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[bubbledeveloper3]

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[bubbledeveloper]

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[marketingwithriya]

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[zolass]

Oh!!! Uhhh how about OC x bttm! Reader where reader is a much soft spoken/passive guy and OC is the one who teases him a lot? Bonus points if Reader takes a second to process suggestive jokes & is significantly taller than OC (because I've never read a taller bttm b4 LMAO)

MY MUSE ···─Tease! Rafayel x Taller! bttm Male Reader

Summary: Where you find yourself in the grasps of an famous artist, who simply asked you to be his muse and even paying you for it. But why does it feel like that there's more behind all the teasing from Rafayel. wc: 1.2k

tags: fluff, teasing, taller shy reader (reader is as tall as sylus), nudity, mentions of sex and multiple rounds, (pls tell me if I forgot smt)

Note: I'm sorry if you wanted smut with this one, or a different character. Hope it's still enjoyable. But ngl I like the dynamic T_T

You were sitting at the coast, your shoes dug in the sand as you squatted down. The waves barely missed the tip of your shoes, while you simply stared at the mesmerizing display of the ocean. Your fingers were playing with the sand absentmindedly.

So you didn’t hear the approaching footsteps in the sand, until a hand landed on your shoulder. Looking up surprised, you came face to face with the handsome male that you had been working with for a few months, Rafayel. 

“Hey, beautiful.” Rafayel said, it was a common thing he called you by. At first it was a rather big surprise for you, but it made sense as he hired you as his muse. “Hey Raf,” you greeted him back with a small smile on your lips before you stood up.

Now it was Rafayel’s time to look slightly up at you. “I made breakfast and coffee– so the sooner we are there, the more time we have!” Rafayel said, while he grabbed your hand and pulled you along the shore towards the place you call your home since the last few months.

Many would question why you lived with the painter, all the while you’re ‘just a muse’ as some would like to call it. You didn’t have to pay for basically anything, freeloading off of the other. Of course at the beginning you wanted to know why he did it, just as confused as others would be, even going as far as not accepting the payment he gave you. But his words at the beginning simply were “creativity doesn’t wait around, so I have to grasp it while it’s simply there.”

Quickly you found yourself in the open kitchen, with a steaming coffee mug in front of you, and the simple breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. As you were enjoying your breakfast in silence, Rafayel’s eyes were trained on your figure. Tall, even taller than him, soft locks framing your face. Your eyes that always held warmth in them, even when others would say he was annoying and too much when he wanted to paint another piece, you simply sat there in your own bubble, going along with his orders without speaking up about it. 

After the first three days, Rafayel started to relax more, speaking more with you, having conversations while on and off ‘work’, soon he also started to make suggestive jokes, he loved to see the halt in movement of whatever you’re doing, taking a few seconds to take in his words before a beautiful reddish color would adorn your cheeks, that you would try to hide.

Maybe that was it, what made him slowly develop this warmth in his chest whenever he thought of you, was seeing you or was simply close to you. 

The clearing of your throat brought Rafayel out of his thoughts, “You alright Raf? You didn’t touch your breakfast yet,” you asked with concern, lacing your voice. Rafayel couldn’t help the flutter in his stomach because of your concern for him, he quickly cleared his throat before he looked at you with a playful smile on his lips. “Just thinking about something– you know.. I don’t mind looking up at you, but I bet you would look better under me.” 

It took a few seconds for the words to register in your brain, and as they did he watched as your eyes widened and face heated up, adorning your cheeks in a slightly reddish shade. You didn’t know what to say, your mouth opening and closing. A chuckle left Rafayel as he watched your reaction, “Okay if you’re done let’s start,” Rafayel started, as he cleaned up the table. 

As he walked to the empty canvas, he couldn’t help but halt in his movement, a sudden idea in his head. “[name] you said– you would do anything as my muse right?” The sudden question surprised you. But you took a few seconds to think of how you should answer, so after a bit you nodded, before adding a yes. 

Rafayel couldn’t help the giddy feeling in his stomach, it might be rather risky but he decided to do it anyway, who knew if he had the chance ever again. “Then– strip,” he said loud enough for both of you to hear. 

You stared at him wide-eyed, “Pardon?” 

“Only your shirt,” Rafayel quickly added, backing out half way. Yet he wanted to see your slightly toned chest, without a shirt blocking most of the sight. You were still kinda shocked, before you gave a short okay. 

Soon you were seated on a small chair with a translucent cloth layered across your naked torso, your eyes sometimes looking at the concentrated face of Rafayel, his words still lingering in your head, before the silence was interrupted by a young woman with dark brown hair walking in. 

Quickly you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to hide your exposed body, which was clearly a failure. Both of you stared at each other with wide eyes, a rose color dusting the woman's cheeks. 

The clearing of a throat was heard, both your heads focused on Rafayel, yet his expression changed. “Didn’t think you would come by so early..” he said, with a slightly annoyed undertone which surprised you and apparently the woman too, “should I come back some other time-” Rafayel quickly spoke a sharp yes, before his eyes landed back on you.

Shortly after you both were back alone, a blush still coating your cheeks, your one arm trying to hide your chest, while you held yourself on the chair with the other. Suddenly Rafayel stood up and walked towards you, before standing still in front of you.

As he leaned down, you didn’t know what to expect but certainly not, that he would push a strand out of your face, with a charming smile on his lips, “You know darling, I love that you’re so tall– more room for me to leave marks,” he said. It didn’t take long for you to blush in embarrassment, biting your lip.

“Then why don’t you show me?” you asked in a whisper, first you thought he didn’t hear what you said, but instead you heard a chuckle and a hand reached out towards you. Looking at the hand and then at Rafayel, you could see the way he looked at you. Still rather playful but there seemed to be more of a seriousness hiding behind the exterior, “Sure, anything for my mesmerizing darling,” he spoke.

And so you found yourself that day in multiple rounds of passionate sex, different positions, all the while Rafayel fucked you into the mattress and filling your hole with one load after another and the sweet words were uttered from Rafayel’s lips. Lovebites and hickeys littering your skin, while you were held tightly in the other’s arm at the end of the day.

You both watching as the sun slowly dropped below the waves, a kiss was placed on your shoulder, “Like I thought, you look so fucking beautiful beneath me,” Rafayel teased. A chuckle leaving him as you hid your face, before he turned serious, “I want to take you out on a date, [name].” 

It surprised you, but there you were already having slept with the man, so a date couldn’t be that awful right? 

Rafayel waited for your answer, and as you said yes, he couldn’t help but feel oh so giddy. He hugged you close to his chest, “Then we go when you can walk without pain, hm?” and all you did was huff, as your ears also turned red, “sure,” were the only things you uttered before both of you watched the sunset, before you slowly drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

[call-me-strega]

Dc x Dp Prompt #24: The Midwest Prince(ss)

Danny is a Singer/Siren/Banshee au where he’s basically a Chappel Roan-type figure.( Also, I'm Dead on Main trash so Strangers-to-Friends-to-Lovers, Celebrity x Civilian romance for two of my favorite boys)

Danny’s Ghostly Wail develops into vocal manipulation bc he’s a siren or banshee. Ember teaches him to sing and control the power. He finds music is a good outlet for his emotions and decides to pursue music as Danny. It takes him a few years but he develops a style and brand that he bases off the Realms. However, he doesn’t anyone to connect him to Phantom so he uses parts of his ancestors’ names to become “Walker Gale”(shout out to my beautiful mutual @mirigold-mayflowers for helping me pick that name), ordinary small-town midwestern boy turned Music Icon. He hires Val as his personal bodyguard, Sam as his manager, and Tucker as his head stage tech.

He dresses in really campy clothes the low-key mimic his ghost form as well as other ghosts he’s met. The outfits change to match the vibe of the song. So a rock ballad with an outfit inspired by Ember, Show Tunes-Murder Mystery-type-beat with a costume for Amorpho, EDM-techno-hyperpop themed song styled after Technus or Skulker, etc. He just has a lot of fun experimenting with his appearance and he’s an icon for it. He even makes friends with Star and Paulina through this and they give him feedback and help with new looks. The eventually join the team as his PR and Styling team.

Since he’s a banshee/siren all his songs have this underlying despair/sadness even if they have a fun and bubbly beat. He also references his feelings about being/hiding as Phantom and being partially dead and shit but vaguely so no one actually knows or assumes it’s a metaphor. Many of the themes are actually things lgbtq people identify with, specifically trans and bi fans. He also references battles he’s fought and ppl assumes he’s talking about mental illness or abuse which attracts another category of fans altogether. Again inspired by Chappel Roan his first album his called "The Ascent and Downfall of a Midwest Prince" gaining him the nickname the "Midwest Prince".

He’s weird and unfiltered and full of emotion and he gains a few fans in the hero community too. Raven and Zatanna start a fan club for him, well aware he’s some type of banshee/siren but knowing that the extent of his powers are being used to deliver beautiful performances. The are staunch supporters of him and his music and spread it to their friends. The current fan club is Co-Presidents Zatanna + Raven, VP Greta(Secret, a.k.a: a ghost hero), Starfire, Bart, Cassie, Tim, Kon + Jon, Steph, Cass, and Billy.

His identifying features are a signature make-up look and white underdye (when the color is on the underside of the hair). He’s grown his hair longer so it’s not super visible when he has it down and not styled. He also looks different without make-up so he can totally go unrecognized in public and live life semi-normal (as normal as a half-ghost vigilante powerhouse superstar can be). He actually planned it to be that way so that he could still go to college and stuff even though he’s doing it mostly online. All this to say that Danny has low-key got a Hannah Montana thing going on. Also, let's mix it up a bit and say he's based in Star City.

One day Danny goes to a second-hand book store because he's looking for a cheap textbook when he bumps into an absolute hunk of a man who doesn't seem to recognize him. Jason had been in Star City to visit Roy and Lian. He stopped at a second-hand bookstore to see if he look for some older editions of books (one time he found a second edition copy of Persuasion so he likes to peruse) and ran into a super pretty boy who made his chest feel funny and doesn't realize he's a Wayne. They got to talking about started really connecting. They decided to exchange numbers and kept in touch, meeting up every now and then when they had the chance. Danny gave him his private social media accounts so Jason never learned much more beyond that Danny worked in the music industry but not his exact role in it.

Eventually Danny moves to Gotham, either bc he switched labels or to be closer to Jazz whose doing her doctorate thesis on reforms that need to be made in Arkham. He and Jason begin meeting up in person more frequently and start catching feelings. Danny really wants to ask him out but feels sleazy doing it without telling Jason about his past and superstar alter ego. However, he also doesn't want to lose the mostly normal friendship they have. On the flipside Jason wants to date Danny but doesn't want to drag him into the life of a vigilante or the life of a Wayne. Both of them Pine and Agonize over this. In the end Danny decides to bite the bullet and tell Jason who he is, every part of who he is. He invites Jason over for a movie night and tells him he's got something important to tell Jason.

That same day Starfire decides to introduce Walker Gale's work to the other Outlaws and Jason really resonates with his work. He identifies with the lyrics on a literal and physical level and recognizes the underlying emotions that usually only other ghosts or liminals can. Starfire overjoyed that her friend likes his music decides to show Jason some of his music videos and photos. Jason, not being blind or an idiot, recognizes not only the props and costumes but his crushes face under that (very well done) make-up.

Jason is stunned and conflicted: it’s not like Danny lied to him about who he was, but he was entirely truthful either. Did he assume Jason knew? Or did he just not trust Jason? Why did he even bother with Jason, a seemingly regular guy, if he had such a claim to fame? And Jason keeps listening to his music and it’s speaks to him the same way hanging out with Danny does, making him feel seen and connected. It makes him all the more sure that someone incredible as Danny doesn’t need someone like Jason. He heads to Danny’s place that night very subdued.

He gets to Danny’s place and the smile that greets him twists him up inside. He puts on a mask and tries to act normal but Danny can tell somethings up but persists as he has made up his mind to be clear with Jason. He sits him down and tells him there is something important he wants to tell Jason. He starts by letting Jason know that he cares about him very much and appreciates the normality and closeness of their friendship. He confesses that he doesn't normally get that bc well, he's the superstar "Walker Gale". Danny goes onto say that the reason he didn't say anything earlier was because he treasures the simplicity of what he had with Jason and the reason he's telling him now is because he couldn't continue a relationship that he wants more from without being completely honest.

Jason's heart thunders in his chest and he stares at Danny with a slightly constipated look. Danny asks Jason what's wrong and on an impulse Jason word vomits his feelings. That he actually found out through a friend earlier today, that he really connected to his music the same way he did with Danny, that he's never felt seen the way Danny sees through him, that he's never felt the same way as deeply before, that he's completely and utterly in love with Danny but was scared to say anything and get him involved with his crazy life and the Waynes. And Danny sits and listens shellshocked.

And the only thing Danny can think to do is kiss this incredible boy senseless and tell him that if he likes him back then they can figure it out.

[ohgodthevoices]

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Save point °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

time skip kenma x f!reader

word count : 2922

Premise : You’re a concept artist who recently moved to Tokyo after a personal tragedy left you questioning your purpose. You take a low-key job at a new gaming studio, where you meet Kenma Kozume, the quiet yet sharp CEO. Initially, you clash—Kenma is reserved and brutally honest, while you’re more expressive but guarded. However, as you work together on a passion project, the walls you’ve both built around yourselves begin to crumble.

note : this fanfic will be on my ao3 >here< it might be more organized and easier to keep up with it but i will still upload the chapters here <3

chapter 1/ chapter 2

Chapter one

The Tokyo skyline stretched endlessly outside the glass windows of the modest office. The sound of computers and the faint clicking of keyboards filled the space, a rhythm you’d grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. But today, there was an edge in the air—a tension you couldn’t ignore.

You adjusted your headphones, trying to drown out the growing sense of unease. You began to notice every little noise, the elevator opening and closing , the cars beeping outside, the messed up tie of the man walking past you, the ice melting in your cup of coffee.

“You’ll be collaborating directly with Kozume-san on the upcoming project. Effective immediately.”

Your stomach churned. You’d only been here a month, barely long enough to learn everyone’s names, let alone work with the CEO himself. You had joined this company partly because of its reputation for having a younger, laid-back workforce. It was refreshing to work somewhere that didn’t require stiff suits or stifling formalities. Here, you could stroll into the office in sweats, hair undone and no one would bat an eye. It wasnt simple allowed, it was the norm.

You worked in the artistic department, where your job was to bring life to the game’s visuals—character designs, environments, and UI elements. Your desk was a cluttered haven of sketches, color palettes, and concept art pinned to the walls.

It was the kind of work you’d dreamed about during late nights in art school, but the reality was far more demanding than you’d anticipated.

Deadlines were tight, revisions were endless, and creativity didn’t always come on command. Some days, the ideas flowed effortlessly, your tablet pen gliding across the screen as you brought fantastical worlds to life. Other days, you’d stare at a blank canvas, frustration bubbling as you struggled to meet expectations.

Your first impression of Kenma Kozume came in passing, and even then, he was hard to miss.

The first time you saw him, he was slouched at a desk in the far corner of the office, hoodie pulled over his head, fingers flying across his laptop keyboard. He didn’t look up once, even as people moved around him, his focus unshakable.

The second time, you caught a glimpse of him in the break room. He stood by the coffee machine, staring blankly at the counter as it filled his mug. There was something oddly unapproachable about him, even in such a mundane moment. He had an air of detachment, like the world around him barely registered unless it directly affected him.

You’d never spoken to him, but you’d already decided he wasn’t the type to make small talk or exchange pleasantries. Still, there was something magnetic about him, something that made you wonder what went on behind those sharp, tired eyes.

You had learned that prior to you , Kenma was never really in the office , he was still a streamer more than a CEO , after all this game developement project is only possible thanks to his succesful gaming career. However recently , once he saw how sucessful his idea got , he was now more present in the office and hired more people , you included.

“Hey, Y/N!”

A bright, cheerful voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. You looked up to see Kaori, her vibrant pink hair catching the fluorescent light as she leaned against your desk. Her wide grin and colorful appearance were like a splash of sunshine in the otherwise neutral-toned office.

“Hey,” she said, tilting her head. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You blinked, the metaphor hitting a little too close to home. “That’s… not far off,” you admitted, gesturing to your screen. “I have to work with Kozume-san. On his project.”

Kaori let out a low whistle, plopping into the chair beside you. “Oof, that’s a big one. But hey, you’re amazing at what you do. You’ll be fine.”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface. “What if I mess up? He’s… him. He’s probably going to hate everything I do.” you bury you hand into the palm of you hands

“What if—”

“Nope.” Kaori held up a hand, cutting you off. “No ‘what ifs.’ You’re going to go in there, show him what you’ve got, and if he doesn’t like it, that’s his problem. Not yours.”

You couldn’t help but crack a small smile at her unwavering energy. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is easy,” she said with a wink. “Just think of him as a moody NPC. He might be hard to impress, but you’ve got the skills to win him over.

That made you laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a bit. “Thanks, Kaori. I needed that.”

“Anytime,” she said, standing up and flipping her hair dramatically over her shoulder. “Now, go slay that boss battle. You’re the main character, after all.”

As she walked back to her desk, her bright presence lingering in the air, you took a deep breath. Maybe Kaori was right. You could do this. You just had to believe it yourself.

You checked your schedule, hoping—praying—that there had been some kind of mistake. But there it was, glaring at you in bold letters:

Meeting with Kozume-san | 2:00 PM | Conference Room 3

Your stomach sank. It wasn’t just a casual check-in; you were expected to present your ideas.

You glanced at your tablet, where the rough sketches and concept notes for the project stared back at you. The game was a platformer with a futuristic theme, but Kenma had insisted on “keeping it simple.” That vague direction had left you stuck between creating something bold and eye-catching or playing it safe with minimalist designs.

The game you were working on was set in a post-apocalyptic cyberpunk world, a crumbling cityscape where neon lights flickered through the smog and towering skyscrapers were half-collapsed, their skeletal remains a testament to a world long past its prime. The streets were flooded with a mix of broken technology and rusted machinery, the last remnants of a once-thriving society. With game mecanics similar to The Last Of Us , the players would collects ressources and try to survive in groups.

Your characters were survivors—scrappy, resourceful, and filled with the grit needed to navigate this decaying world. You’d designed them to be mismatched, each with their own story written into their attire, their scars, their expressions. The environments were dark, gritty, and filled with the hum of malfunctioning tech, but you’d infused them with moments of color—neon signs, glowing graffiti, the occasional flicker of hope in the bleakness.

But now, staring at your designs, the doubt began to creep in. Was it too much? Kenma was known for his minimalist approach, and here you were, drowning in the chaos of color and detail. Would he see your vision as too loud, too cluttered for the world he had in mind?

The clock was ticking. You had less than a couple hours before the meeting.

You were so absorbed in tweaking the final details of your designs that you didn’t notice Kaori approaching your desk. Without a word, she set a takeout bag down in front of you with a soft thud, the scent of warm food wafting through the air. A thumbs-up and a smirk was the only indication she’d left before she walked away,

With a quiet exhale and a smile, you grabbed the food, letting yourself step away from the screen. For a few minutes, you allowed yourself to just eat, to breathe, to let the chaos of your thoughts settle.

————————————————————————

You stood in front of the conference room door, your heart pounding in your chest. The cold metal of the doorknob felt like a weight in your hand

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, but your hands were shaking. The designs you’d worked so hard on, the ones that felt like your heart and soul poured onto the screen, suddenly felt like they weren’t enough. What if Kenma didn’t get it? What if he didn’t like it?

You glanced down at your phone, checking the time. Five minutes. Just five minutes until you have to go in.

You reached for the doorknob, your fingers trembling slightly, but before you could turn it, the door suddenly swung open, and you stumbled back in surprise.

Kenma Kozume stood there, but he wasn’t alone. A sleek, black cat perched casually on his shoulder, its golden eyes eerily similar to his own.

His light blonde hair, slightly messy and falling over his forehead, gave him a perpetually disheveled look. He didn’t seem to care much about appearances, as his hoodie—gray and a bit oversized—hung loosely on his frame, paired with comfortable, worn-in jeans.

The cat let out a soft meow, and Kenma, unfazed, gave it a quick scratch under the chin before glancing at you. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a faint flicker of curiosity in his gaze.

“You’re early,” he said simply, stepping aside to let you in.

Your eyes darted between him and the cat, trying to process what you were seeing.

Waaa the cat looks exactly like him!

You hadn’t pegged him as the type to bring a pet—let alone one so comfortably perched on his shoulder—to a meeting.

As you hesitated, the cat jumped down gracefully, landing on the conference table with a soft thud. It padded across the surface, tail flicking, before curling up near the laptop that was clearly set up for the presentation.

Kenma sat down without a word, as if this was all completely normal, and started typing on his laptop.

“You can start whenever,” he said, not looking up

Snapping out of your daze, you stepped inside, carefully closing the door behind you. The cat’s gaze followed you as you moved toward the table, its tail swishing lazily.

Your tablet felt heavier in your hands as you set it down, your designs still vivid on the screen. You glanced at Kenma, but his focus remained fixed on his laptop.

The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint clicking of keys. You cleared your throat softly, hoping to signal that you were ready to start, but the sound barely registered.

Instead, it was the cat that took action. It stood, padded over to your tablet, and plopped down directly on top of it, effectively blocking your work from view.

Your eyes widened, and you froze, unsure of what to do. “Um…”

Kenma finally looked up, his gaze shifting between you and the cat. For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest hint of amusement in his expression.

“Pudding,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. The cat flicked its tail but didn’t move.

“Pudding?” you replied before you could stop yourself.

Kenma leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “That’s her name. She likes warm surfaces. Just move her.”

You hesitated, not wanting to offend the feline—or its owner. Tentatively, you reached out, sliding your hands under the cat’s small frame. Pudding meowed in protest but allowed herself to be relocated to the edge of the table.

As soon as your tablet was clear, you turned it on and opened your designs. The glowing images of the post-apocalyptic cyberpunk world filled the screen, casting faint neon reflections onto the polished table.

Kenma leaned forward slightly, his attention finally shifting to your work. His golden eyes narrowed as he studied the sketches, the lines of his face giving nothing away.

Your heart raced as the silence stretched on, every second feeling like an eternity. You wanted to explain, to justify your choices, but the words caught in your throat.

Finally, Kenma spoke, his voice quiet but deliberate. “Why did you choose this color palette?”

The question was simple, but it carried weight. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“I wanted to balance the desolation of the setting with moments of vibrancy,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected. “The neon lights and glowing elements are meant to represent remnants of the old world—hope, even in destruction.”

Kenma didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flicking between the tablet and you. Then, without a word, he reached out and swiped to the next image.

The room fell silent again, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional rustle as Pudding shifted on the table.

You watched as Kenma swiped through your designs, his expression neutral. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, before you began to explain your characters.

“These characters are survivors,” you said, gesturing to the designs on the tablet. “Each one has their own backstory, their own way of navigating this broken world. I wanted them to stand out in contrast to the bleak environment—each piece of their clothing, their scars, their accessories, all tell a story of where they’ve been and what they’ve had to survive.”

Kenma’s eyes flicked over the characters, his gaze flickering between the vibrant details of their outfits and the muted tones of the world around them. He didn’t seem to react at first, but then he spoke, his voice calm and direct.

“They’re too flashy for side characters,” he said, his tone flat but cutting. “If they’re meant to be secondary, the design needs to be more subtle. The world you’ve created is chaotic, but the characters should blend into it, not dominate it.”

You felt a sharp pang in your chest at his words. You had poured so much into these characters, wanting them to feel real, to feel alive in a world that had been stripped of so much.

“You’ve got a strong concept,” he said, his tone softer now. “Just need to refine the details.”

You nodded, trying to absorb his feedback. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it was something you could work with.

The room felt quieter now, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. You couldn’t help but feel the weight of his criticism, but you also knew that this was the process.

You had to adapt.

Taking a deep breath, you swiped to the next character design, one of the more subdued ones. “I understand what you mean,” you said, your voice more composed now. “Maybe I went a little overboard. But these characters, they’ve lived through so much. I wanted them to feel like they’ve earned their place in this world.”

Kenma didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached forward, swiping through the designs once more, his eyes scanning them critically. Pudding, who had been lounging on the table, lazily swatted at the edge of the tablet, causing the screen to flicker slightly.

Kenma glanced at the cat, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Pudding,” he muttered, gently pushing her paw away from the screen. Then, with a sigh, he turned back to you.

“You’re not wrong,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “The characters do need to feel like they’ve earned their place. But if they’re secondary, they shouldn’t demand attention. The focus needs to be on the world. The players need to feel like they’re in the world, not just looking at it.”

You nodded slowly, taking in his words. The idea was starting to click, but it didn’t make it any easier to accept.

“I’ll adjust the designs,” you said, determination creeping back into your voice. “I’ll make them blend into the world more, but still keep their individuality. They need to feel like they belong, but also like they’ve got something to prove.”

Kenma nodded, his eyes flicking to the screen one last time before he stood up. “Good. That’s what I want to see. Take your time with it. The meeting’s over for now.”

your mind already racing with ideas for revisions. As you gathered your things, Pudding meowed again, hopping onto your lap before you could get up.

You blinked, surprised, but couldn’t help but chuckle.

Kenma gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod. “She likes you.”

You smiled faintly, the tension in your chest easing slightly. Maybe this wasn’t as bad as you’d thought. You still had a lot of work to do, but now you had a clearer direction.

As you walked out of the room, you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. You had the feedback you needed. Now it was up to you to turn it into something even better.

You stepped out of the conference room, still processing Kenma’s feedback. The weight of the revisions hung over you, but you were determined to prove him wrong, to make the changes and show him you could do it.

As you made your way down the hallway, your phone buzzed. You pulled it out, it was an email from Kenma.

You paused, fingers hovering over the screen. Why would he email me?

You opened the message, your eyes scanning the short, direct note:

I want to see the updated designs by tomorrow. Come to my office at 5 PM.

Your heart skipped a beat.

His office? Tomorrow ? you didnt have much time…

Before you could process it, someone called your name from behind. You turned, only to find Kenma standing at the end of the hallway, his expression unreadable.

He was looking directly at you, his eyes piercing through the distance.

“Don’t be late,” he said, his voice low, and then, without another word, he turned and walked away.

You stood frozen, the weight of the email and his words sinking in. What was this really about?

[mikotos-nape-nibbler]

if i'm being honest i don't really give a shit about the discourse of whether 09 is good or bad DID rep nor do i give a shit about how his DID manifests. i find that what makes him interesting isn't a label for a set of symptoms but rather his expression of those symptoms cultivated by the world he was raised in and how he responds or continues those behaviours. it's honestly more interesting to analyze the overarching systems in society that assisted in developing Mikoto Kayano into a murderer.

how different would he be if Japanese society were more open about emotions and struggles? how different would he be if he were receiving mental health treatment? would he still become a murderer and, if so, what made those mental health treatments ineffective? if he had been hired at another japanese company that didn't follow black company practices, would he still have become a murderer? if so, why? what were the factors that made an average, young adult become a murderer? so on so forth.

honestly the fetish this fandom has on his dissociated self that gives the illusion of multiplicity — when, in reality, he's a singular whole that is fragmented; cracks lined with dissociative barriers, chiseled by continuous stress — detracts from the complexity of his character and writing, flanderizing him into a prop of DID that the fandom puppets into theatrics of stigmatization that same fans claim to "educate" against when, in truth, spout blasé hearsays encrypted with a DIDcore-lese that does nothing for communicating information about the disorder and, instead, excludes and dissuades the general population that that supposed "education" is directed towards.

"Mikoto's a system from the interactive music project MILGRAM. His alter, 'John', murdered a bunch of people on the train."

so there's a program called "Mikoto" and you named the SQL table "John" with the ALTER command that somehow murdered a bunch of people. did the train running the Mikoto program malfunction because of some zero day error with the John table?

"'He has Dissociative Identity Disorder. John's a protector and Mikoto's the host."

so is this Mikoto guy some vessel or something for some supernatural ouija board summon and the John guy is like the familiar or bodyguard summoned? is their character just that? a job and occupation? that sounds boring. and what do those jobs have to do with a disorder on dissociation? are you talking about something like "occupation disorder" or "stuck-in-their-work-self disorder"? or is this some DnD homebrew class type?

what purpose does inaccessible language have if you're trying to educate the average person who isn't familiar with those online community terms that aren't even universal terms in literature nor research? and how are these terms even relevant to discussing Mikoto's character when the concepts it supposedly encompasses aren't universal nor applicable to all possible subjective presentations that a human brain can develop? and yet the fandom, and much of the online mental disorder community, treats those sociolect terms as an axiom — a universal truth, universal terms — and the lack of adherence to that speech is seen as wrong or sin.

"[insert link to some website claiming to have info on DID] is a good website if you wanna read up on what DID is!!"

and then that supposed resource uses highly specialized, nonuniversal, sociolect terms that is jargon to those who are only familiar with layman terms which makes the "information" — if it even is faithfully derived from research — seem like further jargon rather than a comprehensible source for educating.

applying this to Mikoto's character, those who aren't already acquainted with how he's spoken about likely view discussions or comments on him as indecipherable jargon thus it must mean Mikoto's character is just jargon thus not well-written or boring because according to the bubble of jargon people describe this guy with: Mikoto Kayano = computer program system + dnd classes or some chuunibyou alter ego personality savior complex + party hoster or vessel for some supernatural thing + mechanical switch that states 0 or 1 + going through some mitosis split

how does any of that relate to dissociation? people have made DID symptoms so convoluted, yet structured that convolutedness through terms and expressions that sound like some Gary Sue Ebony Dementia Darkness Raven trope that completely detracts from the fact that it's a dissociation disorder rather than a roleplay character form.

have people even considered the fact that if Mikoto had never been imprisoned, he, nor anyone, would even know he has DID— if he even counts as having DID? if how his brain works regarding how he handles stress doesn't impact his life negatively- even if he has all the symptoms of DID if how his brain works regarding how he handles stress doesn't cause disorder for him, he wouldn't have dissociative identity disorder.

the less people view Mikoto as the "alters guy", the more complex understandings can be gathered and discussed within the fandom. the more people view Mikoto as the "average, normal guy who committed a murder, but why? what caused an average, hardworking guy to commit the most grievous sin of murder?", the better the range of insight and curiosity into what shapes a person and the factors in their world — a reflection of our present reality — at play which interact and weave with one another to shape and respond to its members; the opposite of cutting off the fluidity and interwovenness Mikoto has with people and environments outside of his self that people constrain him to, that prison cell of a single label characteristic: "DID".

conclusion: for the love of torch novelgram, let's talk about Mikoto Kayano like the multifaceted, complex, shaped-by-the-socioeconomic-stratae-of-the-world-he-is-part-of-and-interacts-with well-written character he is.

[spacebubblehomebase]

Hello! So I have a question about your HHstargazer au. Was Charlie upset when Lillian and Lucious divorce, and is she still upset?

Have a wonderful day!!

When it comes to Charlie's reaction to the divorce, you know how she is. She's more likely to be affected by the feelings of the people around her rather than just concentrating on her own worries. Her mom had long been growing distant from them, so she was hardly surprised. Lilian looked rather assured of her choices and Charlie could adjust. It was just nice to see her mom look freed. Like she could start anew and be excited for it. But her father... Her poor father- Lucius -took it hard. She's always been closer to her upbeat dad than Lilian. But there was a period of time after everything was finalized that her dad just... shut off. From everyone and as close as they were before that, this hurt Charlie more than anything. More than the divorce even! She basically had to grow up relying on herself for 4 years. Without the power and influence her canon self had. (Which surprisingly made her less naive than canon Charlie. Experiencing all of humanity as a human herself without being sheltered and without bias. Both the good and the bad laid unfiltered before her.) Charline's dad was physically there, but he was barely holding on enough to be called emotionally or mentally present in her life. It was an awkward period for them and Charlie was only beginning to develop herself then too. She was basically the Octavia to Lucius' Stolas. Her temperment easily affected by mood swings and hormones like most teenagers. A sensitive, broody, and confused mess, both Magnes were. It was only when the father and daughter duo broke down their walls and reaffirmed how much they needed and missed each other that everything started changing again, but for the better. It was also at this time that they would later hire a most eccentric host into their home who calls himself Alastor. Hope this helps ya! ^v^

-Bubbly💙

[beestriker015]

Yandere Lusamine x male s/o

It’s fairly well known amongst employees of the Aether Foundation that the once bubbly and kind personality of their president took a sharp turn for the worst when Lusamine’s husband disappeared several years ago, even to the point of driving her own two children away, which only helped to damage her psyche even more.

Whether it be to find something/someone new to bestow her affections onto, or perhaps to cure a well hidden loneliness, Lusamine eventually began obsessing over something other than Ultra Wormholes and pokémon, that being a man named s/o.

S/o is a nice looking man in his early thirties who used to work for Silph Co. in the Kanto region during his younger years before joining the Aether Foundation due to his love of caring for pokémon.

“Hello Miss Lusamine! My name is s/o, and it’s an honor to be working for you.”

This was what s/o said upon meeting his new boss for the first time after being hired to be her assistant, thus kicking off Lusamine’s obsession.

“Yes! He’s the one! I can tell already that this man is worthy of the love so many seem to throw away! I will make him mine soon enough.”

Aether’s president thinks to herself before turning to s/o and smiling sweetly at him.

“Such good manners. I like that. I look forward to having you by my side s/o.”

She tells him in a tone that both flusters him and unnerves him slightly.

“T-thank you ma’am. I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations.”

“Glad to hear it. Now come along s/o, there’s already work that needs to be done.”

“Yes ma’am!”

Following Lusamine to her office, s/o begins his first day working at the Aether Foundation.

Working for Lusamine was rather strange to s/o.

Despite being his boss, she seemed to be doting and almost…loving to him.

Yet s/o didn’t think much of it, and in fact actually enjoyed it due to developing a crush on Lusamine.

The more time they spent together, the more Lusamine’s unhealthy attraction to s/o grew.

“I can’t hold back anymore! The longer I wait, the more I risk some other woman sinking her claws into my darling s/o! He is the only person deserving of my love, and I will not lose him!”

She tells herself before deciding to confess to s/o first thing in the morning.

“Before we go over our itinerary for the day. There’s something you need to know s/o.”

“W-what is it ma’am?”

He asks in a shaky voice, fearing he’s about to be fired.

“I’ll get straight to the point. I want you to be mine.”

She says with a blank expression, which changes to a small smile once seeing her darling’s flustered expression.

“C-can you repeat that please? I might have misheard you.”

“You heard me just fine s/o. Ever since you’ve started working for me, I’ve become romantically attracted to you. I repeat, will you be mine?”

Not wanting to pass the chance to be with his crush, s/o nods and smiles.

“I’d like that. Honestly, I kinda fell in love with you not long after I became your assistant.

Hearing this brings a great big smile to Lusamine’s face as her heart beats faster, incredibly happy that her darling loves her back.

“Oh s/o! Come here so that I may shower you with my love!”

She pulls him into a bone-crushing embrace and kisses him passionately.

“I’m yours now my love, just as you are mine, and I will never let you go.”

Lusamine whispers into s/o’s ear, thus officially making them a couple.

Unknowingly dating a yandere can be problematic at times because Lusamine very much tries to isolate s/o from his friends, family, and coworkers.

If s/o ever questions her behavior, his girlfriend manipulates him into believing whatever lie she comes up with.

“I’ve heard them say awful things behind your back my love, so it’s best that you cut them out of your life and focus on me. You know I would never treat you badly, unlike those wretched people.”

Due to being incredibly trusting, s/o believes everything Lusamine tells him, much to her glee.

Lusamine gets jealous very easily, and if she sees another woman talking or Arceus forbid flirting with s/o, bad things are about to happen.

While not a murderous kind of yandere, Lusamine has the money and connections to ruin the lives of anyone she deems a threat to her relationship with s/o.

A woman flirted with s/o?

Well, she will soon gets a call from work telling her that she’s fired, and unfortunately for her, no other reputable business or company will be hiring her thanks to Lusamine.

“Hmph! That’s what the harlot gets for messing with what’s mine.”

Lusamine thinks to herself while smiles like a lunatic after receiving the news.

One benefit from being in a relationship with the president of the Aether Foundation is that s/o is constantly showered with gifts, whether it be clothes, jewelry, trinkets, or anything else.

Nothing is too grand or expensive for Lusamine’s darling s/o.

“Honey, I appreciate everything you do for me, but you didn’t have to get me this.”

“Nonsense, you deserve it for being such a loyal and loving boyfriend.”

“But a weeklong stay at a villa in Undella Town? That’s all the way in Unova!”

“Yes, considering it a reward for all your hard work as my assistant. It’s about time you and I take a vacation together don’t you agree?”

Lusamine is also incredibly affectionate with s/o, even in front of her employees.

“Have you seen the way the President acts around her assistant?”

“Yeah, she seems so much happier than before. It’s like Miss Lusamine’s back to her old self again.”

A pair of employees whisper to each other while watching Lusamine cling to s/o with a happy smile on her face while touring the Conservation Area of Aether Paradise.

If s/o has any pokémon under his care, they automatically become Lusamine’s favorite pokémon.

After all, if these pokémon belong to her beloved darling, then they’re worthy of her love as well.

“Look at you. You’re all so beautiful! Much like your trainer, but to a lesser degree of course.”

She tells s/o’s pokémon with adoration in her voice, although they are slightly scared of her due to sensing the crazy vibes of their trainer’s girlfriend.

Because of the age difference between her and s/o, Lusamine often feels insecure about their relationship.

“My darling says he loves me, but what if he meets someone younger! I’m a previously married woman in her 40s with two ungrateful children! Not that I’d ever let him leave me, but what if s/o woke up one day and decided he no longer wants my love?!”

This thought drives Lusamine to the brink of insanity, but luckily s/o reins her in and does his best to reassure his girlfriend, unaware of her darker thoughts.

“I don’t care that you’re older than me, or that you had a family before we got together. I love you Lusamine, and I’m never gonna leave you.”

“D-do you promise?”

She asks him, letting the more innocent and child-like side of her personality shine through.

“Yes. I’d never lie or joke about something like that babe, you know that.”

S/o’s reassurance calms her down quite a bit as she hugs him tightly.

“Thank you my darling s/o. You truly are deserving of all my love and affection, even more so than the rarest pokémon in the world.”

Not long after this, Lusamine asks for her beloved’s hand in marriage one day after having a very romantic evening together, which he happily accepts.

“S/o, the light of my life, will you make me the happiest woman in the world and marry me?”

Before she can even get on one knee and pull out the ring, s/o gets up from the table and nods with a very ecstatic smile on his face, much to her delight.

“Yes! Absolutely! I love you Lusamine!”

He hugs her with happy tears in his eyes as she chuckles and smiles softly with a crazed twinkle in her eyes before speaking.

“I love you too my dear, and once we’re married, our love will be eternal.”

Despite her previous husband and children leaving her (at least in her twisted point of view), Lusamine takes solace in knowing that s/o, the lone person worthy of her immense love, will never abandon her like they did, and if someone foolishly dares try to steal the object of her obsession away, well…

The experiments Lusamine and the Aether Foundation plan on conducting involving Ultra Wormholes will require a few test subjects….whether they’re willing or not.

[asherthehimbo]

Homesick

pairing: traveling photographer! Hongjoong x local! reader

wordcount: 718

warnings: uhm, one or two suggestive sentences but like thats it, mentions of alcohol and going out drinking, ( gender of reader not specified but like involves cutesy texts so take that as you will)

notes: guys i love Mico sm and this song BEEEN stuck in my head so here you go. I AM busy working on Guardians and Bloody sunrise but this was a short little drabble I had since I've been suprisingly busy so its easier for me to write this format than full length chapters rn

Hongjoong is a traveling photographer, his habit of drifting from place to place quite literally in the job description, yet to him there's no place like home. He can never be away from home for more than a week, gets this bubbling anxiety in his stomach that twists in all the wrong ways. He likes home, he likes his own studio where he can secretly work on music without another person's judging ears, he likes his home built darkroom, refusing to develop the photos of his work, when needed physically, anywhere but there.

He's made quite the name for himself, ‘the photographer who gets bored of places easily’, while it may not be the truth, he lets people believe it because it's less embarrassing than the fact that in all honesty he just gets homesick. The title has people scrambling to employ him, thinking he's some sort of elitist artist if he deems himself better than a place after a few days, which isn't what happens, but watching his bosses for the contracts scramble to try and have him stay, to show why they're place is the best has its benefits.

Yet his favorite benefit of all has to be you, a local hired by the same company that hired him to help guide him through the town. He's spent four days with you already, his flight back home leaves tomorrow and while usually around this time he'd be missing home desperately, the thought of returning, of leaving this town, leaving you, hasn't crossed his mind once since he came here, since he met you, until you brought it up, “Wanne go out to celebrate your last night here?” your words were like a punch to the gut, a reminder that this wasn't home, that to you he was just a tourist, a man with a job, to you, he was your job.

He agreed, of course he did, anything that would have him spend more time with you. In all your drunk babelings, all your compliments and teasing flirting, never once did you ask him to stay. It was all his alcohol filled mind could think about, how the words might fall from your lips which he so desperately wanted to kiss. He wanted you to ask him to stay, to beg him to stay. He must've run though a thousand different scenarios on how you would, if it would be spur of the moment, right before he had to leave for the airport, if there would be actions or words leading up to it, if you'd ask pleadingly, or if you'd ask breathlessly between kisses- the last one was his favorite. Yet you didn't. The night dragged on, he crashed at your place, woke up the next morning to you smiling down at him who was sprawled out on your couch.

You drove him to the airport, you saw him off, not once did your smile leave your lips, not once did you show an inkling of want, of yearning, of needing him to stay the way he needed you too. He arrived home with your name still on his tongue, no- not home. Hongjoong stood in front of his house, but it did nothing to cure the homesickness, not when it only started the moment he had entered the plane gates, when you had disappeared from his sight.

“Hii Joong ₍ᐢ.ˬ.⑅ᐢ₎ lmk when you get home safe! I hope I made your time here enjoyable, if your ever back in town id be happy to show you around some more, get some rest much love (づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ♡”

your text message was like a shock to his system, on one hand he had your number, you'd willingly reached out to him ever after you were done, you'd checked up on him, it made his heart race. On the other hand, it was formal, it was an invitation to use you as a guide again, not a friend, nor something more, the message was a formality, one probably sent to all your clients, that made his stomach drop.

It didn't matter, he’d make sure he was back in your hometown, he'd make sure to see you again, he'd make sure to make you his. He didn't get this good at his job by giving up.

Ateez masterlist | Navigation

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copyright | 2025 | @asherthehimbo

[buildoffshore1]

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[baenakinskywalker]

hungry like the wolf

chapter one: straddle the line

"That was Prime Minister Thatcher. Personally.” “What could she possibly need?” If the rude interruption during his bath wasn’t enough to ruin his night, what Gerald shares with him next certainly is: “She wants to dine at Penscombe. In a week’s time.” or, Rupert hires Taggie to cater a very important dinner for the PM. She'll need plenty of time to prepare — so how does a week at his estate sound?

rating: t (eventual E)

words: 2,749

a/n: a HUGE thank-you to @popjunkie42 and @berd-nerd for beta reading, and to everyone in the @rutagdiscord for hyping me up. you all rock. <3

read under the cut or on ao3!

Rupert-Campbell Black is in the bathtub when he gets the call from the PM’s office. Or rather, when Gerald, who had been finishing up paperwork for tomorrow’s morning in London, gets the call. He barges into the bathroom, and Rupert greets him with narrow eyes and a deep frown.

“You can tell I’m in the middle of something,” he says, gesturing to himself with the one hand not coated in bubbles. Unlike some men in Rutshire, Rupert is serious about his baths. He doesn’t just stew in hot water — he lazes in bubbles, salts, and potions. Of course for the benefits to his skin and hair — and to soothe the aching muscles his career in show jumping so blessed him with. 

Gerald has never been part of this particular ritual. 

“I’m so sorry, sir, but it’s urgent.”

Rupert stands immediately. “What? Is someone hurt? The kids?” He reaches for a towel, but Gerald’s eyes are already wide as saucers. “Is it Taggie?”

“Erm, no, sir, it’s not that sort of urgent.” His eyes find a spot on the floor as Rupert steps over the lip of the clawfoot tub, bringing suds with him onto the checkered marble floor. “But it’s important. That was Prime Minister Thatcher. Personally.”

“What could she possibly need?”

If the rude interruption during his bath wasn’t enough to ruin his night, what Gerald shares with him next certainly is: “She wants to dine at Penscombe. In a week’s time.”

The groan Rupert lets out will surely be heard all the way in Yorkshire. “Why in God’s name does she want to come all the way to Rutshire?” He’s already hunting for the reason she would have to fire him. It would have to be bad for her to do it in person, to embarrass him on his own turf. But Venturer has kept him largely out of mischief as of late — so what could it be?

“Apparently the bid is a concern. So she wants the local MPs and lords to convene — here, obviously — and assure her that everybody will be on their best behavior during the parliamentary session, whether they’re with Corinium or Venturer.”

“Right. And that has to be here because…?”

“She said she was interested in the grounds,” Gerald answers, the lilt to his voice turning it into a question.

“No,” Rupert says slowly, “she just wants to make my life a living hell.” He scrubs a hand down his face, stubble rough against his fingers. Definitely time for a shave.  “Fine,” he concedes. “We’ll play her game  — but I’m inviting people, too, if I’m hosting”

“Venturer people, sir?” 

Rupert nods. “And if this is going to put a thorn in my side, I’d at least like the food to be good.”

“Which caterer shall I call?”

“Nobody,” Rupert says. “I’ll handle it.”

—

Since Tony’s accident — which is what the papers have been calling it at the behest of the Baddingham estate, no doubt to attempt to keep his affair out of the news — things have been…different. There’s Tony’s renewed lease on life, and his narrow escape from divorce, though word around town is that Monica still wants to leave (and the gossip mill of Rutshire would certainly support her if she did). Neither of these developments have encouraged him to let the franchise go, though. If anything, his contempt for Venturer is at an all-time high. 

So it’s a wonder that the papers have left them out of it. The story simply goes: Thank God Cameron Cook happened to be in the office that late and had the good sense to check on her former boss before heading home for the night.

The whole thing has Cameron spooked, which is why she’s currently wooing investors and producers in New York City. It’s a cowardly thing to do, but Rupert’s been using the situation — and the Atlantic Ocean — to let things fizzle. They haven’t seen each other in a month, and while phone calls used to happen a few times a week, it’s been a fortnight since they last spoke. Declan is her main point of contact for all things Venturer now. 

And then there’s Taggie. With the accident, and Cameron, and the franchise, they haven’t had the time to talk about…well, anything non-Venturer related. He thinks she might still be seeing Seb. He thinks she thinks he’s still seeing Cameron. 

That doesn’t mean she’s not the first thing he thinks about in the morning (waking up hard, remembering that kiss, and that dance on New Year’s Eve, and all of the moments in between that haven’t quite been platonic) and last thing he thinks about at night (looking out across the Bluebell Wood, hoping to catch a glimpse of her light on in the Priory, thinking about how she looks tucked into bed). 

They gravitate toward each other during Venturer meetings. Through the yelling, the late nights crowded around the O’Hara dining table, the moments when they’re celebrating a win, Rupert’s eyes and body are drawn to her. When dinners with Freddie and team end, it’s Rupert in the kitchen helping with the washing up. He can only hope the rest of the team doesn’t notice, that they don’t pick up on the something between them like Lizzie and Bas have.

Remarkably, he hasn’t kissed her since the night they got the green light for the franchise bid. 

With that in mind, Rupert has no idea if Taggie will accept. It’s a fantastic opportunity, and he’ll see to it that it’s a well-paying one at that. If nothing else, she deserves the acclaim and networking that will surely come from catering for the PM. This could be a step toward getting out of her family’s shadow. Toward living life for herself, instead of waiting on Declan and the Venturer crew hand and foot.

But it’s a huge ask, especially when he couples it with the infinitely more selfish piece, the piece that came to him in the middle of the night when one of the snoring dogs woke him up: He wants her at Penscombe for the week. The whole week. Just the two of them, just this once.

He wants her, and, like they say, opportunity never knocks twice.

—

Despite Taggie and Declan being the only O’Haras in residence at the Priory, it’s almost foreign to see the estate empty these days. Sure, Caitlin’s back at school, Patrick’s off trying his hand at being a not-quite-starving artist, and Maud is — for better or worse — still in London; but the Venturer crew is always around. Whether it’s Declan, Rupert, and Freddie debating about the purpose and importance of television, Bas and Wesley working out which sporting events get prime-time slots, or Dame Enid toiling away at the piano with ideas for the station’s musical package, there’s always a lot going on. So it’s still shocking to walk through the doors and be met with nobody. Not even Gertrude.

It’s not until he rounds the corner into the living room that he sees why. Taggie’s curled up with Gertrude on the couch while reruns of Four Men Went to Mow play low on the telly. 

This is a rare treat and his favorite way to start the day: catching Taggie before she’s had a chance to jump into the kitchen, before she’s so much as put on a pot of tea. She’s in a white terry cloth bathrobe and slouchy, fuzzy socks — the picture of comfort. “Good morning, angel. Daddy lets you watch that rubbish?” 

“Oh, shit!” Her head whips around, and Gertrude stands at attention, ready to sound the alarm. “You scared me,” Taggie says. Her cheeks turn a beautiful flushed pink, and while frightening her is the last thing he’d ever do on purpose, he can’t deny the effects are a vision. “Gertrude might have taken your head off.”

He comes around the couch and gives the little beast a scratch behind the ears. “No, this one loves me.” 

Taggie stands, and where her robe parts, he sees the same red nightie that’s haunted his dreams for months now. She pulls him into a hug and says a quiet, “Good morning,” that has Rupert thinking about this same scenario happening in an estate across the wood, with a few more dogs in the room. “Can I get you some tea?”

He clears his throat, stepping back. The backs of his knees bump the couch. “No, actually, I just came here to ask a favor.”

She cocks her head to this side and tightens the sash on her robe. “From me?” “How would you like,” Rupert starts, “to cook for the Prime Minister?”

It’s silent for a beat. And then: “Margaret Thatcher?”

“Only PM I know of at the moment,” Rupert answers. He shifts from one foot to the other and adds, “It’s a week from tomorrow, and I thought — if you’re up for it — that you could stay at Penscombe — which is where dinner will be — until then to get your bearings and have uninterrupted time to prepare. And Gertrude, too, of course,” he adds, giving the pup a quick smile.

She stares at him like he’s grown another head. “For the Prime Minister.” Rupert nods.

“To eat my cooking.” 

“And Paul Stratton, and Tony, and some of ours, too — Freddie, Lord and Lady Hampshire, and your father.”

It’s then that Declan makes an appearance from his study. Hair going in every direction. Yesterday’s button-down stained. Eyes bloodshot. Another late night working through his book draft and franchise work. “What the fuck is this?” he asks, looking between the two of them. 

Before Declan has the chance to raise his voice, Taggie shocks him. She nods. “Yes, of course I’ll go.” Wringing her hands, she smiles slowly. “It would be my p-p—p…privilege.”

Rupert’s shit-eating grin is enough to make Declan drag him into the study, the sound of the door thudding behind him all that knocks him out of his Taggie-induced stupor. 

—

“I’m just offering her a job,” Rupert says, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Declan scoffs. “What, to warm your bed? I don’t fucking think so.”

“You really think that little of Taggie?” It’s clear that Declan’s mind is made up about him, no matter how closely they’ve been working together over the past months, nor how well Venturer’s bid is going. Rupert would call them friends, though not close enough to keep a woman — daughter — from coming between them. He expects his business partner to have qualms about his interest in Taggie. But to assume that Taggie would allow herself to be bought? 

Even if there’s a kernel of truth to Rupert’s motives, even if he does want to steal her away from the Priory forever and keep her in every sort of comfort a man can offer, this isn’t how he’d do it. This is temporary.

(There would be roses. There would be candles. A family heirloom ring that he never offered Helen. Perhaps a violin player. A four-course meal cooked by a complete stranger, dishes and kitchen scrubbed clean completely out of sight. An announcement in The Times.)

“I thought we agreed that you were going to stay the hell away from her,” Declan says. His voice cuts through the heavy air in his office, stale from days of taking meals at his desk to keep up with deadlines. Taggie says she hardly sees her father on days when there are no meetings, unless she catches him sneaking into the kitchen for a top-up of his whiskey glass.

“And I thought we were fucking past this.” Rupert exhales. He’d love to open the windows and tidy the papers littered across every horizontal surface. “I only need her for a week.”

They both know he’s lying.

“A week for one bloody dinner party?”

“Maggie making the trip makes it a special occasion, wouldn’t you say? Everything has to be perfect, which means Taggie needs time to plan the menu, do the prep, coordinate with the staff — not to mention getting acquainted with the kitchen.”

“And you couldn’t host here?” 

Rupert shoots him a sympathetic look. “Frankly, a week wouldn’t be nearly enough time to get the Priory in shape for the PM.”

“Why don’t you hire a real caterer?” Declan prods. “One with a full team, one that can handle this sort of event.” 

There’s now a throbbing in Rupert’s temple. If only he could find paracetamol in this mess of an office. Certainly, Declan has some in here. “Taggie’s the best cook in Rutshire. Cotchester, too. And,” he adds, feeling his headache grow, “she’s the only person I trust to handle such a sensitive event.” 

For a long moment, the two men stare at each other. This is how arguments about Venturer go, too. Shouting, debating, and, finally, silence — until the loser concedes, and they both move on. But Rupert is short on time and patience. 

“I didn’t come here asking for your permission, Declan. Tag’s already agreed, and I shouldn’t have to remind you that she’s grown enough to make her own decisions.” 

Declan’s face settles into a deep frown. 

“Well,” Rupert says, “I’m off, then.”

Before the heavy door shuts completely behind him, Declan’s voice booms. “Imagine it were your daughter — what would you do?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Through the living room and into the kitchen, Rupert spies his angel sitting at the table, changed from her robe into her typical jeans and jumper, methodically writing on a legal pad. “I didn’t hear him throw you through a wall,” she says, putting the pencil down and looking up through her lashes. “So that must have gone okay.” “Your father’s a reasonable man.” But he says it with a laugh that has Taggie rolling her eyes and smiling up at him. 

Imagine it were your daughter. 

All but impossible, given the glow of her smile, the way her eyes sparkle. The memory of kissing her mere meters from where they are right now. 

Though they haven’t had time for a repeat performance, there’s an encore in his mind most nights before he falls asleep: The curtain rises, and there’s Taggie in that fucking milkmaid dress, pressed so close to him he can feel her tits against his chest. If he’d had the time, he would have slid a knee between her legs, would’ve let her ride him right there until she —

“Did you hear me?” Taggie asks. The memory of that night evaporates, and Rupert clears his throat.

“Sorry, angel. I was just — erm — thinking about something your father said.”

“Oh,” she says, mouth forming a perfect circle. It makes him want to reach down and trace the outline of her lips with his thumb. “Well, I was mentioning that maybe a smoked salmon mousse after the prawn cocktail would be good? Unless that’s too cliche.” Her brow furrows, and she erases something on the pad. 

To tell the truth, he doesn’t give a damn if it’s cliche. As long as it’s Taggie cooking, it’ll be a smash hit. “Working out the menu already?” 

“I thought getting a head start would be a–a–” — she pauses, takes a breath — “appropriate.” 

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Smart girl.” Already, Rupert feels his headache receding. He thinks of her writing out a menu at Penscombe, working through each word on the page slowly and methodically. How easily he’d be able to slip behind her and press a kiss to her cheek. Or neck. Or lower. 

She would be a vision at Penscombe. Will be. 

“I have a little work to do in London today,” Rupert says. “Some things for our dear friend Maggie, and a few Venturer items. But I’ll be back to pick you up around 8 o’clock. Sounds good?”

Taggie nods. “I’ll pack my bag. And Gertrude’s,” she adds with a smile. “She won’t know what to do with herself when she meets your brood.”

“I’ll tell the chaps to be on their best behavior.” Then, without thinking about his daughter or Declan, he kisses the crown of her head. She sighs in a satisfied answer, and Rupert imagines how a simple kiss could become a habit so ingrained in their day-to-day life that it’d become like breathing. 

She’s already like breathing.

From the office, there’s a rustle of paper and a shout. “Tag! D’you know where my Yeats draft went?” More than enough of a cue to leave. So, with a wink and wave, Rupert’s gone. 

Just until tonight.

[thrutheriff-if]

Thru the Riff is an 18+ interactive fiction revolving around music and the paranormal. It follows you, a journalist working for Star-Dust Magazine, in your newest gig of “interviewing” the members of the “hottest rock band” around, MANHUNT. You’ll work to uncover the bands secrets in your own… creative ways, and find out the truths as to why their stardom is surrounded by scandal.

Content Warnings: violence, foul language, suggestive themes, substance abuse, possession and other paranormal related themes, and more.

You’ve spent the past three years of your life trying to climb the corporate ladder at Star-Dust Magazine, a magazine focusing on the secrets and personal lives of the biggest bands and musicians of your time. You were hired as a journalist alongside your best friend, and have worked on countless jobs and interviews together, most of them being your best work despite your bosses trepidation.

However, your most recent jobs have seemingly all ended as busts, your boss describing them as “fluff pieces” rather than the raw, true pieces that she wants. She’s given you an ultimatum: give her something truly fitting for Star-Dust, or she’ll refer you to a different career path.

Seemingly at rock bottom, you’re given a golden opportunity — MANHUNT, one of the biggest rock bands around, has gone viral for a scandal revolving around one of the members volatile departure from the band. It’s the perfect opportunity to use the bands mystery to your advantage.

The bad news? MANHUNT has never accepted written or filmed interviews that they can’t control, and they’ve refused countless interview invitations from Star-Dust in the past. The good news? Now with their rhythm guitarist very publicly leaving the band, they have to open auditions to replace her.

If only things could be as simple as they seem.

Customize your main characters gender, pronouns, physical appearance, personality and views. As well as choose their skill and interest in music, and their belief in the occult. Do they like the kind of music MANHUNT creates? Can they play any instruments themselves? Do they believe in any sort of occult or spiritual beings? How do those questions tie together? Only one way to find out.

Audition to join the band! MANHUNT needs a new rhythm guitarist, and you see this as the perfect opportunity to get an insider look on the band. Will you be genuine or secretive with your audition? Meet your future bandmates and impress or disappoint them.

Choose from four romance options; MANHUNT’s distant lead singer who has more secrets than they let on, MANHUNT’s drummer who has integrated you into the band without complaint, your guitar tech who has taken a special interest in you, or your best friend who has tagged along for the job.

Develop friendships with the rest of the band and help or destroy MANHUNT’s public image.

Oh, and don’t forget to write your piece for Star-Dust, your job literally depends on it. Find out as much as you can. Find out too much. Don’t get hurt.

Maxim / Maxine “Max” Hawke (RO, gender selectable) — The rather broody lead singer of MANHUNT. Max is the perfect fit for a rockstar, broody in their personal life but an all-out force of energy on stage, wooing crowds of thousands (and mortifying their parents) without issue. As personable as they appear to be on stage, they seem like they want nothing to do with you. It’ll be difficult getting close to them, especially with how odd they seem to be acting offstage.

Roman / Romona Woods (RO, gender selectable) — MANHUNT’s drummer who has a roguish appearance with a heart of gold. They may not look like the most approachable of people, but they’ll surprise you with their boundless energy and bubbly social skills. They’re the most accepting of your arrival to the band so far and are genuinely excited to get to know you.

Beck Moreau (RO, they/them) — Your own personal guitar tech! Well, not technically yours as they used to be Willa’s tech before she left but, regardless they’re tagging along to MANHUNT’s shows and maintaining your equipment for you. They’re loud and can be pretty irritating, and they seem to have a special interest in pushing your buttons. Can you handle the headache they give you?

Gabriel / Gabrielle Moretti (RO, gender selectable) — Your quiet, kind hearted best friend from your childhood. The two of you have been thick as thieves since you were young, and somehow you found yourselves tackling the same career path in adulthood. They’re kind and have been there for you throughout your struggles working for Star-Dust. They decided to come along with you on your newest job to “keep you safe” but, is that really… it?

… and be prepared to meet the rest of the band!

Finn Kellett (he/him), MANHUNT’s perpetually tired manager, Nex Warren (he/they), MANHUNT’s apathetic bassist who couldn’t care less about your arrival, Juliet Beckford (she/her), MANHUNT’s energetic lead guitarist who has a special interest in the unknown, and Willa Perez (she/her), MANHUNT’s rhythm guitarist before you came along, of whom you know very little about.

Author’s Note: Thru the Riff is a passion project of mine (Wil) and Elliot’s, so development will be entirely based on our free time and understanding of how to create our first interactive fiction. We hope you’ll enjoy what we create!