#Over two years of development + completely new designs

[ursidanger]

Nothing compares to the bond shared between a loyal henchman and their boss

(Indago created by @fabba-banna; Juniper created by me)

[foone]

Re: the Fagot anti-tank rocket, it reminds me of my favorite story of Soviet weapon design.

So, the Nazis were working in infrared homing missiles during WW2 but never completed any by the time the war ended (though they got close).

The Americans collected a lot of information on these systems, through spies and Operation Paperclip, and started work on their own guided air-to-air missile: the AIM-9 Sidewinder.

They worked on it from 1946 to 1955, when it was operationally complete and authorized for mass production.

The first time they got used was the Second Taiwan Strait Crisis, in 1958. The Taiwanese air force was flying American F-86 Sabres, vs China's MiG-17s. The MiG-17 outclassed the F-86s, flying over them so high the Sabres couldn't hope to hit them, and then they could swoop down and attack when they had the advantage.

So the US decided to help out: they secretly helped Taiwan modify their F-86s with the new heat seeking missile, and provided something like a dozen of the missiles to use again the MiG-17s.

On the 24th of September, the F-86s engaged the MiG-17s with the new missiles, surprising them with the ability to attack when the MiG-17s were supposedly outside the operational range of the F-86s, shooting some planes down. This was the first use of guided air to air missiles in combat.

Four days later, there was another skirmish, and an F-86 shot an AIM-9 Sidewinder into a MiG-17... And it didn't explode.

The MiG-17 made it back to base, with the groundbreaking new missile type never before seen in the history of warfare, and it was mostly intact. The Soviets convinced the Chinese to send them the missile, and within two years they had developed the Vympel K-13: a clone of the AIM-9 Sidewinder.

The US took the best of Nazi scientists weapon development, then spent over a decade developing a never before seen super-weapon that would change air combat forever... And one of the first DOZEN fired ended up embedded in plane, unexplored, and then delivered to their greatest enemy.

They might as well just have mailed the schematics to the Kremlin. And I think that's hilarious.

[junosmindpalace]

May I request Senku developing a crush on his childhood friend after the petrification? fem!reader if possible (if not gn!reader is completely fine)

hope you have a good day :)

Something is different. 

Senku isn’t referring to his environment, which is so far removed from everything he used to know and love. Instead of brick buildings and concrete pavements, there is seemingly never ending forestry, green and gravel beneath the heels of his makeshift shoes. 

It isn’t Senku’s clothing, which is only some thin tattered animals skins that he had spent days working to hunt down the material for, then skin, then tan, and then stitch together with whatever he could to make the haphazard, ugly garment he wears on the regular to provide him with whatever kind of protection from the elements he can with the resources available to him. It’s a stark contrast to the color he used to wear long ago. 

It isn’t even the new friends (and enemies) he’s made since freeing himself from his petrified state. A whole village of people, now, who look toward him for guidance and instruction, upon him with admiration and reverence. People who help him against the newfound stakes, newfound work, newfound responsibilities that haven’t in the slightest been easy to take on. 

Something is different, and amongst nearly everything in his life becoming dirt and dust nearly overnight, Senku is referring to something different about you. 

But he isn’t referring to the environment he’s used to seeing you in, a school setting, perhaps a park, maybe his own room. There’s no new observation to make about a change in your room or a decoration in your locker, because like him, those things are long gone. 

It isn’t your appearance, a similar reflection of your new environments and state of the world. Random pieces of tanned skin poorly stitched into something that resembled clothing, a Frankenstien’s monster of a garment. More simple and plain assuming compared to the various designs and fabrics you wore way back when you’d spend time on an experiment with Senku. He watched you mature from one phase of your life into the next, and this was no different.

It wasn’t even the new people you surround yourself with, found comfort within. It wasn’t listening to their stories, the things that made these people, so far removed from your time, human. It wasn’t the small, pleasant things that he knew grounded you when you got too caught up in your head, the new habits you made out of retrieving materials, crafting things to keep your hands (and mind) busy, new skills you learned (or were forced to learn) and previous skills you learned to develop.

But for the life of him, Senku cannot figure out what it is that’s different. He drives himself a little further mad each time he looks on at you. There’s something in his mind, almost like an itch, that intrusively takes hold on the rest of his senses when there’s a moment between the two of you, whether it’s a quiet one, whether it’s one of shared excitement or mutual understanding. There’s a warmth and a chill that wash over him at the same time when your gaze settles on him a little too intensely, or when you say something wise and agreeable. There is something he’s missing, and he can’t figure out what. 

Maybe it’s your laugh that’s different, though Senku doesn’t know why that would be a thing of prominent notice, or notice at all. It’s a little rougher, and at times with a little less heart than he’s accustomed to after so many years of hearing it bright and enthusiastic. But it’s still kind, and most of all, genuine. Perhaps something about that makes it distinguishable from another. 

Or perhaps it was your new approach to, your new outlook on, life. No, perhaps it was the way you applied your already existing approaches and outlooks to your new, unique circumstances. To help cope, to help others, to help him. 

It was something different, Senku was sure of it. However, he hasn’t had much time to linger on what could possibly be the source of such…irritation, for very long. 

Perhaps a more irritating point was the fact that Senku could hardly place a time when he first observed this difference. 

At the very least, he could estimate it to be sometime after the both of you emerged from the stone. 

The simplest solution, perhaps, could be for him to just ask you directly. It’s the easiest way to confirm or deny hypotheses’. He would ask if you had gotten haircuts in the past, ask if you had gotten any sleep after noticing prominent circles under your eyes and sluggish movements. This was no different.

But when Senku finds himself hesitating on an evening when the two of you are working in the lab together, Senku thinks that maybe this is the different thing. For some reason, he’s slower to communicating such personal things, despite it being nothing more than simple, casual and menial conversation. 

You’ve had hundreds of conversations about a million different things over the years, from careers you aspire to pursue in earnest to the more daunting topics about love and loss. He’s seen every side of you, good and ugly, he’s heard every side of you. Every insecurity, every point of pride, about every friend who’s come and gone and stayed behind; and in a more Senku like fashion, you’ve heard the same from him, in that straightforward and logical way of communicating that you’ve always been able to see through from the wavers in his voice to the passionate glints in his eyes. 

But something is different. Something has been different. 

Yet the two of you work away in the lab as if it were any other evening, the twinkling stars in the sky he admires so much hidden away by the walls and bamboo roof. It’s what you’ve been doing since you’ve established some sort of lab to work out of ever since the petrification. Senku has felt quite disturbed by this difference of yours, but at the very least, he finds it comforting that it doesn’t affect this routine that the two of you established early on in your relationship. The content, collaborative efforts the two of you put in to create something satisfying, worthwhile; exciting. 

It’s what he’s always felt with you in your relationship. Thrill to indulge in something he’s passionate about together, thrill to create something with you, thrill to be with you--

Senku pauses his work for a moment. He shifts his gaze from the notes in front of him to where you stand just down the opposite end of the table, completely enamored with the tests you were performing. 

Something is different. He thinks, at that moment, that he’s almost figured out what. 

But the realization he was about to reach disappears from him suddenly, and he can’t seem to become conscious of the conclusion when he stares at you. He tries desperately to recall it, reach for it in his mind, through a frantic look at your features. The warm light against your skin, the gentle movement of your hands, the concentrated furrow of your brows. 

His heart feels like it might burst out of frustration the more he looks at you, and he forces himself to turn away. It’s there, it was there!

(And it still was.)

He’ll figure it out eventually.

[route-to-eutopia-if]

Route to Eutopia - New WIP IF

DEMO(28K) I CHARACTER DOSSIERS I PLAYLIST (TBA)

You have one year left to live.

But are you afraid of dying? Probably not. Since you don’t even know how to live your life. You have been hidden away from public eye since young. And the only friend you have is an Alter, humanoid species born to only serve other people and nothing else. Alters live so ‘people like you’ could live.

That makes the two of you. Alive. But never here. Never lived.

If opportunities arise, would you take a chance to change it? Only you can answer.

In a world where feeling nothing at all is better than letting your emotions rule over you, your choice to break those rules and make a change will paint a new shade of history that no one ever could. 

Hidden behind shut doors to live your quiet life as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, Sole Leader of Eutopia paradise, you never experience anything except for repeating the same old routine your entire life. You are the existence which should not be known, not just for the reason that you are the byproduct of your father and his secret lover. But also because of your frightening ‘Alter-like’ eye color, most of it is silver like any Stargaze–but nevertheless… tinted shamefully by crimson streaks.

You are told to stay away from public eyes for the sake of Palmer’s reputation in which you feel obliged to. However, your life of peaceful solitude will never be the same again after tonight…

Route to Eutopia is a violent dystopian loosely-conceptual interactive story where you are a bystander surrounded by The Chosen One of your own choice. You are to designate whether this story will head towards the direction of mutual peace between Alters– a human-like species believed to be plagued by uncured disease since birth– and Stargazers —a group of survivors whose ancestors once lived on a faraway planet before an inevitable disaster occurred and forced them to flee into another dimension, or towards a doom fate that cannot be reversible.

To be noted; RtE is a heavily-relationship based game (not necessarily in platonic/romantic sense) each of your interactions with any character will determine the tone and purpose of their motivation. Any choice you have chosen, make sure to embrace the consequences of your action at your own expense.

With that being said, it is also worth mentioning that you don’t need to engage into a romance or specific relationship with any character to complete the story.

RtE also rated 18+ for strong language, suggestive contents, disturbing topics such as racism, sexism, discrimination against queer people, explicit descriptions of violence, murders, drug use and sexual behaviors of certain characters with optional intercourse scenes.

Setting

RtE takes place in a post-apocalypse society where the concept of time is lost and any history known was only speculations at best and rumour at worst. Trying to maintain their sense of utopia, Stargazers built and operated their space colony as a temporary base for self-preservation (in which only fews know details about) called ‘Eutopia’. 

In this dystopian paradise people’s sole purpose of living was fixated on surviving. And in order to do that, the whole population creates a solid ground rule not to let themselves ‘feel’ about other emotions that do not serve for public favors. Hence, you will be challenged to adapt to several situations and handpick the best flavor of your actions based on the emotions you have learnt or developed from your surroundings.

Who do you play as?

For now, you will be playing as a secret child of Bastien Palmer, the leader of Stargazers who already has a wife and two other perfect children, your younger sister and brother. Ones you have never interacted with nor you ever get the chance to.

MCs subjectively considered a white sheet which you can paint anything on by your preferences. Explore the world full of colorful emotions or bottomless pit of numbness by your own choices. 

But remember, Eutopia is a place where everything goes according to one simple rule ‘To survive’ hence the marriage between a man and woman will be set as the norm and only truth, and someone who will state otherwise must face and suffer the ugliness of social standards accordingly. However, I do not encourage any transphobic/homophobic behavior of the characters in this story. Please kindly be assured of that.

There might be a chance where you can start off as other characters, that is, however, still a subject-to-change matter as of now.

Introduction to the Chosen Ones [ ROs]

**Please be aware of mild spoilers below**

Vegaris (M/F) 19 Star-crossed lovers or Nemesis route, The Rebel.

They would do anything to survive, even if it means to betray the only person who trusts them deeply… like you.

Vegaris is an Alter who has so many sides hidden behind closed doors. Unpredictable, cunning, hot and cold are the words that describe them best. Due to their traumatic childhood (much like other Alters on Eutopia), they have a deep-root hatred for Stargazers. Although they were brought in by your family and treated almost the same as one of your father’s own kids. They still witness the unfairness of being an Alter in society and never afraid to point the wrong in other people’s doings. 

Their usual mask, however, is one where you cannot crack open that easily. They always remain calm and composed in front of you, and only show their fangs when circumstances arise.

Dana/Darren Regency (M/F) 22 Childhood friends, Forbidden route, The Face.

For a person who seems to be easy to read as much as an open-book, they sure talk with silence better than with their own voice.

A poster girl/boy for Regency Academy. Your former childhood friend (for some unknown reason, they're trying their hardest to avoid you) and an only child to the Head of Deans at Regency, Sandalphon. They are the precise image of how one should raise a Stargazer. Being a honor student. A model citizen. And a perfect ideal partner. They are assigned to be married with the most capable genetic-wise fiancé. As popular as they appear to be to the public, their private life (as private as it can be) is still a gigantic loophole for most imprudent reporters trying to catch even just a glimpse.

It seems like what they are trying to avoid is not just you, but the entirety of Eutopia.

Sandalphon Regency (M/F) 40 Age-difference, Single-parent route, The Pacifist.

Do you believe in something just because it's true, or it becomes the truth only when you believe in it?

Sandalphon is the most powerful influence among the deans of Regency. A group of people that has control over governing matters even beyond that of Bastien Palmer, the President. For Sandal, they are anything and everything people could ever ask for in a Regency. Kind, generous, well-versed with every branch of knowledge in the universe. Never wrong in anything. And never judge anyone based on their bias.

If only people knew the truth, they’d probably beg to differ.

Maybe they are just good at hiding beneath that gentle facade, maybe a calculated mind with strings to pull works best with neutral suggestions... who knows?

One more hidden character will be revealed in the demo, Into the Madness route, The Savior.

[ Classified info. ]

**There will be two sub ROs and flings to be introduced later in the story.**

More info will be announced.

Demo 1st update : 24/01/2024 Chapter 1 (28k codes excluded)

Datalog is completed roughly til the end of the story. Coding and polishing will certainly take time. Any more updates will be announced solely on this blog.

Reblogging is appreciated. Thank you!

[albontology]

it goes without explanation with zhou's new helmet is dope as hell. i will provide explanation anyways.

(above, zhou's helmet design as posted to the KV design twitter)

the central design on zhou's helmet is almost certainly inspired by the traditional craft of mother-of-pearl inlay in lacquerware, a practice which originated in China over 6 thousand years ago, and which has been developed and practiced in discrete forms historically in Korea and Japan alike. (continued under the cut!)

(on the left, a korean (goryeo dynasty) lacquerware stationery box; on the right, a chinese (song dynasty) lacquerware lidded bowl for cosmetics or incense. both photos via the met museum website)

traditionally, lacquerware is created through the refinement of a toxic plant sap into a naturally deep and glossy adhesive coat that is built up and polished often on top of wooden furniture and decorative items, such as chests and jewelry boxes. in the above examples, you can see two types of lacquerware practice.

on the left is mother-of-pearl inlay, which is created through the careful grinding down of tortoise or abalone shell into thin iridescent sheets which are then carefully cut into shape and imbedded into the coats of dark lacquer, being repeatedly covered and then polished down in the lacquer until the shiny shell surface is level with its surroundings. it's both visually stunning and incredibly labor-intensive: for a case like this, there would have been separate artisans making the wooden base box, making the metalware (hinges and clasps) for the box, applying the base layers of lacquer, and then completing the inlay itself.

on the right is (what i understand to be) a predominantly chinese lacquer practice, which is carving into the layers of lacquer to form images in relief. while this practice is not replicated on zhou's helmet, the image selected does display the pattern of the peony flower, which i believe to be the flower depicted in the inlay! the striations of the central petals seem to match zhou's. of course, this is speculative and only based off an amateur's eye, especially considering the motif of scrolling foliage is fairly ubiquitous and somewhat generic in east asian decorative art.

(on the left, zhou's 2024 helmet (detail). on the right, a detail image of a korean chest decorated with mother-of-pearl. zhou's helmet via twitter, right image via the met museum website)

the 'metallic' or 'holographic' effect a lot of people have recognized is a natural property of polished mother-of-pearl: look at the iridescence of the design! while it has been exaggerated to some extent on zhou's helmet (for good effect, i must say), you can clearly see the inspiration when compared side-by-side with a more predominantly mother-of-pearl composition: the variegation between blues, greens, and warmer peachy-reds is mesmerizing.

i really want to drive home how brilliant of a design this is and give the due appreciation to KV Design, who made this helmet for zhou. clearly a lot of thought and creativity went into it, and I can't wait to see it in action. >:D

[moiraimyths]

Howdy, fateful friends! Are you an artist or illustrator with an interest in visual novels?

If so: Moirai Myths, creators of the visual novel The Good People (Na Daoine Maithe), are in need of guest artists! More specifically, we're looking for up to two artists to help us with the content graphics ("CGs") for Maeve and Shae's upcoming routes. All of the details will be listed on our application form (linked below), but here is the gist:

This is paid work with 20-30 business day deadlines per piece!

Complicated revisions in the post-sketch phase are compensated!

You will be prioritized for future guest artist opportunities!

You will be featured/credited on Moirai Myths' website and in the game itself!

Sound interesting? If so, apply here:

Click under the cut for some F&Q 👇

Who are you? (I'm new here!)

Hi! We're Moirai Myths: a small, newish visual novel company based out of Canada. We're making a game inspired by mostly Irish mythology, which was funded on Kickstarter in 2023! Our game's got fairy politics, a diverse cast, a Gaeilge-to-English translation tool, and routes that can be played either romantically or platonically! Also horses. An ungodly amount of horses, really.

If that odd pitch sounded intriguing, perhaps you'd like to play our demo! It's free on Steam & Itch.io.

Why are you looking for guest artists?

When we originally launched our Kickstarter, the plan was to have our three in-house artists collaborate on the CGs in the same way our header image was. However, we quickly realized that adding CGs, even if they're done collaboratively, onto the existing duties of our artists was a tall order. Add to that the departure of our original sprite artist (who has since been replaced by our graphic designer), and we determined that having our in-house team work on CGs was simply not possible if we still wanted our first release to happen in 2024. So, rather than omitting CGs or adding them in at a later time, we came up with the idea of hiring guest artists. Overall this means our CGs will be a bit more varied in terms of art style, but we like to think of this as a positive! NDM's development will take a number of years to complete in full, so we hope our CGs will allow us to feature a lot of artists either within the VN/indie dev community already, or artists who aspire to work in gaming and are looking for entry positions.

How long will applications remain open for?

This application will be open until Sunday, March 24 at midnight (EST)! If we intend to extend past that deadline, we'll make an announcement about it.

I can't apply right now. Will you look for more CG guest artists in the future?

Definitely! As mentioned, NDM will take a while to develop in full, so this is by no means your only opportunity to apply. That being said, we suspect we're going to end up shortlisting a number of artists over the course of this application period, and we intend to keep a list of all the runners-up. So, even if you won't be able to participate this time, it might be a good idea to apply anyway just to remain in our contacts! Either way, this will not be the last time we have apps.

Will you be looking for guest artists outside of CGs?

Maybe! We already have two guest artists (Nefukurou and Madi Funk) working on sprites and CGs respectively, so it's always possible that we'll have other artistic needs later down the line. Likewise, we may also reach out to past guest artists for future work with us, whether it's on this game or something else!

You say we need to sign an NDA. What does that entail?

The non-disclosure agreement essentially means you will be legally unable to publicly disclose any confidential information you become privy to as a result of working with us. This would include personal information about the developers, as well as spoilers from the game itself. In addition do this, you will be expected to sign over the IP and copyright of any artworks you produce for us.

Can I still use my artworks in portfolios, even if I don't own the copyright?

Yes! We'd only ask, if your portfolio is a website, that you wait to do so until after your art has been made public by us, either on our social media or via the publication of the game. Our first release is anticipated to happen later this year, most likely mid-autumn.

How do you guys feel about AI? Do you intend to use it, or would you ever train an AI off of the artworks whose copyright you own?

No.

Making a game is expensive and time-consuming, but AI is no replacement for human artistry. We fundamentally believe that any advancements in AI should be used for the purpose of giving people more time to make art, not take away opportunities for it. Moirai Myths will never, ever use AI or train an AI off your work.

***

If you've got any more questions for us that we didn't think to include here, feel free to send us an ask!

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you have any solo ttrpgs that deal with like being a bodyguard or someone's knight? It's something I've had rattling around in my head for a while

Theme: Solo Knights

Hello friend, no luck in the bodyguard department but I sure do have some knight games! Let’s take a look.

Frog Errant, by ManaDawn Tabletop Games.

It’s a deadly and brutal world out there, and it is not too friendly for a lone frog. But if you embrace your quest and heed the omens, you may just be able to make a name for yourself. And if you wander long and far enough, you may be remembered in the songs of both frogs and mice.

Frog Errant is a solo, or GMless, game mode for Mausritter or other Into the Odd based games. In Frog Errant you will take up the role of a wandering frog knight-errant, seeking adventure, looking to fulfill a Quest - all while avoiding you prophesied Doom.

If you are familiar with Mausritter, then this game will be pretty easy to pick up. The game builds in some story that isn’t present in Mausritter - primarily the Quest that has been given to your frog knight, as well as a Doom that has been prophesied to overcome you. It looks like you can use a lot of the items and monsters from Mausritter, but Frog Errant has plenty of new pieces too!

Misericorde, by Andrew White.

Misericorde is a game of knightly romance, pining, unrequited love and confronting the expected behaviours of your social class. You play as a squire serving under a knight on a great quest, without your assistance they surely will fail and yet, as a squire you are obligated to remain in the background, forgotten and not commented on. However, you have developed feelings, perhaps unrequited, for your knight. The actions of the game focus on this struggle, between your Duty and your Desire. Will you hold back, hew to your duty and rank; or will you break free and open your heart, no matter how your beloved may respond.

You’re not exactly a knight in this game, but rather a squire to one. Misericorde is completely unlike the other games on this list because it focuses on devotion and desire, rather than the actions that a forsworn duty drives a Knight to do. You play the game by setting up scenes, asking questions, and rolling dice on an Oracle to figure out what happens next. This is an interpretive game, so while the Oracle will point you in a direction, you determine what exactly each result means.

Chalice, by Monkey’s Paw Games.

Chalice is a solo journaling role-playing game where you chronicle the perilous journey of a Grail-seeking knight in Arthurian England. During the game, you will tell the story of your Knight’s physical and spiritual descent as they quest for, and ultimately fail to find, the Grail. Your Knight’s quest is doomed. Their chivalric virtues will be surely undone by their fatal flaws and moral shortcomings.

This looks like the most immersive game for Arthurian mythology as a solo game. The game itself is designed to look like a manuscript from medieval times, calligraphy and all. Your Knight has benefits called Passions, key relationships called Bindings, and a fate determined by drawing cards from a tarot deck. Throughout the game, you will draw more cards that serve as prompts, which will give or strike through your Passions and Bindings, and play happens over the span of years. Each year is measured in two parts: the deed, which will be what your character accomplishes, and the Chanson, which is evocative recording of your character’s deeds. When you are unable to fulfill a prompt given to you, your story end

Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard, by Amanda P.

Quests in King Arthur stories are about ideals, conflict and temptation. 

Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard is a solo prompt-based journaling game where you create a Sun Guard and travel alone on a quest, attempting to hold to your Code until you reach the end, facing trials and complications along the way.  

You are the last Sun Guard. Will you take up the mantle and ride the ancient roads?

Pilgrimage of the Sun Guard follows a cycle of play. You will start by travelling to a new location, and follow the directions according to each location’s prompt. This may involve using or acquiring resources, accomplishing great deeds, and writing a record of what happened with each step of the quest. When you run out of all of your resources, you can choose to either end your quest there, or break your Code to continue. If you like the story of Gawain & the Green Knight, this game might be for you.

Sanctum Guard, by Bulger007.

Sanctum Guard is a 20-minute pen-and-paper solo game about protecting a powerful magic artifact against a horde of night terrors. In this game, you are a lone guardian of a secluded sanctum built to protect the Obsidram, a powerful artifact that can potentially destroy worlds if it falls into the wrong hands.

You live in peace and harmony with the Obsidram while it is hidden in this secret and desolate domain from power-hungry minds. But one night, someone or something finds the way and you see a glimmering portal from which a horde of monsters descends upon you. Will you manage to protect the Obsidram?

This game runs like a tower defense game, and requires a sheet of graph paper to play. You will build your Sanctum randomly, then roll against generated monsters with the hopes that you can take them out before they utterly destroy the Sanctum and take your sacred relic.

This game doesn’t detail who you’re guarding the Obsidram for, although I think you could also substitute the relic for a person, if you want to be guarding someone instead of something.

Falling Kingdom: The Last Knights, by Purple Robed Wizard.

“The lands are shattered, the gods that once held our hand are dead and the beasts are upon us. Our King. killed by his own flesh. All of us, but waiting to follow. But we still stand, we hold our ground as we rot, we are the Last Knights, and we will stand until we last draw breath.”

In Falling Kingdom you control the last Knights of a realm threatened by a great, corrupting and unstoppable force. There is no great victory waiting for you at the end, no songs to be heard. There is only struggle, corruption, betrayal and death.  The Kingdom will Fall, but this story isn’t about that, it is about the heroes that face this imminent fall, the Knights of the realm, normal men and women elevated to a position where they will fight for their homelands against all odds.

This is a map-conquering game, with randomly generated missions, a Great Battle that could turn the tides of the war, and a stages of battles depending on how much territory you win or lose. You can accumulate corruption as you play, which is helpful in getting successful rolls, but accrue too much, and your knights begin to die. If you like a game about strategy, tragedy, and abstract warfare, this might be the game for you.

Sentinel, by Meghan Cross.

You are the lone guardian of a place of great power - known to you only as The Sanctuary. Many years you have kept vigil in this place, guarding what is kept within from any and all who come to disrupt it or steal it for themselves. 

Sentinel is a solo journaling game about a solitary guardian and the place they are charged with keeping safe. It is a deck and dice based game in which you will create your guardian and the sanctuary that they protect before reliving the memories, facing threats, and finding interesting objects while time passes around you. And then, when the time has come for your watch to end, find out what happens to The Sanctuary when you are no longer able to guard it.

This is a journaling game that uses cards to determine what kinds of actions your character can take. Hearts summon memories, Diamonds grant you items, Spades bring threats, and Clubs pass time. If you draw a Joker, the game is over and the story ends. At the end of the game, the final roll determines whether or not you are successful in your quest. This is a great game for folks who like journaling and world building.

Games I've Recommended in the Past

5-Min Knight, by enui.

Fetch My Blade, by Ethan Yen.

[powdermelonkeg]

Echoes of Wisdom Trailer Analysis: Part 1

I'll tell you what, a new Zelda game, especially one this year, was NOT what I was expecting. I was hoping for a teaser a la "the sequel to BotW is now in development," but to have a full on main-series game come out? That caught me completely off guard.

But I've got my bearings. And I like what I see. So let's break down what we DID see, shall we?

Our opening shot has Link in some ruins, looking over at what appears to be Soldiers (as in the enemy, a lesser version of Darknuts), which are a staple for Fallen Timeline games.

However, they usually aren't this color, restricted to red, blue, and green. And they usually have swords or tridents, not axes.

The axes are a new development, as are the black armor and white capes. Maybe they've taken on the red -> blue -> green -> black -> silver difficulty pattern that BotW and TotK had?

Moving on.

Link here has a dark blue cape with teal geometric patterns on the back. Tempting as it is to connect this to the Zonai with the recent game-

-I'm going to abstain for now, because Zelda games like their teal geometry.

Looking around, the ruins Link finds himself in are unique.

We have eye patterns on the walls and double helixes framing the door. We haven't seen any pattern like this before, to my knowledge.

Link rushes in, sword drawn. The floor is plain square patterns on cracked tile.

We get our first glimpse of the Hylian Shield

As well as a clear shot of his sword. Oddly enough, it's not the Master Sword, or anything like it—it looks too plain to be something final, like the Four Sword or Phantom Sword:

And yet, it still very distinctly matches Link's current aesthetic, with the teal geometry.

Honestly, it looks more akin to a beginning sword that needs to change, like the Goddess Sword of Skyward Sword:

It's basic, it's easy to look at, but it's distinct and memorable.

Immedaitely after the cinematic run, the camera snaps to an overhead view, in which Link attacks. So there's at least a little gameplay as Link.

We see Princess Zelda in her crystal prison. Nothing unusual so far, but she definitely has a new look to her, even if her dress is distinctly Toon/Oracles/AlttP style remade.

Then we pan down to Ganon. Fallen Timeline's beast Gan, as we're used to seeing him. So far, he seems to look the most like his ALBW iteration, with the spiked cuffs around his wrists.

Link enters the scene. Purple mist is there for ambiance.

The pattern on the ground feels...ornamental. It doesn't stick out much or have enough detail on it to be the usual big-bad-evil-ritual.

Link throws his cape away dramatically.

Again, we get a camera-snapped view in which Link's attacks seem very much in the player's control.

And blocking Link off from escape, we have a magical barrier, though this one is emitting particles.

It's almost like Ganon's torn the ground open for this.

Defeated, ready for phase two, Ganon dissipates into purple sparks, only to reappear and start his tennis volley.

And here's where we get our proper view of him head-on.

ALBW's Ganon is a bit easy to miss in-game, because Yuga takes him over moments after he arrives. But he looks like this:

This is not our Gan's design.

He has the bracers, yes, but his forehead gem isn't spiked, his eyes are red, not white, his armor is gold with red edges and has chest plates that look a lot like really old art of ALttP Gan:

But most interestingly, his necklace is different.

In every version of Ganon that looks like this, he's either had a skull at his neck

Or a gem

But our Gan has something new. Something that, given the eyes in the corridor, feels deliberate:

There's a menace in this branch of Hyrule's history that's known for three things: a horned eye, purple magic, and possession.

And I'm out of images. Part 2 here!

[riongeee]

2nd year sebek is demanded by the mirror and transferred to a different dorm.

By extension, first years are transferred with him forcefully or willingly by the mirror.

you have the yapping ability i don't go crazy crocodile fan

Yapping >:D

So in this case I'm assuming the first(second?) years get into some sort of shenanigans which end up with them intruding on the first year ceremony thing.

Sebek, somehow, ends up in front of the mirror. (Don't ask, Deuces cauldron is an absolute WEAPON).

So, the mirror, as usual, sorts Sebek.

Except, unlike what everyone was expecting, he did not end up in Diasomnia again. (I know fourth years usually don't stay inside the school but for plot purposes they wanted to stay and see for one last time).

Instead, Sebek ends up in heartslabyul. Everyone is shocked, mouths agape. Diasomnia feel completely thrown off.

Ace, being like 'no way!' Puts himself in front of the mirror to see if there is any change. Lo and behold, ovtavinelle. The housewardens who stayed are staring because this has never happened before.

They subsequently realise it's a permanent change because a magic school has probably got some fancy magic designations on the pen. They try get resorted but nothing.

So the two new octavinelle and heartslabyul second years sit down in shocked silence. It's a big change and it seems so far they can't reverse it. The others having learned their lessons stay away from the mirror.

However, just when they think it's over the room doesn't let them out. Apparently, they have to be sorted because of some magical terms.

So all the new second years end up being relocated to different dorms.

My ideas:

Ace: Octavinelle

Deuce: Scarabia

Sebek: Heartslabyul

Jack: Pomefiore

Epel: Heartslabyul

(Not really including Ortho because he would NOT change let's be fr)

Then as the year continues, the second years get used to their new dorms, realise maybe it was for the better.

Dia 3 and Sebeks relationship definitely becomes a bit strained, Silver had expected he'd have Sebek to support him as vice and he's left floundering. Sebek thinks they are disappointed in him because they never send him any messages or visit unlike with Silver (they just think he hates them.)

Despite the sadness Sebek flourishes, the strict rules of heartslabyul under Riddle aligning with his personality. Also, being away from the expectations he believes Diasomnia have for him allows him to develop some different interests and hobbies. Also, since Riddle is already used to Sebek through their club it's not too jarring of a change (I'm lying, he cried.)

For Epel, I just thought it funny from going to one rigid and rule focused dorm to another. He wouldn't have to control his accent and stuff like that but he'd definitely be tearing his hair out at the rules.

Jack, would just work well in Pomefiore I think, ballet and dance are amazing workouts after all.

Deuce, I think he'd mesh well with Kalim and even Jamil to be fair. It's also a completely new experience and with Jamils help maybe he could start realising his dream of being a top student.

Ace >:)

Ace and his smug little smirk fits in with the fish mafia, him and Floyd already know eachother from club, he'd get used to the teasing (he has an older brother he'll be fine). I just assigned him based on his scammer vibes, Ace would try sell me a second hand car with sawdust in it and I just think that's worthy of being part of the fish mafia.

Yippee, that's what I could think of, off the top of my head, I'll probably expand on it later.

[hannie-dul-set]

for reverse harem hell ‼️ taerae or leehan .......

[about time]. kim donghyun clocked it the moment jaehyun introduced you to their volunteer group— a pleasant demeanor, a smile that says you’re happy to be here— that the mere addition of your presence is going to cause some…problems.

“guys, say hello! she’ll be joining us in the program management committee from now on!”

he clocked it. how jaehyun kept insisting on being the one to introduce you to everyone. on being the one to show you around the office. he clocked how sungho’s nervous awkwardness has gone far beyond the levels of normal whenever he has to lift boxes, print papers with you. he clocked all of it.

he clocked how two weeks in, riwoo suddenly started inviting you over to their usual lunch runs as a pair. he clocked how taesan’s initial protests against having you around suddenly became less and less, and how his same age friend’s ears would start blushing amidst complaining that he has to work with you in designing the event entrance.

“if you don’t want to work with her, i could—”

“you’re just gonna end up ruining the whole thing.”

“that’s not true!”

“hey, i was assigned first. you can’t just—”

leehan shakes his head and clicks his tongue. this is bad. this is troublesome. the only person being normal around you is woonhak, but then again, he is six years old (he’s not). he probably doesn’t even know what it means to have a crush on a girl.

it’s not that leehan is against having you around. in fact, it’s pretty funny watching his friends make a bunch of fools out of themselves because of you. it’s his new form of entertainment seeing jaehyun race to the door before anyone else just so he can open it for you. it’s very funny seeing riwoo miss his mouth when trying to eat because you walked into the room with sparkles all around you.

“donghyun-ah.”

but as funny as it is to be a simple witness-slash-bystander to all this lovefoolery, leehan doesn’t want to suffer the same fate as his friends.

“the kids keep fighting. do you wanna work together instead?”

the question catches him off guard. you extend your offer with earnest eyes. there’s a protest from taesan. from jaehyun. but maybe this would be for the best just to spare his friends from any more humiliation. 

“sounds good to me.”

it’s not like he’s gonna develop a crush on you too. right?

“let’s go check the storage for some extra supplies.”

wrong.

“sure thing.”

maybe leehan shouldn’t have underestimated your charm. it was just about time that he’d end up falling for you, too. literally and figuratively.

he should’ve clocked the cliche setting, the predictable mood— two people, a small and crowded room, a box a little too far out of reach. the door shuts behind you two with a click, the barest of light leaking into the room from the cracks in the door. it was a perfectly orchestrated shojou moment just lying in wait, and leehan completely failed to clock it.

crash!

“uhm, do you mind…getting off me, donghyun…?”

boxes cascade down, documents flutter all over, and the only thing that leehan is thinking right now— while his widened eyes are staring down into your equally flustered irises, sheepish smile flushed with embarrassment— is one, singular word: shit. 

shit, indeed. the only thing stopping him from completely collapsing into you are his arms spaced on either side of your face, rapidly losing strength with the same rhythm as his heartbeat because shit. well, shit. you’re a little too close. it’s a little too hot. and he should’ve clocked all of this happening from the moment you two stepped into the room— no. from the moment jaehyun introduced you to the team months ago.

“donghyun…?”

it was just about time for him to see you in the same light as everyone else has. leehan just happened to be a little late to clock it.

send me a kpop boy (txt/enha/zb1/bnd/dream) to toss into reverse harem hell! [jaehyun]

[blueberry-lemon]

An introductory guide to getting into Sonic the Hedgehog...

…if you're a grown-ass adult who is busy and doesn't want to play a bunch of video games but thinks the characters look sorta cool.

If you've ever been curious about Sonic as a series but haven't known where to start, I have some recommendations! I think Sonic is a cool and still somewhat unique thing because it takes cartoony characters (like a Mickey Mouse or Felix the Cat) and lets them jump around in cool action sequences through the lens of a shonen anime. It's colorful and usually pretty light-hearted, and I think the character designs are pretty iconic.

There's two handy places you can start without prior context, to see if it's something you'd be into...

Getting Started: If You Wanna Read Something

The IDW Sonic Comics

There were years of different Sonic comics back in the '90s and early 2000's, but the franchise got a complete reboot and fresh start with IDW Publishing in 2018. If you're looking for the most straight-forward way to get into this world of characters, I think this is a great start. You don't need any prior knowledge whatsoever to crack open issue 1 and get started. All you need to know is "Sonic and his friends protect the world by fighting against an evil scientist named Dr. Eggman, who they just recently defeated after he briefly took over the world."

I love these comics and I feel that the writers and artists who work on it have a really good sense for this series. Reading issues 1 through 12 will get you the first major story arc. If you like it so far, I highly suggest reading up through issue 32, when another major story arc concludes. After that, the world's your oyster! Unlike the tangled web of Marvel or DC comics, IDW Sonic has a very simple and linear reading order. You pretty much just read the issues in order, and occasionally there are spinoff stories that are optional to read.

Getting Started: If You Wanna Watch Something

Sonic Mania Adventures

Maybe comics aren't your thing and you want something even quicker. These are a series of animated shorts that are lovely. Conveniently, they've been compiled together by Sega into one little video right here.

It's a great intro to some of the main characters, and combines cartoon slapstick with some amazing action sequences.

There's also a nice little epilogue short.

Sonic CD's intro cutscene

If I had to pick a single 1-and-a-half minute clip to embody what I like about this series, it would be this very simple intro movie that plays before Sonic CD. Check it out!

Sonic Origins/Sonic Origins Plus Cutscenes

In 2022, Sega released a compilation of the classic Genesis games on modern consoles. In it, they added a few animated cutscenes. You can watch those cutscenes, plus the Sonic CD intro and the Sonic Mania Adventures episodes, all compiled into one handy Youtube video.

Taking The Next Step: If You Wanna Read Something

The Archie Sonic Comics

You might have heard that Sonic had a comic series published by Archie Comics from 1992 to 2016. This was a vast, overarching series that wrote an original story by weaving together ideas from the different Sonic cartoons and games. It went through several different writers, many different artists, and obviously spanned over multiple eras of pop culture.

It's pretty cool! The fact that it was so long-running, and the fact that Sega wasn't very strict with what the writers could do, led to a lot of buckwild lore, new characters, and plot developments. That said, it's also pretty bizarre, complicated, corny, and cringey at times. There is a stretch in the middle that is pretty infamous among fans.

You have a few options for jumping in.

Option A: You can start at the very beginning and read all of it. If you do this, it is going to be like a One Piece / Homestuck / etc. kind of undertaking, and you're going to be pushing through the good and the bad of huge genre and tone shifts. That's your call!

Option B: You can brush up on the main characters on a wiki and then start at Issue 160, when Ian Flynn (who now does a lot of work on IDW Sonic) became the lead writer. More specifically, you can jump in at the start of a new story arc by starting at Issue 175.

Option C: You can start at Issue 252, when there is a universe-altering event that essentially retcons all of the characters and plot threads from the previous writers and starts completely fresh. Easier to keep track of and you won't have to worry about all the previous plot and lore.

If you want something you can read in a single sitting, you should instead read Sonic: Mega Drive, a short-lived miniseries published by Archie that follows "Classic Sonic" characters (aka, the same vibe and art style of Sonic Origins, Sonic Mania Adventures, etc.) It's really great!

Taking The Next Step: If You Wanna Watch Something

Sonic the Hedgehog (OVA) aka "Sonic the Hedgehog: The Movie" (1996)

This is, essentially, a 1-hour Sonic anime movie. You can watch it in Japanese or in English. I adore it. It makes up its own lore and continuity so you don't need to know anything before going in, besides generally knowing a one-sentence synopsis of who Sonic, Tails, and Dr. Robotnik are. It's action-packed, well-animated, and has great music. Enjoy! Sonic X If you're enjoying what you've seen so far, and you want something much, much longer...there's an official 78-episode anime adaptation of Sonic called Sonic X. It's an original story that loosely pulls together some ideas from a few of the games. It's mostly intended for a younger audience, but I hear if you watch it in the original uncut Japanese, it feels a little less "for kids."

Other Ways To Get Into Sonic

There's some great video essays on Youtube about the series!

Professional animator Dan Floyd did an in-depth video looking at the highs and lows of Sonic character animation in the games starting from Sonic 1 up through Sonic Forces.

Super Bunnyhop plays through the first level of a bunch of Sonic games to compare how the mechanics, physics, and level design feel throughout the games' history.

Liam Triforce has a great deep dive on the franchise's music.

You can play The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, a murder-mystery-party themed visual novel put out by Sega. It's nice and short, so you can finish it in an afternoon.

If you haven't seen them already, you can check out the live-action/animated hybrid films Sonic 1 and Sonic 2 featuring Ben Schwartz and Jim Carrey, they're pretty good. That Sonic Prime cartoon that's currently on Netflix is pretty good too.

This may sound strange, but honestly you might enjoy poring over the sprite sheets from the old games. In particular, I really like the sprite animations from the GBA games, like Sonic Advance and Sonic Battle.

Sega is pretty lax about allowing noncommercial fan games, so there's at least a hundred different Sonic fan games out there by hobbyist developers. Check out the Sonic Amateur Games Expo and the Sonic Fan Games HQ.

You can watch LPs or cutscene compilations of the games on Youtube! If you watch Sonic Adventure, Sonic Adventure 2, and Sonic Heroes, you'll get a crash course on most of the characters.

And finally, of course...you can play the games if you want to! There's a number of them that are available on Steam, Switch, Xbox, and Playstation if you don't have access to older consoles.

There's a lot of different angles to come at Sonic as a franchise, and lots of different entry points. Have fun!

[sunny-and-moonbow]

A Friend Of A Friend

Pairing: Tamaki Amajiki x Gn!Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Warnings: fluff, mention of vomit/vomiting, drinking/alcohol consumption (reader themself doesn't explicitly drink)

In your first year at ua high school, you had been so excited to be accepted into UA HIGH SCHOOLS’ support course. A chance to pursue your life's dream, working in real time with future heroes, the best of the best. YOU would get to attribute to their success and work on their complex costumes. You knew it was going to be competitive, and you were ready for that, completely 100% devoted to your goal. Nothing could distract you…except maybe a really cute boy from the hero course.

Early into your second year, maybe the third or fourth week, a bubbly girl with a million questions came knocking on the door of the workshop. She cut you off before you could answer any of her questions, bouncing around and expressing her curiosity about your quirk. 

You clear your throat to gain her attention. ‘Are you here for something? Is there an issue with your support items?’

At the mention of her problem, she re-focuses and begins rambling about her new ideas for modifications on her suit, mostly leaving it open ended for your creative freedom, simply suggesting solutions to go along with her side effects. You noted down all of the problems, branching off with a mix of yours and her designs as you go, only nodding and humming to show her you were listening.

After that original (unplanned) consultation, you saw the girl more and more. Whether it was you seeking her out to check the measurements and fit of your support items or her coming eagerly to observe your progress, you were basically seeing her everyday. You learnt how to slip your short answers into your conversations with her, actually becoming quite close. Your relationship developed into walking through the halls together and eventually hanging out, outside of school.     

In your third year you were definitely friends, however a little less close, you went from best friends to seeing each other maybe once a week. This wasn’t to say that you guys had a fight or grew apart or anything, your schooling responsibilities simply took priority, and with her being a member of UAs ‘big three’ she barely had time for goofing off with you like you used to.                   

You were okay with this, knowing you both had your dreams, but sometimes you wish you could just go back to your second year and be carefree and gossip about the cute boys at your school with her. Now you pass each other in the halls with a smile and a wave, going your separate ways. You see her with the two other members of the big three, Mirio Togata and Tamaki Amajiki.

Wow. 

They were so cool.

You had seen Amajiki around the school in your first and second years. You didn’t find out his name until he became a member of the ‘big 3’. It was also impossible to have never heard of Togata with his bubbly voice always filling the halls with laughter. Although you had never spoken to either of them you respected them.

You had pretty much resigned to your friendship with Nejire ending at this point, that is until she came knocking on the door of the workshop, b-lining straight for you. You feel a sense of nostalgia at the sight, a slight twinge in your chest at the thought that she was only going to speak to you for her costume, not because she actually wanted to talk to you.

‘HI [READER]’

‘Hey Nejire…’

You dropped the tension in your shoulders when she asked you to hangout with her for her birthday, skipping off happily when you accepted 

As you walk towards her door, present in hand, angst washed over you. You knew none of her friends and there was no way in hell she’d stay with you all night, that would mean staying still and with one thought in mind. You loved the girl but outside of hero work she wasn’t the most focussed, and you are no longer one of her close friends, or so you think. 

After greeting Nejire, wishing her happy birthday and handing over her present, you situated yourself on the couch, nursing your drink of choice. You spoke to a couple of strangers who came to rest their legs over the course of an hour, the conversations were mostly about what school you went to, what course you were in. Simple things. It was enjoyable, if not a little awkward, you liked to think you made a few friends. You even danced with a few of these people, getting pulled onto the dancefloor by your wrists.

Eventually you got tired and needed to rest your feet, only to find a person, who you realised upon closer inspection to be Amajiki, in your safe space. After a moment of contemplation, you chose to sit near him, but not so close as to spook him, having heard of his timid nature from rumours around the school.  

You gave him a smile and a soft hello, with minimal response you simply spoke at him, you realise upon reflection that this was pretty much exactly how you and Nejire became friends. The more you spoke the more he responded, seemingly getting more and more confident the longer he knew you. A feeling that you wanted to attribute to your intoxication, was that blooming, warm feeling in your chest at the sight of his smile. You two giggled as you told him stories of your failed designs and items, and he told you some of his failed ideas for use of his quirk in battle, ones that backfired dramatically.    

About 4 hours into the night, a semi-drunk Nejire flopped herself over your lap and began talking to you about how good of a friend you were and how sad she was that you two didn’t talk very much. It made a very different feeling take over your chest. Contrasting your earlier floatiness with a heavy feeling that weighed you down. You gently rubbed her temple as her murmurs slur and she mutters out an

‘I don’t feel so good’

You moved as fast as you could to direct her head away from your shoes, lifting the upper half of her body and swinging an arm over your shoulder to help her up. You sent Amajiki an awkward, tight lipped smile as he grabbed her other arm and you both hauled her towards the kitchen sink.

Safe to say the romance was gone as the sound of her bringing up her lunch echoed off the sink, your hand tightly clasped her hair above her head while Amajiki awkwardly watched with his hands outstretched searching for a way to help.

When you returned to school the following Monday, you expected things to be as they were before. But you couldn’t be more wrong. As you sat on the floor and changed your shoes, you heard Nejire calling out with you, followed closely by Togata and Amajiki.

You faltered a little, not knowing how to react to this new situation. After all, you barely had any interactions with the three, especially as a group and you still hadn’t talked to Togata, his attention having been constantly occupied at the party a few days ago. 

‘[Reader]! Hi! Tamaki keeps asking about you so I thought I’d just bring him to talk to you!’

Well that was unexpected. Tamaki's face went beet red and he tried to run away, only stopped by Togata grabbing him.

‘And I wanted to hear what all the fuss was about’

Well at least you could say Togata had spoken to you now. He shoved Amajiki towards you and they began walking off.

‘We’ll catch up later’ Nejire whispered in your ear.

Amajiki stumbled and caught himself, then straightened himself up quickly. Your conversation was a little short and awkward, Amajiki no longer fuelled by the freeing intoxication like the other night. After a few minutes of sitting together talking, you see him pause and take a deep breath, clearly mustering up the courage for something.

‘Do you think you would, maybe, if you wanted, go…on a date?...with me?’ 

He managed to ask you, stammered and awkward but you found it charming.

You giggled a little, a bright smile taking over your face.

‘I’d love to!’

Of course you accepted.

You met with Nejire and had a gossipy debrief, meanwhile Amajiki was getting grilled by Togata. 

‘Ughh, Mirio’

‘Cone on Tamaki, tell me how your little kitten-heart managed to survive you asking out your crush!’

‘Auhhhhhhhhh’

He covered his face with his hands and folded into himself, cursing the school for implementing dorm systems so he couldn’t escape his friend.

‘Come on Mirio…my hearts gonna explode’

It wasn’t long before Nejire came bursting in, leaving him with two interrogators to live through.

When it came time for your date, Nejire insisted on helping you get ready, which you were insanely grateful for. You were going to a cafe, as per Mirios suggestion, simple but still nice for a first date. It did however leave you with the dilemma of trying to look good but desperately trying not to overdress. Nejire was your literal lifeline, letting you model a million different outfits and variations that were so similar but also so different.

Tamaki was having a similar issue with Mirio in his dorm room, except Mirio led the charge, giving him different outfits and forcing him to come out of his closet to show them off. 

After the two of you finally finished getting ready, you met outside of your class’ dorm rooms. The walk to the cafe was quiet, so much so that you’re pretty sure you could hear two sets of footsteps distantly trailing behind you. Of course.

The longer you two spend together the freer the conversation gets.

‘How is your work study going? You work with Fatgum right? That must be so cool.’

‘It's good experience, but sometimes I think he only scouted me to torment me’

‘Haha, I’m sure that's not true, he scouted you because of your strength and your drive to be a hero, I’m sure of it!’

He flushed a little at the compliment, putting his head against the table. 

‘Uh…thank you. Anyway, how's your support work going? Any new inventions?’

At the mention of your work, you fall into a ramble, about all of your newest creations and the ideas you plan on working on. Your dream brings out a deep passion in you and without realising it, you talk for almost thirty minutes without letting him get a single word in. Not that he tried, he just listened with a soft smile on his face, his cheek resting on his hand as he gazed at you like you were telling him how you hung the stars yourself. When you realise how long you’d been rambling, you cough and clear your throat, feeling a little embarrassed. 

‘So ummm, do you have any hobbies? Surely you must have a life outside of UA.’

Your date consists of the typical get-to-know-you questions, and as you reach the bottom of your drinks, you both agree it's probably best to wrap things up.

Unlike most first dates, your conversations don’t have to end when you leave the restaurant, as you don’t have to go your separate ways, instead getting to walk home together, you both continue to talk, you do the most. When you complained that you were cold, he draped his jacket over your shoulders like a true gentleman, with a flush on his cheeks.

When you reached your class’ dorms, he gave you a sweet goodnight, saying he enjoyed the date.

‘Goodnight Amajiki, I enjoyed it too, I hope we can do it again, if you’d like’

Before you can think twice and be stopped by your brain, you leaned forward and kissed his cheek, smiling at his adorable blush. You watched as he bolted away, too overwhelmed to function.

A soft giggle escapes your lips as you watch him disappear in the direction of his dorm, this was definitely going to be an interesting year.

Fast forward to graduation day, you cheered for your boyfriend, Tamaki, and he for you. You excitedly watched your best friend, Nejire and your now close friend Mirio walk the stage. When it was your turn to walk, their screams noticeably stood out among the rest.

Who knew this would all come from a simple party invitation.

Nejire wishes she could say she set the two of you up at the party on purpose, but she didn’t. She actually didn’t consider that you and Tamaki would even interact, him usually being too nervous to talk to new people. She had a one track mind, and her main motivation was her hope that it would rekindle your friendship.

Divider credit: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/n: I wrote this in mid-covid delusion so pls bare with any mistakes (moon also has covid so we both suffering 😭) . Also why is this my first fic where they actually get together

-sunny🧡🌞

[kdinjenzen]

🔥 Your favorite video game (or one of them if you have multiple)

Pokémon lost a lot of personality in the characters, designs, and details when it shifted to 3D models over pixel art.

GameFreak has suffered because of this change because the 3D stuff was never really in their development pipeline and expecting this company who often developed for mobile games or made smaller experiences to be able to pick up and run with a new 3D development pipeline was and still is a ridiculous concept.

The vast amount of people in the credits for the Pokémon games don’t work at GameFreak and are actually hired out as contract through other studios (Like Bandai Namco) through Nintendo to actually assist and work more directly on those 3D pipelines.

That said the 3D games are great and most people who trash on them as being “GOD AWFUL GARBAGE” have no idea how hard game dev is and have no concept of the industry struggles.

“Gotta Catch Em All” was easy for Gen 1 and 2, but once 3 and onward happened most folks didn’t give two fucks about catching them all and just focused on their favorites. So the hateful explosion of “FUCK THE DEVS FOR REMOVING POKÉMON” is bullshit and most folks likely never complete a Pokédex anyway even with the smaller dexes.

Everyone who said “Palworld is Pokémon But Better” is an asshole and either doesn’t care or ignores the fact that designs were stolen and the company loves generative Ai.

GameFreak needs to be able to make a game every 3 years instead of every single year/year and a half.

Nintendo should be supporting GameFreak with more side games to support a release schedule for the series instead of pushing for mainline games.

[fierymiasma]

◎ Teach Him a Lesson ◎: Sebastian x f!MC x Ominis - Silver Trio

Summary/Request: Ever since the three of them started dating, Sebastian's been getting really jealous whenever Ominis starts kissing their girlfriend.

It's about time they teach him a lesson.

Requested by Anon 💗

Tags: NSFW, Smut, Jealous Sebastian, Dominis, Bondage, Hair Pulling, Sub!Sebastian, Threesome

Words: 5k

|| Masterlist || AO3 ||

Ever since the three of them starting courting each other, Sebastian's done everything to be the doting boyfriend that they both deserved. 

…Unfortunately, he couldn't help the fact that he was sometimes a jealous git.

He has always wrestled with his jealous emotions, even when it was just him and his little sweetheart.  He adored having the complete undivided attention of the hero of Hogwarts.  Being her everything.  When Ominis later joined their relationship, Sebastian was over the moon.  Finally, now both his lovers were his, completely his and his alone.

Of course, he somehow forgot that Ominis and his sweetheart would fall for each other too.

For a while, he was able to keep his dark emotions in check.  Whenever he caught Ominis whispering Parseltongue in her ear, he would simply grit his teeth and close his eyes until the moment had passed.  Whenever she chose to rest her head on Ominis's shoulder instead of Sebastian's, he would simply grab her legs and rest them in his lap.  The brief moments would always pass quickly enough.  And whenever Sebastian was finally back in the center of attention, everything would be right in the world.

His storm of emotions was held at bay…for a while.  But as their 7th year passed at a languid pace, and their feelings only grew, the storm raged harder.  Sebastian would see how Ominis developed a small private smile, only for her.  And his sweetheart would read Ominis's favorite books out loud to him, lost in a fantasy world with just the two of them.  The storm raged and raged and raged until….

It had been a long day in detention as he paid his penance for his last bout of tomfoolery.  Sebastian had been so eager to return to the safety of the Room of Requirement, longing to smother his waiting girlfriend with heated kisses.

What he hadn't expected was to swing open the door and see that someone had already taken his place.

She was on Omnis's lap, soft smooth legs wrapped around his waist.  Her shirt untucked from her waistband, allowing Ominis's large hands to sneak their way up to uncovered breasts.  Her hair, normally so woven in intricate designs had completely tumbled down, waves framing her slim shoulders.  They were kissing.  Ominis had his other hand underneath her chin, bringing her lips closer to his.  Her hands fisted Ominis's vest, pulling him closer.

Sebastian cleared his throat, startling the other two from their kiss.  Their faces were soft and inviting, begging for him to join.  It always was this way.  The other two would always inevitably reach out and pull him into their embrace.

But it was too late, the dam holding back his storm of anger had broken.  His face twisted into an ugly snarl.  "Leaving me out again, you two?  That's perfectly fine by me!  I hope you have the time of your lives without me." He stiffly turned away, slamming the large door of the Room of Requirement much harder than needed.

•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`

He avoided the other two. 

Sebastian shouldn't be jealous.  He was better than this.  Sebastian knew of course, that despite that fact that it was him that introduced the two together, that he wouldn't always be in the middle of their relationship.   He knew in the back of his mind that they were falling in love without him there.  After all, it was what was agreed upon.

So, why did he act this way?

His hand clutched the owl post she had sent him.  "Meet me in the Undercroft.  I got a new spell that I think will be to your liking."  Sebastian's frown melted.

He needed to apologize.  They both deserved better. 

As he stepped forward in the light of the Room of Requirement, he paused, not expecting to see Ominis there as well.  They were sitting next to each other on one of the many couches, hands folded in their laps as if they were waiting for his arrival.

Bollocks.  This was an intervention, wasn't it?

His apology was stuck in his throat, unable to come out. 

"Sebastian."  Their dove greeted, always the peacemaker between the two boys.  "Come and sit with us."

He obeyed, stiffly sinking into one of the chairs in front of them.  Like a criminal in front of a jury.

"I'm sorry."  He began.  "I shouldn't have yelled at you two.  I do love you, the both of you.  I'm…I'm sorry." 

"Thank you Sebastian." she says, voice soothing.  He didn't dare look into her eyes, not wanting to see the pity there.

"Sebastian, I too appreciate your apology."  Ominis's voice is sharp.  "But this is entirely unacceptable.  We all agreed, at the very start of this whole affair, that we were in this, all three of us, together. 

"I'm sorry, Ominis.  I didn't mean it.  I've never meant to hurt you."  Sebastian says lowly.  He can't help but wonder how many times he's apologized to the two of them.  Not just for this but…for….everything. 

Sebastian's hands curled into fists in his lap.  "I confess.  I don't mean to be like this.  I want you two to be happy together.  I…I just can't…"

He swallowed thickly.  "I'm letting my emotions get the better of me.  I have been for a while."

"Well, in my opinion, I think you're long overdue for a lesson."  Ominis declared.

"A lesson?"  Sebastian repeated dumbly, not knowing where this was going.

His sweetheart stood up from her comfortable position on the couch next to Ominis.  "A lesson.  Maybe some exposure into what you fear most would do you some good?"

She approached the seated Sebastian, towering over him impressively so.  She bent down at the waist, angling her jaw to meet his lips.  Sebastian hummed in pleasant surprise.  Well, if this was the lesson, then consider himself a very eager student.  His neck strained as he reached up to her face, begging for forgiveness.  She broke the kiss far too early, quickly pulling away from him.  Sebastian's eyes were still closed, trying to chase her retreating lips.  He only opened his eyes just in time to see her wand pointed at him.  Before he could react she muttered a spell that Sebastian wasn't familiar with.

"Incarcerous"

Thick black tendrils of rope shot out from the ends of her wand, slithering across his chest and wrapping themselves around the arms of the chair.  His hands tied behind his back, Sebastian strained his muscles against the bondage, but it was no use.

"What the fu-"  he struggled. 

His traitorous girlfriend giggled, tucking her wand back into her sleeve.  "I wasn't lying.  I did invite you here to show off a new spell."

"What is the meaning of this?"

Ominis stepped forward.  His hand curling around their lover's waist, in a deliberately possessive manner.  "It's as we said.  A lesson for you Sebastian.  Maybe, in time, you'll come to enjoy it."

Ominis pulled her into a kiss in front of Sebastian.  Their eyes fluttered closed, lost in each other.

Sebastian momentarily paused in his escape attempt.  A faint blush crept its way towards his cheeks.  His eyes were glued to their entwined form.  He hated how forgotten he was, cast aside like an afterthought.  His stomach boiled hotly.  "I don't understand this."

Ominis broke apart from their lover despite her sigh of disappointment.  "All you need to do, Sebastian, is be good for us.  Can you be a good, Sebastian?"

The realization of what was happening washed over Sebastian.  Ominis had always let Sebastian take the lead in the bedroom.  It was hard not to.  Sebastian's greedy passion roared too ferociously, and he was always too ravenous in the bedroom, consuming his lover until there was nothing left.

This is what Ominis must be like whenever he was with their sweetheart--dominating and demanding.  Sebastian never tried to imagine the two of them together in the bedroom.

Now, he was starting to regret it.

"I don't like to repeat myself, Sebastian."  Ominis's voice dripped with displeasure, drawing Sebastian back into reality.

"Will you be a good boy for us, Sebastian?"  Ominis tilted his nose up, looking down on Sebastian haughtily.   

There wasn't even a second of hesitation.  "Yes."  Sebastian groaned. 

"Then watch." 

•.¸¸.•´¨* •.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•´¨`

With only his beating heart keeping time, Sebastian couldn't tell if it had been mere seconds or hours since he had been imprisoned. 

Ominis had been taking his sweet time, trailing soft delicate kisses in secretive pattern along her skin.  Their kisses were slow and languid as if they were so lost in each other that time lost all meaning.  Sebastian had never before seen such patience in the bedroom, having always preferred to listen to his animalistic rush of adrenaline.  

The fibers of his heart were tearing in different directions.  Sebastian couldn't ignore how hard his cock was, begging for release.  He of course, listened to Ominis, dutifully watching the two of them take each other apart.  It seemed as if they completely forgot about him.

What was the point in this whole exercise if they were just going to ignore him?

I should be the one kissing her….Ominis should be marking me.  He tried to ignore how his cock pulsated with need.

"It's a shame that I can't join in with you two."  Sebastian's tongue was often far more clever than his head.  His voice took on a silky smooth tone, the one that Sebastian knew made his lovers weak at the knees.  "If only there were a way for me to get out of this rope."

They ignored him, perhaps deliberately.

Sebastian's back tooth almost cracked in frustration.

"Now, how is this even a lesson if I'm not participating in it?"  He pouted, pretending to be unaffected by this whole affair despite the bulge in his pants telling otherwise. 

Finally, the two pulled apart.  She looked at Ominis with an amused gaze, her eyes sparkling with some inside joke Sebastian wasn't getting. 

"Ominis, let's give Sebastian what he wants."

Ominis kissed her lips reverently.  "As you wish."

Where was this gentleness when Ominis was bedding Sebastian?

The long pale fingers that Sebastian adored so much lightly trailed up her back.  And Ominis deft fingers plucked at her dress like violin strings.  The fabric seemed to melt away effortlessly, leaving her only in undergarments.

Sebastian's eyes widened in disbelief.  He had always struggled with the intricate clasps, strings, and buckles of her conservative clothing.  Sebastian always needed to resort to tearing her garments into pieces from her body and reparo'ing them the morning after.

The pair got onto the couch behind them.  Ominis coaxed her nearly bare body onto his lap.  She leans against him, her back pressing firmly against his chest.  His hands roamed possessively over her exposed thighs, spreading them for Sebastian to see.

Sebastian shivered.

"Pay attention, Sebastian."  There was a hint of a smirk on Ominis's lips.  "You might learn a thing or two."

Half of him wanted to act out in protest.  The other half was dying to see where Ominis was going with this.

Ominis hands dipped underneath the breastband of her bra.  Sebastian couldn't quite see what Ominis's fingers were doing, but he could certainly imagine.  A moan was drawn from her pretty lips, and now Sebastian definitely knew what Ominis was doing. 

It should be Sebastian making her moan so prettily.  Sebastian's biceps flexed against the tip rope around him.  The chair squeaked in protest.

"Sebastian…ah…."  Her voice was breathless as Ominis's quick fingers make quick work of her bra, leaving her breasts for view.  Sebastian's eyes trail over every inch of newly exposed skin.  Merlin, she was so gorgeous.  She gasped, "Good boys look….a-ah…but they don't touch."

Sebastian's brain could barely functioning.  "What?"

"You're being jealous, Sebastian."  Sebastian's mouth hung open.  Unbelievable, the nerve of these two.  How was he survive this?  To just stay tied up?  Just watch the two people he loves most in the world worship each other's bodies?

His cock wept, straining against his pants.

As she relaxed in Ominis's arms, he pulling her soft thighs apart for Sebastian to see.  She shyly ducked her head, not used to being on display for another man like this.

Ominis whispered in her ear, just loud enough for Sebastian's straining ears to hear.  "Let's show Sebastian what we get up to without him, dove."

She whimpered for the other man so sweetly.  Sebastian's heart skipped a beat.  Those noises were supposed to be for him. 

Sebastian's eyes widen in anticipation.  She gently guided Ominis hands to her increasingly wet undergarments.  Ominis's long fingers pulled them to the side. 

Her eyes fluttered close, head dropped back to rest on Omins's shoulders.   Sebastian wanted to throw up, wanted to close his eyes and turn away from the scene in front of him.

He couldn't look away.

Sebastian's eyes traced over the long length of Omins's digits dipping further into her wet center.  They followed the fine tremor in her quivering thighs.  Her wetness clung to his fingers.

T-this was supposed to be Sebastian's job.  And yet, here was he completely immobile in front of her, helpless to do anything but watch his boyfriend and girlfriend engrossed in their own pleasure.

There was that familiar coil of jealous tightening in his stomach.  But right next to it, was his rock hard shaft, weeping profusely onto his slacks with need. 

He bucked his hips against the tight binds, trying to chase relief, to no avail.

"Do you think Sebastian's gotten over his jealousy, dove?"  Ominis asked.  His other hand snaked under her jaw, forcing her to look back at the man before her, a hard command to follow when her own pleasure was so distracting.

Sebastian's heart skipped a beat.  They were putting on a show for him. 

She groaned, opening her eyes to look at the pathetic tied man in front of her.  His muscles strained against the binds holding him down.  Her eyes trailed down his form to the noticeable bulge in his pants that was begging for release.

"I-I'm…ah, Ominis!…n-not sure." she replied.  The muscles in her stomach were tightening in anticipation.

"Y-yes, yes please, Ominis, I've learned my lesson.  Please, please, untie me.  Let me show you."  Sebastian begged, not quite even remembering what the whole point of this whole exercise was for. 

Ominis hummed, seemingly unmoved by Sebastian's pretty pleads.  His fingers quickened in their movement, pumping in and out of their girlfriend's core.  "How can I trust someone like you?  Half the times, I don't know whether to punish you or reward you."

She mewled, eyes shut tight, her back arching off of Ominis's chest.  It was getting increasingly harder to participate in the conversation.  She was so, so close.

"I'll be good."  Sebastian promised.  "Be good to you both.  Please, Ominis, I love you two."

Ominis's fingers stilled in their ministrations, hands pulling away from her wet thighs.  Their lover whimpered, on the cusp of tidal wave and yet unable to taste it.  He turned his face into her hair, hushing her further protests.

"Don't fret, dove.  Sebastian will help you finish, won't he?"

Sebastian could almost feel the drool trickling down his chin.  He nodded dumbly, so eager to show both his lovers how good he could be. 

As he got up from the couch, Ominis gently helped the poor girl up, standing on trembling legs.  Sebastian could barely breath, as he watched his best friend start stripping away the many formal layers that hid his body.  Vest now entirely forgotten on the floor, his robes banished to oblivion.  The starch white shirt, dress pants, and the undone tie, wrapped around Ominis's right hands were the only remaining clothing on the man.

Sebastian whimpered.  Only Ominis could be still so dressed and yet somehow look so naked.

Ominis approached the seated man in front of him slowly.

Sebastian sighed, eager to get out of the restrictive binds.  He couldn't wait for the real fun to start.  It was long overdue. 

Instead, he found himself being pulled off the chair by magic onto the flat cold surface of a table.  The binds felt like the cold scales of a snake against his skin, slithering their way around his arms and legs to reprison him to the table.

Ominis's smirk was borderline cruel, as he wrapped his tie around Sebastian's wrists before pulling them upwards on the table, stretching Sebastian to be fully on display.

Sebastian tugged on his wrists experimentally, only to have no budge.  "O-Ominis?"  He questioned.

Ominis leaned over the other man, his face inches away from Sebastian's.  "Remember, if you're ever in any discomfort, you only need to say the special word."

Sebastian's cock twitched in eager anticipation.  He groaned, pathetically simultaneously cursing Ominis while singing his praises.

His reply was lacking, Ominis gripped his chin, forcing his face up.

"Say the word, in case you need it for later."

Sebastian refused out of principle just wanting for Ominis to touch him at this point. 

Ominis hand on his chin tightened as a warning.

"Headmaster Black."  Sebastian stated the safe word.

Ominis hummed in agreement.  "Good boy."

Sebastian preened at the praise.

"Darling, help me get Sebastian more presentable, will you?"

She hummed, nipping at Ominis's lips teasingly.  "It would be my pleasure."

Climbing on top of the table, she crawled on top of Sebastian's chest, sitting so close to his groin.  His breath quickened.  He could feel the heat from her naked center, pressed against his stomach with his clothes acting as the only barrier between them.

Skillful hands started undoing the buttons of his shirt.  Soft lips left kisses on each area of newly exposed skin.  Sebastian's neck strained upwards.  His head lifted up, trying to chase her lips in turn to return her kisses but the black tendrils only tightened in response.

He whined, thunking his head back down in defeat.   

Her eyes flickered upwards, looking at Sebastian's pained expression in amusement. 

Ominis's wand pointed at Sebastian before the man uttered a quick spell.  His pants, belt, and underpants vanished, leaving him exposed on the table in front of them.  Now free from its confines, his cock bounced up to attention, begging for attention.  His freckles disappeared in his warm blush.

With another flick of the wand, a warm tingling sensation trailed down Sebastian's spine to his hole, as he felt himself get become wet and loosened in anticipation of things to come.

Ominis long fingered dipped into Sebastian's hole, stretching it out for Ominis's cock.  Sebastian bucked his hips eagerly chasing the new sensation.  At the same time, his girlfriend wrapped her soft hand around his weeping member, giving a few strokes.

This was death.  This was either hell or heaven, and Sebastian couldn’t figure out which was which.

The pair was unrelenting,  Ominis's fingers long and firm as they scissored him open.  He could feel their girlfriend's hand stroking his cock.  Her face was getting close to it, and he could feel tiny puffs of hot air on the tip.

His muscles flexed against their confines.  His hips arched upwards, chasing the dual sensations.  This is where he belonged, at the center of attention in between the two of them. 

Ominis's cloudy eyes darkened as he withdrew his fingers from Sebastian's hole.  The terrible sensation of being empty was very fleeting and quickly replaced with the heavy promise of a blunt hot member begging for entrance.

Sebastian nearly cried, trying to fight against his bindings to impale himself on Ominis's cock.

The other Slytherin clucked, before giving into his boyfriend's wishes, as he often did in these situations.  Sebastian groaned, the heavy hot pressure slowly shoving inside was so delicious.

With a wave of a wand, the black tendrils tying Sebastian's legs down disappeared.  Sebastian's freed legs eagerly wrapped around Ominis's hips, trying to pull him closer. 

"Are you forgetting someone?" Ominis scolded.  "You're the one who's so jealous of the two of us, but you can't even handle us both at the same time.

Sebastian's eyes flickered open.  He had almost entirely forgot about her.  She was still sitting on top of his naked chest. He was trapped under her predatory gaze.

What a sight he must look to her.  Shirt ripped open exposing his chest and abdomen.  His arms above his head tied up and secured by Ominis's green tie.  And his legs wrapped around Ominis as he thoroughly penetrating him.  His mouth hung open, letting out little noises every time Ominis thrusted forward, burying his thick cock inside Sebastian.

His cheeks blushed in embarrassment as she stared nakedly in want.

Sebastian's voice was almost gone.  "Please, sweetheart, let me serve you."

She hummed as her hips hovered over Sebastian's shaft.  Some of her wetness dripped onto Sebastian's twitching cock.  He could feel the heat coming from her center.  She bent over, her chest pressed against Sebastian's.  He could feel her hardened nipples against his pecs.

Her mouth was inches from his.  Her whispers tickled his lips.

"Hopefully we'll be able to fuck the jealousy right out of you."

Before Sebastian could fully process her words, her hips slammed downwards, impaling herself on his shaft.  Simultaneously, Ominis thrust forward, cock brushing against that sweet bundle of nerves.

Sebastian screamed, guttural and wanting.  His wrists strained roughly against the smooth silk. 

He must have died halfway.  That or he'd gone completely blind. 

"I-I'm close."  Sebastian croaked, his throat dry from his screaming.  "P-Please, darling, Ominis, let me…l-let me-"

She frowned, "Coming before me?  Before I'm done with you?"

Ominis tutted in disappointment.  Sebastian had zero idea how he acted so unaffected by this.  "Where are your manners, Sebastian?"

Sebastian groaned, They were killing him.  They were vampires sucking out his life essence and they were just laughing as they tortured him. 

She summoned her wand to her hand.  "Let's take pity on him, Ominis.  Looks like our toy is about to break."

Merlin, that's all that Sebastian was good for wasn't it?  Sebastian was just a tool for them to use and get out.  Just an object to serve them. 

He almost came right there. 

Sensing his incoming climax, his girlfriend smiled before whispering another spell.

And just like that the incoming wave of his climax had paused.  The brink of total ecstasy now completely gone.

He groaned in pain.  "W-what in Merlin's-"

She smiled, devilishly and evil.  Her hips had resumed, pumping up and down on his cock, giving Sebastian no relief.  "You're done, when Ominis and I say you are done."

Sebastian couldn't breathe.  Where in Merlin's name did she learn that spell?  He felt feverish, mind so clearly added by the push and pull of Ominis's cock and her wet center. 

"Sebastian."

He couldn't muster the energy to respond.  He was boneless, at the mercy of his lovers.

"Sebastian."  Ominis asked again, his voice leaving no room for disobedience. 

The boy whimpered.  He managed to lift his head a little from the cold comforting surface of the wooden table. 

"Keep your eyes open.  If you keep watching, we'll reward you."

Ominis leaned forward to twist his fingers in the flowing strands on her hair.  Firmly, he pulled her towards him, getting her attention.  She gasped, her hips stuttered to a halt.  Ominis brought the curve of her spine flush against his warm chest.  The glow of the Undercroft's candles reflected so beautifully against her exposed neck.  Ominis attacked her neck.  She succumbed to the onslaught of bites and kisses.

They kissed, their hips still working furiously.  She was bouncing on Sebastian's cock and Ominis's hips were unrelenting as they pumped into Sebastian's hole.

Instinctually, the raging storm that was held at bay roared back to life.  All the jealousy and envy made itself known.  There they went, ignoring him again. 

Sebastian has never been so humiliated, and yet, he's never been harder. 

He'd never noticed this before, or perhaps, better put, he never wanted to see how beautiful they were together.  How their bodies were molded for each other, like entwined snakes.  How they loved each other so perfectly. 

They were both so brilliant, so beautiful, so powerful.  What could they possibly want from him than they could not simply get from each other?

The familiar coil of jealousy slithered around his heart. 

Perhaps Ominis could sense his feelings as he whispered something quietly in her ear.  Her eyes cracked open and stared at Sebastian bound form.

And Sebastian was struck by how much she adored him.  Her dark, soulful eyes were filled with indescribable love for him.  And Ominis turned his head to face Sebastian so that Sebastian could get a good view on his expression.  It was the same soft features that Ominis had for Sebastian alone, reminding him of the day that Ominis first confessed his love to the other Slytherin.

It hit Sebastian like a lightning bolt. The realization that all his jealousy and fear that consumed him was nothing next to the mountain of his love for them. 

And he also realizes that everything they have done, and everything they were doing were to show him that they love him.  They have always loved him.

This whole time. 

"I want to see her come, Ominis." he begged.  "And you- fuck- too, 'Nis.  W-want you to both …feel good…"

He's surprised at how earnest he meant it.  No lies, no manipulation.  He could happily watch both of his lovers lost in each other, falling for each other.  As long as they were both happy.

"Y-yes, Sebastian."  She mewled.  Sebastian could feel her walls spasming around his cock.  "Ah-I-I'm…I'm so close."

"Good boy." Ominis praised.  He removed his hands from Sebastian.  To Sebastian's surprise, he did not miss their absence as much as he anticipated.  Instead, he eagerly watched skillful hands made their way to her clit.  She inhaled shakily as Ominis rubbed her.  Occasionally, his fingers would miss and slyly brush against Sebastian's pulsating shaft.

Ominis could hear how close she was from her small little gasps to the breathily quiet moans she would try to stifle. 

A particular flick of his wrist sent her over the edge.  She keened, digging deep crescents into Sebastian's abdominal muscles with her sharp nails.  Her hands shook as Ominis leaned forward to swallow her cries with his mouth.

And Sebastian laid there, loving the slight sting of pain from her nails and happy to just bask in her glow.

Ominis's hips came to a slow, rolling halt, and he redirected his attention away from Sebastian to plant soothing kisses along the curve of her spine.

Sebastian did not mind this.

After a while, her lashes slowly fluttered open.  Blown pupils gazed at Sebastian's wide-eyed innocent expression.  Her hands relaxed, releasing her claws from Sebastian's sore skin. 

Sebastian was still buried deep within her, waiting for her command.

She surged forward to kiss him, and he was happy to let her take what she wanted from him. 

"You're doing so good, Sebastian."  She murmured into his bruising lips. 

His heart skipped a beat at the praise. 

"Good boys should be rewarded.  Don't you think so, Ominis?" she asked.  She summoned her wand to her hand.

His heart nearly stopped.

Ominis snapped his hips forward deep within Sebastian.  "He's been surprisingly well-behaved." 

Sebastian whimpered in agreement.

She couldn't help but smile.  With a wave of her wand, the invisible vice around the base of his cock loosened.

He sighed in relief.  It felt like he could finally breathe again.

She did not let him rest.  Despite her recent orgasm, her hips were unrelenting as she started grinding forward on his cock. 

Sebastian jerked back in surprise, accidentally pushing himself down onto Ominis's thick cock.

He was helpless against their onslaught.  Pleasure washed over him as the pair took him apart, fucking him from both ends.  He felt so full, impaled on Ominis and so overwhelmed as his girlfriend milked his aching cock.

"O-Ominis, pleasepleaseplease."

Ominis ran his fingers soothingly over Sebastian's side.  "What do you need?" 

"Want you to come.  W-want to be good for you."

Ominis thumbs pressed hotly into the dips of Sebastian's waist, as he jerked his hips forward, setting a faster pace.  The tightly wound restraint that he managed to cling too was starting to come unraveled.

Ominis's voice was rough, throat dry.  "Sebastian, I want you to come.  Want you to come into our pretty princess."

They both groaned at his words.  Ominis always had the both of him clinging onto his every syllable in the bedroom.

Sebastian, already so close to the brink, moaned.  His vision went with has he released his load inside her warmth.  He might have blacked out half-way through.  He only came back down to earth when Ominis's pounding took on a different rhythm.  Sebastian mewled. He barely had any time to recover from his high. His prostate so sensitive but his muscles so pliant against the vicious fucking. 

At last, Ominis thrusted forward, reaching deep into Sebastian, as he emptied his load into Sebastian's load.  His brown eyes fluttered closed, loving the sensation of being filled.

There was a moment in which the very air was still, in which the trio tried to catch their breath.

She was the first to move, undoing the tie around Sebastian's redden wrists before collapsing on top of him.

Ominis, the dutiful lover, summoned a wet cloth to clean the both of them.

"Have you learned your lesson?"  She asked.

Sebastian hummed.  His mind already imaging all the future scenarios in which his bouts of jealousy would be swiftly punished with their mouths on his throat and cock.

Oh yes, Sebastian certainly had learned a lesson alright.

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

Hi. I’m sending this anonymously but if tumblr glitches and it isn’t anonymous please don’t post this because I’m absolutely completely entirely mortified.

I’m 20 FtM. About a year and a half ago, when I moved out and started at college, I discovered fandom, and began to get really into reading fics on AO3. My parents had heavily restricted my internet access growing up, and as new adult I began to discovered the barrage of content online.

Soon enough, I was spending about an hour or two every night reading smut fics. I never thought anything of it, because, well, it’s just words, it’s not *actually* porn, right?

Recently I did start watching some explicit videos but tried to limit myself to only once or twice a month because the shame I felt as well as the strange dissatisfaction just wasn’t worth it.

After doing some research, I found a study that said that watching porn for more than an hour a week was unhealthy. I thought, yeah, okay, fair enough.

Then I realised: does my fanfiction reading count as pornography?

I kept thinking to myself that because it was text it didn’t count, but —does it? Is that the reason that lately I’ve been feeling strangely dissatisfied and empty after reading/watching? Will I feel like this when I eventually have sex?? (still a virgin, mainly for dysphoria reasons)

I found all this stuff online that says porn addictions can screw you over for life, that you can’t find sexual satisfaction with a partner.

Should I cut back?

I don’t normally masturbate while consuming porn. I feel too ashamed. I normally just sit there and read/watch.

Am I a porn addict?????? Should I quit reading smut? Help.

If you can’t tell, I wasn’t raised in a very sex positive environment and I feel very ashamed. I don’t really know who to talk to and I just feel very guilty so I’m resorting to an anonymous ask on Tumblr.

If you read this, thank you for taking the time. I appreciate it.

— Jason

hi Jason,

I don't think you're a porn addict. I think you're probably just an anxious 20 year old from a pretty restrictive background and now that you have a little more freedom you're kind of nervous about it, which is very normal.

I want to be super clear: written porn is porn. porn is any sexually explicit material designed to titillate; it's existed since WAY before the moving picture existed and it will exist long after the internet has crumbled to dust. people like porn! and it's okay to like porn. the text-based stuff is particularly high on the list of porn that's pretty unambiguously fine, morally-speaking, because you never have to worry that the performer you're watching has had their video stolen by pornhub or that, god forbid, anyone onscreen isn't a willing participant, but I want to be super clear that liking sexually explicit photos or videos of real people is also 100% fine.

obviously I have no idea what study you read, but I'd be cautious about any study being boiled down to such black and white, attention-grabbing headlines. you can interpret a study to mean virtually anything if you want to, and there are a lot of interest groups with a vested interest in demonizing porn. if reading smutty fan fic makes you happy and isn't interfering with the rest of your life, you should do that.

unfortunately it sounds like it's not making you happy lately, dissatisfied and empty feelings. in the kindest way possible, I don't think much of that is being caused by the porn itself. it sounds like it's coming from your gnawing worry that you're a porn addict. maybe it's best to take a little step away from porn and smutty fic for a while, if only until you feel able to engage with it without feeling bad.

also, speaking of porn addiction: that's a very dubious condition, and one that's not scientifically or medically recognized. to be certain, people can develop a reliance on porn that disrupts their daily function and can wreak havoc on their lives, but that's true of anything that causes your brain to spit out happy chemicals. anything that become a maladaptive coping mechanism, including and especially things that are fine and even necessary in small doses. sleeping, exercising, and going shopping are all things that can be life-ruining if done to harmful excess, but that doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong if you like to sleep in, go for runs, or browse your favorite online stores every once in a while.

if reading smut isn't causing you to skip out on your more important obligations, fail to take care of yourself, or bringing on bankruptcy, I think you're probably alright. the biggest danger I see here is you beating yourself over the head with your own anxiety about this, which may be a sign that it's a good idea to take a step back for entirely different reasons than you were worried about.

[heich0e]

BEG, BORROW, & STEAL - levi ackerman/f!reader (aot) NSFW 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT wc: 13k tags: enemies to lovers, neighbours to begrudging friends to lovers, food and wine writer!Levi, catsitter!Levi, Pancakes is the Real Star of this show, frequent and gratuitous descriptions of food and drink, frequent mention and consumption of alcohol, singular mention of loud domestic argument, smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, sensory deprivation play, blindfolds, hair pulling, no mention of condoms, honestly i'm not sure if fire escapes are actually safe to hang out on so tw for that too crossposted to ao3

Nestled in a quiet corner of Mitras’ budding east end, there’s a little five-storey building. 

It’s stout, brick, and decorated with ivy that creeps up along the mortar and underneath its windows. Along the side of the building not facing the two lane street, running just above a narrow back alley, there’s a labyrinthine set of old metal fire escapes—rusted and weathered but still sturdy, a standing testament to bygone craftsmanship. It all comes together in stark juxtaposition to the design of the towering structures of concrete, steel, and glass that have been steadily cropping up in the neighbourhood as of late. 

The architecture feels almost out of place among these new developments, understated and old among all the shiny and new, but it certainly has a lot of character.

The residents who inhabit the apartments inside are respectful, polite people, who mostly tend to keep to themselves—though they’re as a eclectic of a bunch as any, to be sure. Most have lived in their rent-controlled units for decades, made homes for themselves that they never plan to leave. 

Since moving into the little brick building two years ago, you haven’t had any notable issues with any of your neighbours.

Well, except for one.

The miserable guy in apartment 304—one unit down and slightly to the left of your own, 405. He’d nearly chewed your god damn head off for using his trash can one time when you’d first moved in. His trash can of all things. It had been an honest mistake on your part, and you’d sincerely apologized for it when he all-but cornered you in the mail room off the lobby a few days after the fact. But after the unpleasant exchange, the curmudgeon bought himself a padlock for his trashcan and has sent withering glares your way ever since. 

It’s been well over a year since then, but the chill has never quite broken between the two of you. 

The dark haired man, who seems to be perpetually suit-clad—or at least he has been in all the times you’ve spotted him—is easy enough to avoid given the floor’s difference between your units. But sometimes ill-fated meetings are inevitable in such close quarters. 

Your building (regrettably) only has one rickety old elevator. It’s an original feature from when the complex was first built, and it’s undergone minimal maintenance and sum total zero upgrades since it was installed decades prior. 

All of which is to say: it merits nothing less than being called a complete and utter death trap. 

And, as though the sluggardly descent from your apartment on the fourth floor down to the lobby isn’t harrowing enough, your ill-tempered neighbour standing less than a metre away from you in a tightly confined space surely makes it worse.

The elevator is old enough that it has two doors—an automatic door that opens on each floor, as well as a manual interior door that the passengers in the elevator are responsible for opening and closing themselves. Initially you’d found the antique system charming, quaint even, but after realizing that the interior door weighs about thirty pounds and only likes to open half of the time, it quickly lost its charm. You stare pointedly at the cursed iron grate of the aforementioned interior door as the elevator makes its slow downward journey to the lobby, cursing yourself for not just taking the fucking stairs. 

The lights on the side panel tell you you’re only one single floor away from your destination. If you just hold your breath and pray hard enough maybe everything will be fi—

“If you and your boyfriend plan to continue going at it like animals until four in the morning without any consideration for your neighbours, you should at least have the basic human decency to close your bedroom window.”

The elevator makes it to the ground floor just as his eviscerating remark draws to a close, the car dipping slightly upon arrival and sending your stomach sinking with it. Without missing a beat, your sour-faced neighbour pulls the confounded metal door open like it weighs nothing. You, in contrast, are frozen stock-still in shock, reeling in the wake of his words with a singeing heat flooding your cheeks. He steps off in the lobby without so much as a momentary glance in your direction, and you watch his back (in a crisp navy blue suit jacket) as he walks away.

You’re so completely stunned that you almost forget to get out too. 

Oh, you hate him.

You swear that you’ll forsake the cursed elevator entirely for the rest of your life, if only to avoid ever crossing paths with that bastard again.

Or, so you may have thought.

Weeks later, you find yourself on the fire escape outside your living room with tears drying on your cheeks. You sit quietly in the wake of a long, heated argument with your boyfriend. A loud argument. A relationship ending argument. 

Things have been bad for a few months. Maybe even longer, if you’re being honest. He’s always been a bit mean, a little careless, a little wrong—and you knew he probably wasn’t the one. But that doesn’t make the sting of yet another relationship crumbling in your hands any more bearable.

And so, not for the first time, you find yourself drowning your sorrows in a bottle of cheap, overly saccharine white wine and hiccuping in breaths of the fresh air as you try to soothe the ache while the sting of alcohol sears down your throat.

“Your boyfriend sucks.”

You jump a little, looking down the stairs to your right only to see your most loathed neighbour on his own fire escape with a glass of red wine in his hand. 

You’re not sure how long he’s been there, but you’re sure he heard most (if not all) of what had transpired in your living room if he had been home at the time. Your windows had been open, you realize too late to do anything about it.

“Yeah,” you scrub at your swollen eyes with the back of your knuckles, “he kinda does—”

You take a long, inelegant swig from the bottle of wine in your hand at the same time your neighbour lifts his own glass. This mouthful tastes more bitter than the last.

“—and he’s not my boyfriend anymore, in case it needs to be said.”

Your neighbour pauses with his glass at his lips. Based on the fact that your window had been open to the world at large, and your conversation with your now-ex had been less that even-toned, you doubt the point really stands to be highlighted.

“It doesn’t,” he replies, confirming your suspicions. “But sorry to hear that.” 

You snort mirthlessly. “Are you really?”

The man tuts, a little click of his tongue behind his teeth. But it’s not a sound that implies that he cares, just one that says he’s been found out. 

“No.”

You can’t help but laugh at his candour. It’s a nice reprieve from the tears.

And, strangely, things are almost… amicable after that. 

Now in the evenings when both of you sit quietly on your fire escapes, where once you’d skitter back inside to avoid his cold glare and oppressive aura, neither of you moves to silently retreat. 

Sometimes you even chat, as unlikely an occurrence as it once would have seemed to you. You talk about basically nothing—the weather, a new building that’s cropped up a few streets away, a noisy neighbour, the moon—and it’s usually just for a few minutes before you head to sleep. You tend to be early to bed and early to rise, but Apartment 304’s lights seem to be on at all hours.

Part of you wonders just how long he stays out on his balcony after you retire for the night. But, it’s sort of nice—this unlikely armistice you seem to have unspokenly signed.

You stick your head out the window one evening, a few months in to your ill-begotten amity, a little earlier than you normally would since you got home from work ahead of your usual return.

He’s already there. 

“Hey—” 

Your neighbour lifts his head to peer up from the pad of notebook paper he’s scribbling away on. He’s wearing glasses today. You’ve never seen those before. 

“—what are you having for dinner?” 

304 looks at you with a quirk of his brow. 

“A 2001 Cabernet Sauvignon.” 

You lean your elbows on the windowsill, angling yourself a little further out of it. “I just made a fuckload of food. If you split that red with me, I’ve got a plate for you.”

He eyes you, and seems to be considering your proposal. 

“What is it?”

“Roast chicken, some vegetables. Nothing fancy.”

“This wine pairs better with red meat.”

“Yeah? Well my last bottle of wine cost me 8 dollars and a 2-day hangover. Do you want the food or not?” you ask him, rolling your eyes lightly at his comment.

There’s a long pause. 

A sigh.

“Fine.”

You meet on the metal stairs halfway between your respective fire escape landings on the third and fourth floor; you're perched a few steps higher than your neighbour closer to your home, and he to his. 

He pours you a serving of wine into a spotless glass that he must have retrieved while you were inside plating up the meal, having evidently tucked his eyeglasses away at the same time as they’re nowhere to be seen. He accepts the plate of food you offer him and hands you the drink in exchange. Your plates are mismatched, so is your cutlery, and they clash with the delicate wine glasses he’s brought to your unexpected soiree. 

You watch cautiously as he takes his first bite, silently scrutinizing the way his brow furrows as he chews. After a moment the crease in his brow softens, and he seems content—or at the very least not repulsed. You almost laugh into the brim of your wine glass as you quietly read the expressions on his face. 

You tip your glass back and take your first sip.

“Holy shit, this is great,” you say, the flavour of the wine lingering on your tongue even after you’ve swallowed it down. It’s neither too dry nor too sweet, evenly balanced, and it doesn’t have the lingering tannic bitterness of the reds that you’ve tried before. Theres something rich but not heavy in the notes that first touch your palate, fruity but on the right side of neutral. You reach a hand out for the bottle and he passes it to you—albeit hesitantly. Reading the label, all you’re able to surmise is that it’s french. “This must not be cheap.”

“It certainly cost more than eight dollars,” your third floor neighbour snorts. He catches the flat look you shoot him, and suddenly is very preoccupied with cutting into his next bite of chicken.

And so from that point on you continue your evening chats, and even eat dinner together on a semi-regular basis. Apartment 304 has yet to turn down your offer of a free meal—and he always supplies the wine.

You’re not friends per se, but you’re certainly no longer mortal nemeses either. 

“Oi! 405!”

You hear your neighbour call to you late one afternoon, the sun rapidly slipping away along the city skyline outside, and rush towards your open window. You stick your head out onto the fire escape curiously. 

Your neighbour is standing on his landing, staring up at you with a quirked brow.

“Did you lose something?” 

That’s when you notice the bra dangling off his outstretched finger. Your eyes shoot to your laundry rack where that very bra had been previously pinned to dry, as though you really need to confirm where it had come from. There’s a clothespin resting on the grated metal deck of the fire escape beside the wire rack, having clearly blown off in the wind. 

You swallow a mortified groan. 

“How do you know that’s not Misses Miller’s from upstairs?” You sniff, unduly defensive. The argument is weak and you know it; Misses Miller occupies apartment 506, the unit at the top of the fire escape stairs connected to your own—she’s nearly 80 and likely requires a bit more support than what the dainty lace bra looped around your neighbour's index finger offers. 

The dark-haired man’s lips quirk into something you might think vaguely reminiscent of a smirk if you believed him capable of it.

“I’m happy to go ask-“ 

“You’re a real jerk, y’know that, Third?” you cut him off before he can finish the thought, pulling yourself out through the window clumsily in your newfound haste.

He seems to be contemplating what you’ve said as you make your way down the fire escape stairs towards him, footfalls heavy with your indignation.

“Third?” he asks, peering up at you with his head titled inquisitively to the side.

“Third floor,” you explain, like it should be obvious.

“I don’t own the entire third floor.” 

You lean down from your place on the stairs and snatch your bra from his hand. “Well you sure act like it.”

You turn and stomp your way back up the fire escape towards your own apartment, bra clutched in a tightly clenched fist.

“So, should I let Misses Miller know you’re returning that to her, or—“

You slam your window shut behind you before you can hear the end of his comment.

A few nights following The Bra Incident—or the deBRAcle as you’ve come to refer to it in your mortified inner monologue—you wake to the unpleasant sound of toppling aluminium in the back alley. Sleepily, you shuffle out into your living room and lift your window, peeking your head out into the cool night.

A quick glance to your right tells you that 304’s lights are off. It’s late, admittedly, and this should be normal—but you can’t recall a night you’ve peeked down towards his apartment and seen the window dark. It’s all a bit unusual.

What you hear next even more so. 

“God fucking damn it—shit, fuck—mother of—“

“You alright down there?” You approach the railing of the fire escape and lean over the edge to peer down towards the ground.

Below you, beyond all odds or reasonable explanation, is your third floor neighbour. He’s dressed in a nice suit as usual, with his hair neatly slicked back, and he’s standing beside a knocked over garbage can with trash strewn about.

He blinks up at you owlishly.

It’s quiet for a moment as the two of you hold eye contact.

He speaks first.

“I forgot my house keys in my office.”

You raise a brow, propping your chin in your hand as you lean against the metal railing. “And so you picked a fight with an innocent trash can?” 

304 narrows his eyes up at you, a resentful squint. The sharp line of his jaw becomes even more pronounced as he grits his teeth. “I’m trying to reach the fire escape.”

The ladder that connects the fire escape to the ground is retractable, and has to be pulled from the second floor. He’d clearly been trying to use the garbage cans as leverage to reach the lowest rung of the ladder and yank it down—a security measure that had clearly done its job.

You purse your lips, fighting back a laugh. “Are you drunk?” 

Silence befalls the two of you once more, and your neighbours eyes only narrow further. 

“A bit.” Reluctance weighs heavily in his monotonous words.

You push yourself off from the railing, heading back towards your window. 

“Where are you going?” 304 calls indignantly after you, like now that you’ve spotted him you’re somehow obligated to come to his aid.

“I gotta grab something!” you chirp dismissively as you crawl back inside over the edge of the frame.

Something being your cellphone. Specifically to take a picture and commemorate the ordeal.

“You’re cruel,” your neighbour snarls from his place on the ground as you gleefully snap a few photos with flash, quickly turning his back to you in an attempt to preserve whatever remaining shred of pride he has left.

“And if you want me to drop this fire escape ladder then you’re at my mercy—so smile!” you cajole with a giggle as you lean precariously over the railing, pinching the screen of your cellphone to zoom in on his figure.

He flips you off over his suit-clad shoulder and it makes you laugh again. 

Once you’ve had your fun, and taken (conservative estimate) 400 photos, you climb down the stairs all the way to the second floor balcony—creeping across the grated deck as to not startle your unsuspecting lower-level neighbours—and finally push down the fire escape ladder. 

304 makes short work of clambering up the rungs, pulling himself onto the balcony with a heaving sigh. He stumbles slightly, and you grab him by the lapels of his suit to steady him.

“Take it easy, Third,” you say quietly, letting your hands unfurl from his suit jacket once you’re sure he’s regained his balance.

He rolls his eyes and pulls the creaky fire escape ladder up behind him once more. You both wait with bated breath, pulse spiking, to see if the lights inside the second floor apartment turn on. Mercifully the windows stay dark.

The two of you make your way back up to the third floor, and you’re just about to step onto the stairs towards your own apartment and return to the call of your bed as 304 move towards his window. He places both hands flat against the glass and pushes up.

Nothing happens.

It’s locked. 

“Oh my god,” your neighbour groans miserably, letting his forehead rest against the fingerprint-smudged glass, his dark hair hanging around his eyes.

“Holy shit, did something just move in there?” You gasp in fright, spotting something streaking through the darkness of his apartment through the pane.

“Yes, the fucking beast that’s taken over my home.”

You tilt your head. “I’m lost.”

The man before you sighs, turning over so instead of resting with his forehead against the glass his shoulders are pressed to the brick just beside the window frame. He tilts his head back, and a strand of hair falls from his slicked back style and curls in front of his eyes. He breathes out frustratedly into the night. “I’m currently babysitting my acquaintance’s evil cat.”

“You have a cat?” you ask excitedly. 

“No,”—he shoots you a pointed, irritated look—“it’s my acquaintance’s cat. And it’s the weirdest creature on earth. She can open windows and eats all of my bread.”

You press a hand to your mouth to try and hold back your giggles.

“Bread?” you ask him incredulously.

He nods solemnly.

“Well,”—you drag the toe of your fluffy slipper idly against the grating beneath your feet—“what’s her name?”

He stares at you blankly. Utterly unenthused. “Pancakes.”

And at that you have no choice but to openly and unreservedly laugh.

When you finally manage to get your giggles in check—exceedingly conscious of how the sound of your laughter seems to ricochet down the narrow, brick-lined alley you find yourself in—you manage to ask him a pertinent question.

“Does anyone have a spare key to your place?”

“My colleague, Erwin,” the man in front of you mumbles.

Acquaintance. Colleague. You’re starting to wonder if 304 has no friends, or just refuses to refer to them as such.

“Ok, so call him,” you encourage.

He shuts his eyes, his head still pressed back against the wall of brick behind him.

“…My phone is dead.”

You wince. 

“Christ, third strike you’re out.”

Your neighbour looks ready to pitch himself clear off the edge of the fire escape. 

“Get it? because you’re—“

“I got it.” 304 finally opens his eyes to shoot you a glare.

You do him the favour of not openly laughing in the face of his misfortune again, wracking your brain for something that may actually be helpful.

“Er, do you wanna come up to my place?” you ask. “I probably have a charger you can use for your phone, or you could just use mine to call. What kind do you have?” 

The man in front of you rifles through the inside pocket of his suit jacket and hands you the dead device. 

You survey it for a moment, turning the bottom of the phone up towards you to squint at the charging port in the dim night. It’s different from yours but all hope isn’t yet lost. “I think that ex of mine you liked so much had the same one, he left a charger up there. It’s all yours if you want it.”

It’s not like he really has any other choice.

As 304 follows you up the narrow fire-escape stairs towards your window on the fourth floor, you realize it’s the first time your neighbour has ever been to your apartment. Or even crossed the halfway point on the stairs, for that matter. You turn just before you get to the window, and suddenly realize how close you are on the narrow balcony outside of your home. 

You pause.

“You know, I really shouldn’t be inviting a stranger into my apartment.”

Third tuts admonishingly. “We eat dinner together once or twice a week.”

“I don’t even know your na-“

“Levi.”

You’re a little taken aback in the wake of his offering, your eyes widening slightly.

“Levi,” you test the name over in your mouth like the wine the two of you so often share, and then you shrug. “Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Third, but I guess it’ll do.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he huffs.

You turn to crawl through your living room window when you feel a gentle touch on your hip calling for your attention. You look back, and Levi pulls his hand away quickly, like he’s realized what he’s done.

You can’t help but think he doesn’t need to seem so suddenly abashed.

He clears his throat a little as you look to him inquisitively. 

“Your name?” 

You smile a bit, your nose scrunching up at how shyly he poses the question, and you tell him.

He nods curtly, like he accepts it, and it almost makes you laugh.

You go about making two cups of tea while you wait for the phone to power back on once he’s plugged it into the charger—which you dug out of a box you keep shoved in the back of your coat closet full of things your various exes have left in your apartment over the years. Thankfully it is the right fit for the device.

A quick glance at the time on your stove clock as you’re boiling the kettle tells you it’s already well past two AM—far later than your usual bedtime, though you don’t feel particularly sleepy.

Once the tea has been prepared, you tote the steaming mugs into the living room where Levi is waiting. You sit curled in an armchair, while your unexpected guest rests perched on the very edge of your sofa closer to the outlet where his phone is plugged into the wall.

“So, what had you out so late tonight, Thir-Levi?” you ask, correcting yourself last minute from using the nickname you’re so used to. You blow over the surface of your very hot tea as you wait for his reply.

“Work thing,” he grunts dismissively, his knee jiggling impatiently while he cradles the still-dark cellphone in his hands. He picks up his own cup of tea and takes a sip. He seems pleasantly surprised by the taste.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, “and what exactly do you do for work?”

Levi looks at you over the brim of his mug, an almost skeptical expression on his face.

“I’m a writer.”

Your eyes widen. “No shit! Like a novelist?”

“Journalist,” he corrects you, his lips pursing forward like he’s contemplating whether or not to divulge any more. He decides to indulge you, evidently, when he further supplies: “I’m a food and wine writer.”

“Really?” You lean forward in your seat, suddenly very interested. “A critic?”

He looks like he wants to correct you, but doesn’t. “I write reviews among other things, yes.”

You slump back in your chair a little bit, kicking your legs up to loop over one armrest. 

“Wow, a guy who writes about food and can’t even cook.”

“I can cook, I just choose not to,” Levi says defensively, his tone sharp.

“Sounds like something someone who can’t cook would say,” you say, punctuating the statement with a long sip of tea.

“I’ve eaten at some of the nicest restaurants in the world—there’s nothing I can make myself that could compare, so why try?”

“How fatalistic of you,” you say with a snuffle of a laugh against the edge of your mug. “You know, if I’d known you had such a refined palate I might have been a bit more self-conscious about serving you my cooking.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “You’re a decent cook.”

Your brows lift in surprise. A compliment?

“But you use too much salt.”

You bark out a defensive laugh. “I do not!”

You hear a subtle buzz of vibration and a soft chime as Levi’s phone, left momentarily forgotten on the arm rest of the couch, powers on. It seems to take you both by surprise.

“Well then, time to call your colleague in shining armour,” you say with an encouraging wave of your hand.

Levi leans forward to set his cup of tea down on the table in front of him.

“Coasters?” He pauses, looking around the room. 

“I found this coffee table on the curb outside my dorm in college, I promise you it’s seen worse than a hot mug.”

Levi’s face pinches slightly before he sets the mug gently down atop the table’s edge.

You watch as he picks up his phone, tapping around the lit screen for a moment before holding the device up to his ear. He’s curved a little awkwardly towards the end of the sofa due to the power cord connecting the phone to the outlet, the material of his dress shirt pulling taught around his frame. His suit jacket hangs on the back of a chair at your kitchen counter, the knot of his tie is loosened at his throat. 

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Levi pulls his phone away from his face and ends the call.

“He’s not answering,” he says with a frustrated huff, as though not answering a phone call in the dead of night is somehow unreasonable. He dials the number again.

“Well,” you say slowly, watching as the same series of events plays out once more, “it’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groans quietly, slumping back into your sofa. 

“Do you think the building Super would be awake?” you ask. The Superintendent has keys to every unit, so he’s the next most viable option. He’s a nice, helpful man, and only lives down on the first floor, but you suspect a knock at the door in the dead of night would be worse than an impromptu phone call.

“No, but he’d probably wake up if I called him,” Levi mumbles. He clicks his tongue behind his teeth in irritation. “How humiliating.”

He looks miserable at the mere prospect, but still reaches for his phone.

And maybe it’s because of how late it is. Maybe it’s how warm and dozy and pliantly agreeable the tea that you’d prepared for the two of you has made you feel. Maybe it’s just because there’s something inexplicably comfortable about being around Levi that has your guard lowered.

“You could always crash on my couch,” you find yourself saying before you really think it through. He looks up at you, clearly taken aback by the offer. “Then you can call your coworker in the morning and get your spare key.”

Levi appears uncertain. “You’d let a stranger crash on your couch?” 

“We eat dinner together once or twice a week, Levi,” you remind him with a little smirk, using his own words from earlier in your defence.

You bring out a pillow from your own bed covered in a fresh pillow case, and a blanket from your linen closet. You hand them to Levi, still seated in the same place on your sofa though a bit more at ease, and he dips his head in thanks while holding both items atop his lap.

“I have some clothes my ex left here that I would offer you, but he was a bit, uh…”—you make a vague gesture in roughly the same stature as your last boyfriend—“he had a different build than you.”

Levi looks at you flatly. 

“You’ve already done enough,” he says, though not altogether unkindly. 

“Alright, well… g’night,” you say with an awkward little wave, shuffling off in the direction of your bedroom. 

Levi calls your name just as you step across the threshold, and you peek back through the doorway towards him. His face is illuminated only by the glow of the lamp atop the table next to the sofa, and he’s looking at you with an unexpectedly earnest expression as he undoes the top button of his dress shirt, his tie resting undone around his collar. 

“Thank you.”

You smile, dipping your head in a little nod, and shut your bedroom door behind you.

When you wake the next morning, it takes a few languid blinks against the morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains and a couple moments more of proper consciousness to remember the events that had transpired the night before.

Well, that and the distant shuffling outside your bedroom door. 

You pull on a sweatshirt, pat your hair down into something you think (hope) is a little less dishevelled, and amble sleepily out to your living room. It’s empty, but Levi’s suit jacket is still hanging on your counter stool, his tie neatly rolled up on the corner of your coffee table, and your window is open. You can see the edge of his back seated just beyond the open pane. 

You poke your head out to see Levi on the fire escape. His button up shirt is undone to reveal the tight white t-shirt he wears underneath it, and his slacks are slightly creased from sleeping in them. His hair is messy—a hybrid between the loose hanging style you’re accustomed to, and the slicked back fashion he’d had it in the night before. He must hear you coming, because he turns to face you as you arrive. You look at him curiously as if to ask why he’s sitting outside.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he explains without you even vocalizing the question on your mind. His voice is still a bit hoarse from sleep, deeper and rougher than its usual smooth tone.

You crawl through the window, yawning a little as you take a seat cross-legged on the little balcony behind him. Levi turns to face you properly, shifting his whole body in your direction where he sits at the top of the stairs leading down to his own apartment. 

“Any word from your spare key courier?” You blink through the tears that sprang to your eyes in your yawn, rubbing them away with your fist.

“He’ll be here in half an hour,” Levi replies.

You nod, a little tug at the corner of your mouth. “Thank God. Pancakes must be so worried all alone in there.” 

Levi’s lip curls in an unhappy sneer. “I watched her eat half a loaf of three-day-old brioche through the window this morning. I’m sure she’s having the time of her life.”

There’s no choice but to giggle at the image of a cat ransacking your excessively type-A neighbour’s home, even if he can’t see the humour in it.

“D’ya want some coffee?” you ask, pushing yourself up towards the window again.

“I’d take another cup of that tea from last night,” Levi replies, his tone almost hopeful, and you nod before pulling yourself back inside.

You return to your place on the fire escape a few minutes later, this time with two mugs in hand.

It’s quiet while you sip your drinks, listening to the building hum of the city waking up around you. 

“You always up this early?” you finally shatter the stillness with a question, but it’s not intrusive—slipping easily into the comfortable air around you.

“Yeah, usually,” Levi says, peeking over at you. He holds his mug a little strangely, you can’t help put notice—fingertips gripping the brim rather than the handle. It seems unduly precarious. “You wake up early too, huh?” 

You tilt your head, wondering how he might know that. 

“You sing a lot in the morning,” he explains, looking away by turning his gaze back towards the alley. “You’ve got terrible pitch.”

“Hey!” You reach out and swat at his shoulder. He’s warm to the touch, and even though it’s so basically human it still feels almost unexpected.

He huffs a little, neither a laugh nor far enough from one to discredit it; the sound is smug and indulgent.

“Yeah well you stay up too late,” you counter his observation with one of your own.

This time it’s his turn to be curious, lifting a dark brow as he peeks back at you over his shoulder.

“Your light’s always on,”—you tilt your head in the direction of his apartment down the stairs he’s seated at the top of—“and I don’t really take you for the nightlight type.”

“I don’t sleep much,” he admits.

You scoff. “What do you to with all those extra hours in the day?” 

“Writing, editing, researching, emailing my editor,” he explains with a shrug.

You roll your eyes a bit, taking a sip of your coffee. “So you’re a real workaholic, huh?” 

Levi drains the last mouthful of his tea, setting the mug down with a little clink as the porcelain meets metal. “There are worse things to spend your time doing.”

“There are better things too,” you counter. 

“Such as?” 

“I don’t know, socializing? Relaxing? Going out on a date?” You gesticulate with the hand not holding your mug as though to say ‘so on and so forth.'

“You think dating in this day and age is a fun way to pass the time?” Levi remarks flatly.

“Fine,” you concede, a sudden memory of your last ex coming to mind unwelcomely. You can’t help but note he doesn’t make mention of any partners of his own. “Don’t you have hobbies?”

Levi purses his lips, and seems to be wracking his brain. It takes a while. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “When was the last time you went to a museum? An art gallery? A play? The movies? Anywhere that wasn’t work related?”

“I went to the National Gallery downtown a while ago,” he offers.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, disbelievingly. “When?” 

“A class trip in ninth grade.”

Your laughter echoes through the alley as it spills from your lips.

“You know they’ve always got new exhibits on display,” you say, gathering your composure. You lean forward, knees pressing into your chest. “You should visit again, I’m sure something has changed in the past eighty years since you were there last.”

Levi watches you curiously, a little too intently to be considered casual.

His phone jingles.

He blinks, and there’s a brief delay before he looks down at the device in his hand.

“That’s my key,” he says quietly. 

You nod, standing. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blares. You hadn’t even noticed how noisy it’s gotten in the time the two of you have been sitting together, but the city is well and truly awake now.

One at a time, you both climb back in through the window—him letting you go first—and once you make it back into your living room you take Levi’s empty cup from his hand to take it to your kitchen sink and wash while he collects his belongings. 

Levi steps towards your front door as you dry your hands off on a towel hanging from the handle of your oven. You watch as he buttons up his dress shirt—though he leaves it untucked from his wrinkled trousers.

“Thanks again for… y’know”—he stops buttoning once he gets about half-way up the row and gestures vaguely—“all of this.”

You lean your hip against your kitchen counter. “I’ll slip a bill under your door for room and board.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft sort of exasperation to his expression as he does it. 

“You could just knock.”

You smile, and you feel a pinch in your cheeks from how wide it spreads. “Well, where’s the fun in that?”

You don’t see Levi again in the week that follows, as you’re stuck working late each night as you slog towards a project deadline. 

You leave for the office in the morning when the sun has barely crested, and come home long after it’s set. You’ve been eating mainly takeout from restaurants near your work, and whatever happens to be hiding at the back of your pantry since you haven’t had the opportunity to grocery shop—all interspersed with whatever mediocre, half-stale baked goods your coworkers have brought in and left in the staff kitchen for everyone to share.

After one particularly brutal day, you shuffle in the door with nothing but a day-old donut and three coffees in your stomach, though the clock has ticked past eleven. You drop your belongings on your kitchen counter and wonder if you still have that old bag of microwave popcorn kicking around in the back of your cupboard. You ponder this question as you cross your living room to crack the window and let in a bit of fresh air.

Outside, perched unexpectedly just below the window frame on the fire escape, is a brown paper gift bag.

You glance to the right and see Levi’s lights are still on, as usual, but his window is closed. 

Hm.

You pick up the bag and retreat inside, peeking at its contents as you go.

Inside you find a bottle of white wine—a nice bottle of white wine—along with a little piece of notebook paper, ripped along the edge and folded twice in half. You peel the edges of the page back to reveal neat scrawl in black ink. 

This didn’t cost 8 dollars. 

Thanks again for putting me up.

—3rd. 

(Levi)

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, what with all the late nights you’ve been pulling at the office, and you realize that your last encounter was the morning after he spent the night at your place.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head, and tuck the note back into the bag.

The next Saturday morning, mercifully freed from the project you've been slaving away at, you have every intention of sleeping in to makeup of the overtime you've been banking. Instead, you wake to a strange rustling sound.

It takes a moment for it to register to your hazy, barely conscious mind—a sound so gentle you hardly process that it’s unusual until it’s been going on for just a few minutes too long.

“Mrrrrphm!”

Your eyes shoot open.

Now that noise, you immediately know is out of the ordinary.

You creep out into your kitchen on your tiptoes, towards where the rustling seems to be originating from.

Perched atop your kitchen counter, you see the tail end of a four-legged, ginger-furred little creature—with its head tucked into the rumpled paper bag containing the croissant you’d been planning to eat for breakfast. Its long, bushy tail sways back and forth happily as it rustles around inside.

“Hey!” 

The beast—soon revealed to be a cat once it pulls its head from the bag—has the remnants of your (now mostly-shredded) croissant hanging out of its little pink mouth. One of its ears is folded unnaturally, the fur around its neck is scruffy, and you realize upon closer inspection of your half-eaten breakfast that it has a snaggletooth. 

The cat seems fairly sociable though, as it makes no move to run as you slowly approach.

“I’m guessing you’re the illustrious Pancakes, huh?” you say as you reach up to scratch gently behind her ears. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

The cat lets out a cheerful little chirp, your ill-fated croissant still hanging from her maw, bumping her head against your wrist. You pluck the bit of bread from her mouth and quickly scoop her up in your arms, heading towards your door as she squirms unhappily—you don’t quite trust yourself to descend the fire escape with such precious cargo in-hand.

Down on the third floor, you rap sharply against a door.

It swings open moments later to reveal Levi’s perplexed face. Glasses on.

“Your demon cat ate my croissant,” you say, holding the offender out towards him.

She meows innocently. 

“Not my cat,” he replies flatly, taking Pancakes from your hands and setting her down on the floor just behind him. She hits the ground on all fours with a little thump, and trots off happily into the apartment out of sight.

“But you two look so much alike.”

Levi responds only with a narrow-eyed glare.

Then he sighs.

“Sorry… she must have crawled out through the window when I wasn’t looking,”—Levi reaches up under the lenses of his glasses, pressing the tips of his fingers against his shut eyes as though they’re aching—“I’ll buy you another croissant.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him with a little laugh, and his fingers splay under the metal frames of his eyeglasses to peek at you through the gaps. You wave your hand dismissively. “It’s my own fault for leaving my window open last night.”

“That’s a good way to be home invaded,” the dark-haired man chides you sternly, a little furrow of disapproval making itself known between his brows. His hands drop from his face, only for his arms to cross over his t-shirt clad chest.

“Yeah, well they’d have to pass your window first—and it’s not like you wouldn’t spot them Mr. Sleep-When-I’m-Dead,” you say, shooting him a bemused look. “At least you’d have a description to give the cops.”

“All you care about is the killer being caught? Not avoiding being murdered in the first place?” Levi drawls.

“Well, at least I could end up on a true crime podcast, so long as you agree to be a good samaritan and assist the authorities in their investigation,” you joke. You peek over Levi’s shoulder to where his curtain is ruffling in the morning breeze. “Hey, do you mind if I just go out through the window?” 

He shrugs, pulling his apartment door open a little wider to let you through. “Be my guest.”

Levi’s apartment is tidy and sparsely decorated, but it’s nearly identical to your own in terms of general construction. Your eyes can’t help flitter around the space as you shuffle through it towards the open window, your nosiness getting the best of you. There’s a steaming mug on the edge of his kitchen counter that he must have set aside when you came knocking at his door, a closed laptop resting on the edge of his coffee table next to a notebook, and there are bookcases lining the walls as you walk through the living room. You can’t resist pausing to take a closer look as you pass by one, and find a diverse variety of cookbooks and reference books on food, as well as beer, wine and spirits on the shelves. 

Your fingertip traces the gold lettering adorning the thick spine of an immense tome—V I N.

“May I?” you ask, peeking over your shoulder as you pry the book from its place on the shelf.

“You already are,” Levi replies from the kitchen where he’s retrieved his mug, taking a sip. “But sure.”

You let out a little laugh, cracking open the inordinately heavy book. 

“You speak french?” you ask, your tone lilting in surprise as your eyes trail over the language on the page in front of you—foreign, but distinguishable enough thanks to a few words you recognize from classes you took back in high school. The book seems old, antique possibly, and evidently well loved.

“Only a little,” Levi says noncommittally, but judging by the notes scribbled in the margins of the pages (in the same neat script scrawled on the scrap of notebook paper tucked into the gift bag on your kitchen counter) you suspect he’s underplaying his abilities. 

You close the book and slot it back into its place on the shelf.

“Thanks for the wine by the way.”

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks.

“I haven’t cracked into it yet,” you admit, making the last few steps towards the open window. You tap your hand idly against the spotless frame, turning back to look at where Levi is leaning against his kitchen counter. “I had a big deadline this week at work so I’ve been staying late every day. By the time I got home it was all I could do to force myself to eat something before I’d pass out on my couch.”

Levi’s brows lift, though the rest of his body seems to untense a bit for reasons you can’t quite place.

“I’ll be sure to give you a full and comprehensive review of its bouquet—or whatever—once I finally get the chance to enjoy it,” you remark, half-teasing, and he rolls his eyes. 

He takes another sip from his mug. He’s still holding it in that peculiar way he held your mug the morning after he slept on your couch. There’s something about it that you find almost endearing.

You lift your hand in a little wave, he nods in acknowledgement of the gesture, and then you crawl out through the window without another word.

You’re on the second step up the fire escape when Levi pokes his head out after you.

“Do you have breakfast plans?”

You pause, turning back to look at him.

You find him peeking up at you with an unexpectedly hopeful look on his face, if not a little guarded.

“Well, my plans are currently partially digested in your feline ward’s stomach, so... no.”

Levi blinks.

“Can I take you out for breakfast to make up for it, then?” 

You tilt your head to the side, a flutter of something keen and eager tickling the pit of your empty stomach.

“Fine,” you concede, feigning as though you’re hard done by. “But I get to choose the place.”

Levi’s lips pull down in an unsubtle expression of his displeasure. “You know that it’s literally my job to—“

“I don’t care,” you interrupt him, waving your hand as though batting his interjection out of the very air into which he spoke it before it has the chance to reach your ears. “I don’t want some fancy micro-meal from whatever masters of gastronomy you write about. I want waffles. A lot of ‘em.”

Levi huffs, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath before replying a single, reluctant: “Fine.”

“Meet you in the lobby in 10 minutes?” you ask, your lips stretching in a grin.

His own lips purse, and you almost think it might be halfway to a smile. “Sure.”

The two of you wind up at an old greasy spoon diner two blocks away that you’ve been going to since college, where the staff always make sure to give you an extra perfectly golden-brown waffle. Levi sits across from you in a dark green knit sweater that looks incredibly cozy and, to your utter surprise, a pair of jeans. He looks more comfortable and casual than you’ve ever seen him.

“It’s good, huh?” you ask over the table as Levi bites into his own breakfast: 2 eggs, over easy, bacon and toast. You notice he’s carefully separated all three components of the meal on his plate so none of them are touching, and has liberally applied black pepper to the semi-firm yolks of his eggs.

He swallows the bite he has in his mouth, wiping the corners with his white paper napkin. “It’s food.”

You snort a little, shoving another piece of waffle into your mouth. “Are your reviews always so inspired?”

Levi shoots you an unamused look. 

“C’mon, don’t tell me you only eat at fancy fine dining places?” you say, waving your fork around demonstrably. “This is what real food’s all about; little family run joints like this.”

Levi purses his lips.

“Have you ever even been to a fine dining restaurant?” he asks you skeptically.

“No,” you admit, drowning your plate in more of the cheap table syrup. Levi’s nose crinkles in disdain at the sight. The waffles are the same as always: just the right crispiness on the outside to not grow soggy too quickly under the river of syrup you douse them in, perfectly fluffy on the inside.

Fine dining, irrespective of being well outside your budget, has just never been your style.

“So who are you to judge?” 

Now it’s your turn to purse your lips. 

You stab your fork through a piece of waffle and syrup drips, slow and sticky, as you hold it up above your plate. You lift a brow challengingly as you stare him down across the table. “If you want to take me out to a fancy dinner so bad, all you have to do is ask.”

Levi’s expression doesn’t change.

“Fine.”

“Huh?” you nearly choke, though you haven’t yet put your next bite in your mouth.

“Go out to dinner with me,” he says.

“That’s not a question,” you remark, shoving your waiting forkful into your mouth just to give yourself something else to focus on.

Levi huffs exasperatedly. “Will you go out to dinner with me?”

You take your time to chew, the syrup making everything in your mouth indistinguishably cloying, and then swallow. “I’ll think about it.”

Levi’s jaw gapes, a look of betrayal flittering across his usually impassive features.

You laugh. 

“Fine, fine. But only if we can go to the national gallery first,” you say, enjoying every moment of Levi’s palpable misery, setting your fork down and reaching for your mug and taking a sip of coffee. It’s tempered down to a drinkable heat, a little bitter and burnt tasting just like it always is, and there’s something nostalgic in that.

Levi fiddles with his fork, cutting into his egg so the sunny yellow yolk runs across his white ceramic plate. “…I already went.” 

“Huh?” You place your cup back down atop the table, on the edge of your paper placemat.

“I went,” Levi repeats himself, though nothing is made clearer through the repetition. 

“When?” 

“A couple days after you mentioned it. I was reviewing a bistro down the road—terrible by the way—“ he interjects, though you didn’t ask, “and I had some time to kill afterwards.”

“So… what was your verdict?” 

“Boring.”

“Oh, come on!” you say with a warm, pealing laugh, throwing yourself back in your seat. “You’re so uncultured! Didn’t you like their new installation on expressionism?”

“It was a mess.”

“That’s the point, it’s abstract!”

“If I wanted to see a disaster on canvas I’d look at those sneakers you’ve got on,” Levi says with a click of his tongue, but his eyes are bright and mirthful.

You peek under the table at your well-loved tennis shoes, gaping but still laughing. “You are so—!”

“Can I get you two some top-ups on those coffees?” The waitress who has been serving the two of you steps up to the table, coffee pot in hand, but she seems almost apologetic for interrupting. 

It’s the first time you remember you’re in public, and you settle down a bit, covering your mouth to clear your throat bashfully. 

“I’m alright, thank you,” Levi declines politely with a dip of his head.

“I’ll take a little extra please,” you say, and the waitress smiles and adds another bit of steaming, bitter coffee to your cup. It darkens the last few mouthfuls left from your already milk-and-sugared first drink; the deep brown of the fresh brew swirling into the tawny room-temperature remnants of the last.

Your eyes meet Levi’s over the table, and both of you quickly look away, fighting back your smiles.

The two of you walk back home once your meal has concluded and your bills have been paid—split at your insistence, though Levi seemed prepared to physically fight you on it. 

Back at your building Levi gets out on the third floor after a brief goodbye, but before the door to the elevator can slide closed behind him, and you can close the steel grate of the interior door, his hand shoots out to keep them open.

You look up in surprise at the sudden gesture.

“I’m not kidding about dinner,” Levi says, standing just beyond the threshold to the ancient elevator, staring at you with an almost unnerving sincerity. 

You blink, taken aback by how serious he is.

“What’s your cell number?” he asks when you can’t seem to find anything to reply.

You relay the digits to him and he scribbles them down into a little pocket sized, softcover notebook he produces from his jacket pocket. You’ve seen him scribbling in it before out on the fire escape, and realize he must take it with him everywhere he goes. Given the shape and size of it—only a little larger than the palm of his hand—you don’t doubt it’s the very book that the note he’d left with your bottle of wine had been torn from.

“I’ll send you a message and we can make a plan,” Levi says, tucking the notebook back into his pocket.

“Alright,” you agree and finally Levi lets his hand fall from where he’s keeping the doors open. 

He steps away in the direction of his apartment.

“Be careful, Levi,” you say to his retreating back as you pull the grated metal door on the inside of the elevator car closed, “or I might think this is a date.”

He pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. Your eyes meet through the gaps in the metal, and in spite of the distance you can see the mirth in his gaze. “That’s exactly what it is, and it’s what breakfast was too.”

And with that, the door slides shut between you.

One week to the day later, you find yourself sitting across from Levi in a restaurant that feels almost too nice for you to be patronizing. Levi is dressed in a nice suit, as ever, and you’re wearing in the only truly nice dress you own—one you’d bought for a friend’s wedding a few years prior and never had the occasion to wear again. 

Until now.

It’s nothing like the meals you’ve shared on your fire escape, or the boisterous breakfast at the diner on that Saturday morning. There’s no bitter coffee or table syrup to be seen, no mismatched plates and cutlery. It’s quiet, ambient even. All hushed conversation and warm candle light.

But you still enjoy yourself all the same.

And the food is really fucking good. 

“I’m devastated,” you breathe out miserably into the cool night air as the two of you walk side-by-side along the quiet sidewalk in the direction of your little brick building. 

Levi had offered to flag the two of you down a cab, but the evening weather was actually quite nice and the restaurant wasn’t far from home so you’d instead suggested to walk. Your heels are starting to hurt your feet a little bit, a pinch in your toes and the early-makings of a blister forming at the back of your ankle where the strap of your shoe rubs against your skin, but you still can’t quite bring yourself to regret anything about the evening.

Not the walk, not the dinner, not the company.

“You didn’t like it?” Levi asks, a lilt of concern in his voice.

You shake your head emphatically, turning to look at him with a grave expression. “It was too good.”

“That’s a new complaint,” he muses, his mouth pulling at the corner in thinly-veiled triumph.

“How am I ever supposed to enjoy any food again now that I know it can taste like that?” you complain, tossing your head back to look up at the night sky and passing streetlights overhead. Your shoes click against the pavement with every step, but otherwise it’s refreshingly quiet.

Levi laughs into his closed fist. “Now you see my problem.”

“Hey,” you say suddenly, bringing your chin back down so you can look at him, “can you bring me home your leftovers when you go write your little reviews for places like that?” 

“No,” Levi replies immediately, decisively shaking his head. 

You pout, sucking in a sharp breath as you prepare to plead your case.

“But I’d like to take you out again, if you’ll let me.”

He’s not looking at you, his eyes fixed ahead on the pavement as the two of you walk side by side, but you can tell he’s anxiously awaiting your reply with the way his hand is flexing and unflexing at his side.

You feel heat climb in your cheeks.

“Well, if it’s the only way to keep access to that kind of food, I guess I’d be stupid to say no.”

Levi hums, his gaze sliding to meet yours from the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah, I guess you would.”

The elevator ride up to the third floor is quiet but not uncomfortable, though you both seem to be keeping your distance in the confined space—relegated to opposite sides, not dissimilarly to so many months ago when he was calling you out for fucking your atrocious ex-boyfriend too loudly. You could almost laugh at how much things have changed since then. 

He says goodnight as he pulls open the grated door, sending you a brief look as he steps out.

“Goodnight, Levi,” you return the sentiment, hesitating to close the inside door between the two of you once more. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, and there’s an almost disappointing finality to his words, though you don’t dwell too long on it. 

And then he’s gone.

Upstairs in your apartment, you kick off your heels as soon as you step through the door. You stretch your toes against the cool hardwood floor to let the blood flow back into them before padding into your kitchen. You drape your coat across the back of a barstool, and drop your purse on counter, pausing momentarily to eye the gift bag with the wine Levi had given you tucked away in the corner.

Maybe it’s time to crack it open—if for no other reason than to try and drown the niggling feeling of dissatisfaction you have squirming in your chest. 

But first, you pad across your living room to open up your window.

At the very same time that Levi opens his, a floor away.

You pull yourself through without thinking, shivering a little bit against the cool breeze as it meets your exposed skin. Levi—his suit jacket shed, his tie loosened and collar unbuttoned—does the same.

You kneel at the top of the stairs, the metal of the fire-escape digging into your knees, and peer down at him.

“Y’know, I still haven’t opened that bottle of white wine.”

Your fingers fidget with the hem of your dress—it’s crept a bit further up your thighs thanks to the way you’re sitting. Levi’s eyes have caught the subtle rise, and through you see his gaze on your exposed skin, it soon flickers up to meet yours. 

“It’s not really a nightcap,” he says quietly.

You huff, half frustrated and half amused, but the sound is entirely too fond. 

“Are you coming up here or not?” 

Levi climbs the stairs slowly towards where you’re seated at the top. That same feeling underneath your ribs that had once been dissatisfied blooms into something else entirely, crackling like a flame inside your chest as you catch his tie between your fingers.

You pull him down with your grip on the dark green silk—slowly, slowly, slowly—to press your mouths together. 

The kiss is sweet. Unhurried. Decadent.

Levi cranes down a little further, his hands settling on the landing behind you, caging you underneath him. His proximity is more intoxicating than any of the wine you’ve ever shared. The feeling of his lips parting against yours and the gentle imploring sweep of his tongue is more satisfying than any food on earth could hope to be.

One of his hands trails up along your thigh, across that same skin you’d caught him eyeing moments prior. His touch is cold but still it burns. He gives your flesh a firm squeeze.

“Inside now,” he murmurs insistently against your mouth, “unless you want the neighbourhood to hear this.”

You pull away, peeking up at him through your lashes innocently.

“And what if I do?”

He swallows visibly, his tongue darting out to lave across his rosy lips before it disappears once more to click behind his teeth.

“Knew you were an exhibitionist.”

There’s a graceless, frenetic climb back through the window—with Levi’s hand cradling the top of your head all the while so you don’t knock it against the frame—and then the two of you are toppling down onto the soft cushions of your couch.

Levi’s body weight presses into yours as he hovers over you, mouths rapacious, your hips flush and hands greedy. You’re grabbing anything and everything that falls within your reaches: his hands on your waist, your thighs, your heaving chest; your own hands in his hair, cupping his jaw, fisting the fine cotton of his dress shirt. Your dress has rucked up around your waist in the excitement, and after a few moments of exploration Levi slowly breaks your kiss. 

He sinks to the floor on his knees, and your thighs part for him without thinking.

His eyes trace the dark spot on the centre of the delicate lace over your aching cunt, his thumb soon stroking against it with the exact same eagerness as his eyes. 

“Levi,” you say his name pleadingly as your hips wriggle to get closer to his touch, squirming further down the couch cushion towards him. “Please… more.”

Levi huffs a little; not a laugh, but something a little more chiding—a little more mocking. He leans forward so you feel every hot breath break against your skin on his exhales, his eyes still fixed to that little patch of wetness that’s caught his attention, the spot only growing larger the longer he toys with you. “Let me savour this.”

“Like a nightcap?” you ask him, aiming for levity but toeing the wrong side of breathless as his fingers follow the lace trim of your panties up along the curve of your thigh.

“An aperitif,” he rasps as he snaps the elasticated band against your hip, a sharp crack as it hits your tender skin, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours when you hiss. He smirks. “It makes you hungrier.”

Not once in all the time you’ve known him would you have denied the truth that Levi’s tongue is quick and vicious, but never would you have imagined its sedulity between your legs. 

The flimsy material of your panties tugged swiftly down and kicked away, it’s as though the meal the two of you had shared that evening has been forgotten, a thing of the past.

Levi devours you like he’s been starved.

“Fuck, oh—“ 

Your hips jump on the sofa but his strong forearm slings across your lower abdomen to pin them down and keep you at his mercy. Levi glances up at you from his position on his knees, his head bracketed by your thighs, his eyelids hanging low over his hungry gaze. The tip of his tongue flicks against your twitching entrance, laving back up to your clit. The cycle repeats. It’s filthy and fascinating to watch.

“—Levi, nggh—oh my god.”

You grab for anything, borderline delirious. Your nails on one hand dig into the throw pillow at the end of your sofa while the other knots itself through Levi’s dark hair. You grip both with an equal roughness, but Levi doesn’t seem to mind—suckling with a renewed insistence at the swollen bundle of nerves between his lips.

He reaches up and pries your hand away from the strands of his hair, twining your fingers with his own as he pins it down to the sofa beside your hip. Levi pulls away from your pussy with a string of saliva keeping you connected, slick smeared along his mouth catching in the light of the lamp.

“Be gentle, would you?” he rasps, “I’d like to keep my hair for the foreseeable future.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, your chest heaving from the way your breaths come ragged. “It feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, slipping two fingers into his mouth. They shine with his spit when he pulls them from between his swollen lips. He leans back down towards your cunt. “How good?”

“So good,” you whine, his two saliva-slicked fingers slipping inside of you at the same time.

“God,” you toss your head back and gasp, those two fingers inside of you crooking in a way that makes you feel so good. 

“You’re close,” Levi hums, not a question but rather a factual observation, before dragging his tongue up towards your clit again. His fingers keep curling against your walls with an almost unfair degree of skill, leaving you shaking and breathless.

“Y-yeah, gonna cum,” you whimper. 

“You’re gonna cum for me?” he mumbles against your clit, goading you as he carefully watches the expressions on your face.

It's not as though you have any other choice with the way he’s playing you like an instrument he’s long-mastered.

“Yes, fuck Levi, there.”

One last gasp and the lewd, pointed suck with his lips wrapped around your clit has you melting, your thighs clamping against his ears as your back bows up off the sofa. A strangled, desperate little sound tears out of the back of your throat, and your fingers tighten around his own—still entwined beside you on the sofa.

As you come down from your high, you drag his hand up with yours to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your sternum so he can feel how fast your heart is knocking against your ribs underneath the fabric of your dress. 

Your heart rate has nowhere near returned to normal when Levi stands from his place on the ground, wiping at his wet mouth with the back of his hand as he takes in your spent, trembling state. In one fell—impossibly deft—swoop, he picks you up and carries you off towards your bedroom.

“How the fuck are you so strong?” you gasp as you wriggle in his hold—but his grip is tight and he doesn’t waver.

He drops you down onto your bed, and you bounce lightly as you come in contact with the springy surface. You fall back, staring up at him as he peers at you with affront.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You giggle a little as he crawls over your splayed form, his body warm as his lips find their way back to yours.

He kisses you again. And again. And again.

Your pretty dress comes off, finally—left discarded in a hapless puddle on your bedroom floor to be dealt with later. It's an end unbefitting of the nicest garment you own, though you can’t begin to bring yourself to care.

Levi’s fingers trace along the delicate lace of your newly revealed bra and you feel his lips curl up into a smirk against your own. He inches away, peeking down at your chest.

He dips down to mouth along the swell of your breast, his eyes still impossibly trained on yours, and your fingers tangle into the soft strands at his crown as you moan lightly at the gentle touch. 

He sucks against the soft flesh, before pulling off with a little pop!

“Does poor Misses Miller know you kept her bra?” 

You laugh in response to his teasing words, a reference to the early days of what you’d now call a friendship (if not something else entirely), tugging him away from your chest by your grip on his hair.

He quirks a brow at you with his head tilted back in your hold. 

You pout playfully, slackening your grip on his hair and letting your hand slip down along the front of his dress shirt, petting over his chest. “You know, I think I liked you better with your mouth full.”

Levi clicks his tongue behind his teeth, watching raptly at the flash of pink as your own tongue peeks out to moisten your swollen lips. Something shifts behind his gaze, and he leans back on his haunches beside you, reaching up and fingering the loosened knot of his tie.

“Do you trust me?”

The question is a little bit out of the blue, and relatively unwarranted considering only moments prior he’d been three knuckles deep inside of you, but you entertain it nonetheless.

Your head lolls to the side on your bedspread as you look at him curiously. “I let you spend the night on my couch when we barely knew each other.”

He rolls his eyes at your intentionally indirect response, leaning forward until your entire field of vision is filled with nothing but him once more. 

“Do you,”—Levi pauses with his lips ghosting over yours, soft as they brush—“trust me?”

A beat of tense silence stretches between you.

“Yeah.” You swallow lightly after murmuring the word. “I do.”

Levi pulls back again, and reaches up and tugs on the knot of his tie until it comes completely undone, hanging in two separated halves against his chest. Slowly he draws it out from under the fold of his collar.

“There was a trend in food criticism years ago,” he says, his grey eyes tracking up, up, up along your exposed body while you wait like eager prey beneath his gaze, “where critics used to think that you could taste better in the dark. Like the dulling of one sense would somehow improve the others.”

You swallow hard as he leans forward, moving slowly up the mattress towards you.

His tie is still in his hand.

He dips down and kisses you. 

Brief. Teasing.

“They thought you could taste more…”

Levi loops his tie around your eyes, and your breath hitches. You feel the soft slip of silk against your skin, the pressure tightening (though not unpleasantly) as he knots it at the crown of your head to keep it in place. You see only darkness.

“…hear more…” Levi’s lips are right next to your ear; just a ghost of warm breath and his rich, deep voice that seems a little more strained than it had before. 

You’re breathing heavier now, or maybe you’re just more painfully aware of the rhythm of your own respiration.

“…feel more.” 

Warm fingers dance up along your ribs and you gasp aloud, not expecting the sensation. But as quickly as it appears, that feeling of his skin on yours, it’s gone again. You swallow. His touch continues in much the same way, fingers disappearing and then reappearing somewhere else, leaving you guessing. Leaving you wanting.

You feel goosebumps prickle up along your skin.

“Is that true?” you whisper as you push yourself upright and reach out blindly in search of Levi, though you aren’t quite sure where to find him.

“I don’t know—” Levi admits airily from somewhere before you, both nearer and further than you expect him to be. He takes your outstretched hand in his, pressing it to his cheek. It’s warm to the touch, and he turns his face towards your palm, pressing a barely there kiss to it.

Unexpectedly your bra falls forward, cool air kissing heated skin as the straps fall down your shoulders, thanks to a talented hand that had slipped behind your back unnoticed. You feel Levi’s lips curl into a smirk against your palm. 

“—but let’s find out.”

Next is an obscured, indecipherable blur of hot, open mouthed kisses; of gentle grazes and rougher gropes; of moans, and groans, and needy whines that you aren’t sure are even yours anymore. Your pussy’s left a wet patch on the thigh of Levi’s slacks that you can’t see but that you can feel as the sticky fabric ruts against your clit, your hips grinding desperately against it as he consumes you and whatever senses he’s left you. 

It’s infuriating. 

It’s immolating. 

It’s divine.

“Are you ready for me?” Levi pants against your stinging lips, his hand cupping your chin to keep your face tilted towards his even if you can’t see him. 

“Yes,” you mewl debauchedly, rolling your hips against that same crease in his pant leg that’s been tantalizing you for what feels like hours. You should be ashamed—of your words, of your tone, of your actions—but you aren’t.

You feel every second of the stretch as the head of his cock presses inside.

You wonder what it looks like, what he must look like right now, but you’re left only to feel.

“Oh,” he groans, the deep sound sodden and drunk with pleasure. “Amazing. Fuck, you’re taking me so well. You’re perfect.”

The first proper thrust—the in and the out—almost pulls you under like the currents of a tide. You’re fighting a losing battle to keep your head above water, to keep air in your lungs.

The springs of your mattress creak as Levi picks up the pace and mercilessly fucks you down into it, your breaths coming in pants broken by moans. You feel your sheets against your sticky skin, his hands twining with yours, his breath against your lips.

“Is it good?” he asks, mouthing clumsily along your jaw as his hips rail down against yours.

“So good,” you babble in agreement, nodding dumbly as much as you can with such little control over your own body. “Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say that,” Levi rasps, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and letting his teeth graze over your racing pulse. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of it."

He groans as you clamp down on him involuntarily.

You’re close, and think he must be too when you feel the way his cock throbs inside of you.

“Please,” you murmur, voice breaking pathetically as you beg. It sounds like you’re near tears but with the silk still covering your eyes it’s impossible to tell whether or not it’s true. “I wanna see you.”

“Make a deal with me,” Levi grunts, his pace suddenly slowing to a torturous grind. You’re sure that you must be crying now with how devastating the change in pace is—still deep, but just languid enough that the cresting pleasure in the pit of your stomach threatens to recede. 

“A deal?” you ask, gasping as your nails drag along the musculature of his back.

“I’ll take it off,”—Levi’s touch trails up to your face, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your spit-slicked chin and searing cheeks—“but only if you let me take you out to breakfast.”

You’re in no position to be making counter-demands, or returning repartee.

“Anything,” you sob, clinging to him desperately. Your hips tilt up in a fruitless search for friction, your nails scrabble along his skin. “I’ll do anything. Please, Levi.”

He tugs the tie down, and your bleary eyes sting as they adjust to the light. 

Finally, you see him.

Levi is practically glowing, bathed in a sheen of perspiration that you can feel when your skin slips against his own. His dark hair is pushed back, away from the lines of his devastatingly handsome face; his strong cheekbones and the sharp line of his tensed jaw. His abs flex as he carves his way inside of you in that impossibly slow grind, a little trail of dark, coarse hair spanning from his navel to his cock, where you see a glossy ring around the base from you. 

He’s a feast to behold. To taste. To feel. 

“S-so?” he stutters, half-hissing from how viciously your core has tightened around him. His eyes search yours, avaricious and wild. “How does it compare?”

“Better,” you moan, a tear tracking back towards your hairline as you throwing your head back into your pillows, fighting as much as you can to keep your eyes open, “this is better.”

Levi laughs, breathy and wanton as the sound might be, and his hands grip behind your knees before peeling them away from their vice against his waist and pressing them back into your chest. 

He kisses you again—your mouths meeting desperately though they haven't long been parted—first chaste but then sloppily, bullying his way into your mouth like he wants to taste how sweet the words you’ve just said are off your own tongue.

He pulls back, a string of saliva stitching from his mouth to yours.

The corner of his lip ticks up in a smirk as his hips draw back, not in punishment but in preparation.

“Good.”

You wake the next morning with an ache humming in your bones and an effervescence sizzling in your chest. It takes you a moment to rouse, properly anyway, but when you do you feel the unmistakable weight of an arm curled around your bare waist, and a warm pressure perched atop your feet.

You open your eyes, blinking against the light that streams in through the curtains over your bedroom window—billowing gently in the morning breeze. You peek down towards the end of your bed, and see a little fluff of ginger fur sprawled out across your ankles. When you listen closely you can hear the little rumble of a purr.

Finally, you glance over to your side, and find Levi blinking back at you.

He looks sleepy and dishevelled, a sort of pleasant exhaustion in the rings beneath his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in the shadows of your own skin. His hair is sticking up unkemptly at his temple, and there’s a line imprinted into his cheek from where it's been resting against your pillow. It’s a version of himself that you suspect Levi rarely shows to anyone, and right now it’s all deliriously, deliciously yours.

“Good morning,” your voice is so quiet when you finally risk shattering the stillness of your bedroom with a greeting.

“Good morning,” Levi rasps with a commensurate tenderness, even through the hoarseness of his groggy morning voice.

The city is waking up outside your window, the steady build of noise that will crescendo to a dull hum once the world gets underway. But for now it’s still quiet. For now you can still hear Pancakes’ slightly-wheezy purr.

Levi’s arm around your waist tightens, shifting you a little bit closer to him under the soft cover of your blankets. The gesture is hesitant. Half-committed. Like he’s still leaving himself open to be rebuked.

You smile, and close the rest of the distance yourself like crossing that final step along the fire escape. Traversing that halfway point. You curl into him and tuck your head underneath his chin as you rest your cheek against his chest.

Levi seems to soften slightly. To ease. To welcome your intrusion.

If it was ever that at all.

“So… breakfast?”