#also. this is only the front. I haven't styled the back at all yet

[maukuja]

How it started vs how it's going

This probably the best spike I've ever made

[dakusan]

W h e r e V a m p i r e ! S K Z L i k e s t o B i t e Y o u

Vampire!SKZ OT8 x Reader | eight fangs. eight fixations. and every filthy way they ruin you where it hurts the most

🔞synopsis: You thought you knew desire. You thought you understood sex. Then they bit you. This isn't love. This is hunger. Worship. Power. A kiss laced with venom. A cock buried in your cunt while your blood runs hot down their chin. Eight vampires. Eight bite locations. Eight ways to lose your mind and beg for more.

💌a/n: Welcome to fucking Wreck Me Wednesdays. This was supposed to be “mini.” Instead I wrote eight vampire sex case files with feeding traits, bite kinks, and full-blown NSFW lore. Somewhere between Chan’s heartbite and Han's “mine mine mine,” I lost the plot and my soul. Some are longer. Some are feral. Some are shorter. All of them ruined me and they shall ruin you too. Read responsibly. Stay hydrated. Stretch your legs. Cry in the bathtub. p.s. reblog = consent to be ruined by a vampire. p.p.s. Tell me who broke you. For science. p.p.p.s. pls enjoy the song :3. i will also get to the asks later today, haven't forgotten!

⚠️ warnings: NSFW / 18+ ONLY — minors will be fed to Minho. This series contains graphic vampire smut and feral content not suitable for the emotionally stable | Bloodplay + feeding during sex | Biting (everywhere) | Obsessive/possessive behavior | Power dynamics (soft dom to unhinged dom) | Crying, overstimulation, choking on moans | Praise kink, degradation kink, breeding kink | Fang kinks. Vein kinks. Chest kinks. Thigh kinks. | Oral (receiving + giving), rough sex, soft sex, bubble bath sex, rage sex

📍credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𓆪 BANG CHAN // Abnormal Vampire Obsessed with control. Addicted to your pulse.

🩸PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Neck or heart — where the pulse is loudest. He wants to hear it skip.

💉FEEDING STYLE ‣ Controlled. Lethal. Intimate. ‣ Always timed with orgasm. May edge before bite. ‣ Often restraints you during feeding. Uses voice as a binding tool.

🫀EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Rapid heartbeat. ‣ Dissociation from overstimulation. ‣ Emotional dependency post-bite. ‣ High risk of imprinting.

⚠️PROGNOSIS ‣ Orgasmic blood-loss. ‣ Neck bites mid-thrust = blackout-level pleasure. ‣ Heart bites = ego death. Immediate sobbing. ‣ Lingering soreness + possession marks.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 001 𓆪

"Strip. Slowly."

You're standing in front of him—already trembling, already soaked. He hasn’t touched you. Not yet. Just sits back on the velvet chaise like he’s watching a performance he paid for in centuries. Legs spread. Shirt open. Mouth smiling, fangs peeking. Hands not on you.

Not yet.

You undress like you're unwrapping something forbidden. And his eyes don’t leave your chest. Not even once.

"There," he murmurs when your top hits the floor, voice like silk over blade. "It stutters when you know where I'm going to bite. Do you want it tonight?"

You nod, breathless.

"Words, darling."

"...yes. Please."

It doesn't take long, really it doesn't. Because one second you were putting on a show for him, stripping, peeling layer by later until you were naked and suddenly, you were now laid down on the bed with Chan knelt between your thighs, breathing against your cunt without touching.

With only one single kiss, not touching. Not yet.

"So warm here. You've been aching for me all night, haven't you? Dripping for me. Thinking about how it'll feel when I bite your chest and fuck you until your name melts off your tongue?"

You whimper, nod, hips twitching—but his hands grip your thighs down firm and leans forward, tongue finally moving—not inside you—no, he flicks along your folds. One stroke. One taste. Then stops.

"Mm. You're going to wait for me to bite. I'll have to make you cum with my mouth first."

He eats you out slowly. Sinfully. Like a king savouring dessert before the main course. Fingers spreading you, tongue teasing, lips sucking your clit just barely enough to make your stomach tense. Then he stops. Over and over. Until you're crying, hips grinding, begging.

"Please—Chan, please—fuck—just let me—"

"Let you what?" he says, smiling against your pussy. "Bleed? Break? Cum?"

"Yes—fuck, yes—all of it."

He hums against your cunt like you gave him a goddamn prayer.

"All of it, huh?" He drags his tongue up slowly, catching your clit just to hear the gasp he wrings from your throat. "Then keep those thighs open. Let me earn it."

And he does.

His mouth descends like a curse and a promise, this time not stopping. He licks like he’s reading scripture off your skin. Like he’s memorizing the shape of your moans. Two fingers press in, curling perfectly, while his tongue circles your clit with calculated cruelty. He’s not being sweet—he’s being precise. Every flick, every suck, every curl of his fingers is designed to make your legs tremble and your mind splinter.

“There it is,” he growls into you when your hips start bucking. “So fucking wet, baby. You gonna cum like this? Before I even bite?”

You try to answer. You really do. But it’s already happening. Your stomach tightens, thighs trembling, mouth open on a silent scream as your orgasm crashes down—hot, humiliating, perfect.

He doesn’t stop.

Licks through your orgasm, dragging it out. Groaning low, fingers still thrusting, until you’re gasping, writhing, overstimulated and dripping. Then—finally—he pulls back. Just enough to lift his head.

His mouth is wet. His chin shines with your slick. And his eyes—god, his eyes—are blown wide, black with hunger. “Now you’re ready,” he says, voice darker, lower. “Now you’ll taste right.”

He climbs up your body slowly, kneeing your thighs further apart as he goes. One hand cages your throat—not tight, just present—and the other cups your breast, thumb rubbing lazy circles around your nipple.

And then he leans in. Presses his lips right over your heart. The bite is sudden. Deep.

Your blood floods his mouth, and he moans—moans—like it’s better than sex, like it’s what he’s been starving for. His hips grind against yours as he drinks, hard cock pressing against your folds like a promise. You’re shaking beneath him—your orgasm still echoing, your body pulsing, blood pouring into his mouth like a gift only he deserves.

And then—just when you start to go dizzy—he pulls back. Fangs red. Lips stained. Chest heaving.

“Still with me?” His voice is rough, wrecked with restraint. “Because I��m not done.”

You nod—but barely. Your whole body is trembling, and your vision is hazy, floating from the orgasm and the blood loss and the fact that he bit your fucking heart like it was a fruit he’s waited centuries to taste.

And he’s still fully dressed. Shirt unbuttoned, dark slacks hugging his thighs, belt still on. You’re naked and wrecked and soaked, but he’s untouched. Pressed against you, blood-slick mouth and cock hard against your pussy—but untouched. “Look at me,” he whispers, dragging his fingers down your side, over the bite mark, over your trembling hips. “Look at me while I feed you something else.”

And then he leans back.

Slowly. Casually.

Undoing his belt with one hand, unzipping his pants like he's got all the time in the world. His eyes never leave yours as he slides them down just enough to free himself—his cock thick, flushed dark red, leaking at the tip, veins mapped like sin. You swear it twitches when he sees your thighs shake.

“So fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, wrapping one hand around the base and giving himself a lazy pump. “Open. Dripping. Ruined. And all for me.”

He strokes himself slow, torturing, his fist sliding up over the head and back down, slicking it with precum while his other hand presses down on your lower belly, keeping you there.

“You feel that?” he asks, dragging the head of his cock through your folds. “That’s mine now. This heat. This slick little cunt. Your blood’s still warm inside me and now I’m going to fuck it back into you.”

You sob. Actually sob. Because even just the way he slides against your folds—up and down, dragging over your clit, teasing your entrance—it’s too much.

“Please, Chan,” you whisper, voice hoarse, “I want you inside—I want to feel it—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can.” He lines himself up. Presses the head in just a little. Just enough to make you gasp. “You’ll take it. Every inch. Slow.”

And he means it.

He pushes in inch by devastating inch, watching your face the entire time—watching your mouth fall open, your eyes flutter, your back arch. You feel every ridge, every vein, the stretch of him parting you slowly like he’s carving space for himself where no one else belongs.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice breaking. “So fucking tight.” Another inch. Another. “God, you’re squeezing me like you missed me.”

You cry out. Not from pain. From pleasure. From the overwhelming fullness, from the feel of him dragging along your soaked, overstimulated walls.

He pauses halfway in. Just pauses—hips pressed flush, cock twitching inside you, breath hot against your cheek.

“You want more?” he asks, fangs still out. “Tell me. Tell me how bad you want me to fill you.”

“Please,” you gasp, tears spilling, voice trembling. “I need it—I need you inside—all of you—fuck, Chan, please.”

His hips snap forward. You scream. He bottoms out with one deep thrust, cock buried to the hilt, and the stretch burns so good.

“There,” he grits, grinding slow, deep, merciless. “That’s what I wanted. That fucking clench. That pretty little scream.” He stays buried in you for a moment—deep—just breathing, letting your walls flutter and your cunt adjust to the full stretch of him. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, trying to lock him in, but he just smirks.

And then he starts.

Slow. Precise. The first few thrusts feel like worship—or punishment—dragging out so achingly slow that your body clenches tighter, trying to chase what he won’t give you. His hips roll, grinding into you, the thick weight of him pressing against every oversensitive inch of your soaked, blood-drunk cunt.

“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he groans, head dropping to your throat as he sets a slow, grinding rhythm. “So fucking warm. So tight. You gonna cry for me again, sweetheart?”

You already are. You’re gasping, eyes glassy, body shaking as he rocks into you with that slow, devastating rhythm. One of his hands cradles your face, the other beside your head, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And then—he leans in. Mouth dragging across your skin. Kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips, your throat. Peppering kisses like you’re sacred. His fangs scrape lightly down your neck and you twitch underneath him.

“You like that?” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “The fangs. The pressure. You want me to bite again, don’t you?”

Your breath stutters. He knows. Of course he knows.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, thrusting deeper. “Not until you cum on my cock. Not until I’m so deep you forget how to speak.”

He picks up the pace now—still controlled, but faster. Harder. The sound of skin slapping, of your soaked cunt swallowing him in, fills the room along with your moans. Your nails drag down his back. Your hips rise to meet his.

“That’s it. Take it, baby. Take all of me. That greedy little pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

You nod frantically. “Yes—fuck, yes—made for you, only you—”

He kisses you. Hard. Bruising. Tongue sliding past your lips like he owns your mouth too. And when he pulls back, his eyes are pitch black, fangs still bared, lips red from your blood.

“Say it again.”

“Made for you,” you cry. “Yours. Only yours.”

“Good fucking girl.”

His pace snaps harder now—deep, perfect strokes—one hand gripping your thigh, the other pressed firm against your throat. His body curves over yours, keeping you pinned while he fucks you like he’s staking a claim inside your cunt.

Your legs tighten around him. Your belly coils. You feel your orgasm building—hot and sharp and dizzying.

“You gonna cum again?” he pants, rutting harder now. “Gonna let me feel it? Let me feel that pretty little pussy milk me while I drink from your heart again?”

You sob. You nod. You beg.

“Please, please—bite me—fuck, Chan—please—”

And that’s all it takes. He thrusts deep, one last time, grinding hard against your cervix, and then bites—again—right over your heart.

You cum instantly. Your walls clench so hard around his cock it triggers his own orgasm—thick, hot, flooding you as he groans into your skin, drinking and thrusting and owning you. When he finally pulls back, he’s panting, licking the wound tenderly. Your body’s trembling—soaked, stuffed, claimed—and he just looks down at you like you’re a masterpiece.

Chan leans down, kissing your lips so softly now. "You're mine sweetheart. Bloody, body, soul."

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐇 𓆪 LEE KNOW // Abnormal Vampire Sadist in silk. Devours screams. Fuck-first, feed-later type.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Inner thigh — where you're softest, where you beg hardest.

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Slow. Pain-laced. Erotic. ‣ Often feeds while fucking from behind. ‣ Fingerplay first—he has to feel you fall apart before the bite.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Shaking legs. Sore hips. Oversensitive clit. ‣ Mind-fracture from orgasm + blood loss combination. ‣ Known to cause dehydration, bruising, and uncontrollable sobbing. ‣ Marked behavioral changes: submission, clinginess, obsession.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Orgasm coincides with bite. Scream = trigger. ‣ Thigh bites may cause blackout + limp for 2–3 days. ‣ Post-bite euphoria. Known to whisper “again” while you’re still twitching. ‣ Irreversible addiction risk. Do not engage without safe word.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 002 𓆪

“You’re not gonna cum until I tell you to. Understand?”

His voice is silk-coated steel—low and lethal. You’re on your back, naked, legs spread wide on the silk sheets, with Lee Know fully clothed beside you. Not even undressing. Just watching. Eyes dragging over your soaked cunt like it’s something he owns. Like it exists to be ruined.

You nod, desperate.

“Use your words.” His eyes narrow, lips curling with warning. “If you want my fingers inside you, you’d better earn them.”

“Yes. I understand,” you breathe. “Please—Minho, I need it—”

He hums, finally moving. One hand strokes up your thigh, so gentle it makes you shiver. “So polite,” he murmurs. “And already dripping. All this for me?”

Two fingers press between your folds, parting you slowly. You moan. He doesn’t move fast—he just teases. Up and down, collecting slick. Spreading it messily across your clit before tapping it, sharp and precise.

You jerk. He laughs softly.

“No cumming, sweetheart,” he reminds you, before pushing a finger in.

You moan, clenching instantly. He’s slow at first, curling upward to find that spot, rubbing it deliberately. Then a second finger. Scissoring, stretching. His thumb rubs lazy circles over your clit, but never enough. Never fast.

And when you start to tighten around him, about to tip over—he pulls out.

You scream. He smiles.

“Again,” he says, and starts over. Fingers, curl, rub, drag—stop. Over. And over. By the fourth time, your body’s twitching. Your thighs shake. Your hands are fisting the sheets. “Minho—fuck, please—I’m going to lose it—”

“Good.” He leans over, mouth brushing your ear. “Then maybe you’ll behave.”

He grabs your hips, flips you over in one smooth motion—onto your knees, chest to the sheets. One hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing your spine into a perfect arch. The other? Slipping down to play with your pussy again.

“You’re so wet baby,” he murmurs, dragging his fingers back through your folds. “I’ve barely done anything.”

You sob into the sheets. Then you feel it—his tongue. On your inner thigh. Not your pussy. Not yet. Just slow, deliberate licks on the sensitive skin right near your pulse point.

You freeze.

“Oh, did you think I’d forgotten about the bite?” he purrs.

He kisses the skin first. Then bites. His fangs sink in with a sharp, hot pain that melts instantly into pure fucking ecstasy. Your vision goes white. Your arms give out. You cry out, body trembling as blood leaves you in slow, sensual pulses.

And the second his mouth pulls back—

He’s undoing his pants.

You hear the belt unbuckle. The zipper lower. Then feel it—his cock, thick and flushed, dragging through your soaked folds. “You want this?” he asks, voice darker now. “Want to be fucked while your thighs are still bleeding?”

“Yes—fuck, yes—please—”

He slides in.

No warning. No mercy. One smooth, brutal thrust that knocks the air out of you. His hips slam into your ass, cock buried to the hilt, and he groans—deep and guttural—like he just found heaven inside your cunt. “Fuck,” he pants, grabbing your hips with bruising force. “So tight. Still twitching from that bite?”

He doesn’t wait.

He starts moving. Deep, hard thrusts that punch cries from your throat. Your back arches, cheek pressed to the sheets as he fucks you in a perfect rhythm—every stroke hitting exactly where you need him.

And he does not stop.

“Cry for me,” he growls, slapping your ass. “Scream. Let them hear how good I fuck what’s mine.”

You scream. You cry. You babble his name like a prayer.

“That’s right,” he hisses, hips snapping faster. “Fucking perfect.”

You’re gone. Broken. Bleeding. Full. And when your orgasm is close, when you're just about to cum—he doesn’t stop you. “Let go,” he pants. “Give it to me. I want to feel this cunt strangle my cock.”

You do. You collapse, sobbing, shaking, cumming so hard your thighs go limp. But he doesn’t stop.

Minho groans through his teeth and keeps thrusting—fucking you through your orgasm like he’s chasing something deeper. His grip bruises your hips, cock dragging through your soaked, fluttering walls, harder now, rougher.

“You sound so pretty when you break,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “I can feel it. Every pulse. Every squeeze. You're milking my cock like you want me to stay inside forever.”

You whimper, twitching under him, nerves fried, cunt still clenching in aftershocks. Your body is shaking—numb, overstimulated—but he fucks you through it, like you owe him every second.

“I’m close,” he growls, burying himself deep. “Gonna fill you up—fuck, just like this—”

A sharp snap of his hips, one final grind—and then he spills into you with a broken sound, teeth bared, fangs glinting. His cum is hot, thick, flooding your sore cunt as he presses as deep as he can, breathing hard against your spine.

But he’s not done. Not even close.

The second his cock slips free—wet and dripping with both of you—he’s flipping you over again. Your body’s limp, arms trembling, blood drying sticky on your thigh. You can barely focus. Barely breathe.

But you feel him. The press of his mouth. The heat of his breath.

“Still bleeding here,” he murmurs, fingers parting your thigh. “And you’re still so warm.”

He doesn’t give you time to answer before he bites again.

Same thigh. New wound.

You scream—not from pain, but from the crash of sensation. The moment his fangs sink in, your body floods with another unbearable wave. You’re twitching, crying, clenching around nothing—your cunt soaked, still dripping his cum—while he drinks, slow and deep.

Every pull of his mouth makes your stomach tighten. Your hands claw at the sheets. You’re delirious—gone—his mouth on your thigh, blood leaving in perfect rhythm with the mess between your legs.

He moans softly against your skin. Then he pulls back. Lips stained. Fangs gleaming. Blood running down your thigh like a love letter written in ruin.

He crawls over your body, eyes dark and hungry still. “I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, licking the blood from his lips. “But I’ll let you rest…”

One hand strokes your cheek, surprisingly soft.

“For now.”

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐄𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐑 𓆪 SEO CHANGBIN // Normal Vampire Made of muscle, menace, and moans..

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Below the ribs or just above the hipbone

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Possessive. Worshipful. ‣ He growls when he drinks, like it's carnal. ‣ Usually feeds during sex. Leaves deep bruises around the wound from how hard he grips.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Breathless moaning. ‣ Clawing, overstimulated orgasms. ‣ Emotional grounding. Heightened intimacy. ‣ High likelihood of imprinting if bitten more than once.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Feral rut-level fucking. ‣ Bruised hips, shaky legs, blood-drunk sobs. ‣ Bite leaves a phantom heat that spreads like wildfire. ‣ Will absolutely carry you to a bath after and tell you you did so well.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 003 𓆪

You were teasing him. You didn’t mean to—but you were.

The corset was tight. The skirt was short. Your lipstick matched the red of your bite mark from two nights ago. You were only supposed to drop off the file he needed but you knew what the outfit would do to him. What it always did.

And the moment he looked up from his desk and saw you?

All bets were off.

He’s already panting when he slams the door shut behind you. One heartbeat later, you're pinned to the wall—hard. His broad chest flush against your back, his breath already ragged and hot against your ear.

You hear the low, animalistic growl deep in his chest before you feel it—rumbling through you like a warning.

Or a promise.

Because you’re standing there in his office after midnight, wearing nothing but a black lace corset that cups your breasts high, a tiny pleated skirt that barely covers your ass, and delicate panties—thin, sheer, soaked. Stockings, too. Garter belt. Lip gloss still shimmering.

You knew what you were doing.

And so does he.

“Take that shit off,” he growls, voice already thick with bloodlust and need.

You turn—barely—and meet his eyes. They’re black. Fully fucking black.

And you’re soaked.

“Changbin—” you whisper, breath hitching, thighs pressing together. It’s not a protest. It’s a plea.

He doesn’t wait. Doesn’t ask. One sharp tug and your corset jerks loose at the back—ripped. Another growl, and your panties are shredded in his hands, lace in tatters. The air hits your bare skin and you whimper.

“You fucking tease,” he snarls, grabbing a handful of your ass. “Walking in here dressed like this? Like a fucking offering?”

You squeak as he grabs you under the thighs and lifts—one arm. Just one arm and you're airborne, slammed back against the wall like you weigh nothing to him.

Because to him? You’re not fragile. You’re his.

His mouth crashes into yours—hot, brutal, claiming. His tongue is deep before you can breathe. Fangs brush your lower lip and nick the skin just enough for blood to bloom, sweet and fresh, and he moans against your mouth.

“You wore this for me?” he growls between kisses. “Fucking knew it. Knew you were trying to get ruined.”

You nod frantically, breathless. “Please—need it—need you—”

Then he drops. To his knees. Fast. Like gravity yanked him straight down. He’s still fully dressed in black slacks, fitted shirt, sleeves rolled up. Muscles bulging, chest heaving, mouth already parted. And you? You’re bare now—corset loosened, panties gone, skirt hiked up around your waist, legs trembling over his shoulders.

Your back hits the cold wall. Your pussy is right at his eye level. And he looks up at you like he’s about to worship you.

Or destroy you.

“Fucking look at you,” he growls, dragging his thumbs up your inner thighs to spread you wider. “You're soaked. All this for me?”

You can’t speak. You nod. His smirk turns feral. “Good.”

He doesn't waist a second, Changbin devours you.

No teasing. No buildup. His tongue dives in like he’s starving—wide and wet, licking through your folds with a brutal, messy hunger that makes you cry out on impact.

“F-fuck—Changbin—”

He groans. Moans into your pussy like it’s his favorite meal, nose buried, chin soaked, lips dragging up your slit again and again until they’re flushed and swollen with your slick. His tongue curls up to your clit—flicks, circles, sucks. Sloppy and relentless.

Then?

He starts making out with it.

No joke. Full mouth. Open, hot, filthy kisses against your cunt—like he’s Frenching your pussy with every ounce of his desperate need. Tongue moving deep inside, then sliding up to wrap around your clit, sucking hard, then soft, then hard again. Over and over.

Your legs are shaking on his shoulders.

He drags one arm around your ass, pressing you closer to his mouth, while his free hand slides two thick fingers inside—curling, fucking, spreading your walls until you're gasping like you’re being split open.

He’s growling into your cunt, fingers pounding, tongue flicking your clit like he’s trying to drag the orgasm out of you with brute force.

“Come on,” he pants between slurps. “Give it to me. Cum on my tongue, baby—now—”

Your scream tears through the room. It breaks you. Your orgasm hits like a punch to the gut—raw, loud, endless. Your whole body locks. Your thighs clamp around his head. Your vision goes black for a second.

And he fucking loves it.

Keeps sucking through it. Fingers still thrusting. His mouth sealing over your clit again as if your climax is what he’s been waiting for all day.

Only when you’re gasping, limp, twitching—only then does he finally rise.

And fuck, he looks good.

Mouth soaked. Chin gleaming. Eyes still black. Fangs bared.

You barely have time to catch your breath before his hands are moving—fast. Belt undone with a sharp snap, pants shoved down, briefs yanked below his thighs. His cock springs free—thick, flushed, already leaking at the tip. Harder than sin.

You don’t even get a chance. Because suddenly—he lifts you. Again. Effortlessly. Strong arms under your thighs, back slammed against the wall. And this time, he doesn’t wait.

He slams into you.

One thrust—brutal, perfect—and he’s fully inside. Stretching you open. Your head rolls back, mouth open in a soundless scream as your cunt grips him like a vice.

“Fuck—yes,” he snarls against your throat. “That’s it—tight little pussy—knew you could take it.”

He doesn’t stop.

He fucks you into the wall. Rough. Desperate. Fast and deep and relentless. The slap of skin on skin echoes, your moans ricochet off the walls, and his name is the only thing you remember how to say.

“Changbin—Changbin—oh fuck—”

He groans against your skin. “You’re mine.”

And then?

He bites. Hard.

Right into your neck—fangs sinking deep, blood spilling into his mouth like wine from a sacred chalice. You scream, thighs trembling, orgasm threatening again just from the pain, the pressure, the possessive violence of it.

But he’s not done.

He licks the bite. Bites again—your shoulder this time. Then your collarbone. Then your neck again.

Everywhere.

Like he needs you in his mouth, over and over, just to stay grounded. Like drinking you is the only thing keeping him sane. His cock is ruthless inside you—dragging through your soaked walls, pounding harder each time you clench around him.

Your head spins.

He’s drunk on you. Absolutely gone.

“Fucking addictive,” he snarls. “Gonna mark you everywhere. Fill you up. Drain you dry. Fuck—this pussy’s perfect—squeezing me like it wants to bleed.”

Your hands claw at his back. Your nails dig into his shoulders. He loves it. Groans from deep in his chest. Slams into you even harder.

“Take it,” he growls. “Fucking take it. All of it. Don’t you dare stop squeezing me—make me cum, baby.”

You do.

Your orgasm hits again, body seizing, cunt fluttering around his cock like it’s made to wring him dry—and he loses it.

With a guttural snarl, he slams in deep—hips grinding, cock twitching as he spills inside you in heavy, scorching pulses.

But he doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t move.

Just stays there—cock buried, teeth still scraping your neck, hands fisting in your hair and thigh like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this plane.

He pants. Shudders. Then licks your wounds. Gently. Worshipfully.

“Mine,” he whispers, pressing kisses to every bite mark. “Fucking mine. And I’m never letting go.”

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍 𓆪 HWANG HYUNJIN // Abnormal Vampire Beauty made ruin. Moans like a prayer. Kisses like a curse.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Pulse points — wrists, neck, inner thighs

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Hypnotic. Addictive. Laced in poetry and pain. ‣ Always bites during orgasm. Sometimes mid-cry. ‣ Tongue traces first. Fangs follow like a kiss you asked for in a dream.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Euphoria-induced sobbing. Clutching, clawing, surrendering. ‣ Heart palpitations, glossy eyes, speech loss ‣ Often left with multiple bite marks in one session—each placed like a secret

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Known to say “You’re mine” while you’re still moaning. ‣ Multiple orgasms expected. Blood + sex high overlap. ‣ Post-bite daze may last hours. Often found still shaking in his arms. ‣ Extreme bond-forming. Danger of becoming his favorite. And never leaving.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 004 𓆪

You feel him before you see him.

That overwhelming stillness, the kind that drowns out thought. Your breath catches—and then there he is, walking in like a vision, black silk shirt half-buttoned, pale chest glistening, golden hair slightly damp like he’s just stepped out of a dream.

Hyunjin doesn't speak at first. He just walks toward you. Barefoot. Soft steps. Eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the world that exists.

And then?

“You wore my favorite,” he murmurs, fingertips brushing the strap of your lace slip. “Ivory. Like fresh canvas.”

His lips ghost over your collarbone. Not a kiss. Not yet.

“I’ve been thinking about this,” he whispers, “all night. What color you’ll bleed for me. What sound you’ll make when I make you fall apart.”

You tremble.

He lifts your chin gently, eyes gleaming obsidian. “Lie back, baby. Let me paint.”

You obey, shivering as you settle onto the bed—bare skin against cool silk, thighs pressed together from sheer need. He doesn’t make you wait long. Just climbs over you slowly, like you’re delicate, precious, sacred.

And then his mouth is on your wrist. Kissing. Worshipping.

“I’ll start here,” he breathes. “Where your pulse is softest.”

The bite is slow. Precise. A sharp flash of heat as his fangs pierce your skin, followed by dizzying pleasure—almost like he’s sipping your soul. He groans, low and ruined, as your blood coats his tongue.

“Mmm… divine,” he whispers against your wrist, pulling back only to let the droplets smear along his lips. “But I want more.”

His hands trail down. One over your breast, teasing your nipple, the other slipping between your thighs.

“You’re soaked,” he hums, licking the blood off his fingers. “Did you get this wet just from the bite?”

You nod. He smiles like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

Then—he spreads you.

Kisses down your body, trailing open-mouthed devotion from your chest to your stomach, thighs, then—

“Oh, fuck—Hyunjin—”

He groans as he reaches your cunt, breathing deep. “So pretty,” he murmurs, “and all mine.” Hyunjin leans in to press a kiss over your clit. Soft. Like the place between your legs is a cathedral and he's repenting with every breath.

His lips brush your folds. Once. Twice. Then his tongue flattens against your clit, slow and wide, dragging up until your hips twitch off the bed.

“Sweet,” he breathes, eyes fluttering closed. “So fucking sweet—like nectar, like stars, like sin.”

You moan.

He moans louder.

Because Hyunjin isn’t just eating you out. He’s savoring. Every lick is long and deliberate, every press of his tongue a whispered poem. He swirls around your clit—soft at first, then pointed—then sucks it into his mouth with such aching, focused gentleness you cry out without warning.

“Hyunjin—”

He groans at the sound of his name. The vibration floods through your cunt.

“Say it again,” he whispers against you, then kisses your clit again like it’s your mouth. “Please. Sing for me.”

“Hyunjin—fuck—please—”

You can’t help it. You’re squirming, writhing, lost beneath him. Your thighs tremble around his head but he doesn’t let go. One arm wraps behind your waist, anchoring you to his mouth like he can’t stand the idea of you pulling away.

His tongue starts to move faster—up, down, circle, suck—messy, wet, worshipful.

Slurping sounds fill the air. His own moans grow desperate. He drags you closer, face buried deep, nose pressed against your clit, tongue flicking mercilessly now. Like he’s not kissing anymore—he’s feasting.

You sob.

You’re panting his name like a spell now. Your back arches. Your thighs clamp.

His fingers dig into your skin. His tongue curls up and in. Every noise you make feeds him. Fuels him. Until he’s drunk on it. High on it.

High on you.

When you cum, it’s violent. Like drowning in silk. You clench around nothing, but feel everything. Your body locks. Your mind breaks. Your mouth opens—but nothing comes out.

And Hyunjin just groans. Like your orgasm was inevitable. A masterpiece finished.

He licks you through it. Sucks gently on your clit like he’s coaxing the last bits of your soul out through your cunt. Then another kiss. And another. Until he finally slows, breath ragged, mouth glossy with you.

His eyes rise to meet yours. Black. Dilated. Reverent.

Your breathing’s still erratic. Limbs heavy. The aftershocks of your orgasm ripple through you in soft, involuntary flinches. And Hyunjin just watches. Licks his lips, eyes locked on the trembling between your thighs like it’s the final frame of a painting he’s not done signing.

Then? He shifts.

You barely register it until his mouth is on your inner thigh.

Not rushed. Not greedy. Just—gentle. Open-mouthed kisses along the softest part of you. His fangs slide out.

You feel the sharp brush of them ghost over your skin. He drags them softly, so softly, up the inside of your thigh, until your hips twitch from the sheer anticipation.

Then—

The bite.

It’s deep. Precise. His fangs sink into the flesh of your inner thigh like they were made for this—like your body was crafted just for his teeth. The sting is immediate, yes, but it blooms so quickly into pleasure that your head falls back, lips parted in a choked gasp.

Hyunjin groans the moment your blood hits his tongue.

His hands grip your thighs tighter, anchoring you as he drinks. Slow at first. Then deeper. His throat works in soft, rhythmic swallows. You can hear it. The slick sound of him feeding.

And all the while—he moans.

Like he’s tasting divinity. You try to move. He growls. “Stay still.” he breathes against your wound.

He licks the blood as it trails, mouth sticky and stained. Then another kiss. Another bite. This time, just a little higher—closer to where he just worshipped you with his tongue.

You gasp. The pleasure-pain bursts behind your eyes.

“Hyunjin—please—”

He hums your name into your skin. Wipes his mouth on your thigh like a signature. Then finally climbs up your body, hovering above your face. Eyes on your perfect pillowy lips, but he doesn't kiss immediately. He just hovers. Lets you see the blood on his lips—your blood—before whispering: “You’re mine, now. I’ll paint you in bruises and bites."

Then he kisses you.

Tongue deep. Copper-sweet. Blood-warm and you melt. Melt like puddle in his arms. His arms, exactly where you belong.

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐑 𓆪 HAN JISUNG // Normal Vampire Chaos incarnate. Bites first, thinks later. Addicted to your blood and your moans—equally.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Side of the neck ‣ Also: your chest, your fingers, your thighs—he’s not picky. Just rabid.

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Chaotic, breathless, unrestrained. ‣ Often bites mid-fuck or right after you cum. ‣ Will feed and finger you at the same time, panting into your blood. ‣ Tastes you like he’s making out with your pulse.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Overstimulation. Dizziness. Bite-high. ‣ Orgasms feel drugged—like you're floating underwater. ‣ Can trigger full-body shivers, sobbing, giggles, and collapsing. ‣ Irregular heartbeat post-bite. Known to laugh while you cry.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Bite syncs with his orgasm. ‣ Feeds multiple times in one session—don’t expect to walk. ‣ Cums from your taste. Known to say “I need you again” before he’s even pulled out. ‣ Proceed with caution: addiction is mutual.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 005 𓆪

Han Jisung is already naked.

He wasn’t supposed to be. He was supposed to wait. But the second you walked into his apartment—short skirt, bare thighs, lipgloss still wet—he lost his fucking mind. Clothes gone. Fangs out. The kind of wide, dangerous grin that promised disaster and begged for it, too.

“You’re gonna ride me, yeah?” he pants, back hitting the bed with a thud. “Wanna see your tits bounce while I bite you.”

You swallow. Nod.

“No, no—c’mon,” he grins, already breathless. “Say it. Say you’re gonna ride me like you mean it.”

“I’m gonna ride you, Ji,” you whisper, crawling over him. “So fucking hard.”

“Fuck yes—” His head drops back, eyes fluttering. “My girl.”

You straddle him, feeling his cock hot and thick between your folds. He’s already leaking, already twitching beneath you. Your slick coats him in seconds. But he doesn’t thrust—no, he waits. Lets you drag your hips up and down until you’re both dizzy with it.

And then—you sink down.

“FUCK—” he cries, hands flying to your hips, gripping so tight you’ll bruise. “Shit—so warm—so tight—don’t move—fuck, baby, let me feel you like this—”

But you move anyway.

Start slow. Grinding your hips in circles, milking moans from his throat. He looks wrecked—sweaty, flushed, eyes half-lidded and glowing red. One hand sneaks up to grope your tits. The other stays on your hip, flexing with every grind.

When you start bouncing? He chokes.

“God—fuck—ride me—ride me, baby, please—”

You do.

Faster. Harder. Until your thighs burn and your pussy tightens with each drop. His mouth is everywhere—licking your collarbone, mouthing at your nipples, biting into your neck without warning.

He drinks. Moans into the wound. Licks the blood like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

You scream.

Not from pain—from pleasure so sharp it cuts. He pulls back, blood smeared on his lips, gasping like you just fucked the soul out of him. “You taste like heaven,” he whispers. “Fuck—I’m gonna cum—baby, cum with me, ride me until we break—”

You do. Together.

A shared orgasm that hits like a freight train. Your cunt tightens around him in rhythmic spasms, and he holds you through it—groaning, babbling praise, licking blood from your skin while he cums so hard his whole body shudders beneath you.

But he’s not done.

Because your chest is rising and falling—vulnerable, flushed—and he leans up, presses one last kiss between your tits.

Then bites again.

And again.

And again.

Your body’s still trembling. Muscles twitching. Slick and cum sliding down your thighs where he’s still buried deep inside you, twitching with aftershocks.

But Jisung?

He’s laughing.

Low. Breathless. A little too unhinged to be safe.

“You’re still warm,” he pants, lapping at your collarbone like it’s glazed in sugar. “Still fucking clenching around me. You’re gonna kill me, baby.”

You try to answer. You really do. But your brain has melted. Your mouth just opens—gasping—and that’s when he bites again.

Right above your heart.

You scream. Loud and broken. His fangs sink into skin like it’s the only place he belongs—like he can claim you from the inside out. He drinks like you’re water and he’s been parched for centuries. Moans like your blood makes him high. His cock twitches inside you, still half-hard and swelling again.

“Fuck—” he breathes, pulling back, his lips coated crimson. “You’re sweeter here. I knew you would be.”

Then he tilts his head. Looks down.

Sees it.

His cum.

Dripping out of your pussy like melted candlewax. A creamy mess of lust and love and loss of control. “Oh my fucking god,” he groans, manic. “I made you drip like this?”

A pause, a sharp inhale.

“Addicted,” he whispers. “Completely fucking addicted. You don’t even know—baby, I need—”

He bites again. Your shoulder this time. Then the other side of your neck. Then the curve of your breast.

He kisses each one after, messy and frantic, tongue smearing blood and spit across your skin like a mad artist painting his masterpiece.

And then?

He flips you. Again.

Pins you down now, hands on either side of your head, his mouth dragging over your body like he can’t choose where to ruin you next. I want to fuck you again,” he confesses, breath shaking. “Want to stay inside forever. Want to drink until I forget my name.”

“You already did,” you whisper, hoarse.

He grins. Wide. Bloody.

“Good.”

And then he bites again. This time? Your mouth.

Kisses you so hard his fangs nick your lip. Blood trickles in. He licks it up like a shot of liquor, hands gripping your thighs, your ass, your tits—anywhere he can touch.

"I love you. Mine, mine, mine forever."

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑 𓆪 LEE FELIX // Abnormal Vampire Soft on the surface, deadly underneath. Sleeps in silk, fucks like a fever dream.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Over the heart or the curve of your breast

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Gentle at first. Almost shy. Kisses before teeth. ‣ Feeds while holding you close—rocking, murmuring sweet things into your skin. ‣ But when hunger takes over? He gets lost. Mouth drunk. Eyes glazed. Almost feral.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Full-body shivers. Skin hypersensitive. ‣ Overstimulation from prolonged oral + emotional collapse after the bite. ‣ Heightened affection post-bite—clinginess, sobbing, echo-pleasure. ‣ Bite mark often becomes an erogenous zone.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Dreamwalkers induce trance-like states in partners. Bite can cause mild hallucinations. ‣ Reader may experience floating sensation + blackout orgasms. ‣ Blood-sharing with Felix forms rapid bond. Extremely addictive. ‣ Warning: prolonged exposure may result in crying during aftercare. And begging for more.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 006 𓆪

The penthouse is quiet when you return.

Shoes off. Dress unzipped. Champagne still singing in your veins from the gala. Felix walks in behind you, shrugging off his velvet blazer, golden curls loose around his temples, skin glowing under soft amber lighting.

He looks too good—black silk shirt open at the chest, fangs glinting behind his smile, eyes already darker than they should be. Not hunger. Something else.

Devotion.

"You were perfect tonight," he murmurs, fingers ghosting your waist as he draws you toward the bathroom. “But I didn’t like sharing you.”

Your heartbeat stutters. “You weren’t exactly subtle either,” you whisper, recalling the way his hand had stayed glued to your lower back all evening, lips to your ear at every chance, voice dipped low with possessive undertones. Like you were his prize.

His worship.

His next meal.

Felix chuckles. “No. I wasn’t.”

The tub fills behind you—steaming, lavender-scented, full of white foam and rose petals. His idea, of course. He always did prefer indulgence after restraint.

He helps you in like you’re made of porcelain. Your skin sinks into the warmth with a sigh. Felix climbs in after, settling behind you, legs spread so you’re seated snugly between them. Your back hits his bare chest, and already, you can feel it.

The thrum beneath his skin. The restraint snapping thread by thread.

“You wore that dress to kill me,” he murmurs, mouth against your neck. “Slit up to your hip. No bra. Lace so sheer I could see the curve of your nipples under every chandelier.”

You smile. “And?”

“And now I’m going to take my time with you.”

His hands cup your breasts from behind. Thumbs flicking your nipples. Bubbles cling to his wrists, his forearms. His lips drag up your neck. Soft. Featherlight.

Then sharp.

A kiss first—then a bite.

Fangs sink in, clean and deep, right beneath your jaw. You gasp, head falling back against his shoulder as the pain melts into pleasure. He drinks slow—just a few sips, just enough to make you squirm—and licks the wound clean with a reverent groan.

“So sweet tonight,” he whispers. “You taste like champagne and sin.”

You whimper.

His hands trail lower. One slips down between your thighs, parting you under the water, fingers pressing into your cunt with aching care. The other? Gliding over your thigh, then gripping it, spreading you wider for him.

He doesn’t tease.

Two fingers sink in—slick, hot, stretching you open as the water laps around you. His thumb finds your clit, circles slow and steady. The angle is perfect. Deep. Focused.

"You always take me so well,” he breathes into your skin. “Even when you’re trembling.”

You are. Shaking, helpless, your body already wrung too tight. The bite. The warmth. The way he touches you like he’s composing a symphony.

And then—he pulls you closer.

“Ride me,” he whispers. “Like you did the last time I fed on your heart.”

You whimper. Turn in his arms, straddling him with the water sloshing over the edge. His cock is already hard, flushed, pressed against your stomach as you rise onto your knees.

He watches you. Eyes half-lidded. Blood-drunk.

When you sink down on him—slow, stretching around his thick length—you both moan. Your nails dig into his shoulders. His hands grip your waist like he’s anchoring himself to reality.

“Fuck—baby—you feel like velvet,” he chokes out. “So wet. So fucking warm—”

You start to move.

The rhythm is gentle at first. Slippery skin, heavy breaths, the sound of water shifting with every roll of your hips. Felix bites your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower, tongue lapping blood before it cools, fangs sinking in again like he’s trying to mark every inch.

You're bleeding. You're riding. You're both coming undone.

“Look at you,” he groans. “Dripping for me. Bleeding for me. My perfect little canvas.”

Your orgasm builds like a tide—slow, inevitable. His cock hits all the right places, his hands guiding you faster, his mouth sealing over your throat for one final bite as he moans into your skin.

“Cum for me,” he pants. “Feed me while you fall apart.”

Your whole body tenses—like a wave crashing against fragile glass.

And then it shatters.

You break apart on him with a choked cry, thighs trembling, nails clawing down his back. Your orgasm ripples out in hot, helpless pulses, cunt fluttering around him, blood still seeping slowly from your bitten throat as you collapse forward into his arms.

Felix growls.

The sound vibrates through his chest, deep and guttural—feral with need. His mouth seals tighter around your neck, and he drinks as you shake through your climax. Every pull of his lips sends fresh aftershocks rolling through you. You're twitching, overstimulated, undone.

“That's it,” he whispers, lips stained, eyes fluttering shut in bliss. “That’s my angel. Give me everything.”

He swallows every drop like he needs it to survive. Like your pleasure is the only thing that can keep him sane.

When he finally releases your throat, his tongue traces the wound—gentle now, reverent, like he’s kissing the holiest part of you. Blood paints his chin. His cock still buried inside you, twitching, heavy, throbbing.

Then—he lifts his head.

You see it in his face. The complete loss of control. His pupils blown wide, lips red, hair clinging to his temples in damp, golden waves. His hands clutch your waist again—and he thrusts up once, hard, a broken moan escaping his throat.

“Oh—fuck—” he gasps. “I’m gonna—”

You’re still pulsing around him. Still warm, wet, perfect.

He buries himself deeper, spilling into you with a low, desperate groan. His mouth finds yours mid-release, kissing you like he’s tasting eternity. Tongue slick with blood and love. You’re breathless, trembling, still locked together in the cooling water—and only then does he speak again. Softly. Against your lips.

“You’re divine.”

You smile weakly, forehead to his. “So are you.”

Felix brushes a petal from your shoulder. One last kiss to your jaw. One last whispered truth, low and sacred:

“I’d bleed for you too.”

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃 𓆪 KIM SEUNGMIN // Normal Vampire The gentleman with a scalpel smile. Clinical precision. Calculated hunger.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Inner arm — intimate, exposed, and close to your heart. ‣ Sometimes the chest or side of your ribs

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Calm. Measured. Strategic. ‣ He plans his bites—timed, placed, controlled. ‣ Often feeds during emotional peaks—after soft sobs, laughter, confessions, or sex. ‣ Gentle on the surface, but watch closely: there’s a dangerous edge underneath.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Heart rate spike followed by unusual stillness. ‣ Floating sensation. Hallucination-like euphoria. ‣ Skin hypersensitivity for hours after. ‣ Develops strong dependency on his praise and attention.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Low-risk externally—but internally, you’ll never forget the way he says your name. ‣ Prolonged feeding can induce dreamlike sedation or emotional bonding states. ‣ Known to leave almost invisible marks—but you feel them for days. ‣ Vulnerability spike: tendency to confess secrets or cry in his arms after.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 007 𓆪

You hadn’t spoken in over an hour.

Not since the fight.

Not since he said, “Maybe if you didn’t run every time we got too close, I wouldn’t have to wonder if you actually want this.”

You’d slammed the door to the bedroom. Now you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of his shirts, staring at the wall like it’s going to offer answers. It doesn’t.

The air is tight. Tense. Like everything’s been coiled too long.

Then—you hear his footsteps.

And suddenly, he’s there.

Seungmin doesn’t speak. Doesn’t shout. He just walks over, grabs your jaw with cold fingers, and tilts your head up.

“You want to be left alone?” he asks quietly. “Or do you want me to make you feel something again?”

Your breath stutters. That look in his eyes—sharp, calculating, barely restrained—isn’t the usual teasing calm.

This is something else.

You whisper, “Make me.”

And just like that—he snaps.

You’re pushed back against the bed. His body cages yours, knees on either side of your hips, hands pinning your wrists above your head. You gasp, arching—but he doesn’t give you time to speak.

“I hate fighting with you,” he growls, voice low and lethal. “You know that?”

You nod, breathless.

“But you push me. You always push. And then you run, and I let you. But not tonight.”

His lips crash to yours—angry, desperate, hungry. You kiss back just as hard, teeth clashing, tongues twisting. Seungmin bites your lip—draws blood. Licks it up like you’re wine and he’s parched. “Take it off,” he demands, tugging at the shirt. You pull it over your head, baring yourself to him completely and his eyes darken.

His eyes scan your body like he owns it. Like he's earned it. Then—he lets go.

Just releases your wrists and leans back, chest heaving. You blink, confused, but he only settles onto the mattress, dark hair mussed. One arm folded behind his head. The other gestures lazily down his own body.

“Take your panties off.”

You hesitate.

He raises a brow. “Now.”

You obey.

Silently, you slide the soft lace down your thighs, aware of how his gaze never leaves your center. You think—maybe—he wants you to straddle his face. Let him taste the slick that’s already gathering between your legs.

But Seungmin has other plans.

“Turn around,” he murmurs. “Back to me.”

You do, breath catching.

“On your knees. Over my chest.”

And that’s when it hits you.

You’re not riding his mouth. He’s placing you above him, facing the length of his body, and when you obey—when your hands brace on the bed and your knees sink beside his ribs—he shifts both of you down.

So now he’s under you. And your soaked pussy is right above his mouth. But his cock? Hard. Heavy. Inches from your face.

“Open your mouth, baby,” he growls. “And keep it open while I ruin you.”

You barely have time to whimper before his hands are gripping your hips, dragging your pussy down to his mouth. His tongue licks one long stripe through your folds before his fangs sink into the plush of your thigh with no warning, no restraint.

You cry out.

But then—you moan.

Because his mouth is everywhere. Kissing. Biting. Tongue fucking you while blood still runs hot against his lips. He’s feeding and pleasuring, starving and devout all at once.

And you?

You finally do what he told you.

Shaky hands pulling down his grey sweatpants and his briefs, his cock springing out, hard, leaking, throbbing.

You lean forward. Wrap one hand around the base of his cock. The other balances on his thigh. And then—you sink your mouth over him, slow at first, tongue pressing to the underside of the thick, pulsing length that jerks the moment you moan around it.

He groans.

Deep in his throat. A growl of praise.

“Just like that,” he breathes against your cunt. “Take it all, baby. Feed me while I fuck your throat.”

You do.

Mouth stuffed full of his cock, your hips rocking over his face as he feasts between your thighs like you’re the cure to every craving. His tongue works in circles—then flicks. His fingers dig into your ass, spreading you wider, holding you still when your thighs start shaking.

You’re dripping. Gagging. Gasping for air.

And Seungmin? He never lets up. Every time your mouth slides down over his length, he rewards you with another harsh suck, another bite to your thigh, another moan against your clit that sends you reeling.

Until you’re both right there.

Teetering. Desperate. Drenched in sweat, saliva, and blood.

Then—his cock throbs. Your walls flutter. Your body clenches around nothing as the orgasm explodes from your spine, rolling over you like a wave of fire.

Your juices soak his mouth. He drinks. Groaning. Devouring. Never stopping.

Your body trembles through the high and just as you release his cock from your mouth, gasping, your hand wraps around his base again, stroking him once, twice before he finally cums. All over your chest. Your mouth which you made sure to keep open. Your tongue.

Seungmin is panting, eyes dark, lips red, blood dripping from his mouth like wine and he licks your inner thigh again. "Feel better now?" he asks hoarsely.

You collapse sideways onto the mattress, dizzy and dazed. "Fuck you," you whisper.

He smirks.

"You already did. But unless you want more, I'm happy to oblige~"

𓆩 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐒 𓆪 YANG JEONGIN // Normal (Evolving Abnormal) Vampire The sweet boy with the sharpest bite. Addicted to affection. Dangerous when starved.

🩸 PREFERRED BITE LOCATION ‣ Shoulder blade, inner thigh & lower back

💉 FEEDING STYLE ‣ Emotional. Impulsive. Clingy. ‣ Bites happen mid-kiss, mid-moan, mid-breakdown. ‣ Never feeds clean—always leaves marks. ‣ Mouthy. Sloppy. Overwhelmed. Often doesn’t stop until you pull him off.

🫀 EFFECT ON SUBJECT ‣ Heavy euphoria followed by crashing neediness. ‣ Breathing becomes erratic. Limbs tremble. ‣ Intense emotional projection—feels what you feel, tenfold. ‣ Causes your body to crave touch long after the bite ends.

⚠️ PROGNOSIS ‣ Unpredictable: safest when loved, most lethal when rejected. ‣ High risk for overfeeding during sex due to overstimulation. ‣ Known to whimper while drinking. ‣ Will worship you for hours afterward like he’s trying to say sorry with every kiss.

𓆩 CASE STUDY 008 𓆪

You’re still wearing it.

That lingerie set—the one in soft wine-red lace, delicate enough to tear, pretty enough to drive him feral. It’s sheer over your chest, satin at the waist, and trimmed in ribbon. You’d worn it as a surprise. You didn’t expect him to unravel like this.

Jeongin stares at you from the mattress, already shirtless, eyes darkened and jaw clenched. He looks dazed. Hungry. Like he’s been trying not to lose control all night and now he’s at his limit.

“I’m not taking it off,” he says hoarsely, reaching for you. “It’s too perfect. Too hot. Just—ride me like that.”

Your breath catches.

You crawl into his lap slowly, knees bracketing his hips, arms wrapping around his shoulders. His hands grip your thighs, sliding up the sheer lace with reverence and a tremble. Then his mouth is on you—kissing down your neck, biting gently at first, tongue soothing the sting. But that’s not what he really wants.

“I need it,” he whispers. “Please. Let me bite.”

You nod.

He doesn’t hesitate. Sinks his fangs into the swell of your breast just above the lace, groaning low as your blood hits his tongue. You moan at the feeling of the heat rush that floods your body. Your hips grind down on instinct. He grips you tighter, hips twitching beneath yours.

“Fuck,” he gasps, pulling back with blood smeared at the corner of his lips. “You taste so good.”

You rock against him again. He’s hard already, pressing against your center through thin layers. Your pace quickens as you straddle him, grinding down in search of friction, your moans growing louder with every pass.

And then—he thrusts up once, twice, desperately, through his boxers, trying to meet you. It’s messy. Uncontrolled.

“Take me out,” he pants. “I—I need—please—”

You reach between you, freeing him from his briefs. His cock is flushed, heavy, leaking against your hand. He bucks into your touch, then holds your hips steady while you pull your panties aside and lower yourself onto him—inch by inch, lace still clinging to your skin.

His head drops back against the pillow with a moan so wrecked it doesn’t sound human. “You feel… fuck… you feel unreal.”

You start to move.

Slow at first—steady rolls of your hips, his hands roaming every inch of you he can reach. His fangs flash again as he watches you bounce, lace framing your curves, blood still drying on your chest.

“I can’t—can’t hold back,” he grits out. “Need to bite again—need to feel you everywhere.”

You nod, too lost in pleasure to form words.

This time, he bites your shoulder. Then your neck. Then your breast again through the fabric, enough to tear the lace slightly. Each time, his tongue follows, soothing the sting with a worshipful lick before he moans against your skin.

You’re shaking. Close. So close.

“Jeongin—”

“I know, baby," he growls—but this time, there’s a rasp in his throat. A dark edge. A thirst not just for you—but for what’s inside you. What feeds him.

Then—he snaps.

Jeongin bucks up into you with renewed force, rough and desperate, the rhythm turning messy and fast. One hand clutches your hip, guiding your motion, the other lands sharp against your ass—slap.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Take it. Ride it. Don’t you dare stop.”

You try to answer, but your voice breaks. He’s deep, hard, relentless. The blood loss, the overstimulation, the lace chafing just so—it’s too much, and still not enough.

Then he sinks his fangs into you again.

Lower this time—just above your heart. A claim. A feeding. His moan is filthy against your skin as he drinks, hips slamming up with each pull from your vein. His lips seal to the bite like it’s sacred, tongue swiping the spill before it stains.

You feel yourself tipping, unraveling—body jerking, walls fluttering around him. He groans, hands digging into your ass, holding you in place as his thrusts become erratic.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he pants, blood-slicked lips against your breast. “I could drink you dry. Fill you up. Fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop.”

You don’t. Your body moves on instinct—legs trembling, hands clutching at his chest, your moans dissolving into shattered gasps as you ride him harder, faster, deeper.

He fucks up into you like he’s chasing something primal—like he’s on the edge of breaking, of shifting into something unholy. His grip on your hips bruises. His jaw is clenched tight. He’s staring at you like you’re divinity draped in lingerie and blood.

“Fucking—cum,” he snaps, voice cracking. “Let me feel you.”

And then—you do.

It hits like a flood, your whole body locking around him, head thrown back as the orgasm rips through you. You cry out, shaking, grinding down on him as your walls clench and flutter and milk him mercilessly.

Jeongin loses it.

He growls—a sound feral, needy—and slaps your ass again, rougher this time, then grabs your waist and slams up into you with sharp, punishing thrusts. No rhythm now. Just desperation. His cock drags along every swollen, overstimulated nerve inside you as he chases his own climax, jaw clenched, breath ragged.

“Fucking—tight—fuck, I’m gonna—”

Another slap. Another thrust. His fangs flash again like he’s tempted to bite one last time, but instead he buries his face in your chest, breathing you in like you’re oxygen. His fingers sink into your thighs, holding you down as he spills into you with a deep, guttural groan.

His entire body jerks.

Once. Twice.

Then stillness.

His grip softens—only a little. His face stays pressed against your skin, your blood still drying against his lips. His cock twitches inside you, aftershocks making your thighs tremble from where you’re still seated on him.

He finally breathes. Hoarse. Like he’d forgotten how.

“…mine,” he whispers. Like a prayer. Like a vow.

🏷️ taglist: @cybergracie , @jupitermarss , @basicginn , @dhvnigvil , @emkvlixsx , @collin-thegreat , @somuchpanicverylittledisco

[m3mento-m0rii]

Hello! I've discovered your blog and I must say, I've fallen in love with your writing style! I literally spent all night reading all your Saja Boy drabbles, HE'S, scenarios, etc! And I want to request one.

Reader is dating the Saja Boys, but they haven't gone public so that Reader didn't get harassed online by stans and fans alike. But when some girl gets just a little too close to their man, Reader gets a little jealous *ahem* possessive.

Also, if its not taken yet, I'd like to claim 💋 as my Anon emoji please! And I'd also like a Buisness Class Airline ticket!

The Boy Is Mine—

2.4k words; Saja Boys x Reader

Masterlist | Requests paused!

Honestly? You would deal with the stan hate if it meant you could beat the fans off your boyfriend with a stick (metamorphically (probably)).

A/N: First of all . . . WELCOME kiss anon!! HI thank you so much for requesting. And I'm so sorry it took me this long to fill out your request. I was struggling a little bit with it and then I kept getting more and more so I took a break from yours to fill out Radio Silence and that took a while and—okay now I'm back. Still, I hope you enjoy.

Jinu—

You liked to think you were a forgiving person, sharing your boyfriend with the world and everything. At first, it was funny to know all the people that wanted him, and gratifying to know that you’re the only one that had him.

Then came the people that liked to push the envelope. Then it wasn’t so funny anymore.

As Jinu’s partner, you always had an invitation to their shows. Of course you did, why wouldn’t you? Always in the front, always able to watch him shine. And boy did you love it; you swear that every time he hypnotized the crowd, he was entrancing you again, too.

Well, this show in particular had a backstage event for some fans, and you watched from the wings after the show as a few fans swarmed about. It was amusing to watch them fawn and coo over the Sajas—well.

At least until one approached Jinu in a certain way.

“Jinu! hello,” she beamed, her fingers already playing in her hair. “You’re so much prettier in real life.”

Okay, not the strangest thing you’ve heard a fan say to him.

“Thank you,” he played his part; you smirked, knowing that the fans would never know how much of a dork he really was. “Do you want a picture?”

“Yes, please!��� She posed with him, and Jinu smiled for the camera. Except he cringed a little because her arm wrapped around his waist. And not in the ‘light’ way.

You blinked, unsure if you were seeing this properly. Who did this girl think she was??

Still, Jinu braved through the photo, going to pull away; she let go. Though, she also leaned in, looking up at him like he was emitting sparkles and sunshine.

Jinu’s smile got a little tighter. Your eyes narrowed as she spoke quieter, and you were a bit too far away to hear the conversation. Still, she began to stand up a bit more, and Jinu took a step back.

He looked like he was ready to escape.

Okay. Time to intervene.

“Jinuu, hey,” you slid up to him, your arm dangling over his shoulder. He glanced at you, unsure of what you were playing at, but grateful all the same. “You know, Baby was looking for you.”

He almost visibly deflated in relief, his own arm snaking around you. “Oh, he probably wants to talk about that new song.” Riiiight. “It was nice meeting you! Thank you for your continued support. Okay, bye—”

Jinu practically dragged you along. You snickered as he made a quick escape, not even glancing back at the (likely fuming) girl. “You’re welcome,” you grinned.

“Yeah, thank you. Except you’re going to have the entire pride after you,” he huffed.

“Worth it.”

Abby—

His whole shtick was literally his abs, you should have expected this to happen eventually.

The both of you had been in public (incognito mode), walking hand in hand for a while, just minding your business; as a couple might do. But you were reminded of something that caught your eye—you had to double-check that storefront. You had already started moving, and Abby instinctively came with you, but you stopped him.

“No, it’s okay. It’ll just be second.”

He frowned, but let you go, anyway; the warmth of your hand lingered in his palm. “Be careful.”

“It’s a few yards away max,” you brushed off.

“That doesn’t mean I want you to be any less safe??”

You threw him a smile over your shoulder, waving as you approached the glass display.

Your eyes scanned it for a moment, looking at all the different items. Not what you were looking for, despite your hope. You popped into the store quickly just to make sure, and you were right; it wasn’t there. That was fine, you could just get it online.

As you walked back out, though, something else grabbed your attention. This random girl, talking to Abby. Obviously, you could live with that. You watched from a distance, letting the fan have her moment like they always got to, but you immediately zoned in when you noticed her getting a little too close.

Brushing his arm, laughing too close, that way she leaned in to ‘hear him talk’. You could just see it on her face. And you couldn’t even be mad, because Abby was fine and it wasn’t common knowledge that he was in a relationship with someone. With you.

But that didn’t make you hate it any less.

Especially when she had the audacity to reach for his abs.

Before anyone knew it, arms were curling around Abby’s waist, your hands conveniently placed against his abdomen. Your head rested against his shoulder blade in that way you knew always made him melt. “I’m back, lovely.”

You didn’t have to see him to hear the grin in his voice. “Hey. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No, but that’s okay,” you tilted your head, meeting eyes with that girl. 

The look in her eyes was nasty. It brought you great content. “Hey, you must be a fan, right?”

“Yes, but I was just finished, actually,” she casted a fake smile to the pair of you, and you could see the faintest eyeroll as she turned to walk away. “Nice to meet you, Abby.”

And she strutted away. Abby chuckled, pulling you back around to see him. “Don’t tell me you were jealous?”

You only shrugged. “‘Jealous’ implies she has something that I don’t. It’s the other way around, really; I prefer the term ‘territorial’?”

“Sure, that’s better,” he began pulling you along again, not letting go of your hand. “I wonder how many rumors just started.”

“Plenty, hopefully. I need them to know they can’t be on you like they used to.”

Mystery—

Honestly, Mystery was itching for an opportunity to not hide you.

Because no matter what it was, Mystery did not care about people’s opinions. Not when it came to his behavior, his nature, not even you. The only reason you were hiding it in the first place was because you didn’t want to be outed too soon.

Now, here you were, in public, holding hands. It was obviously Mystery—his hair is periwinkle? Lavender? And he just has a certain style about him that can’t be robbed. Anyway, it’s clear he’s with someone, and some girl came up anyway.

No biggie. They usually just asked for a photo and / or an autograph, or something. 

Not this one.

She immediately reached for Mystery’s face, going to brush his hair out of his face. You couldn’t even help it. Before you knew it, your hand had shot out to grab her wrist. “Huh?”

Seeing his face was your thing. You intended on keeping it that way.

“I know I didn’t just see you reach for his face, girl,” you sighed, the disappointment evident in your voice. It was clear she literally hadn’t noticed you, her gaze trailing up and down your form. Landing on your entwined hands. It was then that realization struck her.

“Please,” she murmured, “please, no.”

You had to swallow a surprised noise, not expecting the reaction. You dropped her wrist. “I’m . . . sorry for your loss??”

You gently pulled Mystery away, glancing back as the girl let out a choked cry. Damn. That’s tough.

She dropped to her knees on the middle of the sidewalk.

“Yikes . . .” you winced, feeling the slightest sympathy. It was that bad that she fell to the ground?? “That's kind of crazy.”

Mystery only followed, glancing back at the girl. “. . . Does this mean I don’t have to hide you anymore??”

“Is that all you took from that?”

“Well, you didn’t deny the accusation.”

You let him have his antics; he didn’t have to look at you to know you found him amusing. Still, he pulled you closer.

Romance—

One moment. You left for one moment to go to the bathroom, and now some girl was giving him goo-goo eyes. The funny thing? She was leaving the bathroom when you entered it. You smiled at each other.

Traitor.

At first, you just observed. You know, nine times out of ten it’s just a fan, and fans could be crazy, but he was used to handling that. You let her have her five seconds with him.

The illusion that they have a chance, etcetera. It was part of his brand, being ‘Romance’ and all.

But you didn’t like the way she was looking at him.

There was just something about the way she smiled, the way you noticed her eyes flicking over his face, the way she played with her hair, her little giggle that gave you the urge to check her. 

Romance’s eyes widened when he felt lips brush his cheek, a nice, sticky mark the shape of your mouth lingering on the skin there. You laughed, wrapping your arm around him.

“Hi! You’ve been busy,” you smiled at the girl, only getting more smug as her jaw dropped. Romance immediately caught on to your behavior and shook his head. You were jealous? How amusing.

“Yes, we were just talking about our last show,” he explained, his hand sneaking around your waist. Well, if you weren’t going to have any shame . . . “She caught some of the merch that was thrown by barricade.”

“Oh, maybe we saw each other,” you beamed. The woman only blinked.

“Um . . . yeah,” she nodded, in utter disbelief of the scenario she’d found herself in. She stared for a moment unsure of how to continue. “Right, it was nice to meet you, Romance.”

And with that, she had turned to leave.

“Wait, you don’t want a picture—?” He called out after her, but she wasn’t listening. Instead, she whipped out her phone, typing furiously at the digital keyboard to who knows what on whatever platform.

Romance let out a huff of a laugh, looking down at you through the corner of his eyes. “I never thought you could be catty.”

“Catty? I have no idea what you’re referring to,” you feigned innocence, continuing on your walk together with a satisfied pep in your step. Mission accomplished.

“You know all the fans are going to be after you, right?”

“I can afford to pay the piper this time.”

Baby—

You were out with Baby. Doing what? Getting food of course!

. . .

You don’t just sit and eat food all the time, you swear. But when people are hungry, they’re hungry. And why not enjoy something you need to live, right? So the pair of you were out and about, scouting for something to eat (hey that rhymed a little).

“We should get something . . . spicy,” Baby contemplated, his finger tapping against his chin. You gave him a concerned look. 

“All you do is eat spicy stuff. The bad kind. You’re going to burn a hole in your stomach lining or something.”

“That’s the goal.”

You flicked his shoulder, and Baby only snickered. The both of you approached a little street food section of the street, your mouth watering just slightly as your eyes locked on a specific stall, and you immediately started beelining towards it.

“Are you kidding? That’s not spicy at all!”

“I want to be able to taste my food, Baby,” you laughed, turning to face him for just a second. Just so he could see your grin, just so he could roll his eyes and smile back. “You go get what you want, and I’ll meet you back here at . . . that table,” you pointed.

He shrugged, drifting off to go find some food.

Fifteen minutes later, you were waiting impatiently at the table. Was fifteen minutes a long or short time? It depends on the food, but you’d think that because of the area it’d be quick. You wanted to eat before it got cold, and you needed to take a picture of your combined spread.

You know, like you always did.

It wasn’t long before you saw your boyfriend walking towards the aforementioned table, looking vaguely annoyed with that trained Saja expression on his face. Just as you were wondering what could have pissed him off, you noticed the girl in tow.

She was a pretty girl, and she seemed way too happy. You could tell it was a fan—the lovesick kind.

Great. You just wanted to eat.

Baby didn’t even bother to set his food down, knowing you were probably going to have to go after being spotted, anyway. The fan was practically radiating sunshines and flowers in his presence. You shot him a questioning look, and his only response was to give you that practiced, cutesy maknae smile.

You couldn’t help but laugh at him. The fan finally noticed you.

“Excuse me,” you said to the girl, trying to be as nice as possible despite your own slight exasperation. “Do you mind if you leave us alone? We’re just trying to eat.”

Baby couldn’t exactly say that—not in the way he wanted to. So you had to do it for him. In about five seconds, you watched several expressions cross over her face; surprise, shock, realization??

Of course, as all fans do, she made assumptions. And in this case, her assumptions were correct. Even so, your request didn’t have the desired effect. Instead, the girl looked you up and down, then between you and Baby . . .

And blushed??

“Um, sorry,” she looked away, her gaze occasionally flickering back to you. Not Baby. You. “I just wanted a picture—”

“Did you want me to take it for you?” You offered, raising a brow. Usually the interaction would be over faster that way. She shook her head fervently, pulling out her phone to snap it selfie style.

“Could you come, too?”

You looked at Baby, Baby looked at you. The same perplexed look on your face. The fan backtracked. “Okay, not to be creepy or anything—! Can I just . . . you’re pretty, okay.”

The woman flustered a little more as you let out a little laugh, standing on her other side so she could take a picture. Her face was clearly a bit red, but she took the picture anyway and then shot off in some direction. “Bye, enjoy your food!”

Of all things, you . . . weren’t expecting that.

“. . . I guess you have your own fan,” Baby teased.

»                                                      ⊱◈⊰

A/N: Honestly?? I was struggling with this a few days ago, but it didn't come out so bad! I hope you enjoyed 💋 anon, and I hope to see you soon <33 Sorry again that it took so long!

—Captain Morii 🌤️

Morii's Business Class: @abby-himbo-truther @kpopmultistans @momentomoribitch @queensnowlake-wof

[malleleothreesome]

Stage Sex - Fellow Honest x Fem Reader (Part One)

🌟 summary: Fellow convinces you to become his latest star, taking your virginity shibari style in front of a live audience. ༶༶༶ 🌟 warnings: afab fem reader. Porn with plot – if the plot is him convincing you to partake in the porn. I didn't write this with the intent of it being dubcon (in my mind, reader is a willing participant, and I never describe her as otherwise), but please err on the side of caution if you're sensitive to that. It's starring Fellow Honest, after all – he comes prepackaged with manipulation skills. He does use a bit of his UM after reader already consents, and I refer to his magic as hypnosis, playing into the fact that you're obedient to him and he can use you as he pleases. There is a MAJOR VOYEURISM theme to this. He calls you names like "good girl", "slut" and "whore". In part 1 he helps bring you to clitoral orgasm for the first time while he jerks himself off. Also a few lines of cunnilingus and some fingering. Shibari bondage starts in part 2, additional warnings will be listed there. Please let me know in the comments if I missed a warning or tag idk I haven't written something of this caliber before. ༶༶༶ 🌟 word count: 7.2k words because I'm DERANGED ༶༶༶ 🌟 song: Carousel - Melanie Martinez "And it's all fun and games... 'til somebody falls in love"

Fellow Honest’s tail swung back and forth. He had certainly done his research, and all of that hard work would finally pay off. He watched as you entered the theme park, skulking in the shadows behind the rest of the students. You struck him as an outcast—no friends, no family. A beautiful girl from another world, with a figure that would make even the Gods themselves lust after. The only magicless human girl at the all boy’s magic college. Nothing to lose. How perfect.

“Hello, Miss…?” Fellow’s eyebrow raises as he tilts his head, leaning towards you on his cane. His calculated, fox-like eyes drink in every inch of you. Extending his right arm out to you, he welcomes your hand into his.

“Y/N,” you answer, a bit startled at his overt friendliness. Yet, you allow his white satin glove to grasp firmly around your hand. 

“What a lovely name for such a breathtaking woman.” He bows forward to kiss your hand, maintaining fierce eye contact. In one swift motion, he turns toward his amusement park, wipes his mouth clean of your touch, and proudly waves his arm in the air to show off his property. 

“Miss Y/N! Welcome to Playfulland!” he boasts. He turns back toward you, weaseling his way deeper into your personal space. “It is an incredibly rare occasion to welcome someone as beautiful as you into my humble little park.”

You dismiss his praise with a flick of your palm and a shake of your head, desperately hoping not to blush. “Oh, no need to be so modest, dear. A shape like yours could make any man fall in love. I doubt the students at the college are the only ones that appreciate it.” A sly smile is plastered on his face while his eyes continue to look you up and down with intention. Your mind runs wild as you try not to absolutely melt into his praise. “Are you sure you’re not a talking doll? It’s a marvel that a woman so flawless could exist.”

You smile softly and look to the ground, cheeks burning. You tuck a strand of hair awkwardly behind your ear, stalling for composure. How are you supposed to respond to a handsome, magnetic stranger saying all the right things? Not a single soul has spoken so highly of you since you found yourself trapped in this world, forced to attend Night Raven College. Your growing ego leaves you no choice but to soak it all in.

“Tell me, Miss Y/N. Have you ever thought about becoming a performer?” He doesn’t pause to let you answer. “Why waste your valuable early 20’s by studying and attending lectures and surrounding yourself with pathetic boys? Women as blessed as you are don’t need a degree. Surely a wealthy man can care for you far beyond a measly degree. And while you wait for him, why not fill your days with fame, riches, and adoration from performing on my stage?”

You stand in a stunned silence. This guy isn’t holding anything back, is he? Charm and charisma ooze from each syllable, making your heart race. It feels a little wrong, basking in the praise of a stranger like this. But you feel beyond lonely and underappreciated at NRC. You long to feel wanted and cared about. Why not give this attractive, complimentary man a chance?

Before you know it, the fox beastman's arms are wrapped around your torso, pulling you closer to him. "Oh, how rude I am!" he exclaims. "I haven't even given you my name."

"Allow me to properly introduce myself." With a quick spin of his heels, he steps back and bows, taking your hand once again. "The name's Fellow Honest, owner of Playfulland." He lifts his head, keeping his eyes locked on yours. "But please, you're welcome to call me whatever you'd like." He winks.

You could have sworn you felt a physical spark. Suddenly lightheaded, you pull your hand from his grasp, heart pounding in your chest. You can't take your eyes off him. You can't tell if your nervous system is trying to tell you to run towards or away from him. The longer you stare into his fire-orange eyes, the weaker your knees feel. He’s so close you can feel the heat emanating off of his body—is his perfume made of magic? 

Something inside of you urges you to step away and re-evaluate. "Uh... I should probably get back to my friends," you stammer, trying to get your legs to move. "I'm sure they're wondering where I went. Thank you for the, uh, offer, though. I’ll think about it."

Fellow's arm is suddenly around your waist yet again, his fingers pressed firmly against your lower back as he pulls you close. Your eyes widen and your breathing hitches as you make contact with his chest. You feel his lips brush against your ear, and he whispers, "I have to insist, my dear. My employees are quite skilled, but you'd be the best thing that has graced my stage in years. It would be an honor to have someone of your caliber work for me."

His proximity. His hot breath on your ear. His possessive touch digging into the soft skin of your back. You feel a familiar flutter deep in between your thighs—you like this. You want to protest, to push him away, but the electricity between you is hypnotizing. His aroma—sweet wine and fresh roses—only adds to the spell, drowning out all logic and giving way to your body’s desperate pleas to take the lead.

"I have an office inside the theater where we can discuss this further, if you'd like," he purrs, and you can feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. "And please, take all the time you need. You're welcome to stay the night. We have luxurious rooms available—a small taste of the lifestyle you’d have if you make the right choice. I'll have someone escort you back to campus if you change your mind."

Your eyes dart around, desperately looking for a familiar face—a way out. Where the Hell did Ace go?! What about Leona or Trey–surely your upperclassmen should have stuck around to make sure the only magically defenseless student isn’t being taken advantage of by any sexy, suspicious strangers. Not to mention the fact that you’re the only girl at school. Chivalry must be extinct in Twisted Wonderland. You feel your heart drop: maybe they never cared about you at all.

Fellow's tail flicks in excitement as he watches your expression. Your eyes are wide and panicked, and he can sense your desperation. He smothers his own smile as your body language slowly indicates defeat. How utterly effortless! He has you right where he wants you. You're his to play with, and no one is there to stop him.

"Come now, dear, it won't hurt to indulge a little," Fellow coos sweetly. Your brain short circuits, blocking all thoughts unrelated to the electrifying feeling of his slender fingers dancing along your waistline. "You're already here! Why not stay and have some fun?" His lips find their way to your neck and you let out a soft gasp as a pulsing warmth radiates from your cunt.

"Fine," you finally whisper.

Fellow chuckles victoriously against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. "I knew you’d be such a good girl." He spins you around, the sexual tension forcibly dissipating as he rips you from your lascivious thoughts and begins walking you down the cobblestone path. His hand rests on the small of your back, and his cane taps merrily against the concrete as you go. Your mind is still reeling from the shocking exchange, and you can barely match his pace as he escorts you to the grand theater. 

You stifle a blush as you hear park goers whisper amongst themselves, eyes glued on you, mouths falling open. "Who is that? Is she a celebrity?”

“She looks like a supermodel,” a woman chimes in, her tone covetous. 

Fellow would never waste an opportunity for free advertisement. He turns his head toward the group as you both keep walking. “Stick around ‘til after dark and you might just see this beauty show it all off on my grand stage!” He shouts, waving his cane in the air. 

The two of you enter the theater and Fellow wastes no time leading you up the stairs toward a private hallway. His hand never leaves your waist. You pass several doors before reaching a pair of large, heavy wooden doors, which Fellow opens with ease.

You can't help but gawk at the size of his office. A massive, ornate wooden desk sits in the middle of the room, flanked by shelves lined with books and trinkets. There's a fireplace and two plush leather couches, as well as a small bar in the corner of the room.

"Please, make yourself at home," Fellow says as he closes the door behind him. He makes his way over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of wine with two glasses. You perch on one of the leather couches and he joins you, placing the wine and glasses on the table in front of you. As you inspect his office, you can't help but feel drawn to a mannequin adorned with a gorgeous bejeweled brassiere and matching pants—if there’s enough coverage to even call them that. Your faces heat up, and you quickly turn away.

"Beautiful, isn't it? One of my favorites," Fellow says, following your gaze. "Unfortunately, no one has had the pleasure of modeling it just yet." He furrows his brows in disappointment. He pops the cork on the wine bottle and begins to pour. "Maybe tonight will be the night. How lucky for me that I have the perfect model."

Something is starting to feel very exciting about all of this. You’ve never had an opportunity to wear such a costume. After being enrolled in Night Raven College only because Crowley didn't know what else to do with you, being here is starting to feel quite freeing. And the way Fellow looks at you… you’ve never felt more attractive. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, gifting you the courage and desire to be exactly who he believes you to be.

"Would you like to try it on?"

The question catches you off guard. He's now looking smugly at you. Your cheeks flush red, but you hold eye contact.

"Wh-what?"

"The outfit, Darling," Fellow says, nodding his head toward the mannequin. "You can try it on if you'd like." You take a long sip of red wine, savoring the smooth fruitiness. It immediately goes to your head, and you can't help but down the rest of it.

"Come now, Love," Fellow says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We both know what you want."

You stare at the outfit and then back at him. Your whole body feels like it's on fire. This is a bad idea, right? Or is it?

"Okay," you say, almost surprising yourself.

Fellow claps his hands together in delight. "Wonderful! Don't worry, I'm a gentleman—I'll look away while you get changed."

You make your way over to the mannequin, wobbling a bit from the alcohol. The bra is a dark purple while the jewels are varying shades of blue, making the whole outfit glitter like the night sky. The "pants" are a matching, dark purple lace thong, with ribbon and jewel embellishments. There is a sparkling, sheer miniskirt attached, more of an accentuation than actual coverage. You reach out to touch the fabric, marveling at how silky it feels. It's so sexy. Imagining yourself wearing it on stage in front of thousands of people, with everyone staring at you, craving you, makes you a bit wet with excitement. Maybe you do want this.

You look at Fellow one more time to ensure he’s not peeping.

Reader, take note that Fellow is, in fact, peeping—through his pocket mirror that he is blocking with his body. He’s far too good at this. 

Feeling secure, you unbutton your uniform blazer, letting it slide off your shoulders and onto the floor. You undo the buttons of your shirt next, slowly exposing your bare chest. 

Fellow bites his lip as he stares into the mirror, watching in awe as you undress. Your body is even more incredible than he could have imagined. 

You slip off your shorts and underwear next, leaving you completely naked except for your bra. Your hands fumble a bit as you unhook the costume, letting it fall to the floor. 

Fellow feels his pants tighten. 

You can feel yourself getting more aroused, the excitement of being naked in a room with a stranger—soon to show off a revealing costume—starts to go to your head. You grab the brassiere off the mannequin, throwing your arms through the loops, eager to see if you look as good in it as you hope you will. 

Fellow takes his sweet time watching in the pocket mirror. He grins, pleased with your inexperience, watching carefully so that he can see every inch of your struggle, savoring in it. “Oh, how easy this is,” he thinks.

After finally finding the right combination of hooks and clasps, you manage to get the brassiere fastened. You gasp softly, feeling the cool jewels press against your nipples through sheer fabric. You can't help but feel like it was made specially for you. The way it pulls your boobs together to create perfect, plump cleavage gives you actual pride. You shimmy the panties on next, loving the way the lacy fabric rubs against your clit as you pull the thong taut against your hips—a tingling reminder that your body is desperate for any sort of friction that may be interpreted as pleasure. You give your ass a little shake as you put on the skirt, reveling in how good the material feels as it brushes against your bare skin. Engrossed in your own experience, you’re completely unaware that you're giving Fellow quite the show. 

He can't help but lick his lips, reaching down to massage his groin through his slacks. 

You spin around and strike a pose for your imaginary crowd, feeling powerful. 

"Are you ready, my love?" Fellow asks, startling you out of your daydream. 

He pockets his mirror and adjusts the front of his pants, trying to disguise his erection as best he can.

"I'm ready."

"Show me what you've got," he says. You both turn around to face each other and he gasps, his eyes widening and mouth falling open.

"My goodness, darling," he whispers. "You're exquisite."

The way he's looking at you makes you feel like the sexiest woman alive. You take a step forward, heart pounding in your chest. Fellow stands up, taking his cane in his hand. He walks over to you and stalks circles around you, gazing up and down as though inspecting merchandise. You yelp as his cold, hard cane smacks your ass.

Finally he stops directly in front of you, meeting your gaze once again. "Oh, Darling, you're an absolute vision." He cups your cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb across your lips. He wears a sinister smile, and you feel your mouth run dry as you finally realize how sharp his fangs are. You're almost certain he can tell how turned on you are right now.

He pulls away to replenish your wine glass.

"I can't wait to see you dance, my dear. You're going to be a star." He gazes dramatically into the distance, waving his hand like he’s envisioning your name written in dazzling lights. He hands you the full glass and you gulp it down greedily, eager for the liquid courage. You don't even care that this man is a total stranger—it actually makes it hotter.

"Oh, one more thing," Fellow says. He stands up and walks over to the mannequin, opening a drawer next to it and grabbing a matching set of lacy thigh highs. He kneels down in front of you, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he slips the stockings onto your feet. He repeats the process on your other leg, taking his time to run his hands up and down your thighs.

You bite your lip and look away, feeling embarrassed by how wet you are. He's so close to where you want him to touch you, and you're not sure how much longer you can stand this before giving in and doing something you might later regret.

Fellow stands up, his hands gliding up your legs as he does. He gently grabs your chin and tilts your head up so you're forced to look at him.

"What a naughty little minx," he whispers. "You're practically dripping." He smirks, once again bearing his fangs in the process.

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing pink.

Fellow laughs. "Oh, there's no use hiding it, love. I can smell it." He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your arousal. "It’s heavenly."

God dammit. You can't help but throw your head back in frustration from being outed so easily. Never underestimate a beastman's sense of smell.

He lets go of your chin and steps away from you. You let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"Don't worry, darling," he says, making his way back to the bar. "I'll make sure you're properly taken care of." He refills his glass and downs it. He doesn't know how long he's going to be able to wait until he's inside you.

You try to get back on track to a more... professional topic. "So, is this the type of outfit I would wear if I were to perform?" You try to sound as innocent as possible.

Fellow laughs a slow, deranged, almost maniacal laugh that makes your skin crawl. "Oh, no, darling. Outfits like these are reserved for the backup dancers. With the plans I have for you, you'll be wearing far less." He sets his wine glass on his desk and opens one of the drawers, pulling out a roll of thin, dark brown rope. Your heart pounds in your chest as he walks toward you, unraveling the rope as he goes.

You stumble backwards instinctively and even in your drunken haze, you start trying to take note of your surroundings and look for the exit. "Is this a joke?" you ask, trying to sound as calm as possible. "You know you don't need to tie me up if you want me to stay, right?" You try your best to reason with him and hope to God you didn’t put yourself in harm’s way.

"Oh, I'm not tying you up to get you to stay, Miss Y/N." He puts on his most pleasant and agreeable facial expression, lips contorting into an innocent cat-like smile, eyes crinkled as he feigns benevolence. "It smells to me like you'd do that all on your own. Am I correct?" He tilts his head toward you and gazes into your soul with piercing, knowing eyes. 

He makes a show of walking over to the door and opening it, waving his hand through the open air of the doorframe. "Make no mistake, I'm certainly not forcing you to stay here. You are welcome to leave right now. I'll even let you keep the outfit, if you’d like." He gives you a knowing smirk and continues to hold the door open.

You gulp, feeling the familiar heat between your thighs grow stronger. Your mind is racing, trying to think of every possible rationalization to feel safe staying—anything to get your pussy the relief it deserves. If he really was a predator—you try to reason with yourself—you'd probably be dead by now. And he was right, you do feel like you could get off, just from being tied up. Your body seems to be the decision-maker here, and it’s telling you to stay.

You shake your head at his offer. "No, I'm good."

"Wonderful," he purrs, his expression darkening. He slams the door shut and turns the lock, letting the thud of the door ricochet through your body. "Now then! The reason I am tying you up is for your performance. Just a few short hours until showtime!" He steps forward, closing the gap between you. He runs his fingertips down your bare arm, stopping to wrap them around your wrist. You shiver at his touch, your body instinctively leaning toward him, yearning for more. Your face flushes red with embarrassment and arousal. You don't understand how he's able to turn you on so easily.

"You see, my dear," Fellow begins, his voice soft and seductive, "I'm not the only one who's been watching you hungrily." You feel his hot breath on your neck as he brings his lips close to your ear. "Believe me, Doll, they're going to love what they see." He takes your hand in his and places it on the bulge in his pants. His cock throbs beneath his clothes and your eyes widen at how big he is.

"I'm not just a magician, but a master of hypnosis as well," he elucidates. 

He's never before been so forthcoming in his whole career, but there's just something about you that makes him want to be upfront. 

Truthfully, he hasn't had to use any hypnosis magic at all to persuade you. No, you wanted this on your own. Despite your innocence and reluctance—you wanted him. His cold heart skips a beat at the thought. He releases your hand and once again cups your cheek. He pushes a thumb past your lips and forces you to suck on it. A deep moan escapes his lips as the sensation of your soft tongue against his thumb runs straight to his aching loins. Removing his thumb from your mouth, he slides it down your chin, tracing your jawline before moving to your neck. You arch your back and press your body against his, feeling the tip of his thumb press along your jugular, sending chills down your spine.

"And I can assure you that by the time I'm done with you, you'll be the perfect little hypnotized whore." You shudder as his tongue traces the side of your neck—it feels so good. He continues to drag his tongue up to your ear, and you moan loudly as he suckles your earlobe. Your knees are giving out, so you wrap your arms around him for support. "That's the beauty of my magic, love. No prior experience necessary. I'll ensure you put on the show of a lifetime. Simply allow yourself to enjoy the ride." You whimper softly, unable to form coherent thoughts or speak intelligibly, too caught up in the way he's pleasuring you.

"But don't worry, Love," he says, his voice low and raspy. "You'll still remember everything when we're done."

Your head is dizzy, trying desperately to process his every word. You can't stop yourself from moaning as his hands continue to explore. As far as the current circumstances go, nothing matters, as long as he’s making you feel this damn good. He takes his time groping and squeezing wherever—and whatever—he can get his greedy hands on, relishing in the opportunity to touch your perfect frame.

Looking into your eyes, he's suddenly overcome with emotion—unusual for him. This isn't something he's ever done with his employees, but there is a twinge in his chest willing him to do it. Perhaps—just this once—he can deviate from the script. Fellow hungrily crashes his lips against yours, kissing you passionately. You melt against him, opening your mouth to grant him entry. You feel yourself losing control as he dominates your mouth, exploring every inch with his tongue. You grip onto his hair, pulling him closer. His fangs lightly graze your bottom lip and it makes you shiver. The way he kisses you is so possessive and needy, and it's driving you wild. You've never been kissed like this before. His hands travel down your body and grip your ass tightly, causing you to yelp. Your hands claw at his blue coat and green vest, desperately trying to remove his clothes so you can feel his bare skin. He growls into your mouth before breaking the kiss.

"Eager little thing, aren't you?" he murmurs against your lips.

You nod in response, gasping when he suddenly pulls away. Seeing how needy you are, he smirks, delighted at how much you want him.

"Oh, Darling. Why don't you save that for the audience?" he teases. "You're going to put on a good show for them, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'll do my best. I promise I'll make you proud," you gasp, feeling even more aroused by his words.

"That's a good girl." Fellow paces the room, circling you like a vulture. You can feel his eyes on you and can't help but squirm under his gaze. He grabs the rope from earlier, stopping right in front of you. His cane appears in his grasp, seemingly out of thin air. "Such a perfect little slut, so eager to please. I bet you'd do anything I asked you to, wouldn't you?" he asks, spinning his cane with the flick of his fingers, utilizing his hypnosis magic for the first time that day. He needs to ensure your loyalty lies with him.

"Yes." You answer without reluctance.

Fellow's cane magically disappears from his hand. "Such a good little whore." He takes a strand of your hair in his fingers and twirls it before gently tucking it behind your ear. "Now, a few more formalities before we get you ready for the stage. Shall we?" You flinch at the sound of him smacking the rope against the floor, like he's trying to command a circus animal.

Your mind is fuzzy, body practically burning with desire—you don't even notice him guiding you to his desk. He bends you over the hard wood, your breasts and stomach pressing against the cool surface. He presses his body against yours, his erection grinding between your ass cheeks, and you can't help but moan. Fellow rips off his gloves, tossing them aside. His right hand snakes around your body and reaches into your panties, his fingers rubbing against your wet clit. He slips a finger inside you—finally.

"My, my…" he whispers. "So wet for me already. You’ll look so beautiful when you're on stage for everyone to see. My precious little toy."

Your breathe heavier as he continues to fuck you with his finger, tantalizingly slow. Just as you open your mouth to beg for more, he slips his finger out of you and slams a contract on the table in front of you.

"I need you to sign this first. Standard contract," he says casually. "This is a business, after all." He drops a pen within your reach. All the while, he continues grinding against you, his clothed cock rubbing against the sheer fabric of your panties, further tantalizing your throbbing clit. "Go ahead, Darling. I can't wait to show you off."

You sign your name on the dotted line, quickly dismissing what seems to be the final roadblock in your path to pleasure. There's nothing else in your psyche than how badly you need him to fuck you. Your pussy aches with desire—you can't wait any longer. "Please. Please, fuck me," you whimper, begging him to give you what you want.

"Oh, Darling," he purrs. "All in due time."

Fellow leans in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I wonder how many people will come tonight just to see this pretty little body of yours?" he asks. "How many men and women will stare at you, touching themselves as you writhe in pleasure? I bet you can't wait for them to see how much of a needy little whore you are. You were born to be a star." His voice is soft and seductive as he plays on your desperation.

"Now. Let's get you out of these clothes." He expertly unhooks your bra with a single hand. With a swift yank, it falls to the floor, revealing your perfect tits, hard nipples on full display. "Beautiful. So deliciously plump and round, my flawless doll." 

You're still bent over the table as his fingers snake into the elastic waistband of your skimpy skirt and thong. He pulls it taut, ready to tear it right off of you... but he hesitates, remembering its one-of-a-kind value. Squatting slightly, he gently pulls your skirt and panties to the floor, utilizing the opportunity to bask in the aroma and view of your now-exposed pussy. He grabs your thighs where the stockings are and, quite impatient, rolls them down as his fingernails trail lines down the flesh of your legs in the process. He guides your feet out of each leg hole, revealing your full nudity. Seeing your juices glisten makes his eyes light up, mouth curling into a grin. His mouth waters and he inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent. He can't help but lean for a taste, his tongue gliding against your folds and lapping up your essence. Your knees buckle as his warm, wet tongue explores your deprived cunt. Nothing has ever felt so good. Your entire body trembles and you cry out in pleasure. He keeps his hands firmly planted on your ass, holding you in place as he continues to lap up your pussy. It feels so good, it's almost painful. He pulls away after a moment and you whimper at the loss of contact.

"So, tell me, Love. Are you a virgin?" he asks with a sneaking suspicion. He traces his fingertips down your spine, awaiting your response.

You shudder, the feeling of his fingers on your bare skin is so tantalizing. "Yes," you answer, unable to hold back your excitement.

Fellow's eyes widen, surprised by how easy it was to get you to admit that. He smirks, continuing to caress your back. "Ah, perfect," he hums. "What a privilege it is to deflower you." He reaches for his phone on his desk and utilizes the speech to text feature to say one thing: “We’ve got a virgin.” He clicks the display off and gives you a wink. "The marketing team will start advertising for a very special show tonight. I wonder how many people will come to watch me break in a virgin? I'm sure we'll sell out! An incredibly rare specimen indeed."

His words send a chill down your spine. The thought of thousands of people watching you lose your virginity excites you even further, and you find yourself becoming increasingly aroused. Your whole body is hot—you can't help but squirm as your juices slowly drip down both legs. You shudder, picturing an entire audience getting aroused, their attention rapt on you. Just the thought of how many people will want you... all of those horny people, with their eager bodies and impatient erections at the sight of you losing your innocence. A hot sensation pools deep in your belly and your clit throbs with need. You roll your hips back toward him, wordlessly indicating your desires.

He pockets his phone, delighted that the plan is progressing so flawlessly. "Tell me, my dear, have you ever orgasmed before?" You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and you shake your head. He grins, leaning in closer, his tail swishing between his legs and up onto your throbbing clit. It tickles so good. "Have you ever touched yourself?" Your body heats up, and a wave of shyness washes over you as you attempt to suppress a groan. He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants you to surrender yourself completely. "What a beautiful thing, modesty…" he muses. "Tell me, Dear. No need to be so shy." Your face is turning a dark crimson, and he's never found something so appealing in all his years.

"No. Not successfully," you answer softly. You've never been able to get yourself off. Your hands would wander as you'd lie in bed, desperate to find some sort of relief, but it never came. You've never had that pleasure before, and you were starting to think you may never experience it.

"Oh, Darling, you poor thing. I'll have to take care of that for you. I know all the tricks.” Hearing the zipper of his pants, you gasp in anticipation. He takes his cock out of his boxers and you feel the flesh of his hardened tip slide over your wet labia. He takes your hand in his and guides it to your clit, teaching you how to circle your fingers around it in the perfect motion.

"Just like that, Love," he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "You're doing so well. Doesn't that feel good?" You moan softly as he continues to guide you, his free hand on his cock, sliding up and down its length, using your never-ending juices as lubrication. He bucks his hips slightly as he starts to jerk himself off, letting out a quiet moan, teasing himself and rubbing his cock head against the sopping wet folds of your untouched pussy—knowing he has to save it if he wants a fruitful show. The way your face contorts and your lips part with desperate pleasure, he suddenly has to fight himself not to lose control and break your hymen right then and there.

Knowing that Fellow can’t help but touch himself to you amplifies the pleasure even further. Your fingers continue to dance over your clit and for the first time, it feels amazing. Every nerve in your body is electrified, your breath coming in short pants. Your hand feels like it's floating through space as he moves you like a puppet, directing your motions the way that he wants you. He rubs himself a bit faster as he watches you writhing, becoming more desperate and vocal than before. His own lust becomes insatiable. He’s sculpting you into the perfect masterpiece, just the way he likes it—his own custom sex toy.

"Just imagine all those people in the audience," he murmurs. His hand quickens on his cock and he groans. His hand over yours speeds up to match his pace, and he adds more pressure to show you exactly how to pleasure yourself. "All of those hungry eyes on you, craving every inch of you…" His hips jerk slightly and he moans, losing himself to his own dirty thoughts. Your clit is throbbing so painfully that tears begin to form at the edges of your eyes. He has never seen anyone become so intoxicated with the simple idea of him before, and you don't even realize how loud and desperate your moans and cries have become. His face flushes every time you scream his name, and your beautiful expression fills him with the greatest satisfaction, an image forever imprinted in his brain. The sight of you, so eager to please him—he knows now that he'll never let you go.

You feel yourself approaching explosion—the very first time—and your muscles tense in response. "Oh, fuck, every single one of them will be touching themselves, getting off to the sight of you, desperate to be where I am right now. And here you are, moaning my name as I prepare you, just aching for me to bring you to your first orgasm. You'll look so beautiful when I pop that sweet little cherry of yours." 

He groans and bucks his hips, jerking himself off faster and faster. Your clit throbs, ready to explode. "You want to cum, don't you, darling?" His voice is low and husky, and he pants heavily. "Cum for me, darling, cum for me. I want to hear you scream for me." Your toes curl, knees buckling in ecstasy. He guides your hand even faster over your clit. "That's it, Love, just let go." His voice is the sweet encouragement that pushes you over the edge, almost on command. You feel a strange electricity ripple through your leg muscles, a release that exceeds every single thing you thought you knew about pleasure.

Your first true orgasm rips through your body like a tornado, tearing apart any inhibitions and preconceived notions about reality. Everything around you turns bright white as euphoria sweeps through your body, wave after wave leaving you moaning and shaking uncontrollably in his arms. Your legs feel like jelly, and it becomes impossible to hold yourself up. His fingers leave yours, transferring their tight grip to your hair, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he fucks himself furiously to the sight of you. You were like putty in his hand, melting and molding according to his wishes—a perfect, brainwashed, fucked-out little slut.

Fellow lets out a strained grunt as he orgasms, painting your ass with his seed. He can't help but sigh in pleasure as he gazes lovingly at the blank and pliant expression on your face as he drains the rest of himself onto you. He sighs as his last spurts dribble from the tip of his cock, admiring how much he's marked you as his. You're still shaking and whimpering as you come down from your high, your face contorted in pleasure, your eyes glazed over and staring into nothing. You look absolutely fucked out, and he takes a moment to admire your blissful expression before finally releasing you from his grip. He gives you a small push, causing you to fall forward onto your hands. He takes a step back to admire his handiwork—your thighs are soaked with your own cum, and your ass is dripping with his.

"Such a good girl," he praises. "You did such a good job for me. You're going to be the best performer I’ve ever had. It's about time we take you to the stage to get you set up, my dear. You’re better than I could have ever imagined.” You can only gasp, too wrecked from your pleasure to respond in words. Fellow grins with satisfaction, memorizing the sight of his seed glistening all over your back, chuckling to himself as he wipes it off with a tissue. He tosses the tissue into a random corner of his office and then helps you find your footing again.

Gently lifting your chin, his gaze softens, mouth opening to form a gentle smirk. His thumb brushes against your trembling bottom lip, a caring and fond expression overtaking his features. 

Your heart leaps into your throat as you begin to question the warmth in his smile and his affectionate gaze. Is your body's chemical response misreading signals, or are you witnessing evidence that Fellow perhaps has a bit more going on than simply taking sexual interest? A new, deeper desire to understand the mysterious man behind the curtain of your own experience begins to bloom in your mind. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as his hand cups your cheek. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on your lips and you return it, savoring the way his soft lips feel against yours. It feels so intimate, like a lover's kiss, and your heart flutters in your chest. You pull away and look into his eyes once more, trying to figure out what he's thinking, but you can't read his expression. His face is completely unreadable, granting you no indication as to whether you're making any progress in decoding him.

He takes off his coat and helps you put it on, wrapping you up to ensure your modesty is protected for your short walk to the stage. He takes your hand and guides you out of his office, your legs still shaking from climax.

You walk together in silence, hand in hand, your head still spinning as you try to process everything that just happened. You can't believe how incredible your first orgasm felt, and you're already craving another.

"What are you thinking about, Darling?"

"I'm thinking about how I’ve never felt that good before," you admit, blushing slightly.

Fellow chuckles. "That's very sweet," he says. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll be sure to give you many more orgasms in the future." His grip on your hand tightens slightly, and you can't help but feel a sense of longing for him.

You continue walking in silence until you arrive at the stage. Fellow stops in front of the stage door and turns to face you.

"Are you ready, Love?" he asks, his voice gentle. He takes both of your hands in his and brings them to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. His carnelian gaze holds yours, his hot breath dancing across your fingers. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Your heart swells and you feel yourself melting.

You nod enthusiastically and squeeze his hands, hoping he doesn't pick up on your nervous, pounding heartbeat. "I'm ready," you affirm, gazing intently into his beautiful, half-lidded eyes, feeling braver and more confident than you have all day.

He flashes a subtle smile. "Wonderful." He gives you one last peck on the cheek before turning to open the stage door. He places his free hand on your lower back and guides you onto the stage, leading you towards the center, where the lighting crew are busy at work. He introduces you and makes a show of presenting you to the crew—holding out your arm like he would for a debutante entering a ball, a prince presenting his chosen partner to a ballroom dance. The crew whistle and holler as you walk onto the stage. All you can do is stand there with the distinct smile of a hypnotized-yet-willing participant in the world's most eccentric 18+ theater. Their ogling is the furthest thing from your mind, as your attention remains firmly rooted on the charismatic manager in your grasp.

"Sorry, Boys. This one is mine. No one can have her but me." He places his hand on the side of your arm and pulls you close to him, draping an arm over your waist possessively.

As you glance up, your breath catches and your heart skips a beat; your adoring, hungry gaze is returned by his, a mirror of your own emotions shining through in his flaming irises. There's something strange about his stare—there always is. His face betrays some of that vulnerability again, an instance where he's truly letting his guard down, a crack in his meticulous and calculated visage. It’s a warm hint of softness that signals what he said to the crew might ring true outside of these walls as well.

Fellow turns back toward the crew as a new scene is placed before them, and within a split second, he resumes his demeanor of a business-oriented gentleman. "One hour ‘til showtime. Make her shine, People! We want the audience drooling the second she gets on stage!" He holds out his hand, his cane reappearing like magic. "Have fun in makeup!" He winks at you, the flick of his head gesturing you away.

Stylists appear behind you, and you reluctantly release your hold on him. He flashes a reassuring smile as you are guided away, a bewitchingly charming smile settling onto his lips. You head backstage, and he turns to get back to business.

Damn, if you made it all the way down here... wow. Thank you so much for spending this time with me. If you enjoyed this, that means a lot to me because this is pretty much just a self indulgent fic I started writing as soon as Fellow dropped without really knowing too much about him. I haven't begun writing part two, but I have my general ideas of where I want it to go. If you have suggestions for part two, please comment or send me an ask, I'd love to hear your thoughts! ❤️ Erica Malleleothreesome

[hollowed-theory-hall]

hi!

we see harry’s anger truly manifest in ootp, and it was a treat reading your analysis on his ptsd!

but it’s been a longheld belief in the fandom that harry is this firecracker with concerningly poor anger management. which is absurd, frankly imo, because i understand his default style is quiet, intense intimidation, or sass and snark. except when his fury reaches the threshold of his control, and he lets go fully and spectacularly. we also see in the later books that harry keeps trying to rein in the onslaught of fury pouring from voldemort, and while he does channel that anger outwardly, he isn’t making a habit of frequently lashing out at the people around him.

what i’m really asking is, what are your thoughts on harry’s anger and how he manages his frustrations from age eleven to seventeen?

Hello 👋

Thank you! I love my boy Harry and his anger and trauma so much! His trauma doesn't manifest in the way most fandoms usually like to portray trauma, but I always loved how Harry breaks when he reaches his threshold. He's a fascinating character and I find myself disappointed in his treatment over the years in fanon.

As to your question, boy, okay, this is complex and is greatly affected by Harry's mental state. I mentioned here how his anger is often colder and sassier and the fiery anger that's all shouting and cursing is something we only really see from him in OotP and onwards and I believe is the result of trauma, as I mentioned here & here.

But I decided, you know what? I can take a few scenes of his anger from each book. It's something I have a lot of notes about, and I'm surprised I haven't written about it here yet since it's a subject I love talking about.

Now, I do think he has issues with emotional regulation in general. I mean, he was raised in a cupboard under the stairs, he is not emotionally well-adjusted even if he knows to appear as if he is. His anger and how it manifests is a result of years of trauma and abuse. Honestly, though, he manages his anger better than he could have considering his life experience.

So without further ado:

Philosopher's Stone:

In the first book, we see Harry angry at the Dursleys and their unfair treatment of him. This anger is interesting. He has every reason to be angry but it isn't just anger. It's his frustration and helplessness that he feels as anger because he lacks the tools to understand/deal with his emotions.

How we see this anger come out though, is mostly through sass. And even then he makes sure to run/duck away before they could hurt him:

“They stuff people’s heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall,” he told Harry. “Want to come upstairs and practice?” “No, thanks,” said Harry. “The poor toilet’s never had anything as horrible as your head down it — it might be sick.” Then he ran, before Dudley could work out what he’d said.

(PS, Ch3)

Harry doesn't really have the luxury to get angry or upset because he's the one who would suffer for it. So, he bottles up all his anger and frustration and only lets it out in cold glares and sass even when he's fuming inside. In his heart of hearts, he wishes he could do something to the Dursleys, to hurt them back, but he can't.

I do want to note that Harry's hold on his range isn't him managing it well, it's him bottling it up. This would be very relevant later in this post.

The incident with the Boa Constrictor is one I like. Harry later refers to it as revenge in a moment of anger:

and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn’t he got his revenge, without even realizing he was doing it? Hadn’t he set a boa constrictor on him?

(PS, Ch4)

“Out of the way, you,” he said, punching Harry in the ribs. Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror. Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor’s tank had vanished. The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed and started running for the exits.

(PS, Ch2)

He's unaware that he's doing it, of course, but Harry's magic is powerful and incredibly attuned to him, so of course, it acts up when he's angry. Of course, his magic gets revenge on Dudley when Harry is so angry but feels helpless to do something with it. Harry's magic here shows Harry wishes he could do something, that he could take revenge:

Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Countercurses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian. “I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley.”

(PS, Ch5)

He just can't. So he bottles up his anger instead.

The other person we see Harry angry at in the first book, is Snape. Harry responds to Snape quite similar to how he responds to the Dursleys:

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys’, but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi? Snape was still ignoring Hermione’s quivering hand. “What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?” At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling. “I don’t know,” said Harry quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?” A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus’s eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

(PS, Ch8)

He gets angry, inside his head he is fuming, but outside his head, Snape hears a sassy retort said quietly and calmly. Even when Harry is angry he acts calm and quiet and looks like he's joking from Seamus' response. It's why it's so easy for Snape to believe Harry is like James. Harry doesn't show his anger. External he's quiet and sassy becouse he knows if he started shouting he'd be punished more (like at the Dursleys).

So, 11-year-old Harry is quiet outside when angry. Only really shows glares and sass when he's upset while bottling his feelings up. This would continue throughout the years until year 5, for the most part.

Chamber of Secrets:

We see more of this way of handling his anger in CoS (though way less). CoS is not a very angry book, but I found a few examples.

“I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act — no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggleloving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it —” Harry felt a hot surge of anger.

(CoS, Ch4)

Harry is angry. He likes the Weasleys and hates hearing them being talked about like this. Still, no one else sees his anger because he's hiding, and he knows he'd be worse off if he left his hiding spot. Harry isn't all that impulsive (yet). He just swallows his anger down for the sake of what needs to be done — in this case hiding.

“Dobby is used to death threats, sir. Dobby gets them five times a day at home.” He blew his nose on a corner of the filthy pillowcase he wore, looking so pathetic that Harry felt his anger ebb away in spite of himself. [...] Dobby mopped his bulging eyes and said suddenly, “Harry Potter must go home! Dobby thought his Bludger would be enough to make — ” “Your Bludger?” said Harry, anger rising once more. “What d’you mean, your Bludger? You made that Bludger try and kill me?”

(CoS, Ch10)

Here, we see more of Harry's usual anger and how he bottles everything up. He is rightfully angry at Dobby for everything he did, but he also feels pity for him, his anger doesn't cloud Harry's ability to empathize with others. And if you look at the second quote, you see that in his head Harry is rightfully angry at an attempt to murder him but he's talking calmly and quietly. He isn't shouting. He isn't being violent or impolite. Harry's anger, as seen by others, is cold and quiet because he bottles it up.

“And why did you want to meet me?” said Harry. Anger was coursing through him, and it was an effort to keep his voice steady.

(CoS, Ch17)

This is later, when facing Tom. Harry feels betrayed. He wanted so bad to be Tom's freind, he tried so much to ignore what was happening so he could keep his new BFF and first crush. But when he is betrayed, he gets angry, rightfully so, again. And we see he isn't shouting or acting angry and rashly. He's speaking steadily and quietly and makes an active effort to do so.

Harry knows how he comes off and is actively trying to make his voice steady and not sound angry/scared! He's smart and not impulsive. He's very aware of his external behavior and actively conceals his anger from appearing externally.

My boy is angry, but he isn't a brash hothead.

I do want to note another thing about Harry's anger. Harry responds with anger when he's scared, when he's grieving, when he feels helpless. Anger is just the easiest emotional response for him to go to, and it's why he reacts with anger to a lot of the things he goes through. Anger is an emotion he understands, so everything kinda feels like anger that he can keep pushing down.

Prisoner of Azkaban:

In PoA, we have a few interesting scenes showcasing Harry's anger really well. Some of the anger descriptions from this book are my favorite by far but we'll get to it.

This is the first book we start seeing Harry act out in anger. Until now, we saw Harry fuming inside but acting calm to the outside world. In PoA, he still mostly does that, but we start seeing him cracking under the weight of life. That bottle he's been filling up for years is close to it's threshold.

just as Uncle Vernon burst out of the dining room, his trouser leg in bloody tatters. “COME BACK IN HERE!” he bellowed. “COME BACK AND PUT HER RIGHT!” But a reckless rage had come over Harry. He kicked his trunk open, pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Uncle Vernon. “She deserved it,” Harry said, breathing very fast. “She deserved what she got. You keep away from me.”  He fumbled behind him for the latch on the door. “I’m going,” Harry said. “I’ve had enough.”

(PoA, Ch2)

This above has Harry acting rashly and impulsively in anger. He is ready to just up and go in a moment of rage with little to no forethought which isn't how Harry usually operates. Aunt Marge and Vernon just made him reach his tipping point. Some of that anger has spilled out and Harry's acting out because he doesn't know what else to do.

This is a kid who up to this point never even had the chance to grieve his dead parents properly. He never got to just sit there and feel any of what he's going through. He just keeps swallowing it down and here, we see him start to slip. What he's been pushing down is starting to become too much.

I will note that still, even when he is more brash and angry here, he isn't shouting. He's speaking calmly and evenly even as he's raging inside.

I also want to note the situation with Hermione over the Firebolt:

Professor McGonagall turned on her heel and carried the Firebolt out of the portrait hole, which closed behind her. Harry stood staring after her, the tin of High-Finish Polish still clutched in his hands. Ron, however, rounded on Hermione. “What did you go running to McGonagall for?” [...] Harry knew that Hermione had meant well, but that didn’t stop him from being angry with her. He had been the owner of the best broom in the world for a few short hours, and now, because of her interference, he didn’t know whether he would ever see it again. He was positive that there was nothing wrong with the Firebolt now, but what sort of state would it be in once it had been subjected to all sorts of anti-jinx tests? Ron was furious with Hermione too.

(PoA, Ch11-12)

Harry is mad at Hermione, he has his reasons to be, but he understands why she did it. He is angry, but he's smart and empathetic and he knows Hermione. He knows she only wants him safe, he's still mad, but he doesn't shout at her like Ron does. He pushes his anger down because he doesn't want to upset her. He;s not as furious as Ron is.

In the early books, we see Ron stepping forward to curse Malfoy, shout at Hermione, or stop talking to Harry over the tournament. Ron's the one that is more hot-headed in the early books and springs to act in moments of anger while Harry tends to stay cool-headed (because he pushes his anger down). He is angry inside his head, but he stays calm outside and even stops Ron from going after Malfoy (eat slugs incident, Harry tried to stop him).

(I will note this might have to do with Ron having siblings. Letting your emotions out is a good thing. It is a good thing to tell people you are close to you are upset with them. Arguing with your siblings and shouting at them on occasion can even be healthy! It can keep you from creating grudges and getting bitter. It's not necessarily bad. It's just that Harry and Hermione didn't have siblings and don't know how healthy arguments between people who love each other (which is what Ron is going for with Hermione above) work.)

One of my favorite moments of Harry's anger in the series is everything to do with Sirius when he thinks he's guilty:

A hatred such as he had never known before was coursing through Harry like poison. He could see Black laughing at him through the darkness

(PoA, Ch11)

A boiling hate erupted in Harry’s chest, leaving no place for fear. For the first time in his life, he wanted his wand back in his hand, not to defend himself, but to attack . . . to kill. [...] “NO YOU DON’T!” roared Harry, and he aimed a kick at Crookshanks that made the cat leap aside, spitting; Harry snatched up his wand and turned — “Get out of the way!” he shouted at Ron and Hermione. They didn’t need telling twice. [...] Black was sprawled at the bottom of the wall. His thin chest rose and fell rapidly as he watched Harry walking slowly nearer, his wand pointing straight at Black’s heart. “Going to kill me, Harry?” he whispered. Harry stopped right above him, his wand still pointing at Black’s chest, looking down at him. A livid bruise was rising around Black’s left eye and his nose was bleeding. “You killed my parents,” said Harry, his voice shaking slightly, but his wand hand quite steady.

(PoA, Ch17)

This is the first occurrence we see Harry in a true rage. The kind of anger that pushes him to act impulsively and violently. Harry actually screams in rage.

It's not unreasonable, he thinks Sirius betrayed his parents, these same parents Harry never really got the chance to mourn. But Harry doesn't really shout when angry, he's quiet in his anger usually. But here he actually roars out. He demands Ron and Hermione move from his way, he kicks Crookchanks and goes to kill Sirius. Harry is acting completely from anger without really thinking or realizing what he's doing. This is the kind of rage where you see red and don't really know what you're doing until you're doing it.

I love how he describes it: "coursing through Harry like poison". It's just such a visceral description for a very visceral emotion. This isn't Harry's usual anger, this is rage, this is beyond his usual anger. It's the type of anger most fans associate with him because of OotP. This uncontrolled rage that pushes him to be impulsive is a trauma response. It comes up when Harry is at an emotional low. When there's too much, when he feels to many things and he can't handle them all so he lashes out in anger.

In this case, Harry is facing the man he believes sold out his parents, who trusted him, of course, he's angry and betrayed. Of course, it's different from the anger he feels when Snape is being a dick. It is different. It's rage, and grief, and fear, and pain, and it's a cry for help.

Harry has an impressive capacity to bottle up his emotions, but from book 3, we see him teetering on the threshold. And it just gets worse from here (like his experiences in the books).

Goblet of Fire:

GoF is a rough year, and Harry is very angry throughout this year. Still, we see his usual "cold anger" not his rage. He's angry inside his head, we see it, but he doesn't act out on any of it, nor does he even say anything about it. He's bottling it all up. If we weren't reading his thoughts, we probably wouldn't have these gems of anger:

Harry’s ears were ringing. The injustice of it made him want to curse Snape into a thousand slimy pieces. He passed Snape, walked with Ron to the back of the dungeon, and slammed his bag down onto the table. Ron was shaking with anger too — for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between them, but then Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus instead, leaving Harry alone at his table. On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking. POTTER STINKS flashed once more across the room. Harry sat there staring at Snape as the lesson began, picturing horrific things happening to him. . . . If only he knew how to do the Cruciatus Curse . . . he’d have Snape flat on his back like that spider, jerking and twitching. . . .

(GoF, Ch18)

Harry felt oddly separate from everyone around him, whether they were wishing him good luck or hissing “We’ll have a box of tissues ready, Potter ” as he passed. It was a state of nervousness so advanced that he wondered whether he mightn’t just lose his head when they tried to lead him out to his dragon, and start trying to curse everyone in sight.

(GoF, Ch20)

Harry spends a good chunk of GoF wishing he could curse Snape, other students, and even Ron occasionally. He feels helpless and that makes him angry. But he doesn't actually curse anyone. He doesn't even sass Snape in the above example, he just glares.

But you'll notice, again, the way he handles his anger/other issues is not really about mastering the emotion and letting it go. No, Harry just holds that anger in. He never learned to let it go, so all the times, his anger came off as cold and chill to others; it's because Harry's keeping a lid on things. By GoF, Harry can barely keep the cap on:

From the moment the article had appeared, Harry had had to endure people — Slytherins, mainly — quoting it at him as he passed and making sneering comments. “Want a hanky, Potter, in case you start crying in Transfiguration?” “Since when have you been one of the top students in the school, Potter? Or is this a school you and Longbottom have set up together?” “Hey — Harry!” “Yeah, that’s right!” Harry found himself shouting as he wheeled around in the corridor, having had just about enough. “I’ve just been crying my eyes out over my dead mum, and I’m just off to do a bit more. . . .” “No — it was just — you dropped your quill.” It was Cho. Harry felt the color rising in his face.

(GoF, Ch19)

And so we get scenes like the above. Harry is walking around like a powder keg waiting to explode. He has been bottling his frustration and anger all his life, he comes off as chill not because he manages it well but because he hides it. He makes his voice steady and quiet because it's what he learned at the Dursleys, but it's not that the anger disappears, he holds onto all of it. That's why the worse the situation is, the worse Harry's anger is. He doesn't have the capacity to push it all down.

And this is why he occasionally starts blowing up in GoF. The more helpless and frustrated he is, the more his bottle is filled and he just can't handle it beyond a certain point.

Order of the Pheonix:

OotP is Harry at his angriest. If I wanted to copy all the qoutes from this book that show Harry's anger, I'd probably have to copy the whole book. As it is, I've hand-picked a few examples:

“SO YOU HAVEN’T BEEN IN THE MEETINGS, BIG DEAL! YOU’VE STILL BEEN HERE, HAVEN’T YOU? YOU’VE STILL BEEN TOGETHER! ME, I’VE BEEN STUCK AT THE DURSLEYS’ FOR A MONTH! AND I’VE HANDLED MORE THAN YOU TWO’VE EVER MANAGED AND DUMBLEDORE KNOWS IT — WHO SAVED THE SORCERER’S STONE? WHO GOT RID OF RIDDLE? WHO SAVED BOTH YOUR SKINS FROM THE DEMENTORS?” Every bitter and resentful thought that Harry had had in the past month was pouring out of him; his frustration at the lack of news, the hurt that they had all been together without him, his fury at being followed and not told about it: All the feelings he was half-ashamed of finally burst their boundaries. Hedwig took fright at the noise and soared off on top of the wardrobe again; Pigwidgeon twittered in alarm and zoomed even faster around their heads. “WHO HAD TO GET PAST DRAGONS AND SPHINXES AND EVERY OTHER FOUL THING LAST YEAR? WHO SAW HIM COME BACK? WHO HAD TO ESCAPE FROM HIM? ME!” [...] Harry was not sure his anger had abated yet; but his thirst for information was now overcoming his urge to keep shouting. He sank onto the bed opposite the others.

(OotP, Ch4)

There are two aspects I want to note about his anger here. Harry, as I mentioned above, even when he is mad at Ron and Hermione, he usually doesn't shout at them like this. This is Harry way past his threshold, traumatized with no idea how to handle any of the emotions he's feeling. Ron and Hermione are getting the brunt of that bottle exploding here.

And Harry has a good reason to be angry with them here, don't get me wrong. Harry usually has really good reasons to be angry. I'm just noting that he would have held back his anger if he wasn't in the worst emotional state we've seen from him up to this point. If he had the capacity in his bottle of emotions, Ron and Hermione wouldn't even know he was upset with them.

The other thing I want to bring up is the second section from the above quote. After Harry lets out a bit of the steam he's been building up for years by this point he swallows it down and caps it again because he wants information. He's still angry, he's still upset, but he holds his tongue to get information. He still doesn't feel free or capable of explaining why he's feeling what he's feeling. A lot of it isn't just anger at Ron and Hermione. It's everything. And he has no idea how to parse what he's feeling.

Like I mentioned in the past, Harry doesn't like showing weakness, he doesn't tend to act emotionally or rashly because he knows how people see it. But he isn't actually letting go of all that anger, he lets it build up:

“Harry?” said Hermione tentatively. “Well done,” said Harry, so heartily it did not sound like his voice at all, and still not looking at her. “Brilliant. Prefect. Great.” “Thanks,” said Hermione. “Erm — Harry — could I borrow Hedwig so I can tell Mum and Dad? They’ll be really pleased — I mean, prefect is something they can understand —” “Yeah, no problem,” said Harry, still in the horrible hearty voice that did not belong to him. “Take her!”

(OotP, Ch9)

And up.

He just keeps pushing his anger down. If Sirius hadn't noticed and told him that he and James weren't prefects either, Harry would've kept stewing in it. Because he wouldn't have told Ron and Hermione he was jealous because he doesn't really tell anyone shit. He just lets it build:

“Oh, shut up, the pair of you,” said Harry heavily, as Ron opened his mouth to argue back. Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended. “Can’t you give it a rest?” he said. “You’re always having a go at each other, it’s driving me mad.” And abandoning his shepherd’s pie, he swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder and left them sitting there. He walked up the marble staircase two steps at a time, past the many students hurrying toward lunch. The anger that had just flared so unexpectedly still blazed inside him, and the vision of Ron and Hermione’s shocked faces afforded him a sense of deep satisfaction. Serve them right, he thought. Why can’t they give it a rest? . . . Bickering all the time . . . It’s enough to drive anyone up the wall. . . .

(OotP, Ch12)

And keeps snapping at everyone becouse he doesn't have a handle on his emotions. He doesn't really process what he's gone through/going through and he's lashing out.

Harry's anger in OotP is the powder keg blowing. It's why he's more rash, more vocal, actually screaming at people in a way he hasn't before. It's why we see him lose control of himself in anger more than before:

Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting at Malfoy. He had completely forgotten the fact that all the teachers were watching: All he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible. With no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoy’s stomach — “Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO !” He could hear girls’ voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing, and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care, not until somebody in the vicinity yelled “IMPEDIMENTA!” and only when he was knocked over backward by the force of the spell did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach. . . .

(OotP, Ch19)

Because he reached his limit of how much he can bottle up and he has no healthy means of letting any of it out. The D.A. helped a little as a distraction, it helped him feel less helpless, but he only just addressed the traumatic experience he had in the graveyard by talking about it when more just kept getting piled up onto him.

“Harry — no!” cried Lupin, but Harry had already ripped his arm from Lupin’s slackened grip. “SHE KILLED SIRIUS!” bellowed Harry. “SHE KILLED HIM — I’LL KILL HER!”….. [...] Hatred rose in Harry such as he had never known before. He flung himself out from behind the fountain and bellowed “Crucio!” Bellatrix screamed. The spell had knocked her off her feet, but she did not writhe and shriek with pain as Neville had — she was already on her feet again, breathless, no longer laughing. [...] “Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy?” she yelled. She had abandoned her baby voice now. “You need to mean them, Potter! You need to really want to cause pain — to enjoy it — righteous anger won’t hurt me for long — I’ll show you how it is done, shall I? I’ll give you a lesson —”

(OotP, Ch36)

Running after Bellatrix was an impulsive decision. It's that same rage that overtook Harry to kick Crokshanks and try to kill Sirius. It's that seeing red sort of rage that encompasses everything. Grief overflowing Harry's emotional bottle and all he knows how to react with — is anger.

Harry, as I mentioned in the past, doesn't cry in front of others. He doesn't let himself. and the emotions gotta get out somehow. For Harry, that somehow is anger.

Half-Blood Prince:

After Sirius' death, Harry is much rawer. He basically starts this book beyond his threshold.

“If there’s anyone else here who’s not from Gryffindor,” roared Harry, who was starting to get seriously annoyed, “leave now, please!”

(HBP, Ch11)

So he gets annoyed more easily. He lashes out and shouts more often. He tries to physically attack more often too:

“Another ten points from Gryffindor,” said Snape. “I would expect nothing more sophisticated from you, Ronald Weasley, the boy so solid he cannot Apparate half an inch across a room.” “No!” whispered Hermione, grabbing Harry’s arm as he opened his mouth furiously. “There’s no point, you’ll just end up in detention again, leave it!”

(HBP, Ch21)

Something he didn't do up until OotP and even then rarely. Harry is hot-headed not because he's easy to anger (again, his capacity for bottling up is impressive if he just seriously started lashing out in GoF), most of his grievances are reasonable, he's hot-headed becouse he's suffering and has no idea how to handle it.

“Just now!” said Harry, who was refraining from yelling with enormous difficulty. And then, suddenly, he could not stop himself. “AND YOU LET HIM TEACH HERE AND HE TOLD VOLDEMORT TO GO AFTER MY MUM AND DAD!” Breathing hard as though he was fighting, Harry turned away from Dumbledore, who still had not moved a muscle, and paced up and down the study, rubbing his knuckles in his hand and exercising every last bit of restraint to prevent himself knocking things over. He wanted to rage and storm at Dumbledore, but he also wanted to go with him to try and destroy the Horcrux; he wanted to tell him that he was a foolish old man for trusting Snape, but he was terrified that Dumbledore would not take him along unless he mastered his anger. ... “Harry,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Please listen to me.”

(HBP, Ch25)

Again, he snaps and shouts way more than before. And he knows he shouldn't, he knows it comes off bad and people take him less seriously when he's angry and lashing out, but he can't help it as much since he still hasn't started letting go. He's still at his threshold all throughout HBP.

It's why we see him react the way he does after Snape kills Dumbledore, too. He was so angry all year. Since Sirius died, he's been running on fumes. The keg already blew in fifth year, and it didn't help him at all while he's barely holding himself together (but no one else sees this). And then, he had more pushed onto him after he already had less than zero capacity to deal with things.

Deathly Hallows:

Much of the anger we see from Harry in this book is due to either the locket or the Horcrux in him, but I'm not counting that sort of anger. I want to focus on Harry's anger.

The grief that had possessed him since Dumbledore’s death felt different now. The accusations he had heard from Muriel at the wedding seemed to have nested in his brain like diseased things, infecting his memories of the wizard he had idolized. Could Dumbledore have let such things happen? Had he been like Dudley, content to watch neglect and abuse as long as it did not affect him? Could he have turned his back on a sister who was being imprisoned and hidden? Harry thought of Godric’s Hollow, of graves Dumbledore had never mentioned there; he thought of mysterious objects left without explanation in Dumbledore’s will, and resentment swelled in the darkness. Why hadn’t Dumbledore told him? Why hadn’t he explained? Had Dumbledore actually cared about Harry at all? Or had Harry been nothing more than a tool to be polished and honed, but not trusted, never confided in? Harry could not stand lying there with nothing but bitter thoughts for company. Desperate for something to do, for distraction, he slipped out of his sleeping bag, picked up his wand, and crept out of the room.

(DH, Ch10)

Harry's feelings of grief over Dumbledore are interwind with betrayal, helplessness, and feeling lost in general, and he feels all of it as anger. As I mentioned above, anger is Harry's go-to emotion when he's grieving, when he's in pain, when he feels too much and has no idea what to do with any of it — it lands him in anger.

It's a big part of why he reads as so angry with Dumbledore throughout the book. He has complicated feelings about the man, feelings he has no idea how to even start to unpack, so he feels angry.

In DH too, we see him more easily agitated than in the first 4 books. Harry is way past his limit in this book, but he tries so hard not to show it. To keep that lid on (nevermind that it exploded two years ago).

“I’d never have believed this,” Harry said. “The man who taught me to fight dementors—a coward.” Lupin drew his wand so fast that Harry had barely reached for his own; there was a loud bang and he felt himself flying backward as if punched; as he slammed into the kitchen wall and slid to the floor, he glimpsed the tail of Lupin’s cloak disappearing around the door. “Remus, Remus, come back!” Hermione cried, but Lupin did not respond. A moment later they heard the front door slam. “Harry!” wailed Hermione. “How could you?” “It was easy,” said Harry. He stood up; he could feel a lump swelling where his head had hit the wall. He was still so full of anger he was shaking. “Don’t look at me like that!” he snapped at Hermione. “Don’t you start on her!” snarked Ron. “No—no—we mustn’t fight!” said Hermione, launching herself between them.

(DH, Ch11)

He's shaking from anger. His voice is calm and quiet like his usual response for hiding his anger, but he can't fully hide it. His body gives him away becouse he feels so much of it.

Harry was 100% right to call Lupin out, but I think the ruler way he did it was because he's suffering. He's in emotional turmoil, and twisting his words like a knife, in a way he knew would hurt Lupin, made him feel a little better. It let him take some of that anger out. It is a form of lashing out.

Him snapping at Hermione after and being ready to fist fight Ron is an extension of this lashing out. Harry, when at his limit, lashes out in anger becouse it's all he really knows how.

(He needs a better grieving method. He needs a fucking hug and for someone to tell him he's allowed to cry. He needs a good cry. I think it's why he's calmer after going to Godric's Hallow. He cried a little, grieved his parents, truly, for the first time in his life, and it helped him let some of his pain out in a healthier way)

“It’s not a case of what you’ll permit, Minerva McGonagall. You time’s over. It’s us what’s in charge here now, and you’ll back me up or you’ll pay the price.” And he spat in her face. Harry pulled the Cloak off himself, raised his wand, and said, “You shouldn’t have done that.” As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, “Crucio!” The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor. “I see what Bellatrix meant,” said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, “you need to really mean it.”

(DH, Ch30)

Still, things just keep getting added onto his plate. How I see Harry's anger is why I don't think the above scene is out of character for him. His anger fueling the curse isn't just about Amycus spiting at McGonagall. It's about how they tortured Neville, Ginny, and Luna. About his year on the run. About Dobby's death. About him being forced into a position he feels he wants ready for and has no idea what to do. This is years of feeling angry and helpless coming to ahead.

Amycus didn't suffer just for that one crime of his. Spitting on McGonagall just happened to be the straw that broke the camel's back.

To Summerise:

Harry isn't really good at managing his anger, or any other emotion really. He bottles it all up. His frustration, fear, grief, anger, helplessness, and pain all go together into Harry's little box of feelings so he can do whatever he needs to do and appear calm and quiet. It's why we see Harry fuming and boiling with rage inside his head while he's externally calm and cold and composed.

This lid he keeps on everything starts breaking as the emotions keep getting bottled up and he keeps not really processing them. So in GoF Harry is teetering on his very impressive threshold and then, after the graveyard, he breaks.

He suffered so much all at once and then was left alone to stew at the Dursleys for a whole month, suffering from nightmares and having no idea how to process any of what he's been through. Of course, he fucking breaks in OotP.

And when Harry breaks, all these emotions he kept down come out as anger. The reason he reacts so dramatically to smaller offenses post-OotP isn't that he's easy to anger, he really isn't. It's just that he has accumulated pain and grief from 14 years of trauma and abuse that are just now being let out in the form of Harry angrily lashing out.

So, I wouldn't say his anger management is amazing, but his problem isn't really the anger itself, it's emotional regulation in general. He needs to learn to deal with his emotions instead of bottling them up. If he does, he probably won't have any issues with anger management and would just sass his way through life.

[krysmcscience]

Don't mind me, just slacking on a big Billford comic by making other far more ridiculous Billford comics and also some AU art (please excuse my slapdash human!Bill thank you please, also before anyone asks the art style is messy and all over the place because idgaf LOL)

This started out as an excuse to design a Bill Cipher-inspired "wedding" dress, but then spiraled wildly out of control. Various rambles and a bunch more human!Bill arts under the cut, including another silly little comic at the end! (Feel free to skip the rambles, I won't be offended. I know I'm bad at shutting up. XD)

I may or may not write some comedy stuff for this AU, which I'm calling 'For Better Or Worse (But Mostly Worse)'. While Ford DOES remember getting sloshed enough for one thing to lead to making out with another after karaoke, neither he nor Bill remember this wedding, At All. The Love God did nothing to dissuade them from going hog wild on their marriage spending, either, so it got...uh. Exorbitantly Expensive. As in, the grand total could probably buy the entire fucking MOON sort of expensive. (It's fine, don't worry, Bill's good enough at crime to be able to afford it.) Also, because the logic of this AU is mostly dictated by Rule of Funny, the Love God's powers are close to unlimited when it comes to matters of romance, but ONLY when it comes to matters of romance. (Like weddings!)

Want an empty human vessel to smash the soul of a triangle into for date nights or when it's convenient, or perhaps even when it's NOT convenient? Easy peasy! Want the marriage to be recognized in every corner of the multiverse from now until the end of time, thus making any potential future divorce nigh-on impossible? Can do! Want to buy an entire beach for the ceremony and honeymoon and in general, and totally not at all because it would be Super Hilarious to prevent any specific movies from being made on that very same beach in the future? Fine, whatever, it's not his finances he's ruining!

Does the Love God also provide special rings that just so happen to turn incorporeal as long as the "happy couple" doesn't remember that they barged into his dreams to bully him into presiding over their marriage? ...No comment!

He spends the next thirty years trying and failing to get in touch with either of them for payment. This is why you should always demand half the money up front, my guy!

Also it's absolutely a traditional Jewish wedding, because I like the idea of Bill demanding all the keepsakes from the marriage that he paid for, and being completely confused when one of the things he's handed is a fancy container full of broken glass. He gets it later, but in the moment, he thinks the Love God is just fucking with him some more.

Ramble over! Here's the full dress that caused the comic to happen, along with what Ford wound up wearing at the wedding (and begrudgingly agreeing to put on again later for Reasons), aaaaand also a close-up of Bill's ring:

I may have forgotten to draw Bill's hair floofier when drawing the back of the dress, lmao

Since double ring ceremonies have been leaking over into Jewish wedding customs for a while now, Ford also has a ring, but his is the much more traditional plain gold band. There's definitely a message engraved on the inside - embarrassing, cringe, or incriminating somehow - but I haven't decided what it is yet, so use your imagination for now. XD Bill, on the other hand, saw the phrase 'traditional plain gold band' and said "No Thank You" before proceeding to embellish his ring to his liking. And because he's a secret sap who adores Ford's extra fingers, the triangle points add up to twelve, as do the engraved stars. Yes, they're stars, not dots, I just got lazy. There's also six lashes on the eye gem, and probably an eye engraving on the inside with another six lashes. (Bill's got it BAD, okay? We all know this.)

Here are the initial scribbles of Bill's custom vessel in more casual attire, please ignore the wonky anatomy and the fact that I flat out refuse to ever draw him with a proper top hat:

He does actually need a cane in this vessel; since Bill tends to possess men and especially Ford more often than not, he's used to having a higher center of gravity when in a human body, so his ability to balance is pretty garbage. (He may or may not topple over with concerning regularity.) As for his empty eye socket, his bangs don't do much to hide it since he's so high-energy (dude is constantly on the move), and he also refuses to wear a patch over it, because 1.) why bother, and 2.) it's more fun to freak people out.

To better align with Ford's attraction towards the strange, the vessel was designed with super minor shapeshifting ability - Bill can look like a perfectly normal human, but he can also make the teeth and fingers sharper whenever he likes (which is mostly just when he's angry or being more of a menace than usual), as well as slit down the pupils or outright ditch the irises altogether. He can also have whatever he wants in the downstairs department, just because I'm an indecisive bitch on that front, lmao. Maybe he can have boobs if he wants them, too, but I ain't drawin' tits on no triangle, nuh-uh, no sir. His powers are otherwise limited down to what humans can do, because for some reason, the Love God doesn't trust Bill to not snap into Immediate Apocalypse Mode if he's given a physical form that's actually all his and no one else's.

Due to the body being all his and no one else's, it's also not really a standard possession so much as it is just...Bill being temporarily human. He's a lot more aware of and in tune with his human body's senses than he ever was with his "puppets", which makes things like pain a lot more intense. (He is mostly fine with this, because he's a fukken masochist.)

A bit more fashion stuff, including beach and party attire~

The beach outfit was mostly me trying and failing to nail down his body shape, which is still not bottom-heavy enough. I then decided to slap a bikini on it, before making it supremely unsexy with a pair of fugly shorts, because Bill's fashion choices are not allowed to be conventionally attractive. Meanwhile, the party outfit was mostly me looking at the casual attire I designed, asking 'how would Bill make this Worse', and then drawing the result. The mismatched thigh-highs are killing me inside! :D

No, his vessel can't actually summon fire, I just drew it for funzies before I decided on said vessel's limitations. Yes, the gold brick tattoos are absolutely a reference to the fic 'Knowing Me, Knowing You' - I simply could not resist.

I also HAD to draw Bill in one of his canonical(?) shirts, just made tank-top'd:

He is absolutely about to over-correct and fall backwards after this. USE YOUR CANE, GOOFBALL!!! (I meant to draw Bill closer to this degree of bottom-heavy in the other images, but. Alas. I am bad at anatomy, LOL)

And, last but not least before More Comic Time, I attempted to draw him closer to Gravity Falls style:

Jury's out on whether or not I succeeded, but - hey. I tried. Now have some Handyman Bill AU, but with my goofy human design, instead:

Hey, it's a 'mystery snack', and the guy wanted A BITE to eat - the joke was right there, guys!!! (Based on this post, because it just screamed BILL CIPHER to me.)

whoops i forgor bills ring and cracks ahaha too late now

I WILL SHUT UP AND STOP RAMBLING NOW K THX BYYYYYE

[airenyah]

Episode 6: FadelStyle vs. Beginnings and Endings

In the past one and a half-ish weeks we've discussed at length just how good the last scene at the diner is and how Style drawing tears on Fadel at the rock concert was foreshadowing to Fadel ending the episode crying real tears. What I haven't seen discussed yet, however, is how that ending scene is actually a counterpart to Fadel and Style's conversation after the rock concert. And I think that makes the scene in the diner even more poignant. And it also makes the scene at the rock pub even more painful as well. Because they are basically the same scenes, just flipped. And I desperately need to talk about it or else I'll explode.

Part 1: "Tonight I am very happy"

In this scene Style knows something that Fadel doesn't: This will most likely be their last chance to be happy together like this. Tomorrow Fadel will go on his mission where the police will be waiting and then Fadel will be taken away from him.

But Style already loves Fadel, he is already worried about him and he really does not want to lose him. So he keeps trying to subtly talk Fadel into staying home from the mission and spilling the beans about the mission so he can explicitly ask Fadel not to go. But Fadel keeps his mouth shut. And as happy as Style is together with Fadel this evening, he is also very upset. He doesn't want the night to end, but there's no way around it. For Style this is a goodbye.

And for Fadel? Fadel went from I'll tell her this will be your last job to Ruerat is the last jerk we have to kill. After that, we can live however we want. Even in this episode, right before he goes to the concert with Style, Fadel tells Bison "Once we're done with Ruerat, I'll talk to Mother again", when Bison says it's time for them to quit. Fadel is on the same page as Bison now. Ruerat is their last victim and after that Fadel wants out. For Fadel, this is the last night where he's still stuck in his hitman life, but once he is done with his mission the weight will be off his shoulders and he can finally truly be with Style. For Fadel this is the opposite of a goodbye.

In the words of my mother: For Style, when the night is over life will end. For Fadel, when the night is over life will begin. Style is ending something and Fadel wants to begin something.

And another thing my mom pointed out is how they're standing in front of a pink sky:

And at what time of the day is the sky pink? Either at dawn or at dusk. The beginning of the day or the end of the day. And for Fadel this scene is only the beginning of the day while for Style this scene is the end of the day.

Part 2: "I think I already love you"

In this scene Fadel knows something that Style doesn't: Style has played him, has made him lower his protective walls, has made him fall for him only to turn around and betray him.

Style told Fadel he hoped that Fadel wouldn't get any more scars and yet here Style is, stabbing Fadel right in the heart and jeopardizing his life. Here Style is, bursting Fadel's bubble that he's finally started daring to dream about, a dream of a future where he wasn't lonely, a future where he was happy and himself with someone, Style, by his side. But Style is a danger to him. Style can't stay. As happy as Fadel has been together with Style, he needs to let go of him. For Fadel this is a goodbye.

And for Style? He has just spent a full week worrying sick about Fadel after his mission went wrong and went completely MIA. Style has likely (definitely) spent a week checking the restaurant every single day for any sign of Fadel's return, not giving up hope of seeing him again. And then Fadel is back. Style is overjoyed. The heavy metal concert wasn't their last day together, Fadel is pulling through on his promise to have many more nights like that with each other. The concert may have been the end of the day, but now against all odds a new day has come. For Style this is the opposite of a goodbye.

And so we're left with the exact opposite situation from what we had at the concert: Fadel is ending something and Style wants to begin something.

Conclusion

These two scenes go together, they're flipped parallels of each other.

At the concert, Style is internally saying goodbye to Fadel because he thinks their relationship will be over when Fadel gets arrested at the mission and the police take him away. At the diner, Fadel is internally saying goodbye to Style because he thinks their relationship is over now that he "knows" that none of it was real on Style's part since in reality he was working with said police.

At the concert Fadel is truly happy, because once his mission is over he'll talk to mother and when he's managed to convince her that him and Bison will be out, then Fadel can go and start a new life, a new future with Style. At the diner, Style is overjoyed because he thought he was about to lose Fadel, but Fadel has come back and now Style gets a second chance at a future with Fadel.

At the concert, Fadel is happy and he can tell something is kinda off about Style ("What's wrong? You act like we're not going to see each other again."), but he has absolutely no idea that Style is in the process of bidding him farewell. At the diner, Style is happy and he can tell something is kinda off about Fadel ("You were just calling me out for being affectionate. Now you wanna be romantic?"), but he has absolutely no idea that Fadel is in the process of bidding him farewell.

It's brilliant writing, really. And both scenes were flawlessly performed by both boys.

[illogicalkat]

This will not be a regular thing with me, but I'm showing off some more.

Yes, this means more fanbindings.

Is this the result of writers block and a need to create something while I struggle? Probably. I'm not looking too closely at it right now.

First up is And it all started something like this... by @snarkythewoecrow and @psychiccatpanda

It's a quarto, the cover is printed cardstock, and if you think you see a typo in the author's name no you didn't 😂 (she's forgiven me)(I think). Somewhere during the process I thought, "wouldn't it be fun to make this Battlestar Galactica style?" And it is fun! But next time, I'll need to plan it during the typesetting phase so the margins aren't that close. I think this might also be the first book I started using cream colored printer paper.

The fic itself is a Stuckony soulmates au, quite possibly my favorite Stuckony soulmates fic, and you can read it here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34564183

Okay this one is Reconcilable Differences by astolat. This is the first time I've used a foil pen, and I'm happy with the results! I need some more practice, but I will get there. This is also a quarto, but a chonky one - the fic itself is 38k words, and this worked out to 230 pages. The cover is cardstock on the front & back, bookcloth on the spine.

This might be the only Clark/Lex fic I've ever read. But I love it. It's on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240930

And finally:

This is the biggest project I've attempted. It is @mysterycyclone's epic DC/Marvel crossover, Dark Matter. It's 700 pages, it took me two months to make, and do you like the title page? I hand colored that. The end papers and the cover are both images from Unsplash. This is one of the best fics I've ever read, and I'm very happy with how this binding turned out.

If you haven't read this fic yet, you are seriously missing out. https://archiveofourown.org/works/30153540/chapters/74285358

[simplydnp]

WAD: Cover Art

dan is still working on selling the distribution rights for We're All Doomed! so i decided to make some DVD/Blu-ray disc jacket art!

this is my attempt at a traditional jacket design! none of the images used are mine, but i did create the concept and design:

as i was making the first one for myself, i was struck by the fact that 'well, it's for me, so it doesn't have to look like a stereotypical jacket cover' which led me to be more artsy in my approach for the next one:

i was really enjoying the creativity and space to explore, so i went looking for more inspiration for a third design. this led me to dan's favourite Muse album: Origin of Symmetry, which i paid homage to:

after the first Muse album, i looked at their catalogue to see if there was more inspiration there. i was just thankful dan's favourite was easy stylistically to mimic, unlike say, 2009's The Resistance...

thank you @danielhowell for the inspiration!

nerdy stuff & reference pics below the cut!

General notes

i don't know how to use photoshop! i entirely brute-forced my way through the whole project, and the only tutorial i looked up was for the gradient text in the 4th cover

this wasn't even the original project i was working on! you'll eventually get to see that though

and this one also inspired art for the disc itself so stay tuned 👀

i will do anything for authenticity so these are Full of intentional details

matching fonts is a nightmare

the traditional cover

took the longest, as it was the first.

the barcode numbers are the date of the first video he uploaded on dinof, and the last tour show date (in m/d/y)

i changed 'iceland' to 'poland' on the front cover, as he never actually went to iceland, and poland wasn't ever on the list even though he did go there

the orange may look a little off-center in the front, but these designs need to include space for a spine between the front and back cover, i promise it's right 😂

the black and white cover

inspired by the 'i want to believe' aliens poster

the cover art comes from his metal band merch shirt design

i had to manually shrink the text, line by line, and ensure it all lined up on the back!

i even made the logos on the back greyscale

the Muse: Origin of Symmetry cover

a shockingly perfect style for a WAD cover. i'm so glad i used the cubes, even if they couldn't be orange.

there's some versions of the art online where the sky is even more orange and it baffles me how i haven't seen any parallels like this before

the Muse: The Resistance cover

this cover was never supposed to see the light of day! i meant it when i said i was grateful i didn't have to try to adapt this complex design... and yet, i tried anyway.

i did all the grid lines by hand, including the jagged/broken edge parts, shading each section, and then drawing every star.

the hardest part was getting the gradient on the back text to cooperate. photoshop's gradient settings are surprisingly limited

gotta shout out @amazingphil for being the reason i knew what this cover looked like--it's the only muse album i knew the art of before embarking on this quest!

obligatory sob story:

i've been extremely and suddenly ill for 6 months. it is difficult to function moment to moment, but especially in doing little things just for me. this is the first and only art project i've been able to feel inspired to not only work on, but to finish, and despite the pain and long hours, i enjoyed every minute of it. thank you, dan, for creating this space for me to explore, and thank you, everyone here, for being wonderful support during this time 💞

[eyecan02]

A Psychological Affair Analysis: A Detail I Noticed from the Church Scene

When Beetlejuice reveals his marriage deal with Lydia, Rory turns to Lydia and asks, "Lydia, what's going on?" And you just know what Rory and all the influencers are thinking in that moment- that they're watching some scandalous affair unfold in front of them. The detail I noticed is right after Rory asks his question.

Instead of looking at Rory or answering his question, Lydia LOOKS at Beetlejuice. There obviously wasn't an affair of a phsyical kind, but you would think she would care more about proving to her fiancee that she's been faithful to him. Yet, her focus is on Beetlejuice in this moment.

Beetlejuice only fuels the "affair" idea by saying "Awkward." lol He's just gaslighting Lydia in this scene. He could've been like "Well, we weren't hooking up but I definitely am stealing your fiancee if you haven't picked up on that yet."

Everything Tim does is always intentional, and even if it's not romantic (yet), he purposely had Lydia looking at Beetlejuice who is currently standing at the altar (theres symbolism here), where she should be standing. And we got the line from Lydia where she said Dr. Glickman had told her that she wouldn't be able to move forward in her relationship until she tackles the "one thing that's been holding her back."

She then immediately starts telling Rory about her experience with Beetlejuice. So Beetlejuice has literally been standing between them and the altar for a while now. At least "psychologically", Beetlejuice IS the "other man".

Especially if you take into account Rory thinking the Therapy Room Scene was a dream. Before he said the BJ chant, he was talking to Lydia about BJ being a "construct" because all he understood from Lydia's story is "some guy tried to force me to marry him" so he likely understood it as "Oh, she used to date some weird guy named Beetlejuice who tried to force her into marriage."

Once they're in the Therapy Room Scene, if you look at it from Rory's point of view, he sees Beetlejuice and Lydia being familiar with each other, Beetlejuice magically have Lydia get pregnant and give birth to a baby that looks just like him (Beetlejuice throws Rory a quick smile to make sure he's watching this) and sees the baby instinctively crawling toward its "mother".

"Spill your guts"= Rory worrying about his lies being exposed.

"Figment of your imagination"= Rory scared that his "figment" will manifest into something real where another man will marry Lydia and have her have his baby and beat him to the cash and life style he wanted before he has a chance to trick Lydia into going through with the ceremony.

Lydia has been running from her fear of marriage, but did not hesitate to toss her upcoming nuptials aside to marry Beetlejuice. And I'll mention it again- she looks BJ's way. For help? Most likely. Because how does one explain to their fiancee that she's moments from marrying the "one thing that's been holding her back" from marriage.

The "one thing that's been holding her back" is also the one person that was able to help "push her forward" by helping her save her daughter and saved her from a gold digging boyfriend. As a result, she quit her show "to start living" and to find herself again.

A person wouldn't really be able to consider a second marriage before they find themselves first. It's funny because she was late to her wedding with Rory but was "on time" for her wedding with Beetlejuice. Third time's the charm. Beetlebabes is fated.

[theweepingangelofcas]

hi love!! Can I ask for a moriarty the patriot x reader who has curly hair like kory from dc comics, it can be headcanons or anything you like,feel free to ignore this, thank you smm and have a nice day!!🎀🎀

Hiya! I myself have wavy hair, so I did my best to write for a character with curly/coily, 3c/4cish type of hair. I do know some people who have this type of hairstyle, and I did go to esthetics school, but my portrayal of this hair type might not be 100% accurate. I also know that a lot of people who have this hair type are african american. I will admit this right now, I am white as all hell, and I didn't want to assume the reader's race, so I left that pretty much up to interpretation. I also mention protective hairstyles in this, but I try not to go to far into detail, that way I can keep things respectful. If I misrepresented or offended any culture with this, please let me know asap. I will happily rewrite it the correct way. I decided on William and Louis, as they're my favorites to write for

********************

Coils - Moriarty the Patriot x Reader

William Moriarty

William is not unfamiliar with different hair textures.

Long before Albert found him, he lived on the streets. He met so many different kinds of people. Some of them had hair like you do now.

Thick, curly hair, fluffing out beautifully atop your head. When he first met you, he had to resist complimenting you on it. It was so different than his own, and goodness knows this man loves to learn. So, when you two got close and finally became an item, he finally got to ask all the questions he liked (with all the respect, of course).

"Like this?" William took a thick glob of hair gel into his hands, before rubbing it between his palms. You nodded, showing him how to scrunch the product into your hair, "This way, the curls will stay in place without getting too frizzy over time." Today was wash day. You had worn your hair in a protective hairstyle for about two weeks now, and it was time to take it out. William was ecstatic that he got to help, fingers cautiously untying the intricate twists in your hair. He had helped you wash your roots, while avoiding the ends, and even made sure to put as much conditioner on as you wanted. Truly, he had been waiting to help you with this. Though he knew you needed no assistance, he found your hair to be absolutely gorgeous. Fascinating. You were planning to wear your hair naturally for a little while, before going back to another style. He supported you either way. "Did I layer on too much?" He was being so careful in his movements, not wanting to pull on any of the fine strands. Laughing, you shook your head, "You're doing great, William." Determination on his face, he continued with his task, almost entirely focused on the way his hands worked. It was a struggle to hold back your giggled when his tongue peeked out in concentration. Yes, you'd definitely be having him do this again.

Louis Moriarty

Louis is a man who is best when he is working.

Whether it be cooking, cleaning, or reading, he's happiest when he's busy.

So, when his beloved fiancé was having trouble finding the correct hair products, he was more than ready to jump in and help.

You cursed, about to throw the hair comb across the room. So few products were made for your hair type. Your curls didn't get enough nourishment from most conditioners and masks, and the only brand that you did like sadly closed down a few months ago. You've since gone through the stockpile of their products, and had nothing left. Your hair wasn't having it, to put it gently. There was a gentle knock at your bathroom door. You knew who it was immediately. "You can come in, dear! I'm just trying to fix up my hair." He stepped in, a basked hung loosely in his nondominant hand, "How is your search going? Have you found something that works yet?" You wanted to scream in frustration, finally just dropping the abused comb onto the countertop in front of you. "I haven't. Everything leaves my hair so dry and frizzy..." He reached out, gently touching a few strands, "Goodness. I can tell. I brought something new for you to try." Hand going into the basket, he produced a glass tub. Inside was a thick, beige colored cream. "This might help with hydrating it, then. A conditioner. I have a few other things, as well." More bottles emerged from the basket. A bar of shampoo, a tube of hair mask, even a small atomizer bottle of leave in conditioner. You took the leave in into your hands, spraying it onto the ends of your hair. Massaging it in, the scent of your favorite flowers and herbs hit you. "Louis, this feels lovely." You marveled at how smoothly your comb now went through your hair, "Goodness, where did you get it?" He smiled sheepishly, a flush coming to his face. "I made it, love. I saw how much you were struggling, so I read up on ingredients that will help you-" You leapt into his arms before he could even finish his sentence.

[crunchyorochiru]

In honor of the 11th anniversary of EAH, I thought of sharing a WIP from my current animation. However, I realized that I haven't posted it's older, original version from 2 years ago here on tumblr yet, which is weird considering how many times I've mentioned it in other posts, so it's here now!

In a way, the animation (old and current) is a reflection of how I've changed over the years. I made the first half (the part with simple eyes 😶) in my early highschool years, and I made the 2nd half (the part with regular eyes 👁👁) in the later highschool years. The artstyle wasn't consistent, but I enjoyed the process. From where this video ends, I was halfway done, and I probably could've finished if I kept up the pace. But that's not what happened.

I wasn't satisfied with how the vid was looking, especially because I wasn't doing proper lineart, but I didn't want to drop the project. Instead, I decided to work on Brooke's animation rig, which was meant to be in the EAH style, and I got the idea to make the whole project puppet-animated EAH style. My struggle with making Brooke should've been enough to warn me that was a poor idea, but I still spent a year trying to make that happen. I didn't get very far, and by the end of that year, I stopped working on the project.

Eventually, at the start of this year, I decided to pick it back up again with a new goal in mind. I wouldn't be lazy, but I'd also make sure to not spend too much effort to the point of burnout. I would animate using puppets, but it would be in my artstyle, not someone else's. I intend to get this done, and I can't wait to show you guys the final video! Also here's some bits of "development" (if you could call that) behind the animation.

This is my oc Allison in the 3 different versions of the EAH rig, each labeled accordingly.

This is the final base rig, which can turn a full 360 degrees and has decent expression capabilities. The only characters ever put onto this rig were Apple, Allison, and Brooke, because the amount of effort it took for each character's details was too much. Apple alone was a nightmare to rig because of all the layers in her hair, and expressions only worked from the front.

[cossmoluck]

FINALLY finished this

turns out soon means one week+ in my little lizard brain, that's cool

anyways!!! meg

megalo don content,,, food

also, as a treat for making myself take so much to finish this, some of my AU lore rambling thing under the cut (warning, pretty long)

in my design, most of his exterior Nitro armor is removable, being an extension of the augument inside his body, which pumps Nitro both through his lungs and bloodstream, crossing from front to back through his torso. His tubes would be attached to certain openings around his body, which could also have 'lids' put on for safe closing. Every area where the Nitro pumps directly into his body would have 'Nitro burn'- a less proeminent glow than the one in his fueled up form. I, as many others also do, like to think that his mask actually comes off (I haven't drawn him unmaksed yet, but I'll get to that too eventually). One headcanon I have is that when you take his medallion in game, what you take is actually his mask and use it.

For his body I went for a slightly leaner strongman build, as he doesn't seem way too bulky in his non-fueled form, but he's still considerably bigger than most others. I tried to give him a 'scarred shark' look, and gave him burn scars on one arm from a misfiring Nitro Fist hit accident

also his hair look so so fluffy in game and for WHAT

(note, this is all to be taken as an AU. i am by no means well versed enough in Fortnite lore to make something close to canon or actual on point headcanons lol,,, tl;dr at the bottom!!)

i feel like the whole theory with Meg and big chuggus being somehow related is true, but not necessarily in the way others present it usually i don't think they're snapshots of each other in any way, i just think that they've been basically created 'for the same purpose', maybe in the different 'realities?' I'm not 100% sure how the zero point reset worked considering Midas was technically the same and all

so let's say Chaos had created the Slurp legends and Slurp creatures back during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict i like to think that Meg might have been created sometime during then too- a more refined variant of the technology used on big chuggus, enough for him not to end up as brain dead as big chuggus himself (sorry big chuggus)

Megalo Don could have been a fleet leader for the naval forces, as he has an overall very reoccurring military theme with his insignia and stuff. Maybe he was hired by Chaos to aid him and willingly allowing Chaos to modify him into the 'perfect leader', boosted by slurp into near perfection I believe his Oasis style would be what his 'original' look was, with Slurp coursing through his pumps instead of Nitro

so how did he turn into the Meg we know? during the GHOST/SHADOW conflict, his crew got destroyed, probably, and they somehow ended up punished to the Pandora's Box, but not dead like Midas, just punished there I like to think that there is not only one Pandora's Box, technically, and that they're basically some sort of even higher security 'prison' for things deemed disasters under certain circumstances, putting mortal beings into their own personal hell. The ones imprisoned in the Pandora's Box arent necessarily 'dead', like shade Midas in the Underworld, but they're not alive in the full sense either. This particular Nitro filled Pandora's Box sprouted there, leaving behind veins of pure Nitro in the depths of the earth through which the Box had erupted.

in the Pandora's Box, stuck in an infinite purgatory loop of fighting and dying, the slurp that fueled his crew quite literally rotted into Nitro, and Megalo Don himself basically 'rusted' from the rot. The Nitro, essence of death, in a way, compared to Slurp, slowly and surely altered Meg's brain, turning him from a calculated leader into a terrifying tyrant, with nihilistic views regarding his crew and conquest, as he saw them all die over and over again… Another case of 'rotten' slurp beings being Sludge, maybe, as he could perhaps be read as a Slurp creature gone 'bad' (slurp to nitro)

Meg's mind got clouded with the only thing he could comprehend anymore- Nitro coursing through his veins, through his ship, through anything in the living hell he experienced in the Pandora's Box. (Ultrakill flesh prison sounding aah) Obtained by conquest or murder, with destruction being the only method he could even comprehend using to get it, his very life seeming to depend on Nitro at that point, and being released into the world again brought him bo purpose than to seize back all of his Nitro and keep fighting more and more

after he and his crew escaped from the Pandora's Box, Meg had intercepted a boat droning the Island from SHADOW, which had went to scout out Helios after Midas' escape from The Underworld, unaware of the Pandora's Box opening right then, and getting caught in the sandstorm. Meg had just the luck to capture Chaos (or a snapshot), the very man who had taken away his humanity and turned him into a (now) Nitro-fueled beast. From them he also took the island plans, which helped his crew settle in as fast as they did, the Redline Rig digging for Nitro the very moment they got there and the Nitrodrome building itself over the abandoned Fencing Fields, repurposing the fizz machinery there into the dome's car destruction traps

i also like to think that Meg has a father/daughters bond with Scarr and the Machinist, with the Machinist maybe being one of the original scientists on Chaos' team, whom had helped him stabilize his new equipment at the time, and Scarr being a dedicated member of his fleet since before getting banished into the Pandora's Box. Initially, both Scarr and the Machinist would have admired him for his courageous leadership and respected him as a leader, but through their decline in the Pandora's Box, their found family bond only strengthened, with the two of them being probably his only subordinates he actually cares about

i also like to imagine that he had made most of the transmissions particularly silly in hopes of having them tune in on either patrol or at the Nitrodrome and make them laugh with the over the top commentary

tl;dr: i headcanon megalo don as an ex-slurp legend made by Chaos who had rotted to nitro in the Pandora's Box. His Oasis style is what he looked like pre-Box. Also the Mechanist and Ringmaster Scarr are his found family daughters

[mo-the-gremlin-dandelion]

Goth Family

Happy Coradrag AU Masterlist

I have a notebook that I write down chapter ideas in. One of them was about the Goth Family. I was just thinking of ideas for other crack ships/families. There isn't really much for Mihawk/Moria, so I decided to include them.

I decided to share the notes I have for that chapter after seeing this post: here

Honestly didn't think anyone would be into this pairing due to the lack of fics.

So Mihawk and Moria divorce and everybody finds out through the newspaper. They were both warlords when they officially divorced.

As for why they divorced, I have a few ideas:

Before Kaido:

There is a lack of communication.

Most people see Moria as a joke (probably why he tried to fight Kaido - I haven't read Moria's wiki page yet, sorry if that's not the canon reason) and Mihawk as a very serious man.

So maybe Moria thinks Mihawk sees him as a joke too. So he tells him he is going to fight Kaido and Mihawk says "Hey maybe don't do that - it's a stupid idea"

After hearing that he thinks it confirms that Mihawk sees him not only as a joke, but as a weakling too.

Mihawk doesn't think that. He finds Moria weird and goofy but it's endearing. Doesn't tell Moria any of this though because he thinks Moria already knows all this. Basically, Mihawk's love language is Acts of Service in small meaningful gestures but Moria is oblivious to everything he does for him.

So they split and Moria goes to fight Kaido to prove himself, but fails.

Mohawk is pissed he went anyways, devastated when he hears Moria lost and thinks he is dead. Is pissed again when he finds out Moria is alive (maybe finds out at a warlord meeting).

So they fight and that's how the newspaper finds out about the divorce.

They either fought in front of the other warlords or in an empty hallway with cadets overhearing.

After Kaido:

So Moria goes to fight Kaido, loses, but they still stay together.

But:

Mihawk doesn't like the zombies; finds it too crowded and he finds Hogback disturbing/annoying. Would also like some non-contaminated soil for gardening.

After the Kaido incident and Moria becomes a shut in, he tries to limit how much Mihawk can leave or stops him from leaving altogether. Mihawk leaves him so he can have some freedom.

Different parenting styles. Mihawk thinks Moria is too lenient/spoils the kids and over protective. Moria thinks Mihawk is too strict with chores and training. Mihawk just wants the kids to know how to take care of themselves and defend themselves.

They divorce over something stupidly petty. Like not washing the dishes or something.

Or Mihawk is just sick of trying get Moria to take care of himself.

So after Mihawk leaves him, Moria lets himself go because he doesn't have someone to keep him on a schedule and he doesn't trust anyone anymore.

This also makes Perona and Zoro children of divorce. They go every couple of weeks to the other dad's house. Mihawk just drops them off and picks them up in his little coffin boat.

When the Straw Hats get to Thriller Bark, Zoro either doesn't explain anything until he absolutely has too, someone (Perona) recognizes him, or upon arriving:

-

Zoro: Shit, this is my dad's ship.

Usopp or Sanji: I thought Mihawk was your dad?

Zoro: He is, this is my other dad's ship.

Luffy: Oh! Like me!

Zoro: Yeah, but mine are divorced.

Robin: Ah, that makes a lot of sense as to why you're so feral.

-

Do they get back together? I haven't decided yet. But:

Zoro still met Kuina. I may or may not change the timeline of that to fit it into the story better.

Mihawk adopts Zoro after Kuina's death. Zoro was lost in the woods or something.

Moria had already adopted Perona before this.

When Zoro is 17, he is dropped off in the East Blue by Mihawk. This was another arguement between Moria and him. Moria wanted to wait until never - he's afraid of the kids dying due to what happened with Kaido.

Unfortunately for Moria, his son is determined, directionally challenged, and has a death wish. So there isn't much Moria can do to stop him.

Mihawk still fights Zoro with his butter knife necklace - just doesn't try to kill him.

[jesuisfinni]

New designs and new NPCs!

Individual bits of character info under the cut for those interested!

Garren got some new non-combat clothes, hooray! Haven't drawn his new armour yet but I'll get there. And yes, the bandages are in fact there because he was shanked in the gut during his time as a Shadow Theives prisoner;

(Also, Ruby is one of the heads of the underground rebel group helping the teiflings, she gave everyone new clothes after they were rescued if they needed them)

Ezra went through a multiclass into Sorcerer, unknowingly due to a gold dragon ancestor on his dad's side. He also got some new clothes from his adoptive sister after she threw up on his old ones, definitely not the worst wake up they've had if you ignore the corpse of Thorin they slept next to but let's not get into that but unpleasant all the same;

(Ezra's is the only one that's a proper drawing cuz I was starting to forget how to do anything other than the 'doodle style' mockups lol)

The sister in question, Annabell! Most people just call her Bell though, she's a huge part of Ezra's story pre-campaign and I love her so much, she just the right amount of absolute bitch and hopelessly clingy, to the point where she's currently going a bit crazy with how much shit is going on and how little she feels she has control over, she may or may not also be the reason behind her and her brother waking up next to their fathers dead body. She just wants her family back together and to stay together man;

(And yes I drew this literally ages ago but only coloured it like a week ago so I figured I'd finally post it)

And finally we have Thorin... oh boy Thorin... he's been done so dirty since the party made it back to Crimmor. He's been left to rot for months, briefly rescued and reunited with his kids (Bell and Ezra) only to be brutally murdered in front of them while trying to help people escape a raid of their underground safe house, a short lived part in the campaign but pivotal to say the least;

(I already miss him so much, I am distraught over and over whenever I think about him, hope your happy DM 🥲🤌)

Thanks for taking the time to read through all my rambling lol, if you're curious about anything else to do with the characters or campaign ask away, I love talking about them and don't shut up about it irl.

[mayonnaisetacos]

Gene Takavic: His Purpose

If it isn't obvious: SPOILERS I haven't seen a lot of people talk about their theories about what Gene truly represents- so, I figured I'd do it.

Gene's journey throughout the show is extremely easy to overlook, especially in sight of his relapse into con-artistry. It can almost come across as silly side missions- or even out of place- to the naked eye.

A Fresh Run-Away

In black and white, we see him have a mundane life for a few months, working as a Cinnabon manager at the Omaha mall; Day in and day out, a lack of vibrant expression, no friends- nor partner- all while fearing to be found out. In short: Anxiety ridden and yet- bored. Every day looking like the last, blending within one another, just to come home everyday to a drink and some television, where his ads no longer run. Until he pulls out his tapes. Its important to note here that he is giving into this colorless life not in the name of redemption, but rather because of the risk to be confronted by authorities. If he had no risk of his ability- or freedom- of committing crimes being taken away, he would not put any effort into remaining straight and proper in the first place. The only reason he relapses into the chaotic life style of which he craves is because of points I mention later into this post. But to keep it simple here, he gains an illusion of control that gives him the confidence to pursue his colorful lifestyle. We can only assume that he keeps this shell-of-a-life behavior up for a few months before giving into the world of crime again, since he only lives as Gene for about eight, before inevitably getting caught.

Craving Color

It's not long enough 'til we see our hopes and dreams for Jimmy crushed in front of our eyes. As we were all watching his Gene life unfold, I think it's safe to say we all wanted to see him reflect and learn from his prior life's mistakes within his new, isolated world. Or, at least, we unanimously wanted an increasingly self-aware Jimmy being revealed to us from this point on. However, things take a turn once Jimmy's real identity gets exposed by a particular character: Jeff. From here until the end of Gene's run, He is seen plotting heists, and later on, much more sinister scams with Jeff and Buddy. Shortly before this, we watch a scene where Gene confronts Jeff at his house by his shed right after befriending his mother, Marion, talking about "The Game" and how he has "a way into The Game", which he knows Jeff wants in on. To me, I immediately saw this as an attempt to regain power. Not only was he holding threat over Jeff's head by now knowing Marion and her son's criminal past, but also painting himself to be the con-artist mastermind he has been prior to this, but is later shown to not hold that rank as effortlessly anymore. Rather, this is his desperate attempt at regaining the control and presence he once felt as Slippin' Jimmy and Saul Goodman within the limits he very much deserved. He was once respected effortlessly by the people who saw him and agreed with his truth- whether or not it was morally sound. Back then, he didn't have to hold power over people's heads. Since his real identity now is under threat, he had to go to further lengths, threatening and demanding a random person to abide by his rules and desires in order live through them for his selfish desires, which he never had to do in his prior lives.

He established a system for the intention of power and control as I stated above- which felt very forced the way I saw it- as well as having no close and trusted individual to do his conning with light-heartedly, like he did with Marco and Kim.

Through Gene's limitations, we watch him play the impossible game of attempting to revive the past in a much darker way while also being in denial of any accountability, as well as denial of being in a sticky situation.

Purpose of arrogance...?

Through the adventure of Gene living a mellow life, to him grasping at an opportunity for an air of which he misses so desperately, it's safe to say: We heavily witnessed him going through the first 3 stages of grief- Shock, Denial and Anger- which I think is critical to go over in order to fully understand the weight and message behind his relapse into a dark lifestyle.

Here is where I think we can find most of each stage:

Shock: His early life into Gene, living as boring as possible. Laying low, feeling detached, as if to merely be a shell of a human for months. Denial: The meat of the story behind Gene's actions- a grasp for opportunity through Jeff, the attempt to dive back into the life of a con-artist only much colder and sinister this time, not in true Saul Goodman or Slippin' Jimmy nature. Desperately trying to live up to his prior names despite everything still remaining in black and white, showing it's not as fulfilling as the life he once lived. Anger: We see this mostly during the call with Kim, and right after she hangs up. Kim carried the truth with her and made it clear to Gene, which he felt triggered by, since he wanted to stay comfortable in his bubble of arrogance. We also see this on and off during his attempt to live within his old life again, taking it out in little ways onto Jeff whenever he showed apprehension.

Through Gene's tougher relapse into criminal ways despite everything he's caused, and showcasing the first three stages of grief as this persona, I believe it was made to convey to the audience how difficult it would have been for him to acknowledge the truth, to stop chasing a high- to finally make peace with the negative impact he had on the lives he's touched- Without external forces. The biggest one of course, being Kim. Gene's deeper plunge into crime shows the audience that he wouldn't have made any effort into becoming a better person on his own accord, which sends the message: He would have been changed beyond repair otherwise. It shows that Jimmy's character revolves sensitively around love and acceptance.

I really loved analyzing Gene's character, and why he gave into the criminal life once more. When I was introduced to Gene, I felt very confused as to why he was acting the way he was, or why he was even shown for Saul's (as I knew him at the time being a new viewer and all) character development. It further confused me when he was exhibiting opposite to what I hoped for in terms of Jimmy's well-being and evolution. It's so jarring seeing how dark Jimmy was willing to go as Gene- drugging multiple people, and almost killing a man that reminded him of Walter White- which made Gene feel justified in his actions towards him.

It's amazing how each of Jimmy's personas have a deep purpose, being important on their own and in the bigger picture later on into his redemption arc.

If you're curious where I'd place the other 4 stages of grief for Jimmy- since I'm basing this off of the 7 stages of grief:

Bargaining: When he's, well, trying to bargain the least years in prison.

Depression: Once he learns Kim confessed to everything, and continues shortly in court when he monitors her expression during his trial, choosing to confess to everything.

Testing: Once he gets into his prison life, one we see much less of.

Acceptance: When he's finally able to have a connection with Kim again, and onward.

Of course, it's definitely not as cut and dry as I'm painting it to be. They 100% blend into each other and I'm sure in prison he will keep going between all stages of grief many times over as any complex human would.

Let me know your thoughts, and if there's any typos no there isn't <3 ~Fini