the palace of versailles was much more grand than louis expected it to be, and much more romantic. it spanned from one end of his vision to another even as he stood something of a kilometer away, a clean stretch of stone covering the entire distance. there was grass cut in beautiful shapes and patterns surrounding large marble fountains filled with water so clear that it was almost completely invisible; like if he wasn't careful, he would have thought the angel statues to be spitting nothing but air. every bush was neatly trimmed like it was soap, molded by an artisan with just his fingers and palms. even the sky there felt different from how it felt just a bus ride away. it was lighter, thinner, more translucent. the more louis stared at it, the more unreal it looked, so breathable yet elegant. the interior was even more beautiful, with wispy threads of gold hanging from the walls. 
louis felt he looked like a mindless tourist, breathless at even the smallest of details. around them were happy families, of five, of four. couples holding hands with children on their shoulders, of all different ethnicities. people speaking korean, thai, portuguese. it was beautiful, he thought, family vacations. of course, he had never gotten that luxury as a child, and would likely have had trouble enjoying it, anyway. sadness, for as long as he could remember, was a constant decay of the mind. it was especially bad during his adolescence, even at times he was supposed to enjoying himself.
a humorous thought, but as he tread on the gleaming white marble, he imagined himself unzipping his pants and soiling it all with dark urine. a horrendous image, it was, but luckily came and went at the same fleeting velocity. these intrusive thoughts proved themselves common throughout louis' recovery, manifesting as a demonic child perching upon his shoulder, whispering charmingly with its flowery breath. "throw the food against the wall," it'd say, "slam yourself into the window," "hold the lighter to your haif,��� "throw your wallet into the sea," "rip your notebook to shreds and delete all the work you've been milling your ass off for." 
the two boys spent the afternoon admiring the exquisite architecture of the palace, each pillar, each tile carved with the most attentive detail. so beautiful that it was almost nauseating, because nothing should have the right to look so perfect, to be tampered to such extremity. the way the palace looked and smelled and felt and tasted was how he wanted his writing to be—sophisticated yet endearing and comforting in its own way. he wanted to shape his words into complex meaning, enchanting the reader, like nabakov would always say. 
their flight back was scheduled for ten p.m., so they could spend their time leisurely strolling as much as they wanted and eat dinner with no hitches. french food was as amazing as everywhere on the internet and in travel pamphlets made it out to be, but the french did not have the same custom of listing calories counts across menus like london or even new york, which made louis more than a little uncertain about eating foods he wasn't familiar with (how was he to know the calorie content of the escargots au beurre persille that harry would inevitably insist that they try?). 
and whenever he veered on the side of caution when it came to food, harry would frown and order something extra off the menu, insisting that he try it. the first time, it was a simple aperitif, then a starter soup, then an impossibly sweet dessert right when he thought he'd gotten by scot-free. 
letting go was terrifying. of course, he tried to count as accurately as possible by mentally logging everything and googling the calorie content of foods he wasn't familiar with, careful not to get caught by harry. it was on day three, that they'd went to a brasserie, and louis tried to sneakily google the calories of each ingredient of his bouillabaisse when harry stood up to go to the restroom and saw the bright search engine, louis swore he saw his life flash before his eyes. it wasn't explosive anger, like the type jean presented on bad days at the smallest of triggers. it might have even been presumptuous to be thought of as anger at all—it was stony but not cold, unmoving like a mountain but not large like one. the boy remained mute and simply plucked louis' phone from his hands, closed the tab, and opened a video of baby animals doing baby animal things.
"haz—" louis fumbled, "i, it's not what you think it is, i—"
"it's okay. well, it's not. but i get it. takes time. i'm here for your through the whole process."
he pursed his lips, trying to swallow the shame that began to pool deep in his larynx. of course, harry had seen him during moments that were much more raw and unfiltered, but that didn't change the embarrassment that flooded him in the moment. "sorry. i'm fine, though."
"you will be."
"weren't you going to go to the bathroom?" louis pouted. the employees at the restaurant were beginning to stare at harry, who was still stood awkwardly beside the table, in the way of bussers scrambling to prepare seats for more clients.
"hell, yeah i do. i'm about to piss myself, right here and now." harry softened, running his fingers urgently through his heavy curls.
"go on then," louis rolled his eyes. "the piss isn't getting any younger."
"that doesn't even make sense," harry gently bumped the ocean boy's head before quickly drawing his hand back after realizing his mistake. he'd forgotten who he was dealing with; the trauma that came with every sudden movement and the fear that birthed itself with each word said with even the slightest change in tone. but louis didn't flinch like he usually would, he didn't harden himself for impact, he didn't squeeze his eyes shut as if blinding himself to the pain would also make it wane.
louis did not notice harry's apprehension, or if he did, he pretended not to. he only beamed so brightly that the younger boy thought it should be illegal, how uplifting just one smile could be. he was louis, not the sun, so why was it that everything he did contradicted these facts? "oh, shut up. you're going to get a uti at this rate."
harry sighed dramatically in mock exasperation and scurried past, not before glancing back at louis once he was sure he was out of sight, to make sure everything was settled and in order. he half-expected louis to go back to researching the calorie content of the meal, so when the phone was retrieved again, harry felt his stomach drop. this should have been expected, he thought, it's not like he could do anything about it in the long run, not while respecting his boyfriend's privacy. but it hadn't been a glowing number pulled up on louis' screen; it was, rather, the animal videos.
it was just one time out of the many that louis searched fervently for calorie counts that harry caught it, but he considered that, on its own, a victory. he deterred the boy from a single spiral that could have been a dizzy descent deeper into madness, and maybe louis would even find himself making a habit out of the healthier alternative. 
on the trip back home, both boys felt surges of inspiration and excitement rush through them. the plane ride was just an hour and a half, but louis found himself writing even more during the time they waited at the airport, on the plane, and on the car ride back. harry would scold him for writing while on the road, as it would make him carsick, but the ocean boy simply laughed and continued on. he hadn't even transferred the final quarter of his novel from his notebook to a word document, but he was already started more new projects. 
and since harry had mentioned the idea of writing a song together, louis began scribbling down every little thought or idea for lyrics. they all seemed to reflect a single sentiment, but were versatile in the same way that they could be used for different moods and different tempos. 
"lay waste to my old soul, let go of that illusory control" 
"when i looked death in the face, he said your name" 
"manhattan took a part of me but i'll give you the rest" 
it was nearly two in the morning when they actually returned home, having to deal with customs on top of baggage claim on top of harry insisting that he needed some pretentious, overly-sugary drink from the airport coffee shop of generic-brand coffee. 
"tastes like london," he said, smacking his lips and licking the foamy milk off of his upper lip. 
"what, you mean like smog and shit-filled sewers?" 
"oh, shut up. it's heaven, now, compared to pre-industrial revolution." 
"yeah, what a miracle, piss isn't congealing on the streets anymore."
louis' brazenness could be off-putting to the regular person, and sometimes harry felt strangers' prudent glances picking each of their conversations apart, mistaking their casual interactions for dangerous disputes, but it was simply how they interacted; secret conversations in secret worlds where no one knew of how special they were. it was comforting, in a way, but also terribly lonely. "you're a total smartass, you know that?" 
"better than being a dumbass," louis taunted, still giggling, still holding harry's hand firmly, trying to unlock their door with the other.
despite most london nights being quite breezy, this one in particular was still; almost unsettlingly so. the overgrowth crawling up the walls of their home wasn't trembling like the wind usually made it, and it seemed that all signs of life had abandoned the town.
one of the many things louis loved about their place was the color of the streetlights, and how warm they were. they all glowed yellow, or some of the older ones, orange. it gave the beige sidewalks a kinder quality, like round, droopy eyes. ones like harry's, he supposed. sometimes, they'd darken so much that they'd appear brown, and louis loved those eyes, too. it was usually when he was angry that the color would flicker, in and out, in and out. louis thought it peculiar, how harry's eyes would radiate warmth when anger overtook him, while jean's grew cold, cold, cold. 
he couldn't quite describe the wave of clarity that washed over him as the scent of their home rushed into his nostrils, but god, this really was home. despite having just moved not even six months ago, he was already so accustomed to his everyday life in the condo—sleeping next to harry and waking up next to harry was a given, like breathing. the homely scent was a part of that, something he grew to love. 
louis immediately booted up their shared desktop to type out the remainder of the story found in his notebook. it came quickly and inexorably, with even more vivid description than he had initially spelt out. harry would usually urge the boy to bed as night dripped into day, but he couldn't bear to, not with louis' fierce looking back and narrow shoulders working so hard on the dream he'd been chasing for so long. so when harry slept and woke and louis was still working, he only draped a blanket around his shoulders and offered him a cup of coffee, with milk and sugar. 
he could tell things were getting better when louis graciously accepted the mug even with the sweetness infused in the familiar liquid, rendering the familiarity dysfunctional. louis drank it like it was nothing; too preoccupied by the task before him to worry about the calories. progress, harry recognized it to be (hoped for it to be). 
the ocean boy called a publishing company as soon as his manuscript was complete, faxing the document to them and setting up for an appointment for the following week. he was excited, more so than he'd ever been, but also inescapably frightened of the results. he dreamt every night, not of matthew's fingers stretching into his rectum, but of his work being thrown into the incinerator and being told that he had no potential. 
days drifted past as such, with harry holding his hand through even the most humid of nights. he'd forgotten how unpleasant the air was in london, with its stifling nature and densely-packed toxins on just the other side of the wall. the worrying, he realized, made him far too tired drag himself out of bed to the bathroom floor to dig blades into his flesh. exhaustion wasn't a stranger to him, but its strength felt much more poignant these days, so heavy in his bones that his blood felt like lead weighing down on him. he didn't realize it until hours after the milestone had actually passed, that he hit five days without cutting or burning himself—longer than he'd been clean for years.
his exigence hadn't slowed down despite being done with his first full work; every day, he found himself writing more and more, even getting started on his second novel as well as an anthology of poems rather than actually progressing with the coursework he had due. it was summer break, but there were seminars that he took part of, for whatever reason, he couldn't recall. days were spent waking, cuddling harry, trying to swallow his food along with his fear, and writing. 
anxiety, for whatever reason, made time pass simultaneously faster yet slower at the same time. there were moments where he'd find himself lost, wondering what day it was, surprised that the sun had gone down. there were moments where he'd just hold his breath and will life to pass, as the tick-tick of the clock seemed to grow more slow and more sluggish than it ever had. dizzying. 
a week did in fact end up passing, as time does. he spent most of it curled up in harry's arms, with the boy's heavy legs wrapped around his abdomen, like some oversized koala bear. he found himself standing before the tall office building, stomach churning in both excitement and fear. it looked almost like tom's office building, where he had gone just two days earlier, complaining about his fear of failing. of failing, and the almost-equivalent-in-magnitude fear of succeeding. 
he worried, that even in his success, he wouldn't be happy. he worried that succeeding in doing the thing he loved would change absolutely nothing about his life, and only harden the ideology that he wasn't meant to be happy, after all. as of late, he'd been marinating for even longer in the blind hope that maybe, just maybe, happiness wasn't so far after all. but if satisfaction from the publication of his work, as well as the praise from readers, wouldn't be enough to quiet the storm that seemed everlasting in his mind, then what would? 
the editor that inducted him was a thin man, balding, with glasses that looked too large for his face. they sat in a cubicle to discuss louis' work. 
"i think," the man started, to which louis held his breath. "i think this has a lot of potential. just a few things that need fixing, scenes that need polishing. we'd love to sign a contract with you." 
he didn't know what he expected; surely not to have the editor jumping up and down eagerness to take him in, but there was this vexing sense of disappointment that began to fester in his throat. the two of them spoke, correcting certain places where the transition or wording seemed odd, taking out descriptors that the editor (whose name was also, coincidentally, tom) called redundant. 
"the reader won't stick around if you use a page to describe every gust of wind," he said. "there are times where you've just got to gather your bearings and move on." 
louis pouted. he was quite the romantic person and he found the extra ornaments to highlight this romanticism, though he understood what tom (what would he call him? editor tom? skinny tom? balding tom?) was saying; he was an avid reader, and while vivid description was, at times, nice, it was more often than not nauseating to read. 
"also, i'd like to add, reading this, i wondered why there were so many ups and downs in the heroine's, uh, mindset? it seemed very unstable at times. this isn't a bad thing, per se, because her character remains consistent throughout, but one page she'll be fine and the next, she'll be injecting crystal meth into her veins while hyperventilating? it's just very jarring to the reader, is all." 
oh, he thought. wasn't everyone like this? "um, i mean, people can just be that way, no? especially when their surroundings are ever-changing. they tend to be ever-changing, as well."
"i see. i was just wondering if it was intentional or not," skinny tom smiled. "i'll fax you some potential edits, and the next time we meet, we can discuss that some more, see where to go from there. should be published in less than two months, with how things are going. i'll get back to you via email about royalties when the topic comes up. all you have to do for today is sign this contract saying that you won't write for any other publisher for a period of time, and a that portion of the money you make off of sales goes to us."
he went home shortly after signing the contract without a second thought to a grinning harry. "i knew you'd do it, love. i knew it. you're going to absolutely kill it." 
"we don't know anything yet, harold. there's still some things left to deal with before it actually goes out to the general public, and i have to fix it up some more."
"don't be so hard on yourself," harry sighed, pulling the ocean boy close to him. louis' softness made him melt a little; he was finally getting his boyfriend in full, less vacant and food-obsessed and empty-eyed. "they signed you after reading your first work. that's amazing." 
"most people don't even bring in a complete work, that's why. they write a bit and bring it in to see if it's good, and then finish it. they probably were just too nice to say no."
"not those big money-hungry publishers. they're trying to profit, not run a charity. trust me. you're amazing, love." 
louis smiled softly. "thanks. i- i really do appreciate your support." 
"just as i appreciate yours." harry paused. "you've been getting better lately."
"it feels weird." his voice came out as something closer to a puff of air than a coherent string of words, but harry caught them anyway. "not used to it. feels like i'm not allowed to be. good, that is. better."
"of course you are. you're deserving of it, like everyone else." 
louis didn't fight this like he usually would. maybe it was simply because he was too tired to, or because he knew harry wouldn't take no for an answer. either way, the younger boy saw the silence as not something heavy that clung to the atmosphere, but as a sort of salvation; proof that things do indeed change, and fuck you, parmenides, the world is more than a stagnant blob of nothing.

harry meets a boy with soft eyes and a soft soul (despite his efforts to hide the softness with a prickly exterior) in a bathroom, and it grows to become what was a warm light in the dark, to the sun, the very entity that provides life and hope in harry's life. but even the sun has its secrets.

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Due to an unfortunate accident, an average boy was transported to Ancient China, but it was nothing like the history books explained. People on flying swords, scholars breaking rocks with bare hands, and in the air was something that people called Spirit Qi.

As the title says, this is not a "novel". There is no main Mc, and there are going to be a lot of sex scenes. 

So, if you want plot, or deep characters, this is not for you! 

Also, you can request anime's that you want to read of!

Current histories: 

1) Red Dragon Emperor of Domination
2) Leave suggestions of what you want to read!

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A scum of a human being with no morals died and then-

Was Transmigrated in Dragon Ball


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BUT FEEL FREE TO CONTINUE IT!


INSPIRED BY THE NOVEL: Human Trash with Anime System


WARNING: Only read if you are 18+

WARNING: There will be lots of disturbing content, like very underage sex.

WARNING: Read tags before you read the story

Tags: Strong MC, Trash MC, Scummy MC, Sex, Guilty Pleasure, Wincest, Underage, Very Underage, Stealing people’s girls, Non-Consensual Sex, That basically means rape, Harem, More Sex, Psycho MC, Psycho Author, Evil MC, Evil Author, Even More Sex, Not completely sex, there is a plot. Probably.

Hopefully.

As the name suggests the mc finds himself in the body of 20 years old akainu without with his devil fruit.

So what will he gonna do find out.

Disclaimer : neither one piece or the pic( I found on Google are mine very sadly. They are owned by their respected owners.

There are some problems in the last book it was not showing any votimg option so this book.

As the name suggests the mc finds himself in the body of 20 years old akainu without with his devil fruit.

So what will he gonna do find out.

Disclaimer : one piece and all it's characters are owned by their respected owners. Also i found the pic on Google by luck it is also not mine. But if the owner is unhappy i will remove it.

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nabakov novel novel

Cinta ku yang tulus ke R.W

Naura

we'll live to tell the tale

Super short story

Sex through the Multiverse

I just want to have the badge

Human Scum Reincarnated in Dragon Ball

One piece : reincarnated as akainu( dropped)

One piece: reincarnated as Akainu(revised)(on hitus)

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