suspension point


Originally posted by noctass

Just dating Ignis Scientia things:

  • Oh man. Dis mofo slick. I mean you can’t tell me you don’t get even a little bit giddy seeing him be a professional. Don’t fall for the trap of thinking he’s just an empty suit. A lot of people think he’s all work, no play, super boring, but those people are so wrong. Ignis is great and gets better over the time you get to know him. He is loyal, diligent and suave with very little of the vanity and ego of the other three guys. He’s witty, knows the best time to drop jokes and puns and and clever little jokes and observations. Ignis Scientia is just the absolute worst because he’s perfect; good looks, good heart, great smarts. You’ve got no chance if he decides he wants to woo you.

  • Like with Prompto and Gladio, you have to understand what Ignis has been groomed for and that’s supporting Noctis, the royal family and Insomnia pretty much first and foremost. His role is critical when it comes to any kind of success. Understand that during moments of crisis or urgency, your boyfriend might have to postpone his time with you. Don’t ever assume he does this easily. It breaks his heart every damn time. He knows how difficult it is to be with him, someone who has so much responsibility. Every time he disappoints you, Ignis is scared you’re tempted to leave him. Prove Specs wrong and support him as much as you can.

  • Ignis never leaves you wanting for anything. If he can look after three man-children, one of which is a picky pretty-boy prince, he can bloody well look after you. He treats you more like royalty than he does with Noct, to be honest. Ignis is also very observant when it comes to your well-being and he takes care of you without really saying anything. If you’re looking cold, suddenly his jacket is around your shoulders. If he’s seeing signs of you getting hungry, there’s suddenly a delicious meal within your grasp (sometimes it’s your favourite depending on how cranky you’re getting). If you’re working hard and looking exhausted, but you need to push on for deadlines, you’ll have coffee, you’ll have snacks, you’ll have whatever you need to keep going. Ignis just knows how to take care of you without being overbearing or intrusive. He saves that shit for the three man-children.

  • Affection with Ignis is just… beautiful. It’s got a classic romantic flavour, it’s sweet, it’s mature. It’s a lot of little things he does to show that he cares a lot about you. Lots of hand holding and gentle kisses against your palm. Ignis is 100% the kind of guy to hold your hand while driving, by the way. The guys give him shit for it, but they might be kind of jealous. You’ll get random gifts sometimes, out of the blue without any words just a sweet, knowing smile. Sometimes you’ll have flowers sent to your work or something. Ignis does all of these things because he love that shy grin you get when he does this stuff. Your blush is the cutest. Smooch Iggy as much as you can to reward him <3

  • Okay, so you’re right in thinking that Ignis isn’t petty, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t got the ability to be. Though when he’s petty, it is fucking savage. For example, one day the guys are just absolutely unbearable. Sometimes it gets like that over stupid shit. Usually you can step in and calm everyone down, but they’re beyond help. Ignis, being clever and straightforward, decides he’s had enough. He very loudly declares, to your embarrassment, “We fucked in the Regalia once.” There is a deafening silence as Ignis takes you by the hand and leaves without any explanation.

    Ignis is a genius because the boys immediately stop bickering. Was he joking? Wait, when did you fuck in the Regalia? When was there time? The boys are hardly without either Ignis or the car, so…? WHEN? HOW? Were they in the car after?! Oh god, was it front seat or backseat? They freak out over Ignis’ declaration. The perfect part of this whole ordeal is that eventually one of the boys thinks ‘maybe Ignis is joking, he probably is, we should ask’, but neither you or Ignis confirm or deny if he was telling the truth.

    The boys are kept in perpetual suspense. At this point, they don’t even care if you guys had fucked in the car, they just need to know if it happened or not, but they will receive no respite. Ignis keeps his lips sealed, as do you. The boys are kept in a state of limbo regarding answers and they are reminded of that dreaded, possibly true, declaration every time they see the Regalia.

    Noctis is the Lucian King, but Ignis Scientia is the fucking King of petty when the situation calls for it. 

anonymous asked:

There's an expectation that Vanity Fair will have another Star Wars centered issue with photographs by Annie Leibovitz like with TFA. My question is, if we do and we get a portrait of Adam and Daisy in character together, would that be giving too much away?

I’m SO GLAD you asked me this because I’ve put A LOT of thought into the Vanity Fair shoot, and post-Celebration my predictions have definitely evolved in a more reylo-positive direction (before, for example, I was focused more on how this shoot would be the first reveal of Kylo’s maskless face/scar and look how wrong I was about THAT, in a good way lol).

personally, I think the chance that we’ll get a portrait of JUST Adam and Daisy together is extremely low, like 1%. I think they’re fine with hinting at story points (and it’s not exactly a secret that Adam filmed in Ireland with Mark and Daisy), but they won’t want to give the game away THAT much. they’re always doing this careful tiptoeing dance around addressing the relationship/dynamic between Rey and Kylo, despite the fact that it was central to TFA and will continue to be to the ST as a whole moving forward. until they show their hand with where they’re going with it, I think they’re going to continue doing that.

HOWEVER, after that poster (!!!!!), there’s an EXTREMELY good chance we’ll get a group picture of Mark, Daisy, and Adam, and also a good chance that that picture might be the cover photo. my reasoning is basically:

  • it’d be a major waste to NOT put that gorgeous Irish scenery on the cover
  • the poster has already introduced the concept of the three of them sharing the force thread of the storyline, so it wouldn’t be giving anything more than that away
  • putting just Mark and Daisy on the cover might carry certain implications they want to start gently steering the audience away from
  • putting Mark and Adam in the same picture plants the reminder in people’s heads that this is the tragic family backstory we’re getting, that they’re very much related and that something mysterious happened between them that this movie will reveal

this is just my wild speculation, take it with a grain of salt, etc. but if Celebration showed us anything, it’s that they’re not afraid to show us Kylo’s face, they’re not afraid to make him look beautiful and sad and more conflicted than ever, and they’re not afraid to plant the idea in our heads that Kylo, Rey, and Luke will be spending a good portion of the movie together.

anonymous asked:

prompt: Professor Graves

Credence’s eyes are burning and his head is pounding. The school library is entirely empty; he’s surrounded by several piles of scrolls and books, half of which are completely useless, because of course Professor Graves had to give them an assignment on topics that weren’t covered in books that were outside of the Wampus library, which he of course couldn’t access as a Pukwudgie. 

Credence is certain that Professor Graves looks down on him, the sole Pukwudgie in Advanced Magical Defence. The rest of his classmates are Wampus, with a handful of Thunderbirds scattered in the for variety. He’s used to their dismissive glances, to being the last to be paired for the practical portions of Magical Defence. But he will do well in his theory, even if no-one wants to work on spellwork with him. He doesn’t mind. Any sort of attention from Professor Graves thrills him, makes little shocks skitter down his spine every time the man looks at him, every time their fingers brush when he’s returning homework. 

Credence thinks about him, sometimes, at night when he can’t sleep. He carefully recreates his professor’s face in his mind, strong jaw after slicked hair after dark eyes, until he can fall asleep feeling yearning for something he cannot name. 

The candles in the wall sconces flicker. Outside, the sky is dark. Gradually, the school settles, students and staff alike turning in for the night. He’s so absorbed in his work he doesn’t notice.

The moon has passed its highest point in the night sky when the library doors burst open and Credence jerks upright, almost toppling from his chair in fright, his quill skittering across his page and leaving a jagged dark smear behind. 

“Mr Barebone,” says Professor Graves, mouth turned down in a grim frown, “What are you doing in the library at two in the morning?” 

Credence’s stomach drops. He hadn’t meant to stay here for so long, but he couldn’t for the life of him find any information because Graves had assigned them an impossible topic. 

“I didn’t – I’m sorry, sir, I – I lost track of time –” Caught off-guard by the world’s most terrifying Magical Defence professor, the words won’t come out right, and Credence clamps his mouth shut miserably. 

Graves fixes him with a look that could probably turn him into a pile of smouldering ash. Feeling like a stupid First, Credence shrinks down into his chair. “It’s five hours after your curfew,” the man says, sharply. “This is a suspension-worthy offence, Barebone.” 

The breath catches in Credence’s throat and he can’t breathe. Suspension. He thinks of his Ma, who he hasn’t seen in eight years, the bite of the belt all the way to his bones, long hours spent kneeling beneath an unkind cross. Distantly, he can hear himself saying, “No – no sir, please – please, you can’t –” 

“Oh, I can’t, can I?” Professor Graves says, moving closer to his table. “Principal Hyslop might have something to say about that.” 

The thought of kindly Principal Hyslop staring mournfully over his desk at him – we risked so much for you, Barebone, what a shame – fills Credence with a terrible feeling. He feels sick. 

“Please sir,” he says, voice trembling, “please, you can’t tell Principal Hyslop. I – I don’t have anywhere to go, sir, please don’t suspend me, please, don’t tell him, sir, I’ll do anything, sir, please…” 

Professor Graves’ steps echo through the library, though Credence’s gaze is fixed upon his white-knuckled hands and he can’t see. A chair at his table scrapes on the floor. Professor Graves settles into a chair, and then there are fingers on his jaw. He flinches, but the fingers are surprisingly gentle, guiding his face up until he has no choice but to look at Professor Graves in the face. 

“’Anything’, Barebone?” his professor asks him, almost mocking in his gentleness. “That’s an awful lot to promise.” 

He is closer than Credence thought. His breath fans out on his cheek. Credence meets his eyes, skips away, returns shyly. Looking at Professor Graves’ eyes he has the sensation of looking down from the top of a cliff, the sea churning beneath him, and not knowing how to swim. 

“Any sort of punishment you see fit, sir,” he says. “Only – only please don’t tell Principal Hyslop.”

His professor examines his face again. The moment yawns out before them, Credence suspended in the darkness of his eyes like a dragonfly in amber. Evidently, he sees something he was looking for; a tiny smile curls up the corner of his lips, and Credence feels like he’s had all the breath punched out of him. 

“Tell me, Barebone,” he says, conversationally, casually. “Have you ever sucked cock?”

 Credence inhales sharply, trying to pull his head away, but his jaw remains gripped firmly in his professor’s grip. “I – I -,” he says.

 “Answer,” the man says curtly.

 Credence shakes his head once, face burning.

 “Perhaps not tonight, then.” Graves releases his jaw and Credence’s hand springs up automatically to rub at it. “Stand.”

 “Wh – what?”

 “Stand up, Barebone, unless you’d rather we go for a little walk to the Northern Tower – “ and Credence is up so fast he sways slightly on the spot. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast. His hands curl into fists at his side.

 Graves has to tilt his head to look up at him, but despite their height differences Credence still feels powerless. “Come here.”

 When Credence hesitates, his professor makes an annoyed noise deep in his throat before flicking his fingers, and Credence comes stumbling forward, nearly pitching into Graves’ lap, pulled forward by his belt loops and magic. His hands almost collide with Graves’ shoulders to steady himself but he corrects at the last moment, yanking back and returning to curl into anxious fists by his sides.

Graves looks amused. “Hands on the table.”

 Credence begins to turn around so his hands are in front of him on the table, but Graves clicks his tongue. “Lean back against the table,” he says, “and keep your hands there.”

 Leaning back against the table, hands behind his back, Credence feels horribly exposed, from the long line of his throat down to his knees. He swallows, the saliva in his mouth suddenly thick.

 Graves kicks his ankles apart nonchalantly, and then pulls his shirt from his trousers with ease. Another casual wave of his hand and Credence’s jersey disappears, reappearing on the table on top of his essay, folded neatly. Credence shivers, and it has very little to do with the chill October air. His chest feels very hot and then very cold on the next breath.

 Graves undoes the lowest button of Credence’s shirt, and then the next, and the next. Credence’s stomach quivers, leaping away from the man’s fingers. Graves make a little noise like he’s just bitten into a sweet pastry, and the back of his knuckles are ghosting along Credence’s stomach, then around to his waist and flank. The other hand curls around his hip; Professor Graves’ hand brackets his pelvis easily, thumb pressed against the point of his hip and fingertips skimming the notches of his spine. Though the touch is feather-light, Credence can feel every bump, every hair on the back of his hand, burning hot against his skin.

 His fingers trace the long rungs of his ribs, from their origin at his spine and curling around to his front, beginning with the lowest just above his navel and climbing steadily. It feels – it feels quite nice, actually, and Credence feels his shoulders uncoil, the tight muscles at the nape of his neck relaxing, and his head tilts back.

 But then Graves skips the last few ribs – Credence’s shirt is fully unbuttoned now – and his fingers skim over his nipple. There’s a sharp, sudden bolt – something arcs down inside him, a force connecting the point where Graves has touched him and the secret place between his legs.

 Credence’s eyes fly open and he spasms straight up. “Oh!” he cries.

 Graves looks startled for the barest moment, but then his mouth curls into a smirk. “Sensitive one, are you?” he asks. It’s that same tone as before, that makes Credence want to sink to the ground and bury his head in his hands; nearly kind, almost gentle, but there is something in the tone that makes Credence want to skitter away.

 He nods, shakily.

 Then Professor Graves’ fingers are back, tracing back and forth over Credence’s nipple, whisper-light. With one pass, the pads of his fingers brush the very tip of his nipple; the next, the nail of his thumb presses into the areola. Credence gasps with each one – he can’t help it, oh, there’s warmth and heat inside him that he never knew existed, curling and coiling and twisting. It feels good – so good –

 And then Graves’ clever fingers come together and pinch, taking a hold of the areola and pinching it up and tight and Credence hears, distantly, someone making a whining noise and realises it’s him. The sharp sensation bolts through him, twice as powerful as the gentle pleasure from before, and Credence’s legs are feeling so shaky that he’s very grateful for the table behind him, holding him up.

 “Very nice,” Graves says, approvingly, and those words fill him up. He arches his back, seeking those fingers again, please, please

 “Oh,” says Graves, and he sounds ever so slightly out of breath. “You liked that, did you?”

 “Y-Yes, sir,” Credence says. His fingers clench and curl against the table.

 “Hmm,” Graves says, and then his hand is back, and the other hand leaves his hip and now there are two, one pinching and the other pulling and Credence rises on his toes but also curls in, leaning into the sensation. A bead of sweat slides down the side of his neck. Every inhale makes the world tremble at the seams.

 Professor Graves chuckles, deep and dark, and the sound arcs right through him. He repeats the action, one hand pinching him from the base of his areola while the other latches around the other nipple and tugs. He’s using his nails now, worrying the flesh and Credence can’t think of anything, not of his essay, not of the threat of suspension, just those sharp points digging into his skin like mean little teeth. “Uh-uh-uh!” he stutters. It feels so good but it hurts.

 Graves releases his nipples, and Credence thinks his legs might give out entirely because the release is somehow just as tortuously wonderful as the grip. He gasps through clenched teeth, but then his Professor’s palms soothe over his chest, gentle now, a warm pressure over his nipples. He is so sensitive he thinks he can feel Graves’ pulse through the palms of his hands on his chest.

 He feels electric.

 “Barebone,” his Professor says. He doesn’t sound kind any more, but he doesn’t sound unhappy, either. Not kind, not cruel.

 Credence opens his eyes and finds his head is fully tilted back, blinking up at the ceiling. “Yes, sir?”

 “You have two options. You can get up, leave, and go to sleep in Pukwudgie, and this will go no further.”

 Credence swallows.

 “Or you can stay, and we continue.”

 Credence eases his head upright, looking down. Graves is staring right at him. In the golden half-light of the library, his eyes are not black, as Credence had once thought; a sunburst surrounds those pupils, the precise colour of Wampus fur, of a gold coin, of the sun in the evening sky. His face is not as expressionless as it usually is; his cheeks are stained just a touch darker, and there is an indent in his lips where he has bitten them.

 “Please,” Credence says, hesitates, and then keeps going because otherwise he’ll never say it, “Please, don’t stop.”

 Graves’ face is utterly blank for a moment, and then the twin sunbursts of his irises disappear, so widely blown are his pupils.

 “If you want to stop, all you have to do is say so,” he says. “Say stop, and you’ll be dressed and back in your dormitory, and no one will ever know.”

 Credence licks his lips. “But sir,” he says, “I don’t think I want you to stop.”

 Graves smiles, lazily, languidly, all teeth.

 Something skitters down Credence’s spine, a little burst of fear and yearning, and explodes like a firework somewhere in the cradle of his hips. Credence can’t help the broken little moan that escapes his throat, and his head falls back again.

 “Ah, ah, ah,” Professor Graves says, and one of his hands reaches up again, brushing Credence’s throat and holding onto his jaw again, dragging it down, forcing Credence’s head upright. “You’re going to watch now, and you won’t look away, will you, pet?”

 This angle makes it harder to breathe, and he can feel his shoulders burning already in their strained position, but Credence nods obediently.

 Graves’s hands skim his chest again, up to his collarbones and then down to his ribs. His stomach tenses minutely but his professor merely reverses his direction, back up to his throat and then down to his hips again, hot rough palms against soft skin. On the next drag up he catches Credence’s nipples again, and Credence inhales, arching his back and trying in vain to get him to do that again, touch him again, it felt so nice –

 But Professor Graves denies him. His hands continue their slide up to his throat and then back down again, and this time they unbutton his trousers with neat efficiency and then his pants are around his knees and –

 Graves’ hands still. “Christ,” he says.

 Stark clarity bursts through Credence and he recoils, hands coming up off the table and reaching around to cover himself.

 Credence has never told anyone, has never dared tell anyone. When he was a Fourth he’d outgrown the underwear he’d brought with him from the Second Salem Church. It had fallen to Queenie, his only friend in Pukwudgie, to show him how the magical mail order system worked, and as a joke she’d ordered a pair of lacey underthings along with the rest of it, and the moment Credence had slipped them on in the privacy of his bedroom he’d known he never wanted to wear anything else ever again. The lace curls daintily around his hips, the satin caresses his skin in a way union suits couldn’t dream to imitate; he loves them, loves them, but it’s a secret he’d thought he’d take to the grave.

 Literally, as it turns out.

 He tries to take a step away but stumbles, caught as he is with his trousers tangled around his legs. But Professor Graves’ hands shoot out to catch his elbow before he can fall, drawing him back and half onto his lap, enclosed in his arms.

 “Look at you, pet,” Graves says, but the tone isn’t scornful like Credence had expected. It’s something quite, quite different – something quiet, reserved for Sunday mornings and for prayer. Worshipful. Reverential. He dares sneak up a look. Professor Graves looks like he’s just watched Moses part the Red Sea, a hundred men fed with twenty loaves of bread, collected manna from morning dew. Something miraculous, something Biblical, something holy. “Look at you,” he says again.

 Credence swallows. The saliva is thick in his throat.

 “Credence,” Professor Graves says, and Credence startles a little, because he’s never called him by his first name before.

 “Y-yes, sir?” Credence replies.

 “Do you want to continue?” And Mercy Lewis help him, Graves sounds so oddly gentle in a way he never has before, Credence thinks he might melt into a little puddle of warm and happy goo at the man’s feet if it meant he could hear him speak to him in that tone again.

 “Y-y-yes,” Credence manages. He swallows again. “Yes, sir, please.”

 Graves brings his hand to the back of Credence’s head and Credence jumps at first, but the hot weight of his palm remains steady and warm. Something about it anchors him. He feels more substantial, less like he might be whirled away by a breeze and more present.

 “Good,” Professor Graves murmurs into his hair. “Good boy.”

 Credence is basking in that when Graves pushes him back up, and he stands, hands going back to the table. Graves drags the chair forward and Credence’s legs are forced farther apart, one on each side of Graves’ thighs. His Professor brings one hand up, slowly, slowly, running it up Credence’s leg from his knee to his hip. He strokes Credence’s skin through the underwear. They’re not even Credence’s nicest pair – white, almost entirely lace, covering him modestly – but Graves brushes his fingers over the lace like they’re the finest things he’s ever seen. Beneath the fabric, Credence’s taught muscles quiver.

 He hooks his fingers over the hems on either side and slowly, agonisingly, draws them down, and Credence’s cock bobs free, slapping into the skin of his stomach, head purple-red and angry. The library isn’t cold, but a shiver runs through him from toes to the crown of his head, hairs on the backs of his arms prickling. The underwear hadn’t even hidden all of it but like this, lace bunched obscenely beneath his testicles, Credence feels filthy.

 “Now,” Graves says, voice dark again, and Credence rocks up onto his toes and back down again, “I told you to keep your hands on the table, didn’t I?”

 Oh. Credence nods, once.

 “Answer me,” Graves says sharply and Credence’s cock jumps at that, smacking into his belly. A thin line of pre-cum rolls obscenely onto his thigh.

 “Yes sir,” Credence says, voice small.

 “And you moved them away, didn’t you?”

 “Yes sir.”

 “Do you need me to use a sticking charm to keep them in place?”

 Credence’s knees actually buckle at the idea, eyelashes fluttering down onto his cheeks. “If – if you’d like, sir,” he says cautiously.

 “Mmm,” Graves purrs, “you would like that, wouldn’t you, pet?” Credence watches as he spins his wands between his fingers, once, twice. “Epoximise.”

 Credence tugs experimentally, but the palms of his hands remain firmly stuck to the surface of the desk. His breath explodes out of him and he shifts his weight anxiously from one foot to the other, because Graves is leaning back into the chair with one leg crossed over the other looking like he could stay there until the sun comes up, just watching Credence tugging uselessly at his bonds.

 “You should stop struggling,” Professor Graves says casually. “I might be more inclined to give you what you want if you ask me nicely.”

 Credence stills immediately, leaning back against the desk and watching Graves from beneath his eyelashes. He nibbles at his lower lip, worrying at it between his teeth. Graves’ eyes skip from the long line of his throat, his poor abused nipples, the dip of his waist, and then his cock, head purple-red and angry, drooling against his belly, framed by the white lace underwear. His eyes skip back up to Credence’s.

 Something gives inside Credence, and he’s sinking. He feels like he’s fallen into a pool of syrup, sinking and floating all at once, and nothing in the entire world exists except for the way Graves is staring at him, his dark eyes, his large hands settled on the arms of his chair, the broad press of his shoulders inside his suit.

 “What do you want?” Professor Graves asks him, gently, persuasively.

 “I – I – “ Credence tries, but his face is burning. He closes his eyes and tries again. “Please,” he says, voice a high whine, “please sir, please will you touch me?”

 Fabric rustles and then yes yes yes, Graves’ hand is on his hip again, then back down to his leg, joined by the other, easing his underwear off. When the underclothes reach the vicinity of his knees Credence feels a hot breath of air against his cock, and he makes an aborted little wail, eyes screwing shut, fingers scrabbling against the table for all that they can’t actually go anywhere.

 “Was that nice, pet?” Graves says and he’s right between his legs.

 “Yes sir,” Credence says, gasping now. “Oh – oh – “

 “Tell me what you’d like, now,” Graves says again, so sweetly, so coaxingly.

 And Credence doesn’t know what he wants, exactly, though he has a fairly good idea it involves Graves’ mouth and his cock, the hot breath over him again, all tongue and wet and completely merciless. “Please,” he begs, because he wants to ask but he doesn’t know how, doesn’t know what to ask for. “Please.”

 “Tsk,” Graves says, and Credence thinks he might become the first ever case of spontaneous self-combustion. “You beg so prettily for me, pet. Look at you. How could I deny you?”

 And then his hands are right there and he’s pressing his lips against Credence’s navel, then his stomach, then the point of his hip and down to his thigh, open-mouthed and wet now. Credence whimpers, because every press is so hot against his skin, every point those lips touch is searing hot, imprinting onto his skin and sinking through, to muscle, to nerve, to bone. He thinks, dizzily, that if he dies right now, when they find his skeleton, they will surely find the marks of Professor Graves’ lips pressed into the bones of his thighs.

 Credence can’t breathe, oh god, he’s going to die right here and he’ll be the first ever wizard to die of pleasure, but what a way to go. Pinned as he is, he can only turn his head to try and muffle the noises exploding from his chest into the skin of his shoulder.

 Graves moves back, and Credence keens, hips arching, aborted little circles in mid-air, chasing that warmth, that heat, the perfection that is Professor Graves’ mouth.

 “Ah, ah, ah,” Professor Graves says, and he flicks his fingers and Credence’s head turns of its own volition, fixed and frozen so he has no choice but to watch. “You’re going to let me hear every noise you make, pet.”

 And then Graves bites, sinks his teeth into the softest part of Credence’s thigh. Credence is vaguely away of someone moaning, high and keening, nearly a wail; it’s him, he thinks, dizzily.

 Credence barely has a moment to savour this new sharp sensation before Graves moves away, pressing his lips to the bite gently, gently, butterfly kisses and kitten licks against the delicate skin of his inner thigh. He presses a last kiss, harder than the rest, to the centre of the bite before raising up and before Credence can say anything else he leans forward and presses an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock.

 Credence jerks, curling in, hips arching, the wails cut off abruptly as he gasps, gulping down air like a drowning man. Sensation arcs through him, a force of nature, an earthquake or a tsunami or a thunderstorm, threatening to drown him.

 Graves moves, cold air whispering over the kiss before another presses down, and another, and another, and another. Then a wet stripe of tongue against his length, and Graves takes his cock inside his mouth and sucks. He pulls back, swirling his tongue around the head and then back down, mouth burning, taking him in and swallowing around him.

 Credence is trying to get his mouth and tongue to cooperate, a babbling, incoherent mess. “Yes,” he says, “Yes, sir, please, more, oh – “

 He comes, wailing, his world contracting to the feel of Graves’ mouth around him, and everything is burning white, pulses of pleasure sparking and skittering and exploding out again, his universe reborn. His knees really do buckle and he arches weakly, his poor shoulders straining at the joints as they hold most of his weight. But he doesn’t notice, really; he’s sinking into that lake, enveloped, surrounded.

 He’s dimly aware of Graves tapping the backs of his hands and they’re free from the table, and then being bundled into an enormous fluffy towel, gathering into Graves’ lap right there on the floor of the library. He thinks he might have fallen asleep for a little while. Professor Graves soothes him, pressing soft kisses against his forehead, his cheeks, his eyelids. He has the vague impression of green flame and the familiar scent of Floo powder before he’s being cocooned in warm blankets on a sofa, a hot cup of tea pressed into his palms.

 “Good boy, well done, you were so good, so perfect,” Graves says, so softly, so gently, Credence thinks he might float off again. He takes a sip of his tea. It’s sweet, herbal, and leaves the taste of roses on his tongue. The sweetness centres him, and the long heavy weight of Graves’ body against his. He yawns.

 “Christ,” Graves mutters, bringing up a tempus charm with a waggle of his fingers. It’s past three in the morning.

 Credence opens his eyes muzzily. “Sh’ go,” he mumbles into his cup.

 Graves’ hand ceases its slow winding through his hair. “Do you want to go?”

 Credence thinks for a moment. Now that he’s an upperclassman he has a room to himself. And tonight’s – well, yesterday – was a Friday, so no one will be expecting him. He shakes his head slowly, jaw cracking back into another massive yawn.

 Graves takes the cup out of his hand and Credence burrows into his side. Tomorrow, he thinks sleepily, tomorrow he can worry about all of this. For now, he just wants the gentle safety of Graves’ arms, the angle of his jaw on Credence’s crown, and the soft private comfort of the sofa, a little world unto themselves.

valorandgold replied to your photo “I just saved because I’m about to present Larry’s fucking picture I…”

…yeah, unfortunately we have to rely on Larry’s stupidity to save us once more :’D

i literally cannot wait to find out how the fuck the body got over the bridge

J’ai retiré ta couverture pour mieux me rapprocher de toi
Te déshabillant du regard
Point d’ interrogation
J’ai enlevé ta ponctuation pour épouser l’ondulation de tes formes
Puis j’ai déboutonné mot à mot l’imagination de ton corps sage
Tout doucement j’ai dégrafé ta rime
Point de suspension
J’ai vécu le vertige à chaque hésitation
J’ai préservé le curseur de l’amplitude de tes mots
En isolant les verbes de tes soupirs
Point d’ exclamation
Ainsi tu as saisi la majuscule de mon désir
En ouvrant délicatement les parenthèses de tes envies
Alors j’ai déchiré ta poésie en pénétrant ta métaphore
—  Frantz Massouf (via kate-0167)
My 12X18 Opinion

The Memory Remains

First I want to say, that now I’m really upset that there is now a 3rd episode this season where Dean never says Sam’s name. Its never happened in 11 years and its happened 3 times so far this season, and it’s hurting my soul, as though they’re trying to, I dont know, errase the bromance? I mean seriously, where is the bromance this season? If this was the first season Ive watched of this show, I wouldn’t think Sam and Dean were any closer than normal standard brothers. Bitch about the Carver era all you want, but it didnt lack in bromance at all!

Ok, lets get to the episode. It was decent, confusing at some points, pretty suspenseful near the end, and it was nice to have it mainly just Sam and Dean. Theres been way too much air time wasted on side characters this season. 

The boys looked really good, and as you know, that is of high importance to me :D but Im really not liking the BMoL just walking in to the bunker, that just aint right since its their home now, but I know the boys wont like that either and will hopefully get better locks and booby trap the place!

So, Dean gives the kid back his joint, that was cool… would have been better if he kept it and even better if he smoked with him.. Sam too of course lol. 

So Ketch kept the picture of Mary. Not like Dean isnt going to notice this… I dont think he will be happy at all. My first thought was “oooooh Ketch can see Mary looks the same now, he might think shes a monster!” But then Im thinking, nah, he knows she got brought back from the dead, or at least knows she doesnt look old enough to have kids this age, so Im guessing he’s in love, or maybe obssessed? 

The bug was planted, I had thought the boys would say something that gets them in trouble… like something about Sam’s demon blood, or Dean having been a Demon, or their relationship with God and his sister… something that makes the BMoL want to kill them for being Monsters on top of being rogue hunters. But, the bug is still there, so Im sure they’ll say something they shouldnt. There’s time eh?

It made me sad as Sam and Dean talked about no one remembering them in 100 years. It gave me feels for them, and for this show and these characters that I love so much. But they have books written about them on the show, and even have books here in the real world. Not to mention a whole TV series that might be archived away somewhere in 100 yrs, but I hope 100 yrs from now, 500 years from now, they still somehow make someone as happy as they make me. Then the carving of SW DW in the table hit me in the face with the feels. 

Now we know they at least have season 13, and most likely 14 as well and they definitely have not said 14 is the last, so theyre really not near winding down, but the last 2 seasons have felt like they are and my heart is already breaking. 

Anyway, does Dean seem odd to anyone else besides me? Like, sometimes, not always. The whole not saying Sam’s name has me really bothered obviously, but aside from that, he seems to have a bit of immaturity that hasnt been around since the early seasons. Im not saying I dont like it, its cute, and maybe its just because theyre not in an “End of the World” situation this season so he’s a bit more chill, but when he was in the freezer in this episode, I felt like he was confused, like mentally, he kept swinging at meat, I wasnt sure the god was even really in there with him til Sam killed it. (YAY for Sam getting the MOTW again!)

Sam has changed this season too, again, not a bad thing. he seems more mature, more confident, and a bit parental towards Dean more than he would be normally. This can all be how theyve grown since last season, or, it could be a plot thing that we dont see coming? I know something is gonna go down we dont see coming, because even Jared said he had no idea “it was going there” when he saw the last couple scripts, and was happy the writers can still shock him. 

Its not on next week and Im sad…. freakin hiatuses!!

So on a scale of Bloodlines to Swan Song, Im gonna give this one a 6.5. Its worth a rewatch when I get to it again but mainly for the melodrama at the end. My world revolves around good brother moments, and that was a really good one. I just hope they bring back the epic bromance that has kept the boys breaking the world and making catastrophic decisions for the 11 years before. 

I'm going through Alyn's route for the 5th... Maybe 6th time?

And oh my god, you can clearly see the difference between writing skills. I believe his was the first route written by the MidC crew. And the use of suspension points is abusive.

Also.. Alyn’s mental age is 16 years old, tops. Lord Byron save my soul, dat boi need some bitch slaps.

Favorite Fic Authors/Blogs

Hi all, I was going to answer this in a reply but of course after I was a second from being done my webpage refreshed and I lost everything… So I did this on word and pasting it here! Let’s start! (These are listed in no particular order!) 

Note: I tend to read very smut driven stories, but that does not make the narrative one to miss out on. There needs to be aspect of intrigue that keeps me reading, and every author I have listed masters that, along with quenching the thirst for my favs. I’m also super BTS and Block B Biased… so I’m really cheating you of some great authors who write for other groups… 

Favorite Fic Authors: 

@sugasmut | Master List

If you’re looking for exceptionally well written smut, and you’re Yoongi Trash, then sugasmut is for you. Not only are her plot lines intriguing, but her writing doesn’t feel forced or unreachable. There is a thin line that she keeps extremely intact with her work, that is, the boundary of who idols really are, and who we think they are. She’s one of the few (like others on this list) that take artistic license at zero expense to those she write about. 

Check out: Steam, A Game of Silk and Three Sentence Drabbles 

@thehappiesttime | Master List

I have the great pleasure of talking to Nebula (I just realized we only swapped contact info, not names… but Nebula is really cool so I hope it’s your real name!) outside of Tumblr, and she even graces me with her drafts from time to time. I cannot tell you how excited I am when she tells me she’s working on something new. She excels in the suspense genera to the point where you’re not even sure which idol you’re reading about until the very last line. 

Check Out: Repeat, New Beginnings, and all of her Dating BTS 

@sexonextdoor | Master List

I was lucky enough to write scenarios based off of her BTS Kinks post and was happy to find her answer my request to complete on for Block B as well. She’s brilliant in her descriptions and her fearlessness to express her opinions on things most will find difficult to do. Thank god though, she fuels my need to write smut on like a daily basis. If its scenarios, drabbles, or questions, she’s got you covered! 

Check Out: Beautiful, and Required Reception 

@babyitsbts | Master List

Her Wicked Games series is phenomenal, I was hooked from the very first chapter and couldn’t wait to read more- the relationships she writes are extremely honest and easy to relate too. She also has a very impressive library, writing for; BTS, GOT7, Mamamoo, Red Velvet, 4Minute, and AOA. I find myself venturing to places untraveled just because I love her writing so much. She never disappoints and creates so much reality in bringing out each personas characteristics, while still remaining fictional. 

Check Out: Wicked Games, Sex Dice: Hwasa, and Wet 

@apandasmind | Master List

Oh Nala! What a treat it is to know someone so intelligent and supportive.When I was writing my Say His Name series she really gave so much amazing input to my writing and has continually kept my stories from getting stale. She’s an exceptional writer herself and lends her talents to ones I go to when I want something interesting, but not too overwhelming where I miss details. Her drabble series is not one to miss- 

Check Out: Drabble Series,  Home, and Lazy Days

@magical-scenarios | Master List

If you’re dying to make your heart flutter, look no further. There’s a great attention to detail that she put into her stories that add stock to the emotions you’ll feel while reading her more romantic drabbles. I’m really not one for fluff, but she writes in such an interesting way I can’t help but get all rosy cheeked when I read her work. She also did a Block B week that was so addictive and wonderful! 

Check Out: Between Us, and I’m Not Going Anywhere 

@taetaetown | Master List | BTS Theory

If you’re going to introduce your friends to the black hole that is BTS, this is one of those blogs every ARMY needs to be aware of. Not only did she do an extensive, and extremely intriguing break down on the theory to the meaning behind BTS’s latest concept- but she goes millions of steps further and looks into things that wouldn’t cross our minds. She’s really doing the work for us! I had to say I haven’t had the chance to read her scenarios, but if they are anywhere as well written as her theories then I’m missing out! 

@zeurin | Master List

I’m relatively new to zeurin, and extremely addicted at the same time. I recently read her English Literature fic, and was thoroughly impressed with her detail and the length of her stories. Sometimes you’re met with fics that leave loose ends, or try too hard to get to the good stuff sooner, but she really takes her time and add a personable quality to her writing. Can’t wait to read more! 

Check Out: English Literature 

@philxharxmoxnics | AsianFanFics

So if you’re wondering how I hash out my ideas, look no further. Though Kris hasn’t posted her story on Tumblr yet, she’s worth a follow. She makes amazing lists about her favorite songs and groups that are very entertaining and not cookie cutter. She takes the time to explain why she choose certain things and give it a really honest feel. She’s writing a really awesome Exo fic on AsianFanFics, it’s spy based and super exciting! She’s really helped with the inspiration for my stories and is a dear, dear friend of mine. 

Check Out: W.E.S 

And the mother of all…. The Boundary Between Crimes is truly a literary masterpiece written by a AsianFanFic author by the name of LadyAphrodite_872. We’ve deemed the story “the mafia fic” and I send it to everyone who’s looking for a good read. She’s been leaving us hanging, but I hope she will update soon! I can’t say better things about this fic, extreme attention to detail, the imagery is exquisite, and her characters have amazing grit to them. This is not a story for the faint of heart- you really need to prepare yourself, but not one to miss out on. (Also if she has a tumblr I’d love to follow her…) 

Favorite Blogs: 

My inspiration squad: @softsadprty @tildespersson @philxharxmoxnics

Without you guys, my stories would have no depth and wouldn’t make any sense, thank you for you brilliant input and your unfailing creativity. And for listening to me ramble for days… 

Some Freakin’ Cool People: @we-hate-bts @bobby-language @spookyzukini

Seriously, follow these guys. Bobby-language and Spookyzukini give great feedback interesting conversations on my blog- and I just love checking in on we-hate-bts I think she’s just a staple to follow! 


Tout part toujours d’une page blanche. Et bien souvent, tout finit avec des points de suspension…

Ceux-là, je les adore… Je les adore parce qu’ils offrent tellement de niveaux de lecture qu’ils transforment chaque texte en un jeu de piste… ils sont l’exquise subtilité, l’indispensable nuance, les sous-entendus que les mots sont incapables d’exprimer.

Je les adore parce qu’ils continuent de parler lorsque la voix, saisie de quelque émotion, s’est tue, et que c’est le cœur qui, isolé dans le secret de ses murailles, s’exprime…

Je les adore parce qu’ils couvent des tragédies et des drames intérieurs impossibles à communiquer et qu’en même temps, ils sont capables d’exprimer des bonheurs indicibles… ceux dont vous ne pouvez parler à personne…

Je les adore parce qu’ils peuvent être les instruments d'un tourment intérieur… qu’ils rongent, fouettent, punissent, emplissent de chagrin et d’incertitudes, témoignent de l’inachèvement et de la fin… mais qu’à d’autres moments, au contraire, ils symbolisent le bonheur retrouvé qui subjugue et émeut, la sérénité et la joie… toutes ces émotions qui ne s’expriment jamais aussi bien que dans un silence éloquent.

Je les adore aussi parce que parfois, on voudrait pouvoir tout dire sans rien dire mais que pour ne rien dire, les mots me manquent toujours. Alors… alors…

Les points de suspension… quelle invention géniale et quel raffinement magnifique… c’est peut-être la seule preuve visible qu’un texte a une vie qui lui est propre, faite d’hésitations, de surprises, de secrets, de suggestions, d’insinuations, de chagrins, de rêves…

Et puis… les points de suspension ne sont jamais aussi flamboyants que placés après une déclaration d’amour. Sur eux, pèse alors toute l’anxiété et l’angoisse de la réponse espérée. Ils portent le monde, votre monde, sur leurs épaules. Et vous espérez…

My mind is blown, my eyes are stained with tears, and I am filled with determination.

This is singlehandedly the greatest Undertale fic I’ve ever read.

If you’ve already finished the game and desired a happier ending for Asriel, I highly recommend CourierNew’s ‘One by One’. Not only does it explore the hidden mysteries of the game in such an immersive and believable way, but I feel the biggest success of this fic is how it explores the effect that resets and events had on the characters, particularly Sans, and especially Frisk.

It’s consistent, the characterization and tone is on point, it expands on already established lore, and in the end, I feel like this fan work provides a perfect sense of closure to those who wanted more out of the Undertale experience. Please give it a read if you’re interested. 

aarlert  asked:

dream team + 6 B^)


also, when will i learn to write short things for these prompts omfg. 2.7k words of completely unedited, silly fluff under the cut sdkjfh


6 - scary/horror movie

if we died tonight i’d have no regrets (except for not playing volleyball)

Keep reading



I bent backwards, checking the clock behind me as I stretched.  Only a few more minutes before class was over.  I leaned forward, my arms stretching to my toes effortlessly without my knees bending, and I can see Alya in front of me, on the ground with her legs in front of her, reaching for her right toes, and then her left.

“Okay, okay!” our teacher clapped her hands, addressing the class.  “Let’s run through the dance once more, and then you’ll be excused.  Now, everyone—to you spots!” she shooed us with her hands, and I quickly skipped to my assigned spot.  

Alya, who’s right next to me, leans in to whisper.  “Did you hear?” she asks, and I shake my head, turning to her.  “Apparently, in the next dance, we’ll all be assigned partners!”

I raise my eyebrows, and my heart begins to pump faster at the thought of what I knew she was about to say.

“I bet you can get Adrien as your partner!” she squeals, but quiet enough so that it doesn’t bring any attention.

“Alya,” I complain, and I’m sure my face was beat red, “I can’t dance with Adrien— I’ll be a complete mess dancing with him!” I say, looking at said dancer.  

He was a prodigy.  Not only was he extremely attractive, he was the best of the best in this school!  He wasn’t arrogant about it, but he knew his own skills and, because of that, constantly challenged himself to become better and better.  As if he needed it!  When he came to ballet, he definitely knew what he was doing.  

Now, I’ve been a dancer all my life, and I know I’m good at it, but I couldn’t dare dance with Adrien.  I’m a clumsy dancer when I’m distracted, and around him, I’m distracted.  

“Oh come on, girl!” Alya says, pulling me from my thoughts, “You’re so talented!  You could totally dance with him, in fact, you’re probably the only one in class who could even keep up!”

“That’s not true, besides…” I mumble, realizing the practice was just about to start, “I… I just can’t, okay?”

I could see Alya roll her eyes before she shoved me forward into the center of the group.  Oh yeah, that’s right, I was soloing the beginning of this song…

As class finished, I hurriedly grabbed my things, making my way to the door.  

“Where are you off to in such a hurry?” I hear a voice ask from behind.

“Uh..” I turn around to see Alya giving me a questioning stare.  “Just home,” I lie, “I’m not feeling too well.”

She continued to stare, as if she didn’t believe me, but seemed to let it go and give a half-smile.  “Well then, I’ll see you tomorrow morning!  Don’t forget about practicing together after class tomorrow, too!”

I nod, giving her a wave, “Yeah, see you tomorrow!”

I go to a very prestigious school, one where anyone who who takes ballet seriously dreams about going to.  That being said, they have a lot of rules, one that I thought would be very easy to follow.  But one night, I showed up there and it completely changed me.  I appreciate dancing of all kind, hip-hop, jazz, modern, and of course ballet, but recently, I’ve been going to these… meet-ups.  Meet-ups where it’s loud, crazy, energetic, hot, and passionate.  Everything that dancing should be.  Too bad breakdancing’s got a bad rap in the professional world.

But I go to a very prestigious school, and they take ballet very seriously.  If I were ever caught in a place like that, then I’d probably get kicked out of school.  It’s “unprofessional,” and “childish” as my instructor once said.

Yet I can’t help it, I just… it’s so much fun!  It’s as if nothing else in the world matters, and all I have to do is listen…

I can hear the garage before I see it, and I can feel the cement below my feet shake ever so slightly.  The suns already setting, so the lights from inside dance just outside it’s entrance.  

I sneak into a near-by alleyway before I get inside, setting my bag down and taking off my shirt.  Quickly changing, I cover my sports bra with a thin, red tank top with black dots, only covering my upper chest.  Then, only having leggings on, I slip on a pair of baggy sweats.  I look myself up and down, knowing there was only one last thing to add… I grab the chalk-like paint from my pocket, opening it up and rubbing my three fingers in it, then sliding it across my face and over my eyes.  Wearing face-paint wasn’t very uncommon in these meet-ups, it was actually almost a style, so I wouldn’t stand out.

I’m recognizable, but I look different enough.  Besides, I don’t know anyone in there.  I can’t get caught.

As I sling my bag over my shoulder, I start to exit the ally way, but not before I see a familiar looking figure slip through the entrance.  He was blond, and his hair was messy, with a black hood and black cat-ears.  I could’ve sword I’ve seen him before.

Ignoring that nagging thought, I go inside.  Immediately I’m greeted with loud cheers, not for me, but for whoever was dancing in the middle of the circle.  I shove my way through the crowd, leaving my bag on a table near the back, and try and see who was dancing.  

There were two of them.  One watching, while the other was spinning on his back, then jumped onto his hands, swiftly flipping back onto his feat just as the song ended.  I could see the sweat on the other’s brow as he shook his head and backed off in defeat.  

A few people clapped, others cheering the winner on.  This guy was good, I’ve seen him dance before, he very rarely ever looses a breakdancing battle, and I’ve only had the pleasure to watch him— I wouldn’t compare.

Just as the next song started, a figure pushed through the crowd, catching the winner’s attention.

“Nice moves,” the figure said.  The same figure that I saw enter just before me.  He seemed, oddly postured.  Not in a snooty way, but he didn’t loom over the floor like most of these guys, he stood up strait with his hands comfortably in his pockets.  “Care for a duel?”

That’s when I realized.  He had paint on his face too, and his hood covered most of his face.  Whoever this guy was, he didn’t want to be recognized like me.  

There was a challenging look in his eyes, one that couldn’t be hidden by his hood, and I suddenly became extremely curious about this next battle.  The prior winner stepped towards him, giving a large nod and raising his hands, making the crowd go crazy.  “Okay,” he said, “Let’s see what you got, kitty-cat.”

The music changed to a loud and low bursting song.  The beats were obvious, the drops perfect, and here was this mystery cat smirking at one of the best dancers in this club.

He skipped into the center, his shoes squeaking with every slide, and just as the music rose to a point of suspension, he dropped to the floor and propped into a hand-stand, keeping himself perfectly still as the room grew incredibly quiet.  There was something different about this mystery cat.  His posture before was smooth, and the way he dropped to the floor was graceful, as if he was classically trained.

I saw his foot flinch, the slightest of movements, and just as quick as the moment the room was quiet came, the music dropped like a rollercoaster, like a heart racing back to life, and he twisted himself, spinning in the air and landing on both his elbows, his back bent backwards, and his feet twisted for balance.  Using his upper body strength, he jumped up, flipping backwards onto his feet, and then sliding across the floor to the prior winner, the legend, his prey.

I couldn’t hear them, but I could’ve sworn the hooded cat said, “Your move,” cockily.  

But just from his first move, it seemed he earned his right to be cocky.  Just as I noticed before, he was graceful, careful with each step, but also spontaneous, erratic, like the sparks from a flame dancing to the ground.

The other guy skipped forward, swinging his hands in front of him in preparation.  Bending forward on his knees, with his feet crossed in front of him, he hopped forward, tumbling to the ground and twisting back up with his legs spread apart and his hands rotating him.  sliding onto not hand, he continued the motion, his legs and body rotating, but only his one hand kept balance.  Finished, he jumped up, bouncing backwards with energy, and his hand motioning for said “kitty-cat” to try again.

This time, he rounded him, making sure his challenger couldn’t leave the middle, and the hooded cat slid around him thrillingly.  He dove to the ground, his hands stoping him just as his nose was about to his the floor, and he jumped up, summersaulting forward with a twist, landing backwards, and then backflipping with a twist and ending forwards.  He repeated this motion all around this poor guy, ending right in front of him with a head-spin and kicking up gracefully.

I could understand why he dressed as a cat.  He always landed on his feet.

By now the crowd was wild, and I could tell this other guy was getting quiet nervous from the cat.  He nodded slowly, lifting his hands in defeat, and backing away into the circle.

I heard the voice over the speakers, “And we have a winner!” it called, and everyone cheered even louder.  “So who wants to challenge the new guy!?” it called, and I felt the room laugh.  There was no chance anyone could win against this guy, he was fantastic!  Suddenly, I became very aware that the circle I was in had gotten larger, and farther away from me.  Without warning, I was our of my safety net and in the middle of the battle field with the cat.

“Looks like we have a challenger!” the voice roared, and the music once again changed.

The hooded cat walked up to me, a devilish smirk played on it’s lips.  “Have I seen you before?” he asked.

I shook my head, swallowing my nerves.  If I backed away from this, I’d never be able to come back and show my face.  “No, but you won’t forget me once I’ve won,” I say confidently, hoping he couldn’t see my hands shake unsteadily.  

“Heh,” he laughs, skipping backwards as the duel started, “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, Ladybug.”

All credit goes to @starrycove for this awesome breakdancing AU!

I found interesting Renji’s comment about Byakuya, in the new Bleach fanbook about the Gotei 13, because it confirms that Renji still wants to surpass Byakuya:

Abarai Renji: “Even when I first met him he was impressive person, however seeing him close up he’s still amazing. He’s also Rukia’s brother-in-law… I want to quickly surpass him!”

(Translation by lightverse)

Some people were unsure about if Renji still had this goal after the SS arc and the timeskip. But from this fanbook is clear that this is still a goal for Renji.

Besides, the way that Renji is commenting about it, it’s clear that it’s a goal still related to Rukia: He’s also Rukia’s brother-in-law… ( then suspension points) I want to quickly surpass him!”   Those suspension points made it clear that Rukia is related to Renji’s reasons to want to surpass Byakuya. Renji had already implied before in the manga itself that Rukia’s adoption by the Kuchiki family and her new social status were his reasons to surpass Byakuya :

Chapter 98

Chapter 140

Chapter 144

Chapter 0 Side-B

Both subjects are constantly linked. Renji trained hard everyday and he became a vice-captain, and then is when is said by Ikkaku that Renji is now practically on the same social level as Rukia, so to reach Rukia’s social level was important to Renji, and in fact it seems related to the goal to surpass Byakuya, because he could become a vice-captain because he had trained hard to improve ever since Rukia left, because he wanted to surpass Byakuya. 

Kubo has made it clear that is related to Rukia through the manga, but he hasn’t clearly said why. Renji could have had resentment towards Byakuya because he adopted Rukia and be this one of the reasons to want to surpass him, but after the Soul Society arc it’s clear that Renji doesn’t have that kind of negative feelings towards Byakuya. Now Renji has a positive admiration and respect for Byakuya, and to surpass Byakuya can be a motivation for him because of this too, but it seems it’s still important because of Rukia. 

Now Renji has a good relationship with Rukia and they talk to each other and have a normal relationship, even though she is from a very important noble family. Byakuya approves, at the very least, their relationship of close friendship. What else does Renji want? 

When I read chapter 0 side-B, I got the impression that Renji wanted to marry Rukia, so I thought that Renji needed to surpass Byakuya to achieve that. Perhaps because Rukia is now from a very important family and there are some restrictions and rules for people who want to marry their family members. Or perhaps it was his way of feeling worthy of marrying her, so this would be a self-imposed goal. Or Renji thinks that he has to impress Rukia’s brother to be allowed to marry her.

Besides, the fact that he says that he wants to do it quickly, to surpass Byakuya quickly, so it seems he is in a hurry XD, it seems to indicate that he needs it because he can’t wait to be with Rukia.

And, if this is indeed his reason to surpass Byakuya, to be able to marry Rukia, he has to have some certainty in that Rukia wants to marry him too, or, at the very least, to know or think that she has romantic feelings for him too. Well, in my analysis about Renji and Rukia’s separation this was my deduction, so, obviously, I think so.


I just can’t shake off the presentment that Reiju’s not on her family’s game. Is she just a little less hateful than her brothers, or there’s an actual meaning behind her never acting like her brothers or smiling pleased at Sanji’s attitude or her suspension points? The suspension points. We know Oda, they tend to be vital: just think of Pedro and Brook during this saga! Both showed to know much more than they showed. Oda doesn’t make anything purposeless. Not a single thing. That she is evil? Too sony to deny that. But we never heard straight out of her that she has the same plans as her brothers, and we know how Sanji is the cunning and planning in the dark type - she might just resemble him. That she’ll help our cook? Too soon to say that either. She may only if it goes well with her plans, whatever they are. And what could they be? I have an idea. Judge clearly relies on his sons more, especially on the first two, despite her being his first born. Why would she have been sent together with Yonji - who knows his brothers are stronger than him, so he’s weaker - instead that to Broccoli with the other two? Judge replies to what his sons say, but never to his daughter, he doesn’t even greet her. He named her “Zero”: you can easily see a man like him being utterly disappointed at the sight of a female first-born. Not even a proper number then, as if she was a bad experiment. In all of this Reiju seems to share her family’s ambitions for power and a reign, as she stated to Sanji talking about the four nation coup. But she must know she won’t see a portion of it for herself, so what if she’s trying to get power, that power she could never obtain as a woman? It would be plausible: she seems strong, but not as impulsive as the others. And why would she save Luffy in the first place? Why would she seem content at the way Sanji deals with women, defends them, helps them? Though he hates her like the others, of course, he has no allies right now and desperately needs some help - what if Oda made his chivalry finally come in useful?

Il y a eu énormément de guillemets dans ma vie, si j’y réfléchis, quelques points d’exclamation (la passion), quelques points d’interrogations (la dépression nerveuse), quelques points de suspension (l’insouciance) et enfin là, m’étant envolée vers ce point final qui devait être posé solennellement à la fin de mon manuscrit […], me voilà atterrie dans des points de côté, entortillée, langée.
—  Françoise Sagan, Des bleus à l’âme.