearing, Seigi.’ And then he smiled. I was struck dumb for a while” (96). Holy shit… 😳

* “‘I have a hard time understanding the nature of your love for me. It’s be a great help if you could give me a rundown, as if you were briefing me for a job’” (101). I wish Richard would ask Seigi to do this. But I think Seigi needs to complete his “self assessment” first. He doesn’t even understand the nature of his own love for Richard.

* Wow, Itagaki is actually pretty mature. Good for him.

* “‘Well, I just want you to know there has been a lot of diversity in body type in the industry lately, and I would love you even if you put on a hundred kilos, so don’t overdo it’” (110). It’s really nice to see a male character so adamant that his girlfriend shouldn’t have to worry about losing weight, especially since she’s in the entertainment industry. I hope we see even more diverse body types in Japanese entertainment in the future.

* I hope we get to see this “long talk” they’re going to have in the next story.

“Paraíba Tourmaline Romance”

* Omg Tanimoto is back! And she’s finally meeting Richard!! The two of them ganging up on Seigi is so funny.

* “Once again, it was Seigi Nakata versus the allied forces of Richard and Tanimoto. Honestly, I was probably the happiest if ever been in my life, but I was also just as embarrassed” (135). This is so cute.

* “‘I agree that romance might just be a stone I don’t know yet, but it feels so removed from me—like that planet made from diamonds orbiting a distant star. Maybe I just don’t have the courage for interstellar travel’” (153). This is so ace. I’m so so glad Tanimoto decided to be true to herself and not force herself into a romantic relationship she didn’t actually want. Sometimes you don’t need to experiment. You just know yourself. I’m so proud of her!

* Wow, I really teared up seeing Richard talk about queerness and fluctuations in identity so directly. I’m so happy Tsujimura had the courage to include frank conversations about queer issues. Richard’s perspective here truly is “like a spring breeze rushing through a window that no one remembered opening” (153).

* “‘What really matters is that you never forget that while you possess the potential to change, your present self continues to become your future self… I know it’s hard to decide what choice will be best for you, if I were in your position, I would not think forcing myself into a romantic relationship would be that choice… While dying on your feet is all well and good, one wrong step might make it nothing g more than foolhardy and reckless. And perhaps in the same way, a strategic retreat isn’t running away so much as it is a change of course’” (157). Ace ally Richard is so important to me. This is why he’s my comfort character.

* “‘When Seigi told me about this place, I thought it was a shop run by a foreign man who would show his customers wonderful gemstones. I see it’s actually a shop that provides kindness and comfort to those who see themselves as Étranger’” (158). fUCK.

* I’m so glad Seigi apologized for what he said to Tanimoto at the museum. I know it’s hard for him to let go of the fact that Tanimoto doesn’t feel romantic love since he has a crush on her, but I think he’s more understanding of her feelings now, thanks to the conversation with Richard.

* Omg Seigi and Tanimoto having a mature conversation about why they wouldn’t work out romantically. So nice to see. I think Tanimoto still kind of misunderstood why Seigi wanted to ask her out before, but that’s very on brand for her lol.

* “‘I feel like having you around has made me a better person than I was before’” (173). Richard!!! 💘💘💘

* Tanimoto defending Seigi and telling Richard to never hurt him again! I love her so much!

* I love this story so much! It was great to learn more about Tanimoto’s past and see her finally interact with Richard, who was just so thoughtful here. I can’t believe he felt bad for telling her not to worry about romantic love because he thought it might hurt Seigi. That’s sweet, but I’m glad he was true to himself and what Tanimoto needed to hear in that moment. And Seigi got just a bit more mature, too. I have such intense affection for everyone in this situation. But not Seigi’s father coming to ruin the vibes at the end. 🤬🤬🤬

“The Tanzanite of Rebirth”

* Seigi’s father is such a disgusting manipulator. I always say I want to learn more about Seigi, but learning how awful this man was to him and Hiromi, and how dark Seigi’s thoughts were at that time… How dark they are now… It’s really distressing.

* The fucking tonal shift from this melancholy last dinner together to Jeffrey showing up in the hotel room is so funny. For real though, what did Seigi think would happen when he followed Richard to his room?? 👀 But it’s really concerning that Seigi felt he had no choice but to follow Richard to his room. Obviously that’s Seigi’s extremely negative headspace talking, but please have some self-respect!

* “‘Maybe you’ve forgotten, but I spent a long time stalking you within the realm of what’s legal, of course. Obviously, I’ve repented of my actions—please, God, forgive me for my trespasses. And since I’ve repented, I hope you’ll forgive me for reoffending. It’s plain for anyone to see that something’s been eating at you’” (228). JEFFREY. It’s kind of sweet that Jeffrey has been keeping an eye on Seigi, but did he have to get this intense about it? This kidnapping situation is so chaotic lol. That is his style, though.

* “‘Why do you treat me like some rock on the side of the road? What do you think I am? A doll that’s not good for anything but being on display? I’ve been on this Earth longer than you have. I possess more knowledge than you, and I have enough free time to be able to afford to spend some on you. And yet you had the audacity to try to abandon me and walk off into the darkness. It’s beyond asinine and irrational’” (230). YOU TELL HIM, RICHARD! (Not to even mention Richard told Seigi he loves him just before this rant.) But I feel like Seigi could have said this exact speech when Richard ran away to England before. They both feel that the other should rely on them more, but wouldn’t want to be a burden. After the England debacle, Richard learned that it’s okay to rely on people who love you. Now Seigi has to learn that lesson too.

* “There was a large dam inside my heart, and what it was holding back wasn’t water but sludge. And I didn’t want any of that getting on Richard. It’s the sort of thing that you let out into a drainage ditch in secret” (232-233). Oh, honey, no. First of all, Richard is a human being who loves you and can withstand hearing bad things. You’re not tainting him. He’s asking you to trust him with this. Second of all, please go to therapy…

* It’s really concerning to see how Seigi thinks of himself as having the potential for violence against people he loves. It’s really common for witnesses of domestic abuse to think that way, but it’s so clear in Seigi’s actions that he could never do that. He has such a good heart. But he’s really clouded by dark thoughts from interacting with his father. It’s not like he was thinking this when he wanted to date Tanimoto. These thoughts resurfaced very recently. Thankfully Richard has done enough self-reflection to throw his own situation in Seigi’s face to show him how ridiculous he’s being.

* “‘You don’t think of me as normal or expected. You don’t think of me as tangible, something that is always by your side. That is why I remain someone distant and unreachable to you… You never attempt to close the distance between us. And you never allow me to pay your price, the affection, you are worth’” (243-244). Wow. This reflective Richard is extremely powerful…

* “The moment I realized that he had been watching over me and accepting me for who I was on a much deeper level than I could even have imagined, I felt like I’d been tossed into the middle of the ocean—it was salty, and I struggled to breathe. I was such a loser, such a thoughtless person, a timid child crying in the dark with his knees held tightly to his chest, and yet it felt like he took it all in and said that it was fine. But it wasn’t just a feeling, he believed in me, more than I could ever believe” (247-248). Yes, Seigi, that’s what you do when you love someone. You did the same for him.

* Omg punk Jeffrey?! I wish I could see all those photos Richard keeps as blackmail. 😂

* I’m glad Richard brought up “what floor?” Seriously, Seigi not feeling able to reject him was scary. For both of them, I think.

* Seigi’s stepdad is an absolute legend! King of positive masculinity! “‘I don’t think being strong or not has anything to do with whether you’re okay’” (272). Fuck yes. Hiromi did so well marrying this man.

* “‘I don’t want an apology, I want you to reflect on your behavior. I imagine you understand this by now, but your number-one assignment at the moment is learning to value yourself more’” (274). The fact Richard is able to say this to Seigi is a reflection of his own growth as well. I’m so glad they’re in each other’s lives. They make each other better. 🥹

* Seigi trying to tell Richard he wants to keep being around him even if he doesn’t work at Étranger anymore but it keeps coming out likes he’s proposing or asking him on a date. I think his first statement was the truest to how he feels: ‘“I want to be by your side from now on, if you’ll let me’” (280). I think Richard was ready to accept that as a proposal until Seigi made a bunch of qualifying statements lol.

* Wow, this story means so much to me. Everything that came out of Richard’s mouth was something both Seigi and I (and so many other people, I’m sure) needed to hear. Their relationship got so much deeper. And I can’t wait to see what shenanigans Seigi gets up to in this hotel lol. Especially if Richard is staying there as well. Very excited for the next volume. This one had better come out on time! 😤

“Sinhalite Beckons, Part 2”

* OKAY this is wild! I swear to god the person on the motorcycle in part 1 is Richard, but it seems to be Seigi now???? And he and Richard seem to live together in this nice house in Sri Lanka???????

* Omg she’s the sister of the airport lady from “Flourite By Your Side!” 😲 Glad she’s feeling better!

* Okay so it’s been three years? And there are pictures of the shop in Ginza and their families on the coffee table?? This is so fucking domestic. Is this their future???

* It’s refreshing to see someone call Seigi attractive for once! RIP Keiko’s love life though lol.

* “‘But you know, you really surprised me. You speak textbook-perfect English, but your Japanese sounds like someone from a local convenience store.’ I told him I thought is was a very interesting gap, and he smiled bashfully. ‘He always tells me that—“At this point, the language you might be the least eloquent in might be Japanese.” It is the one language he didn’t teach me, after all’” (301). This is so funny. And it’s making more sense why I thought Seigi was actually Richard in the first part. I can’t believe Seigi speaks English with a British accent! 😂

* Lol once again somebody’s first assumption is that Seigi and Richard are a couple, and it’s still not hard to see why. Love that Keiko immediately asked Seigi out after learning they’re not together, though. You go, girl! But Seigi’s heart belongs to someone else, huh? For real, please tell me he knows it’s Richard at this point!

* I find it so interesting that Tsujimura decided to show us this glimpse of Seigi and Richard’s future. What was the purpose?? It’s a fun and cute story, but not very satisfying if you’re routing for them to get together. And it weirdly feels like an ending even though I know there are at least two more volumes after this…

“Afterward”

* This isn’t a story but I need to record my reaction to the sentence “the first part of the story has now come to a close with Volume 6—though there is still more to tell.” 😲😲😲 Okay, I didn’t realize this story was in parts! Maybe “Sinhalite Beckons” is a way to transition into this new future chapter of Seigi and Richard’s life. 🤔

* Tsujimura actually knows a jeweler who taught them how to make royal milk tea lol. That’s adorable. They do say to write why you know.

* “It would make me very happy if you would keep me company on their journey for a little while.” Tsujimura, I am with you for the long haul. 🫡 Let’s do this!

#jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #tsujimura nanako #nakata seigi #richard ranasinghe de vulpian

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prince-kallisto · 4 months

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Happy birthday Malleus!! I started this fic a long time ago, but I realized yesterday that it would be perfect time to finish it for his birthday. This fic is from Crowley’s point of view, and Malleus doesn’t actually appear in the story. However, he is an integral part of the overall plot. Haha, I’m not used to posting my fics directly in tumblr…my Ao3 fic might be easier to read? Whichever format you’re more used to ^_^ I’d appreciate any comments! 💖🐦‍⬛

4.4k words (Angst, Grief/Mourning, Dissociation, starts off as Slice of Life, Crowley is an unreliable narrator)

*****

But I Loved Her More

Every other week, the Ramshackle janitor- er, prefect, arrived at Crowley’s office with a stack of photos taken with the Ghost Camera. With a mere click, all shenanigans occuring in the school’s campus were documented and viewed at his discretion. Convenient, yes? Far more preferable over those dastardly reports. Although Mr. Rosehearts was one of Heartslabyul’s finest Housewarden’s, Crowley had to confess (to himself only, for Great Seven knows what a whipping Trein would give him otherwise) to disposing of the reports without giving them a second glance. Honestly, the paragraphs droned on and on over absolute rubbish- frankly, he did not care if ten students didn’t wear pink on Wednesdays or whatever rule 249 was. And imagine being forced to read such drivel twice a month! Ahh, what burdensome work~

Sorting through the photos revealed a pattern of a certain trio of first-year troublemakers appearing more often than others. Spade accidentally broke a beaker in the Alchemy classroom, Trappola snubbed yet another pile of homework, and Grim stirred up yet another rivalry between him and a Savanaclaw student. Crowley bit back a laugh at how the sequence of photos revealed Grim’s unfortunate fate with the Savanaclaw boy. What did Grim expect when picking a fight with a grown beastman nearly triple his size? Well, he was sure Grim put up a noble fight until the very end.

Entertainment for himself aside, this trio’s penchant for mischief vexed him. These boys were a set of promising young mages with…decent grades, but Crowley has had to redo the school’s monthly budget several times due to the destruction of property! Perhaps it meant a few thaumarks here and there were pinched from Ramshackle’s share, but the prefect was a sturdy individual. Skipping a meal or two never hurt anybody, and the lack of a functioning heater builds character! Really, he was doing them a kindness by giving them this opportunity for growth. Besides, if there were any protests, the prefect had no one but themselves to blame for the friends they associated with.

Although no major incidents occured this week, Crowley gasped in utter horror at the next set of photos. Sweet merciful Seven! Making immature gestures towards a rival dorm’s mirror did not befit Night Raven College’s prestigious name! It did not break any school rules, per se, but etiquette was certainly wanting. Did these children learn nothing about cooperating hand-in-hand with their fellow classmates in Vargas Camp?

He slumped into his office throne with a drawn-out sigh. He shan’t get so worked up over a schoolboy’s(schoolcat’s?) typical immaturity. Whether he liked it or not, times have changed since his early days of being a Headmage. Such insolence wouldn’t have even occurred in those boys’ minds back then! Why, they used to bow and unfurl a carpet of praises whenever he graced them with his presence. Now, the boys hardly paid him a second glance when he greeted them! It didn’t bother him, of course. He was an adult, which meant he had thick skin and wasn’t troubled by typical teenage snark. Still, perhaps he should talk with Trein or Crewel about teaching these boys some proper etiquette, such as responding to their Headmage’s greetings with zeal!

He jotted the future meeting down on a scroll. This behavior had to be remedied straight away. Tapping the quill against his lips, he observed his calendar for the upcoming weeks. Hm…he could reschedule the meeting with the Department of Education to next month. If it was important enough, they’d send him another message. Rescheduling his massage appointment was out of the question- getting an appointment with his preferred masseuse was akin to being a gladiator fighting against the odds in an arena. He simply couldn’t risk losing out on a much needed session.

Vargas did not treat his shoulders and neck kindly the last time Crowley complained of an ache. Why, his muscles got thoroughly tenderized from the “treatment” he received. No matter the brand of silk pillows and adjustable mattresses he used, the ache in his bones that never lessened. Crewel claimed Crowley’s age was finally getting the best of him, but he was still quite youthful, mind you! (At heart, at least.) Even now, he felt a tightening ache in his chest and a twinge in his neck. His jaw clicked as he tried to loosen up its tension. There were far too many things to do and so little time. So very little time.

Wanting to rub at his eyes, Crowley scratched the beak of his mask as a compromise. He rose from his seat to further stretch his legs and peered out his office windows. Built from floor to ceiling, the grandiose windows provided him a view of the entire campus- perfect to monitor the comings and goings of all. The leaves of the courtyard apple trees shimmered from the light of the full moon. Night Raven College had not a soul wandering about due to student curfew; it looks like no one tried to sneak out tonight. Even his raven companions found refuge in their nests weaved from twigs and cloth. The poor dears had a tendency to collect trash for the lining of their beds, due to some uncouth students who apparently lacked the self-respect to use a trash can. Crowley often flew into the crevices of campus, cleaning up any nest and provided more suitable materials like fur or wool.

Only the ghosts remained on campus, who were in the process of retiring after a long day of work. Fascinating creatures, they were. Why, if he was granted an afterlife, he surely wouldn’t be spending it as a cook or a groundskeeper. But perhaps he wasn’t the best fae to judge. After studying human nature for many decades now, Crowley drew to the conclusion that the ghosts could only relax for so long, before the remnants of their living restlessness stirred up inside. The idea of a peaceful afterlife simply didn’t exist for humankind. It was in their nature to yearn for more and more.

Sinking back into the velvet cushions of his throne, Crowley swiftly flipped through the photos, paying no mind to the rest of the shenanigans in them. Any troublemakers should consider themselves lucky he wanted to call it a night instead of wasting his time on another pile of reports. The Ghost Camera photos were occasionally hijacked by Diamond, who took photos of himself or artfully arranged drinks- all with the most optimal lighting and flattering of angles. Crowley slid the photos to the side to give them back to the prefect tomorrow- he had no use for these. Besides, he’d have to inquire about the drinks. Perhaps the trendy cafe Diamond frequented would grant him a teacher’s discount!

Crowley paused at the last photo in the bunch. It seems to have been taken in secrecy, due to the low angle, bushes framing the photo, and the unfocused gaze of the subject. Crowley should speak to the Ramshackle janitor to have more respect for other’s privacy, but for once, he didn’t mind. The photograph wasn’t artfully taken, but the subject himself made up for it in spades. This was exactly what Crowley was looking forward to.

As he gently brushed his fingers over the filmy surface, a glow emitted from the photograph. Light filtered through the darkness of his office as a halo of green fireflies burst from the frame, drifting in the air like dandelions. Crowley’s breath caught in his chest. Despite being mere projections, the fireflies tickled at his cheek and danced around his shoulders. He yearned to pluck at a few and keep them safe in a glass bottle to watch them float forever. And yet his hands slipped through the light, transient and untouchable. An inky substance pricked at his eyes, and he dabbed at the eyeholes of his mask with his silk handkerchief. Oh dear, he truly was getting up there in age if this was all it took to lose his composure.

You see, the deceptive nature of the Ghost Camera was its reenactment of the scene of the photo. When the bond between the photographer and the subject grew deeper, a representation of their intertwining souls came in the form of the projections. It seems the Ramshackle prefect managed to worm their way into the heart of the young fae, whose eyes shone brighter than any treasure.

Malleus Draconia.

A name befitting the Draconia family heir, a name honoring the Thorn Fairy herself. How lucky Crowley was to have such a fine student under his tutelage. For a long while he has wondered if he’d be granted such a privilege in his lifetime. The saying is true, that paths do eventually cross in the most unexpected ways.

Setting the photo down, Crowley admired the ghostly image of Malleus, whose miniature recreation roamed around his desk. In the projection, Malleus inspected the bent and rusty gates that caged Ramshackle Dorm, before flitting over to the statues that looked as if they would crumble at a mere touch. Moss and grime lined every crevice of the limestone, making their features much more unsightly. Crowley grimaced at the thought of these creatures coming to life. Gnarled fangs that could puncture the sturdiest of hides, those bulging eyes and wicked claws stirring up a primal fear in a warrior’s heart. Thankfully, those monsters only reside in fairytales. To be fair, so does he. He couldn’t discard the possibility of these creatures indeed existing in the flesh. Miracles of magic could conjure up any beast, as they could be imagined.

Crowley poked at the projection with a golden claw, wanting to peer into the fae’s mind. What was so beautiful about moldy shingles and decaying statues? What was so beautiful indeed, about something ruined beyond repair? Not even the spiders graced the ruins with their prescence, torn lace of old cobwebs blowing in the wind.

As his claw brushed over the projection, the image rippled like water, distoring the fae’s features. Crowley jerked away so quickly, too quickly, that the muscles in his neck twinged in protest. The projection slipped back into its frame, equally spooked from the sudden touch. Crowley cleared his throat as he attempted to regain his composure. Thank goodness the hour was so late. There was no chance that someone bore witness to that embarassing scene. My, my, did the ache in his neck ever smart…

He reminded himself that he would store the photos and call it a day. Store the photos and call it a day. Nothing more, nothing less. Crowley lifted one of the golden keys from his belt, unlocking a drawer in his desk. He shook the knob of the drawer impatiently, the sharp thuds of wood echoing in his office. He would need to have a repairman take a look at his desk- the drawers were ever so cumbersome to open these days. With one final and insistent tug, the drawer flung open.

The pile of photos were carelessly flung into the drawer, scattering as they joined the heap of previous ‘reports’. Despite the mess, a corner of a book peeked out from underneath. Crowley swallowed. Store the photos and call it a day. The mantra looped in head as he made no move to grab the journal nor to close the drawer. It was as if he was frozen in time, the pages coaxing him to take a closer look. Just one peek wouldn’t hurt, right? It was his office- he could do whatever he wanted. The only rules here were his mental ones, and his resolve could easily be shattered.

As he grabbed the book, he shook the Ghost Camera photos off it as if they were disruptive insects. Through his gloved hands, the weaved texture of the cover bumped over his skin. The edges of the book’s pages were speckled yellow and the corners seeped with brown. There were many ways to safely archive such books, of course, but even the bodies in coffins would decay to time. Nothing could last forever, not even this journal he cherished so much. The spine cracked as Crowley pried open the heavy tome, the parchment crinkling underneath his touch. Each page contained excerpts of writing or sketches beside the guarded photos. The archival black ink used decades ago was still etched onto the paper. Did this ink manufactuer still exist? He must have wrote the brand name of the bottle somewhere…he must leave some generous praises online later.

Crowley smoothed out the wrinkles in the page as he deciphered the scribbles. In one of his many past travels, Crowley unearthed this journal in a withered castle long ago. Its contents depicted the knights and princesses of days yore, reduced to nothing more than a mere fairytale. This book has been his little pet project for quite some time. Perhaps five decades by now? Or was it ten? A hundred years sounds about right, but so does three hundred…In any case, He’s been considering using some of these pages for assignments for third-years to decipher. The script was written in a rather archaic fae language, one that he had no problem with reading, but one he had to take his time with. He ought to brush up on his skills a bit more- this book was the only practice he got with his language in quite some time. Crowley has yet to share this book with Trein or any others. Trein was an old fellow he trusted dearly, and his expertise on human history and magic was one of the finest in the land. But even then, Trein could not yet be privy to this book. Crowley wanted- no, needed- just a bit more time with it.

The photo quality in the journal improved the more he flipped. Technology has improved more swiftly than a blink of an eye. The photos became sharper, losing the grain and burned spotting. Color livened up the monochromatic photos, making its subjects look more alive than ever. As he reached the most recent page, Crowley slid the Ghost Camera photo into the journal, snug in its enclosure of vinyl. The Ghost Camera projections could no longer burst out, the floating lights in his room dissipating into nothingness.

Crowley squinted in the dark of his office, trying to make out the album but to no avail. Oh, how silly of him to forget to light his candles tonight. A brief tap of the candelabra’s wax cast a harsh purple flame in the room. He admittedly preferred the docile fireflies, but this would do for now. He would retire to his bedchambers in just a minute anyway.

Crowley flipped back and forth between the book pages. He’s noticed it quite long ago, but there was a woman depicted in this journal that resembled Malleus all too greatly. Photographs weren’t all too reliable in those days, so there were countless of her in the thin pages, likely mimicking royal paintings. Whoever drew her must have had quite the fancy for her, as there were miniature pieces made from paint, charcoal, and oils. Due to the withering of the journal, the paint has long since lost its saturation, and the charcoal sketches of her figure were smudged. Some of her features were indecipherable, but the curves and ridges of her horns were undoubtably the same as the fae student.

He detested those statues Malleus admired, but those same monstrous features of horns and talons were quite enchanting on this woman. He could not blame the artist’s fancy. With swift gestures made of various mediums, the artist captured not only all her silver regality, but also moments of intimate repose as she slept. Lucky devil, the artist was, to have such a closeness to this lady. Judging from the name he managed to decipher, Meleanor Draconia must be a distant relative of Malleus. Well, distant as she could be, with Malleus’ features being a replica of hers.

Despite being a princess of the Draconia family, Meleanor hardly appeared in the historical texts Crowley could get his hands on, even in the castle he found this journal in. Any scrolls and painting were no doubt raided. Her castle showed signs of being taken over by a rivaling kingdom, with thrones being crudely painted over and banners poorly replaced, and until it too fell. Traces of her beauty were lost to time and conquest, burned beyond repair.

What an embarrassment, to mourn over a woman as if he knew her. But thinking of the liveliness fading from her eyes, her waterfall of hair flowing no longer…it made him want to rest alongside her grave all over again. Crowley could no longer blame the eldest Shroud for his obsession over those characters of his. Perhaps in his own way, Shroud felt a connection to fiction, to the lives unlike his own: stories of grandeur and freedom, of love and triumph. Or perhaps it was a case of usual teenage ennui, and Shroud really ought to get more friends in real life. Speaking of, his parents would not stop pestering Crowley with emails of how Shroud was doing. How’s he getting along at school? Has he made new friends? Has he been practiced healthier eating habits?

How was he supposed to know?! Wouldn’t the younger Shroud have a more accurate report on this?!

But like any respectable and humble Headmage, Crowley responded to each parental concern with complete sincerity. Not because these were the heads of Styx or anything. Perhaps he fudged the truth a bit, but if it made them happier, the better it was for his well-being.

As he shifted in his chair, his spine cracked in the most unpleasant of ways. Oh dear, he truly has been sitting here for far too long. Where was he again? Right, the journal. The journal. His journal. The woman. Meleanor.

The later pages depicted drawings of her with a child- or rather, an egg speckled with stars. Her eyes glowed brighter than any treasure as she cradled her pride and joy. His throat tightened. How unfortunate indeed, that such a life was cut short. Meleanor undoubtedly perished before the hatching of her child, as the journal no longer depicted her beauty. After the last drawing of her curled up and napping with the egg, there were pages upon pages marred with furious stabs of ink.

Her death brought many questions to Crowley. There were infinite possibilities of how her life could have played out if she lived. But in regards to her egg- which, who knew if survived or not- would she have been the doting mother that Shroud’s family was?

Based on the depictions of her alone, Crowley could imagine how she’d coo over the egg as she decided on a name.

“If it’s a girl,” Her spouse began, before Meleanor swiftly cut him off.

“A boy,” She said firmly. “He will be a prince, I’m sure of it.”

Her spouse’s eyes twinkled in amusement, a wry grin on his face. “Is that so? How can you be so sure?”

“A mother’s intuition!”

Levan pressed an ear to the egg. He could feel the soft thumping of a heartbeat inside, his and Meleanor’s blood circulating inside. Nothing really told him whether or not their child was a boy. But Meleanor was likely right, anyhow. “And a father’s intuition tells me that you’re right! So what manner of a name shall we crown our little prince? Mmmm…Maximilius? Melly?” Those were silly names and he knew it, but he enjoyed the way Meleanor giggled. She laughed the same way she did as a child, rather scandulously but filled with mirth.

“Dearest, don’t be so daft! I was thinking more along the lines of ‘Malleus’. Don’t you think it sounds like both of our names?”

It sounded nothing like his name, to be honest. But he’d humor Meleanor and her antics. “Well…I suppose if you sound it out very generously, it does sound a bit like me. Or perhaps more like Lilia? In any case, Malleus has quite the ring to it. I quite like it, my dear.”

Gently lifting the egg from Meleanor’s arms to cradle it himself, he caressed the egg, the bumps and ridges of it reminding him of the feel of Meleanor’s horns. A malevolent star, this child would be. One that would break Crowley’s heart into pieces, yet the shards of himself would still manage to love and love and love, even when little of who he was remained. Malleus. Dear Malleus. Please, do forgive me.

Oh, how times have changed, and how much his little star grew. His star burned bright to the point when Crowley tore his eyes away, the silhouette was burned into his eyes, floating in his vision no matter where he looked, taunting him even as he closed his eyes to rest.

The flow of her hair, the cutting edge of her jaw, and the hundreds of needles serving as her eyelashes. From the way his eyes fit in his skull, to the degree of his cheekbones, Malleus’ features stitched together in a mockery of her beauty. So close, but not quite as Crowley remembered it to be.

His breath shuddering and throat tight, Crowley flipped back the most recent pages, with the new Ghost Camera photograph still safely inside. He slipped the photo out of the vinyl to write in the margins. Uncapping a bottle of ink, Crowley scribbled down today’s date with his quill underneath the photograph to keep track of time. The nib of the quill scratched against the pages as he did. Suddenly, Crowley paused in his writing. He craned his head to look at his desk calender, tapping on his phone to confirm it.

January 18th?

No, surely it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Yet the spread of information confirmed it, his eyes refusing to be deceived. Crowley grimaced. Yet another set of birthday celebrations would be held for the prince of Briar Valley. Crowley had ordered the decorations long in advance, stretching out the school’s budget just a tad for the extravagance of it all. As the Headmage, it was suitable that he showed up at any birthday of his students. He’d had to remind the Ramshackle prefect to take plently of photos of this celebration. He doubted the prefect would forget, but a reminder wouldn’t hurt. He’d like the capture Malleus’ toothy smile, and his uproarious laughter as he got along with his peers. His little star grew so much. Growing ever more distant, growing ever so bright. Perhaps Meleanor would like to see the photographs of Malleus’ birthday celebration when she came home. Tomorrow he’ll meet her again, with today all being a nightmare, hours stretching into days and months and years and centuries and-

With a startled jerk of his hand, Crowley realized a pool of ink built into the photograph due to him not moving the quill, staining several of the journal pages underneath. His thumb and fingers squeezes around the useless feather. The fireflies in the photograph were obscured with blots of ink. Malleus’ face had ink running up it, and Crowley desperately tried to save at least the view of his emerald eyes. His hand ended up smudging the ink further, his little star’s face hidden for good. The quill in Crowley’s hands snapped from the pressure, ink splattering over his suit and hands. A black substance soaked up into the paper, spreading among the delicate fibers.

As if broken out of a trance, Crowley stumbled out of his chair to see the damage done on his clothes. More damage seemed to be inflicted on his neck and back, as he winced from the sharp aches in his body.

He hasn’t been feeling like himself for a long time. He hasn’t been well for quite a long time.

With deep, shuddering breathes, Crowley felt the ink stains on his previously pristine white sleeves soaked into his skin through the fabric. How unsightly. He would have to go to a dry-cleaners posthaste when it opened up in the morning.

Crowley picked up the Ghost Camera photo, ink dripping from the ruined film. No longer did the fireflies burst from its frame, as the ink covered its main subject. Crowley’s hands trembled as the photo crinkled in his grip. His entire hands, covered with ink he couldn’t remove. His entire face, covered with ink he couldn’t remove. Felt it circulating through his body, his blood no longer his own alongside his heart. His little star was no longer his, as any part of who he originally was broke a long time ago.

A warm glow filtered into his office through the laced windows. Daytime.

Surely it hasn’t been all night? He only settled in at his desk just a few minutes ago, surely. There were already hushed and bleary voices coming from down below, as the students were rising for breakfast. Oh dear, there wouldn’t even be time for him to take a nap! At least the dry cleaners would be open soon. He could clean up this mess and forget any of it ever happened.

Crowley took one last lingering stare at the crumpled and stained photograph of Malleus, before summoning a flickering fire at his fingertip, light glinting off his golden claws. Within seconds, the stranger in the photo began to burn, edges crinkling into themselves. How amusing it was, for how easily his life’s work could be turned to ash in one simple moment. The ashes intermingled with the puddles of ink on his desk, creating a horrible concoction of his own foolishness.

Crowley locked up his journal into his desk drawer again, keeping it safe from further harm. Readjusting his coat and composure, he stepped out his office and locked the door without a single glance back. Meleanor only existed in his drawings and scatterings of his memory- but he’d have the real thing someday soon. The gestures of her figure would come to life, and everything would be the way it was again. He couldn’t quite recall those times, but surely those days were better. Anything over today. Anything over Malleus. He couldn’t stand the mockery of Meleanor’s features no longer- and yet today was a celebration of her son’s life. If only she didn’t sacrifice herself. If only she had left their precious unhatched pride and joy behind. Anything over Malleus. Anything for Meleanor.

Somewhere deep, deep inside, a quiet guilt cried out.

But he loved her more.

______________________

Haha, I apologize if parts of this story felt disorienting! I feel like in my vision of Crowley, his own inner thoughts are rather conflicting, as if he himself cant get the story right. Whether he quite literally can’t get the details right, or just refuses to comprehend his own tragedy- his thoughts spiral quite easily. I hope in the end, it made sense regardless of how strange some sections were. I have a lot of fun with the Crowley-is-Levan theory. I imagine many different interpretations with him, but this one, I took the approach of him being both sadly confused and in denial of his own memories. His own inner dialogue is confused whether he is Levan or that Levan is a desperate entity- and I think Crowley’s guilt has made it that he can hardly recognize himself anymore. He holds a great love for Malleus, but Crowley isn’t always in the healthiest state of mind. I hoped you enjoyed reading, thank you for taking the time to do so! ^o^

#twisted wonderland #twst #dire crowley #twst dire Crowley #twst Crowley #twst malleus #twst malleus draconia #twst papa draconia #Twst meleanor #Twst levan #twst revan #twst meleanor draconia #twst fanfic #fanfic #my fanfic #kallistopost #crowley is levan theory

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metvmorqhoses · 1 year

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So... thoughts about sab season 2 lmao

The writers were obviously on acids while concocting this high drivel.

It's a new fantasy genre they just founded with this season, you know, High Drivel.

They completely butchered the Darkling's character and I had to painfully witness ten hours of Ben, completely conscious of it, trying to conjure every Beauty and the Beast refrain to delay the Titanic-like sinking of his character and ship (from Phantom and Love Never Dies, to Dracula and Frankenstein to literal fanfictions I'm now sure he reads).

They completely missed the entire point and meaning of Darklina, making it a one-sided, one-dimensional stalker/simp-victim with angry Stokolm syndrome dynamic.

They threw famous line after famous line at us completely out of context as if they were bones to bait rabid dogs with (I will never forgive how they turned the sardonic "I'll make sure you hear when I make her scream", elegant half-threat and half-innuendo, into an angry madman growl with no meaning whatsoever).

"Let me be your monster!" - my children, you have read too many fanfics and not even the good ones.

Don't get me started with Baghra, the relationship counsellor and motherly hero (tm).

The shameless way they painted Aleksander taking possession of the stag amplifier as an assault metaphor. Disgusting.

I honestly didn't believe possible to do worse than the actual books, but never say never! The reasons why I hated the books were magnified this season. If Alina's reasoning and idiocy and lack of interest in her destiny and counterpart just did not make any sense in the books, in the show she is a thousand times dumber and one-dimensional! Put against this new version, books!Alina was depth personified! And if the books felt like rushed unelaborated summaries, the show is now an even worse mess! I cannot believe those are the same people who created season one. I'm astonished.

They eradicated the entirety of canon Darklina's scenes. Not a single one was present. Not one.

The tether is now for everyone to use and abuse, not only a personal soulmate thing. The Darkling is in Mal's dreams too lmao

Merzost suddenly killing the Darkling, of course. Obviously not to make Alina appear less of a cold-blooded murderer, not at all. Perhaps they should have remembered to make her fake a tear or two while burning the corpse of her ex-lover looking like a dumb emotionless fish.

Genya reduced to the victim (tm).

Nikolai the good woke boy (tm).

Nikolai giving up the Sturmhond title to the first tracker he meets, of course.

I loved how after ten hours of soppy eternal love declarations Mal dumps Alina because their love isn't real lol epic stuff.

And by the way this is still considered more valid and important than the relationship with the poor bastard who actually allowed the dumb angry fish to end him while daydreaming about her, his only peace in a thousand lifetimes of war.

Alina turning dark gives me a feeble hope, but the writers should come down from whatever drug they are currently using first.

Said hope involves the fact that they extinguished both Malina and the hatred towards the Darkling this season, and I like to think they did that to give us the proper dynamic with dark!Alina and the Nikolai's duology resurrected Darkling. But who knows if they will see reason.

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone s2 #the darkling #darklina #i won't be polite and tag anti things because malina stans never do #the grisha trilogy #anon #asks/replies #one and one thousand stories lis told #sab spoilers

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antimony-medusa · 1 year

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Okay so inspired by nothing in particular (it's inspired by reading the notes on the ace swag final poll, fun stuff in there), I have been thinking about being Cringe. Cause like, you enter a fandom, and usually, you find out shortly that somebody else hates that fandom. There is no fandom niche enough that it's not Weird to somebody, and there's no fandom mainstream enough that it's not Annoying to somebody else. And given the fact that some people do hatred recreationally, there's often going to be somebody mad enough about your fandom that they're going to go on diatribes about how your fandom is bad and actually harmful and destroying the fabric of civilization, etc. They're gonna pull out anything negative and blow it up until it's the size of the skyline and attack you for liking this negative thing.

Fun times, we've all seen it.

And the thing is, there's an impulse to have this happen and immediately find somebody else to point to and say, yeah, well, I might be weird, but at least I'm not THAT guy. I might read YA, but at least I'm not a Furry— those guys are sexual deviants! I might be into actual play podcasts, but at least I'm not into mcyt— those guys are all harmful and my guy is fine. I might be into danmei, but at least I'm not into bandom— rpf is so gross. I might be a furry, but at least I'm not into mainstream romance novels— senseless drivel aimed at middle class white women. Y'know. Immediately find someone to punch down on.

And boy do I understand why you want to do that, when people are pointing at you, but I don't actually think that it's helpful.

Cause like, every fandom has a logical train of thought and reasonable human impulses behind it. You might not share those impulses— I'm not a furry I don't think, I don't really get true crime— but that doesn't mean I can't have it explained to me by a very patient person in in the writer's workshop common room and go "oh, yeah, kinda pretending to be an animal, but you're gay about it, yeah, makes sense", or "oh yeah, morbid curiosity from the safety of your headphones, it's like a horror movie but real" and nod. Like there isn't a fandom or group out there that doesn't look weird from the outside, and there isn't a fandom or group that can't be explained if someone has thought about the human psyche enough.

And that isn't to say that there isn't sometimes salient critiques for what fandoms are doing or not doing— to grab the two examples above, I have heard people talking about issues with true crime reinforcing the current fucked up justice system, or bigotry at furry cons. But a) most of the time, there is already somebody inside that community that's fighting against those issues, and you just threw them under the bus with the problem they're trying to fix b) you don't usually know the nuances of the actual conversation and problems, you saw a couple callout posts. You saying "Yeah I'm a board game nerd but at least I don't play competitive trading card cames, those guys are doing nothing but feeding the capitalist machine" is not usually helpful towards fixing the ctg scene. It's just a cheap way to score points.

Like, I assure you that the YA scene is aware of the calcification of the genre into a tighter and tighter romantic form and their dependence on going big on tik-tok to sell enough to keep publishing. They know.

You specifically saying that your fandom is better cause it's not [problems you heard about other fandom having] is not actually going to make the person who's hating on you stop hating. They already decided that you're the person they're better than and that they're punching down on, you passing the punching down on to another fandom just makes more people sad on the internet, and potentially starts yet another chain of someone punching down at someone else. The wheel grinds on, everybody gets punched.

I guess this is just kinda turning into a "why hate on the internet, what good does that do" post, which is broader than I meant it to be. But like, there's a difference between thoughtful critique of problems (complicated to do fairly but very necessary) and finding someone new to curbstomp to make yourself feel better/morally superior (look, I'm writing this on a mcyt blog, we've all seen this happen, it does not increase the joy in the world).

Like in MCYT, we all decide to punch down on [other server we hate], or RPF, or people who write kidfic, or people who write e-rated fic/art, or people doing the popular trope of the moment, and sure, it lets you feel morally superior for the moment, at the cost of slapping the guy next to you. Haven't we had enough slapping the guy next to you? There but for the grace of god (got a fun idea/watched the wrong stream/ended up in the wrong brainstorming circle/got fixated on the wrong funny guy) goes I. You're not better than another group just because you saw a couple more callout posts (usually from people inside the community trying to fix things) about them.

We are all Cringe. There is nobody who's not Cringe. Don't say that you're not Cringe because someone else is more Cringe. Stop that.

#discourse #This is another thing where the public/private rule applies too I think #cause social media is public and what you do there is governed by different politeness rules #walking into your friend's dms and saying GOD I AM SO ANNOYED BY [other fandom] is a normal human impulse #posting that where other people can see that is potentially much more like shouting in the face of a random person #idk this is potentially something where me having a thousand followers is warping the perspective #cause I try to be really aware of the fact that who knows what people who see my posts are into #there's nobody I can throw under the bus and not have them see it #if you have eight followers all of which you know #you're much more effectively in a private space #idk #boy reading the tags on that ace swag poll was kinda a Oh Yeah They Really Hate Us moment #I forgot that cause I was just happy over here #but boy are we still an internet's favoured punching bag #and I just think making an effort to not continue to punching bag people might be good #fandom meta

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jonasgoonface · 10 months

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Happy anniversary of Willem Van Spronsen's attack on the Tacoma ICE detention center. Here's a thing I drew a while back. Here's a manifesto that he wrote, it's v good. ------

What follows is the written manifesto of Willem Van Spronsen:

there's wrong and there's right. it's time to take action against the forces of evil. evil says one life is worth less than another. evil says the flow of commerce is our purpose here. evil says concentration camps for folks deemed lesser are necessary. the handmaid of evil says the concentration camps should be more humane. beware the centrist.

i have a father's broken heart i have a broken down body and i have an unshakable abhorrence of injustice. that is what brings me here. this is my clear opportunity to try to make a difference, i'd be an ingrate to be waiting for a more obvious invitation.

i follow three teachers: don pritts, my spiritual guide, "love without action is just a word." john brown, my moral guide, "what is needed is action!" emma goldman, my political guide, "if i can't dance, i don't want to be in your revolution."

i'm a head in the clouds dreamer, i believe in love and redemption. i believe we're going to win i'm joyfully revolutionary. (we all should have been reading emma goldman in school instead of the jingo drivel we were fed. but i digress.) (we should all be looking at the photos of the YJP heroes should we falter and think our dreams are impossible, but i double digress. fight me.)

in these days of fascist hooligans preying on vulnerable people on our streets, in the name of the state or supported and defended by the state,

in these days of highly profitable detention/concentration camps and a battle over the semantics, in these days of hopelessness, empty pursuit and endless yearning,

we are living in visible fascism ascendant. (i say visible, because those paying attention watched it survive and thrive under the protection of the state for decades [see howard zinn, "a people's history of the united states.") now it unabashedly follows its agenda with open and full cooperation from the government. from governments around the world.

fascism serves the needs of the state serves the needs of business and at your expense. who benefits? jeff bezos, warren buffet, elon musk, tim cook, bill gates, betsy de vos, george soros, and need i go on? let me say it again: rich guys, (who think you're not really all that good,) really dig government, (every government everywhere, including "communist" governments,) because they make rules that make rich guys richer.

simple. don't overthink it.

(are you patriots in the back paying attention?)

when i was a boy, in post war holland, later france, my head was filled with stories of the rise of fascism in the 30's. i promised myself that i would not be one of those who stands by as neighbors are torn from their homes and imprisoned for somehow being perceived as lesser. you don't have to burn the motherfucker down, but are you just going to stand by?

this is the test of our fundamental belief in real freedom and our responsibility to each other. this is a call to patriots, too, to stand against this travesty against everything that you hold sacred. i know you. i know that in your hearts, you see the dishonor in these camps. it's time for you, too, to stand up to the money pulling the strings of every goddamn puppet pretending to represent us.

i'm a man who loves you all and this spinning ball so much that i'm going to fulfill my childhood promise to myself to be noble.

here it is, in these corporate for profit concentration camps. here it is, in brown and non conforming folks afraid to show their faces for fear of the police/migra/proud boys/the boss/beckies... here it is, a planet almost used up by the market's greed.

i'm a black and white thinker. detention camps are an abomination. i'm not standing by. i really shouldn't have to say any more than this.

i set aside my broken heart and i heal the only way i know how- by being useful. i efficiently compartmentalize my pain... and i joyfully go about this work. (to those burdened with the wreckage from my actions, i hope that you will make the best use of that burden.)

to my comrades:

i regret that i will miss the rest of the revolution. thank you for the honor of having me in your midst.

giving me space to be useful, to feel that i was fulfilling my ideals, has been the spiritual pinnacle of my life.

doing what i can to help defend my precious and wondrous people is an experience too rich to describe.

my trans comrades have transformed me, solidifying my conviction that we will be guided to a dreamed of future by those most marginalized among us today. i have dreamed it so clearly that i have no regret for not seeing how it turns out. thank you for bringing me so far along.

i am antifa, i stand with comrades around the world who act from the love of life in every permutation. comrades who understand that freedom means real freedom for all and a life worth living.

keep the faith! all power to the people! bella ciao

don't let your silly government agencies spend money "investigating" this one. i was radicalized in civics class at 13 when we were taught about the electoral college. it was at that point that i decided that the status quo might be a house of cards. further reading confirmed in the positive. i highly recommend reading! i am not affiliated with any organization, i have disaffiliated from any organizations who disagree with my choice of tactics. the semi automatic weapon i used was a cheap, home built unregistered "ghost" ar15, had six magazines. i strongly encourage comrades and incoming comrades to arm themselves. we are now responsible for defending people from the predatory state. ignore the laws of arming yourself if you have the luxury, i did.

#willem van spronsen #terrorism #ICE #abolish ICE #no borders #anarchy #power puff girls #manifesto #long post

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deejadabbles · 1 year

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Echo and Comms (Echo x Reader) Chapter Two

Summary: Who could know that a simple night out with your friend would lead to this? A life of danger and the man of your dreams. Echo x Communications Officer Reader (gender neutral). Friends to lovers/star-crossed lovers.

A.N. Woo part two out in a pretty timely fashion! I'm actually really proud of this one, but I hope you guys like long content because this is a big boy! Some of this is pure fluff, but, I will warn you, there's other parts that are pure heartache.

Please comment your thoughts in the replies or reblogs <3

Warnings: Explicit acts mentioned but not in detail, mentions of war and death, soldier death, grief, (assumed) main character death.

Part One /// Part Two /// Part Three /// [Part Four coming soon]

Three days. Three days of going to work, having lunch with Mavis, and eating alone in your apartment. You didn’t really mind, per se. You had had way too many experiences with boys not calling for it to truly affect your normal life.

But you were a little…disappointed. Maybe Echo wasn’t as interested in you as you had thought. Maybe he had just wanted someone to talk to while his brother had fun. Maybe he had forgotten about you the next day.

Ugh! Why was the shower always the place where annoying thoughts like that popped up? You groaned as you rinsed product out of your hair, trying to chase away the thoughts. Why did this even bother you so much? It wasn't like you felt an almost instant connection to the trooper or anything, right? Definitely not, and you certainly didn't think he was the cutest man who'd ever bought you drinks.

Just as you reached for your body wash, you heard a noise: the sound you had set for notifications on your data pad. It was likely Mavis, asking you what time you wanted to go see that vid she had mentioned. You knew you had plenty of time to answer her, so you made sure to take advantage of the hot water and soothing quiet. You stepped out a while later, patting yourself down with your robe as you strode over to your table where the pad sat.

Oh!

It wasn’t Mavis after all and you tried to ignore the giddy smile as you read the message over.

>Hey there! This is Echo, from the bar the other night? I know you’re probably busy but I figured I’d send this. Hopefully none of my brother’s have bothered you at the bar since I’ve been gone?<

You snorted in laughter. He was certainly an awkward one, you wondered if the message was missing a section in the middle, or if he just wasn’t used to sending out things that weren’t military reports.

Of course, you had no idea of the turmoil that had happened on the other side of the screen.

Echo was a nervous wreck. Even with the timeless vacuum of space, he knew that it had been several rotations for you back on Coruscant, several rotations of Echo not knowing what to send you. He had written and deleted maybe thirty versions of that message, always backing out and thinking he could craft something better- until Fives had had enough, snatched his data pad from him, and pressed ‘send’ on whatever drivel he had typed out in the moment.

Now Echo was staring at the “sent” message, rereading it over and over as if it was his death sentence. It might as well have been, for how long it had passed with no reply from you.

“So hottie hasn’t written back yet?” Jesse smirked.

“I’m gonna kill Fives,” Echo muttered, ignoring the crude nickname that Echo had scolded Jesse for using for you before.

Fives heard, even on the other side of the room and looked back at him with incredulity, “Me? What’d I do? You’re the one who kept chickening out of doing anything, I just sent it for you.”

“I sound like an idiot, Fives!”

“You are an idiot, Echo!”

Jesse cut in again with a laugh, “Oh yeah, and you’re mister smooth talker. That's why you got sent home from the bar alone last time?”

“Hey!” Fives waggled a finger at him, “My angel sent me home because she was- what’d you call it, Kix?

“Respecting your inebriated state.”

“Exactly,” Fives confirmed with a nod, “she was being respectful.”

None of Echo’s brothers seemed to care that he was spiraling deeper into despair the longer he sat there, they just went on arguing among themselves. It had been way too long without a reply, and he just knew that you were laughing at him on the other end. Maybe you had even hoped he wouldn’t message you, maybe you were just being nice when you gave him your comm code, maybe-

His heart stopped when the screen flashed from a new message. Eyes wide in disbelief, Echo could feel said heart in his throat as he read over your reply.

>Hey, Echo! I’m glad you didn’t lose my code. I heard the 501st shipped out the next day, hope you and your brothers are staying safe out there. And speaking of, don’t worry, I know how to take care of myself ;) <

It was a better reply than he could have hoped for. You even responded to his dumb little attempt at starting a conversation and was that a smiley face at the end there? No, it was winking! Echo didn’t even know people could send those in personal messages. He’d have to try it out, once he got the hang of talking to you in the first place, that is.

Kix was weighing in on some argument that had broken out between Fives and Jesse, but it was all background noise to Echo as he leaned back, smiling at the screen as he typed back to you.

Maybe Echo wasn’t too terrible at holding a conversation over a screen. For the past couple of weeks, Echo looked forward to the time he would have a quiet moment at night to check his data pad, to see your latest message sitting in his inbox. Both of you had decided on that first night that, given both his and yours busy schedules, you wouldn’t hold each other to replying on the spot, rather, just answering whatever was last said when there was time.

He appreciated the understanding, knowing that the life of a soldier rarely granted him enough leisure to shoot messages back and forth for any decent length of time. Sometimes, when the stars (or, specifically, your time zones) aligned, both of you could talk for at least a few short text blocks. One night, after he and his brothers made camp on some remote planet, he found he was lucky enough to have one of those fortuitous alignments.

>Can I ask a weird question? <

He had sent it with the intention of setting his pad down and working on checking his blaster, only hoping that he might get an answer sometime in the next day, but felt his heart race when there was an almost immediate ding in reply.

>Sure. You can ask anything, but my reply depends on what the question is. <

Echo swallowed hard, realizing that it was now or never.

>Would it be weird if I asked for a picture of you? <

He sweated the whole two minutes it took for the text to go through the thousands of comm buoys between there and Coruscant.

>A picture? Aw, you miss me that much, I’m flattered, mr soldier boy. <

You ended it with a cheeky heart and Echo knew his face was hot with a blush.

>Well everyone else in my contact board has a picture, everyone but you so I just thought I’d ask <

There, that response neither confirmed nor denied that he may or may not want the picture for other reasons. Like missing you, and wanting a reminder of how cute your face was.

Far far away from that backwater planet, back in the beating heart of the republic, you were sitting in your tiny one room apartment, biting your lip. So, the cutie wanted a picture did he? Currently you were sitting on your couch, work clothes tossed across the bed and the news playing in the background while you ordered take-out as a treat.

You weren’t the most put together, you admitted, but, after a quick scroll through all your pictures, you didn’t think any of them suited your needs either. After looking yourself over on the camera screen of your pad, you decided you looked good enough. Hair wasn’t bad, and, well, your oversized lounge top dropped off your shoulder in a way that, if you posed just right, looked very good. Just enough for Echo’s imagination to play with, if it wanted to play at all, that is.

After you were satisfied with the pic, you sent it before you could change your mind. The question was fair game, though, and the second the picture got through, you added a note to it.

>Your turn <

Was all it said, but it was enough.

Or, maybe not.

>My turn? <

He asked, which made you roll your eyes. Surely he wasn’t that dense. Your reply was quick.

>Uh yeah? I want a picture of you too, silly. <

While you waited on him, your dinner just so happened to arrive in a glorious knock at the door. Despite your eagerness to see what Echo did next, he would have to wait- you were starving after the day you had. You took your time getting your dishware, finding something other than the news to put on, and dishing out your food.

You had just settled back down on the couch when your pad went off again.

>I’m just not sure why, I have the same face every clone does it’s not special. <

You nearly choked on your dinner. What the kriff? Did Echo really just say that to you? You didn’t pretend to be an expert on clones, but even you knew that sharing those basic genetics didn’t mean all that.

Another short message dinged through then and it only made your jaw drop more.

>What I mean is you can just get any picture of a clone off the net and it would work. <

You thought your next words over long and hard. Afraid to say the wrong thing or go overboard with your reaction. In the end, you settled for something simple, and hoped he understood the full meaning behind it.

>But it wouldn’t be you, Echo. <

Back on his cot in that makeshift camp, Echo swallowed hard. He had never expected you to want a picture in return, and he definitely hadn’t expected you to say that when he expressed his confusion. His chest was all warm now, he didn’t know his insides could feel…what even was this? It felt almost prickly, but soft, it felt hazy, or fuzzy, maybe. He shifted around on his cot as he turned on the camera feature- then had to figure out how to take a picture of himself, which he’d never done before. Of his brothers? Sure, he had plenty of times, with his brother too, also plenty of times. But not him taking one of himself.

In the end it wasn’t a terrible attempt, his smile looked a little goofy, but the second time he tried it just looked like he had a bad toothache, so he went with goofy. Unfortunately his little photo shoot did not go unnoticed.

“Why’d you send that one?” Fives said as he read the messages over Echo’s shoulder.

“It was the best I could do,” Echo shrugged, it was too late anyway, it was already sent.

Fives snatched the data pad out of his hands again- why did his brother not understand personal belongings?! “Ah no no, we can do better! Come on, grab that rifle, we’re gonna make you look like a badass.”

It didn’t take long for the other troops of the 501st to get involved, and soon Echo was posing this way and that. But what really mortified him, was when General Skywalker himself chimed in, having them move to a spot just beyond the camp where an expanse of rugged desert stretched behind him.

“Okay, now tuck your helmet under your arm,” Anakin encouraged with an amused grin, just as Rex stepped back from adjusting the kama around his waist.

“Now that is a pose worthy of an ARC trooper!” Kix grinned as he held up the camera.

And that’s what they took, a shot of Echo standing in the desert, one foot propped up on a boulder, rifle held like a staff in one hand, and helmet tucked under the other. The moment Kix took the photo, Fives once again snatched the pad up and began typing.

“Have this pic instead, baby,” he said out loud as he typed, making Echo’s blood go cold, “it’s much more me, winky face and-”

“Fives dont se-!”

“-send!” Only then did Fives hand the data pad back to him, grin smug and full of himself, “You can thank me later, Echo.”

Echo’s brain had stopped working as he looked over the horror his brother had sent you. He had called you ‘baby’! Not once, as much as Echo had wanted to, had he ever used a pet name when talking to you! And the picture, it was worse than he thought. Sure it made him look heroic, but also like an egotistical ass who was trying to grandstand in your private chats.

“I think it looks great,” Tup said as Echo started to smack his face with the pad.

Thankfully he didn’t see your reaction on the other end, the way you rolled around on your couch in laughter at the portrait that definitely was not ‘him’. You much preferred the adorkable grin in the first picture to whatever that second picture was.

>Your brothers made you take that, didn’t they? <

Was all you sent in answer, deciding to spare him the string of laughing faces you wanted to add.

>Yes. And Fives typed the message with it, sorry. <

>Not to worry, but, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stick with the first pic. <

>I’d prefer that, thanks. <

Thankfully those weren’t the only pictures sent over the next few weeks. Chances for cheeky moments came up, like when you two bonded over how loud Mavis and his brothers were as the Professional Pod Racing Finals were aired.

The boys were mostly just excited that they got to see the broadcast live for once, but Echo still thought it was amusing and sent you a picture of the boys yelling at the holo screen in their barracks. In turn you sent him a shot of you, sipping on some fizzy drink with eyebrows raised as Mavis stood on your couch in the background, making a choking motion at your own holo screen. “I know your pain” was the text across the picture, which made Echo laugh.

Another time you expressed interest in seeing his full armored ‘get up’ since you hadn’t when you met at the bar that night. Echo was happy to oblige, even goading you into sending your own ‘work selfie’ and getting a very nice picture in return. He wasn’t sure how you managed to make those gray officer uniforms look good, but you did, staring down at the camera from under that hat in a way that looked commanding and mysterious and-

Echo had to stow the picture away when his armor started to feel too tight.

But of course, photos weren't the only things you shared. You surprised Echo again and again with all the ways you showed him that you valued the time you two talked together. Like when you asked him if he liked games, then immediately found a version of Word-Path that you two could play together across the net. Much like your messages to each other, the game could be played during any free moment available, the board waiting patiently for the next move no matter how long it took one of you to make it.

Before he knew it, you were filling every free thought Echo had, and he was glad for it. He could pack away his feelings and fantasies when needed, he was still a damn good ARC trooper, but when there was a free moment to breathe? You. All you. Smiles over something funny you had said. Daydreams of seeing you in person again. Mulling over what to send you next in order to sound charming and witty and cute-

Cute, that’s right, you had called him cute the other day and he still felt giddy over something so small.

Kriff, Echo never knew someone could be as amazing as you. Never knew someone could make him feel the way you made him feel.

So, when the General gave them today’s good news, Echo knew he had to tell you ASAP.

>We’re coming back to Coruscant soon <

>That’s great! When? <

>We’ll be heading into hyperspace at 16:00 standard time, and with how long we’ll be in hyperspace, probably two rotations? <

Echo halted his typing, his mind seeming to stall. How was he going to ask you if you wanted to see him again? How could he come off as cool and calm without sounding like a jerk? Giving you the wrong idea was the last thing he wanted but-

>So, have any plans already? Maybe you could squeeze lil ol me into your schedule? <

Once again you proved that you could stop his heart without even trying. He held his breath as he read the text over again, like it was a dream come true. It was his dream come true, in a way.

As he typed out his reply Fives came up behind him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, “Guess who’s getting another shot with his angel,” he sang as he shook Echo. “Just told her we were heading back, and she invited me over for dinner at her place!”

“That’s great,” Echo said with a genuine smile. Though that first night had ended for the better, Echo knew that he had liked Mavis quite a bit, and, knowing she was taking an interest too, made him happy for his brother.

“So you know what that means,” Fives continued to beam.

Echo faltered, “Uh, that you’re gonna…not get drunk and get lucky this time?”

“No- well, yeah, actually, but no! I was talking about you and your own little hottie,” he winked, “this leaves you two open to have a night all to yourselves.”

A cough found its way into Echo’s throat then. Mostly just in surprise of course, because, the moment he thought about it, the more he liked that idea. He took a breath, and was able to type out his next words to you with little to no hesitation.

>Fives just told me that he and Mavis are planning a night together. Are you okay with it just being the two of us? <

>Sounds great. Is 79’s your usual hang out? <

>It is, but if you have a better idea I’m all ears. <

>If you’re up for it, I know a great spot. Has a stunning view and great food. Aaaand considering you bought my drinks last time, dinner can be on me this time.<

Well, how could he say no to that?

Two days later, Echo was certain he could have never properly prepared himself for this date. He had never thought about what a perfect date would be for him, but somehow, you had nailed it.

As if you could get any cooler, you had picked him up from the garrison riding a custom speeder bike, telling him to hang on tight as you shot into the air. He had never seen half the buildings and markers you pointed out to him as you drove, giving him a list of places you might visit later if he wanted. Of course, he was only half listening, mostly he was preoccupied with the way you felt between his arms. He was glad he had only left on the key parts of his armor today, letting the warmth of your body creep through his blacks.

Eventually, and almost to his annoyance, the speeder came to land on the tippy top of a building that, if Echo remembered your tour right, was some sort of office tower. Someone had taken up the roof with a rather ingenious idea: A cargo speeder converted to make and sell food, and the rest of the roof was taken up with little tables and picnic cushions. It was also the cleanest roof he’d ever seen, with a scutter droid booping about to pick up wayward trash and hovering lights bobbing about to cast it all in a romantic glow. Apparently, given the setting sun, you told him it was the perfect time to visit.

As soon as the pair of bothans handed you two your order, you were grabbing his hand again- which was not helping how sweaty and tight his skin was feeling at the moment. He didn’t want you to let go, though, and was glad you didn’t until you led him to the very edge of the roof, where one of those picnic-like futons lay.

He was chuckling while you pulled him down eagerly, crossing your legs and waving your hand at the open sky before you, “And here’s the view I promised you!”

Echo knew his face might hurt later from smiling so much, but he couldn't help it, there was definitely a view, he just didn’t have to look at the sky for it.

But, he did, because you asked him to, and though he’d rather look at your face, the city did look spectacular up here. Smaller buildings and lanes of racing speeders spread out before you both like a spider web, but the best part was that it was high up enough to see the sun dipping lower in the sky, a rare sight in this place of such tall skyscrapers.

“So…?” you drew out an expectant tone.

“It’s,” he laughed a little, eyes already back on you, “totally wizard.”

The proud smile that lifted your lips made his heart jump and he had to distract himself by unwrapping his food and shoving the first bite into his mouth.

Just like your communications, conversation seemed to spark easily enough. It truly amazed Echo how you two were always able to talk as if you had known each other for years. Anything and everything was on the table, though the lighthearted tone called for silly stories the two of you had yet to share with each other. You particularly liked his story involving Hardcase and Fives mimicking Jedi as they played around with broom handles- only to be caught in the act by General Skywalker.

The food was long devoured, the sun having set, and the food stall closed for the night. If Echo cared about anyone but the two of you, he would have noticed that you were the only ones still sitting on the rooftop. That was fine, preferable, even. He would shut out all of the world when he was with you.

In fact, the only thing that distracted him was something crackling overhead, and your face lighting up. “Ha! The forecast was actually right for once.” You nudged his shoulder and pointed at the sky, at the dark clouds collecting overhead. “I was hoping it would rain tonight, you’re gonna love this.”

Echo raised an eyebrow, looking around at the open roof exposed to the elements, and failed to see why getting rained on during your meal was something to love, but he supposed he trusted you.

“It rains a lot on Kamino, right?” your eyes shifted back to him, tone quiet, perhaps wondering how Echo felt about his homeworld, since he’d never mentioned it before.

He nodded, “Almost constantly. It was a bit weird, realizing how little rain some planets get.”

“Yeah, Coruscant doesn’t get much, but when it does, you wanna be in a place like this,” you nudged his shoulder again, turning back to the clouds just as another rumble of thunder groaned. “Ah! Here it comes.”

Echo looked up too, automatically squinting his eyes to prepare for the raindrops- but they never hit his skin. Those eyes went wide at the sight above you both. The rain was coming down in a torrent, but each drop was caught some meters above, dancing in midair before rolling off to the side of some invisible bubble. It was like watching thousands of tiny glass tears collecting to make a canopy above you.

“They have an antigrav device to keep stuff from falling on the roof,” you explained, and the intimacy of your tone caused Echo to tear his gaze away from the sight and back to you.

Though your eyes were still entranced by the dancing water above, Echo was enraptured by the soft look of utter awe and appreciation on your face.

“What do you think? Beautiful, right?”

If Echo was familiar with cheesy holo videos, he’d realize that saying “Yes,” in a dreamy tone while his eyes were wholly on you was one of the oldest tropes in the book. But, even if he did know that, it wouldn’t matter, he knew in that moment that his eyes would always be for you.

Swallowing hard, Echo took a chance, braving his impulse before he could back out. He leaned in closer to you, and brushed the very tips of his fingers across your cheek. That got your attention away from the sky above, and you turned your face to find him just a breath away.

That’s when his lips brushed yours.

It was feather light and sweet, a gentle press, he wanted to give you every opening to pull away if you wanted. Instead, your hand reached up to grip his bicep as you pulled him in closer. The fingers that had grazed your cheek were now cupping your face, drawing you in as the rain pattered overhead.

Despite the overwhelming feelings brewing in his chest, Echo managed to keep the affection from getting too wild. He liked this, liked how delicate the act was, careful, unrushed, enjoying the tenderness like hints of sugar on the tongue. You let out a little noise as you took your other hand and splayed it over his chest and he was about to wrap his arm around you.

But then, his commlink went off.

Only then did you two break apart. After blinking away the sugary haze of the kiss, you both looked down at his wrist. When Echo saw the comm code, his heart wanted to start a descent into his stomach. It was Captain Rex.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, starting to scramble to his feet, “let me take this?”

You nodded silently, and he thought he saw some worry etched on your face as he walked some ways away. The worry was warranted. His conversation was short, but his heart sank lower and lower the longer it went on and even after the call ended, he stood there for a moment, mind reeling against the news.

Swallowing hard, he straightened up and walked back to you, trying to keep the disappointment off his face. Even after he sat back down at your little picnic, he stayed silent for a few heartbeats.

“Anything important-”

“We’re shipping out again.” Echo didn’t mean to interrupt you, but the words came tumbling out like a toppled crate. “Got an emergency mission, shore leaves' been canceled.”

“O-oh.” Your reply was short, surprised, but Echo thought he could already hear the disappointment in your tone. That he had disappointed you. “Do you have to head back immediately?”

A breath left Echo’s chest as he finally met your gaze again. “We leave in ten standard hours, I have to make sure I’m on duty by then.” Another breath, this one harsher, pushing through his teeth like steam, “I just thought I’d have more time.” Thought I could have more time with you.

Ten hours, it wasn’t enough, hell, ten days wouldn’t be enough for him to get his fill of you.

“I wanted more time like this,” Echo admitted, and he hoped that looking into your eyes the way he was conveyed exactly what he meant by ‘this’.

He saw your throat tighten and your eyes narrow slightly in thought. “Ten hours?” you asked and he nodded. Another moment of thought passed, then his name was on your lips, a whisper as tender as the kiss you had just shared. You leaned in, your hand cupping his face. “Echo…come home with me.”

He blinked, “Wh-what?”

You were sliding closer to him now, leaving no space between your bodies. “I was just thinking, you have so little time left, maybe I could help make the most of it.” Those gorgeous, now half lidded, eyes of yours were trained on him as you dipped your face closer to his. Hot breath ghosted over his chapped lips, causing a pleasant shiver to ripple down his spine. “Echo, do you want to come home with me?”

He had wanted you since the moment you walked into that bar, so he answered, grabbing your shoulders and pulling you back into that intoxicating kiss. It was less careful this time, as he finally let some of his eager need bleed through. You didn’t seem to mind, wrapping your arm around him as you moaned against his lips.

When you finally parted again, his verbal answer was barely more than a hot breath of a word, “Please.”

You were still panting from the heat of the kiss as you obliged. Not taking your eyes off him, you took his hands as you rose, and walked him back to your speeder.

Your apartment felt like home.

Echo had grown to hate the sleeping pods on Kamino, and the only reason he still considered the planet home was because of his brothers. The barracks on the Resolute were a little better, livened up by members of his legion, his family. But you little home? The little oasis tucked away in the city? It was warmth and comfort and safety. He had only spent a few hours there, but he wanted to curl up in its inviting and personable air, wanted to lay with you in this private haven for days.

But Echo didn’t have days.

He stepped out of the refresher, armor back in perfect order, and he was glad he hadn't shut the door, as the sound of it might have woken you. The lights were dimmed, casting your gorgeous body into a romantic glow. You were laying on your stomach, arms tucked under the pillows and face buried in the sheets. The covers were barely covering you, giving him a wonderful view. He stepped closer to the bed, smiling softly at the peaceful look on your face, the way your hips shifted to a more comfortable pose, and how your hand reached out to knead at the vacant pillow beside you.

He didn’t want to leave.

You had been so perfect with him. Taking him apart piece by piece, kiss by kiss, touch by touch. Patient and sincere, you didn’t expect too much, but took everything he offered. Letting him- begging him to get lost in you, praising his hands, moaning for his lips, taking all of him. The phantom feel of your touch was still making him shiver, and the record of your voice playing back in his mind would haunt his lonely nights for years, he knew it.

Maker, you were perfect.

It was a stupid, fleeting thought, but when Echo had pulled you close afterwards, when he held you, he mused that maybe he wasn’t made for the war. Maybe he had been made for you. Fives was right. He was a stupid romantic, and all he wanted was to be your stupid romantic.

He needed to go.

The fleet would be leaving in little more than an hour, he needed to go, but he was glued to the spot, watching your form in the dim light. Maybe he had put too much of himself into this, maybe you didn’t feel the connection the same way he did, maybe he was just being clingy and hyperbolic, maybe-

You stirred, brows scrunching in a cute little frown, and it was only then that Echo realized that he had reached out to stroke your hair. You blinked up at him, the haze of sleep clinging to your smile.

“Hey,” your voice was husky, even more so than when you had called his name hours before. Then, your eyes took in his armor. “Is it really time to leave already?”

He nodded, and had to clear his throat before speaking, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, no,” you lifted yourself up and the blanket fell from what little it had been covering before. “I’m glad you did, better than waking up to find you gone.”

That put some of his earlier thoughts at ease, and even more were soothed when you sat on your knees at the edge of the bed, put your arms around him and kissed him again. His hands went to the small of your back, pulling you in even closer, hoping the cold hardness of his armor wasn’t too harsh against your naked body. Your fingers found their way to his hair, just like they had when he was on his knees for you.

He had trouble opening his eyes when you broke the heated kiss, the haze of lewd memories clouding his mind. When they did flutter open, the hand that wasn’t holding you close moved up to cup your cheek. You hummed at the contact, placing a kiss on his palm.

“I…I wish you weren’t going,” you whispered suddenly, and Echo felt his heart soar. “I know you have to, though, ‘out there fighting for all of us.��

“For you,” the words tumbled out in a hushed breath, but he didn’t regret them. “C-can I see you again?” Damn, why did he have to stumble in his words now? “When I come back, I mean.” He swallowed, “I’d really like to see you again.”

You blinked up at him, smile sweet, sincere, as you repeated the same reassuring word he had before you took him home. “Please.”

Work was agonizing for you now.

Before, your breaks had been a welcomed reprieve from the frequency bans and code lines, but now your those moments were just filled with thoughts of him. Worried thoughts. Echo, your sweet, gentle Echo. You weren’t sure when you started thinking of him as yours, maybe after you’d spent hours worshiping each other, but you didn’t suppress the thoughts, not now.

You had to focus on work.

But how could you when your heart sank any time a coworker mentioned the 501st? How could you when in the back of your mind you wondered if he’d had time to send you another message, time to assure you he was still alive despite being sent to the front lines again. Some part of you wondered how anyone could blame you for being distracted, but, thankfully, an even larger part of you pulled yourself together. It was hard to think straight with Echo never far from your thoughts, but you had to. Your work was too important, it could save too many lives. So you buckled down and told yourself that worry could wait for down time.

And oh, by the force did it.

You found yourself watching the news more and more often at night. Caught your fingers opening your inbox just to double check that you hadn’t missed a message. Maker, you had it bad, didn’t you? Thankfully the man who had so effortlessly stolen your heart was good at easing your worry. His messages to you hadn’t slowed, he contacted you any moment he could, played his next word in your ongoing game, sent pictures of him and his brothers with that dorky smile on his face.

How could you not fall for him?

And that’s what had happened, wasn’t it? Somewhere between the silly pics and kisses in the rain, you had fallen head over heels for the trooper. Fallen faster and harder than you ever had before. It scared you at first, how deep your feelings ran, but you didn’t have the heart to hide from them, not when you remembered the way he had held you, not when he had looked as though his heart was breaking when he left you that night.

Even still, you couldn’t tell him, could you?

Just how deep the well of your feelings for him were. It was too soon to say all that, perhaps. So you’d be content with those cute messages and online games. Well, not quite. One night you couldn’t resist the urge to see his face again. While you were making dinner, he had replied to your last text, mentioning that they would, thankfully, be in hyperspace for a while, giving them a much needed break. So, you tried something new, and asked if he had time for a holo call.

Your heart was leaping stupidly when, not five minutes later, there was a beep sounding from your home holo device. You pressed the ‘accept’ button without even checking who it was and, from the waist up, Echo’s image flickered to life. His brows were high, mouth open just slightly.

“Cyare, is something wrong? Are you okay?”

A relieved laugh came out as you leaned against your kitchen counter. “I’m fine, I just…wanted to hear your voice? Or maybe see your face.” Or maybe both, you added to yourself.

The holo crackled as he let out a breath, then, his image was smiling back at you. “In that case, I’m glad you asked me to call, because I…” he scratched the back of his neck, “I missed your voice too, and your face.” His eyes went wide. “The face part sounded weird, didn’t it?”

Another laugh, “No, it didn’t, it’s nice to know my face is missed.”

And just like that, you two settled into conversation, just like at the bar, just like on that rooftop. Everything just felt so right with Echo, even your heart wrenching worry.

That wasn’t the only time you two spoke via holo call. Though, the second time was more heartbreaking than your constant worry, because it was a reminder of why you worried.

You had just been cleaning up before bed when the message came in.

>I know it’s late on Coruscant, but are you awake? <

Quicker than you thought possible with all the space between you two, the moment you replied “yes” a call came in. And your heart sank at the sight that flickered before you. He looked tired, the bags under his eyes apparent even in the blue hues, face unshaven, short hair ary as if he had been pulling at it.

“Hey,” his voice was too horse, too…broken.

“Echo, sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

He was silent for a bit, eyes averted, then, he drew in a breath, shaky, ragged. “We…we lost a lot of brothers today.” There was a sound behind him, like plastoid scraping against durasteel. The shake of the holo that followed confirmed that Echo had slid down a wall. Where was he? The background was dead silent so not the barracks, you prayed he wasn’t curled up in some random hallway alone.

“Talk to me,” you whispered, “I’m here, Echo, whatever you need, I’m here.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, pulling another ragged breath between his teeth. “They hadn’t even been here that long,” he whispered, “they were so proud, so ready to serve in the legion. Some didn’t even have their names yet-” your name fell from his lips with a sob and it broke your heart that you couldn’t put your arms around him, pull him close so he knew he wasn’t alone. “No one’s gonna remember them, no one but me and a few others who bothered to talk to them. That’s all I kept thinking about, that no ones even gonna know what they were like, or know them well enough to miss them.”

You swallowed the tears that were building behind your eyes, Echo didn’t need that right now, he needed you. “Tell me what they were like.” The words were out before you could think them over, but you doubled down on the sentiment. “Talk about what they were like, so I can remember them. I’ll grieve for them with you, Echo.”

When his eyes darted back to yours, you saw something trail down his cheek and oh, how you longed to brush that tear away. You raised your hand to where his face would have been, hoping that he at least got the sentiment. He closed his eyes, perhaps imagining your palm on his cheek. A moment passed, and his next intake of breath was at least a little calmer.

“Okay.”

Hours passed, but you wouldn’t dream of complaining. He told you about all of them, the ones with names, the ones with numbers, the ones he’d only spoken to once. Told you all the little quirks and subtle traits they had, every notable thing they had said to him. And, he told you about their deaths.

It got harder to hold back those tears, but you managed it for him, because it was what he needed. Eventually he was spent, drained of anymore words for his fallen brothers. He still looked so tired, but you were glad when he told you they had another three days before their next mission. At least he had some time to rest.

Though, your heart clenched when he mentioned the possibility of a covert operation of some kind.

“I should let you sleep,” he said eventually, “ ‘m sorry I kept you up this long.”

“Don’t apologize, you needed to talk.” When all he did was nod you added, “Are you sure you’re ready to hang up?”

Something told you not to hang up, to keep him as close as the stars allowed.

“I can stay on and-”

“No, no, I think I’m ready for bed too,” he somehow managed the smallest smile then, “thank you. Thank you for staying up with me this long.”

You smiled back at him, still longing to pull him into your embrace. “Echo, anytime you need me, I’m here, you know that, right?”

He was silent for a beat, just staring back at you with tired, almost astonished eyes.

“I love you.”

Who would have known those words sealed your fate.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and before you could even fully register what he said, he whispered your name, and repeated the affection with a firmer tone.

“I love you so much. I probably should have waited til I saw you in person again, but, I couldn’t stomach waiting, not after what happened today. I…I hope it’s not too soon or…”

“I love you too, Echo.”

Some more tension left his shoulders, and his expression relaxed. “When I see you again, I’ll say it properly, with you wrapped up in my arms.”

People rarely see heartache and pain coming, and your fate was sealed.

“I’ll hold you to that, trooper. But, for now, you better get some sleep, okay?”

A fate of longing and grief.

“Okay, goodnight, cyare.”

You couldn’t have known your love wouldn’t last.

Three days later, Echo warned you that he had to go silent, that their next mission was a covert op, that it might be awhile before you got another message, but that he’d call you the moment he could.

To tell you he was okay.

The ding came when you were on your lunch break.

To tell you he was safe.

Hoping it was Echo you opened the message instantly.

To tell you he loved you again.

Your heart stopped when you saw that it was Fives, not Echo, but his brother in arms using his comm.

In the end, he was a hero.

The device clattered to the ground, rage and tears wracking your body fast and hard.

>I know he would want me to tell you, so it didn’t come from some stranger. <

Your body was soon to follow and Mavis was by your side in an instant.

>He was trying to save our shuttle <

She held you tight as the sobs tore your throat apart.

>He was a hero. <

You didn’t want him to be a hero! You wanted him here and safe and alive!

>I’m so sorry. <

#echo x reader #arc trooper echo x reader #clone x reader #star wars x reader #arc trooper echo #series: echo and comms #deeja writes #echo x you #arc trooper echo x you #sw

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bardnuts · 3 months

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Casing in today. I'm not a bookbinder (e.g. this is my first time) but I wanted to preserve the book I wrote when I was 13 to make my teenage self happy.

'Twas a very silly tale of fantasy guys doing fantasy stuff in the woods.

The cover is chipboard and craft fabric and the lettering was done with one of those nifty gold foil pens.

#read my drivel boy #my art #bookbinding #the cloth reinforcing the spine is a sash from a pirate costume jkgsdsdf

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lookmomiwrite · 1 year

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Art by @robustaart. Check them out! They're very talented and do commissions.

I found this art on Reddit and after reading thirsty comment after thirsty comment, I was inspired to write a story with this character. Enjoy! And follow for more.

The Serpent of Selune

The doors of the tavern swung wide and rain sprayed across the old wooden floor. A young woman followed, head held high and her veil dry, despite the raging storm. The typhoon stayed even the most daring captains from leaving port and forced sailors to take refuge in taverns along the harbor, gorging themselves on food and drink in a gluttonous celebration of respite. Sarelin let the doors shut behind her as she left a trail of watermarked bootprints in her wake. She stood for a moment, eyes scanning the patrons before her.

Their eyes latched onto her and murmurs spread through the groups of sailors and dockhands; though, most returned to their games, food, and drinks. A man stood from a table sat in a dark corner of the tavern and made his way to Sarelin. He was covered in ragged clothes, pants ripped above the ankles, boots with holes, and a sweat-encrusted shirt with its sleeves haphazardly rolled up to his elbows. He stopped before her, bottle of rum in hand, and swayed side-to-side as he drank.

“Miss, you’re standing before Dungan, known as Blackburn, The Prince of Pirates,” he said with another swig of his bottle and a stifled laugh. He swung around to face gawking patrons, hands held high in an expectation of praise and applause, but when none was received he turned his attention back to Sarelin. “Why don’t you come join my boys over there, we’ll show you a good time.” He reached for her with an unsteady hand but Sarelin swatted him away before he could make contact.

“You smell like a stray dog.” Disgust filled her voice as she spat those words at him.

Sarelin pushed past the drunk and he stumbled back. Onlookers mocked Dungan with laughter as he retreated to his table. She carved a path through patrons to sit at the bar next to a man dressed in a fine leather tunic over a white sailor’s shirt, both opened in the front, which revealed his bronze skin below.

“Do you always have to dress like you’ve just left a brothel?” She asked.

“Only when I want to annoy you, Sare. Besides, if we’re talking about sex appeal, I’m completely outmatched. Half the tavern still have their eyes on you. No one but that drunk has noticed me.” The man chuckled as he motioned to Dungan — in a way someone laughs when nervous to meet an old friend — and downed the last of his ale. His solemn countenance returned. “I take it since you’ve traveled all the way from Alomont, you’ve accepted?”

“I just thought I’d hear you out in person, Garrick. Besides, I’ve missed our little adventures and the hunting grounds in Alomont are becoming sparse.” Sarelin removed a mirror from her bag then adjusted her veil. She shifted the mirror to look over her shoulder, the image behind her dim but still bright enough to reveal the sailor who harassed her. “It looks like poor Dungan had his feelings hurt.”

“Ignore them, they’re not worth your time. Tonight should be about reminiscing of the past and looking to the future. I’ll buy you a drink and tell you about the plan, they have a special ale here that I’ve—”

“No, not yet, there are matters to attend to before we start. Excuse me for a moment.” And before Garrick could try to stop her, she was halfway to stairs that led to the guest rooms. Unlike the well lit and noisy dining hall, the maze-like hallways of the upper floors were calm, dark, and empty. The noise of patrons below faded as Sarelin walked deeper into the labyrinth, replaced by bellowing winds and taps of branches against walls and windows — an otherwise cozy place if not for the foul smell of the fish market.

Sarelin spun at the sound of floorboards croaking and met the glare of Dungan. His breath reeked of rum and vomit, his gait wide and boorish, his words slurred nearly to the point of drivel. Dungan dropped his empty bottle and grabbed her hands. “It’s dangerous for a little lady like you to be alone at night—“ he paused a moment before feigning spontaneous thought, ”I know, how about I help you find your way back. I’m the Prince of Pirates after all, what is a prince if not chivalrous.” Dungan belched out a drunken laugh and pulled her towards a nearby room as she screamed. *** “Ho! Innkeeper, a pitcher of Holn White Ale, will you? Heard it’s your new specialty.”

“Aye, Garrick,” the Innkeeper answered, “Haven’t seen you in years, what brings you to Holn?” The Innkeeper was a heavier set man and renown for his ales. Twenty years of serving up food and drinks from his family run tavern made him a man of secrets, and not just of the brewery.

“Just a bit of business, as usual. Anything interesting? Rumors, bounties, murders maybe?”

“Murders, ay? There is a new killer. Guards found bodies two weeks ago. Already been five deaths since. The Serpent of Selune, they call ’em. Leaves the bodies shriveled up like jerky, no blood or wounds, say’n it’s a vampire — I’m not sure what to think but the church put a thousand gold piece bounty on the killer’s head. Not sure about you, but I’ve never seen a bounty that high for just a vampire.” The Innkeeper paused before being called by another patron. “Busy night, lad, tell me some stories when it dies down. If you want the bounty, I’ll give you the bishop’s calling card. White Ale, on the house.”

Garrick gave the man a nod and drank from the wooden tankard. The tavern was as lively as ever. Years ago, Garrick brought his own crew to shelter under the same oaken roof. Six long years traveling the world by ship, making a name for himself that would become his legacy, and returning here for rest. The sound of heavy-footed drunkards freed from his thoughts and he set down his ale as Dungan’s crew surrounded him.

A man leaned over the bar and smiled as he propped himself up by his elbows. “Where’d your lady friend go? Hope nothing bad happens while you’re away.” The men laughed on cue as if they rehearsed their petty threats beforehand.

Another one spoke, “What? Can’t hear or someth’n?”

A third joined with a crooked grin, “We’re say’n we’re gonna join the captain. You gonna stop us?”

Garrick turned to the men and raised his tankard. “That lady friend is a woman who needs not the protection of a man like me.”

Dungan’s crew glanced at each other, faces contorted, trying to grasp Garrick’s reluctance to help a woman they thought he was acquainted with. Each shrugged and stumbled to the stairs. “Guy’s not very fun. Was hoping to step outside and teach him a lesson,” one muttered. *** The door swung open and Dungan’s crew walked in, met by a woman sat in a chair next to the bed, one leg crossed over the other and her head resting in her hand — bored. Dungan hunched over a pillow in a dream-like state, humping wild as he cried out for his men to join him. The men cackled in unison.

“Control yerself boss,” the lead man said.

“Too worked up to see he’s fuck’n a pillow.”

“A bit too much rum,” another said.

Tears rolled down their cheeks as they verbally lashed their boss. Sarelin straightened in her chair and placed her hands into her lap. She looked to the trailing crew member, a scrawny man with scars that lined his body and gave him an air of authority among scoundrels. “Close the door.” Her voice cracked like a whip and her eyes glowed yellow. The man stiffened and shut the door behind him immediately.

The other men turned on the man as they laughed, Looks like the captain isn’t the only one who's overeager. Good boy, Vernon.”

“Silence.”

Dungan and his crew froze and the room fell to silence. Sarelin stood from her seat. “Men like you are pathetic. You drink a bit of alcohol and lose control. You believe you are strong and I am weak. But here you all are, frozen with fear, charmed by a woman far more dangerous than the seas you hide from tonight.” She turned towards Dungan and placed her hand on his head. Her fingers bit into his flesh as she squeezed, but they did not pierce the skin to wound him. Instead, they passed through like a phantom in the mists, doing damage not physical but ethereal. “There are things much worse than death — Watch.”

Sarelin pulled her hand away and a flash of red light filled the gap. Dungan’s body began to shrivel. The light grew dim and took his form, shrunken by Sarelin’s black magic and malformed, closer in appearance to a tumor than a man. She ripped her hand away and held it high. Dungan’s body slumped over the pillow. “This is a soul. An ugly one, made grotesque by his actions. And I’ll have each one of yours soon enough.” Sarelin walked to the leading man, her gait light, each step slow and deliberate. She seemed more a queen than the demon she was. A tear rolled down his cheek. A relic of the laughter the men shared moments ago or from the fear he felt now, Sarelin couldn’t tell — nor did she care. *** The dining hall quieted as guests retreated to their rooms. It was nearly midnight. Sarelin strolled down the stairs, her face bright and lively despite the hour, eyes sharp and focused as she took her place next to Garrick.

“A full meal tonight… Guess I’ll order for myself then.” Garrick said with a smile. “Why not have a drink? The Holn White Ale is quite good.”

“How chivalrous of you, to notice a parched lady’s thirst. I expect nothing less from the true Prince of Pirates.” She leaned into Garrick and wrapped her arms around his. “Now, let’s hear about your plan to plunder the church’s treasury.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If you made it this far, thanks for reading! Please, follow for more stories and if you have a request, leave a comment!!

#fantasy #short story #creative writing #writing #fiction #magic

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