#i hope this is written out in a coherent way.. i don’t have the ability like usual to answer this atm. sorry! hope it’s okay nonetheless

[narutocharacterpolls]

wait why are so many sasuke fans saying fugaku wasn't so bad...... 🤨 didn't he make sasuke feel inferior and like a dissapointment bc itachi was his favourite child, and didn't even care enough about sasuke to attend his graduation until itachi basically pressured him into it. their mother is the one who was like "oh he's just bad at communicating" making excuses for him lol, but it doesn't change how badly he treated sasuke for years. not that samurai are a better option, but fugaku should go in the fire with all the other shitty dads lmao (ps. thanks for running this poll btw, life has been really tiring recently and this has amused me so much, I appreciate all the effort you've put in for us haha)

As we discussed, I will just be responding to the initial question of this to hopefully give some insight as to why many Sasuke lovers do actually like Fugaku.

First and foremost Sasuke doesn’t even dislike his father, Sasuke loves him!

Aside from that though, to actually delve into it, I feel that most Sasuke lovers are Uchiha lovers to begin with. People who tend to sympathize, relate to, understand, and adore Sasuke extend that to his clan which has been wronged for far longer than the Uchiha genocide. They went through decades on decades of being oppressed, and Fugaku had that weight on his shoulders to be responsible for the fate of his clan and how they were to be treated ongoing. He was under a lot of pressure and his focuses, unfortunately, did have to be diverged from Sasuke, and from Itachi in a way that Itachi actually needed. Sasuke was a kid and wasn’t included in knowing the situation their clan had been put in. He doesn’t know why his father is so incredibly busy and not solely focused on family. He’s a kid. He just doesn’t know. He wants attention and praise— which he does actually get from Fugaku, just not in the way and the intensity he desires it.

Fugaku never treated Sasuke in an abusive or even negative way, he just hadn’t given him praise in the exact way that Sasuke desired. His comparison of Sasuke to Itachi, to me, seems to be put in a way of encouraging Sasuke to grow, and alternatively sometimes telling him that it’s okay to slow down and not be like Itachi. Did this sit well with Sasuke? No, Sasuke didn’t receive that in a way that was beneficial to him, however Fugaku clearly had no malicious intent. Sasuke was a kid— a younger sibling at that— he’s going to take comparisons to his brother very personally. Nonetheless, Fugaku still praised him and gave him attention when he could, it just wasn’t well received from Sasuke (again, a clueless child to the situation at large).

Fugaku was frankly bad at communicating, and he was absolutely a little emotionally reserved. He wasn’t good at expressing his emotions, but he still clearly loved his family. He was with them when he could be, but again he had a LOT of expectations and weight on his shoulders at all times.

Yes, Fugaku gave more attention to Itachi, but he genuinely needed to. It wasn’t that Itachi was his favourite child, it’s that Itachi was (supposed to be, believed to be) a large and important role in the Uchiha coup d’état. So not only was Itachi someone he could give attention to during family time, but he was also involved in the other massive part of Fugaku’s life in this point of time. Sasuke however would see this and not understand, he doesn’t have the knowledge to be able to see why his brother is getting more attention than him.

All in all, Fugaku was burdened with a lot while his kids were both very young. It’s unfortunate, for sure, but it’s something that while looking at the big picture is understandable. Unfortunately it just wasn’t in a childs eyes. Was Fugaku the best dad in the world? Absolutely not. But is he really comparable to some of the other horrible fathers in Naruto? No, at least not in my opinion.

Additionally, I also just want to state that Fugaku taking Itachi to the war zone as a child was not canon to the manga. I believe it was a part of the Itachi Light novels.

I think this ask here also gives a nice perspective on the pro-Fugaku opinion too. I’m sure there are plenty other very good reasons I could add here too, I simply don’t have the time at the moment and this is already super long anyways LOL. Any Fugaku defenders can add to this as well with some other perspectives :)

Anyhow, I’m glad you’ve been enjoying the poll and I hope this explanation may give a bit of insight as to why many Sasuke lovers do not actually hate Fugaku.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Father’s Day - Aftermath continued

There have been some… demands. Mainly relating to that hug a certain someone desperately needed after this and this so… your wish is my command (and you are all dreadful enablers - I was absolutely intending to clean the bathroom this eve but I wrote this instead)

💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️

He didn’t hear them approach. Perhaps they had upped their combined stealth game or he’d been too caught up in his own thoughts. Either way the tentative “Scotty?” from Alan made him jump and some guilty impulse caused him to throw the card out of his hands and over the edge of the balcony.

A split second later, another impulse had him hopelessly grabbing for it and allowed a faint whine of distress to escape as it was caught by the swirling sea breeze and drifted towards the pool.

Alan and Gordon appeared at either side and they stood together in silence to watch its descent. Scott absolutely did not let out a sigh of relief as, at the last moment, some heaven-sent zephyr nudged it away from the water and underneath a sun lounger. He did not do that because he was going to burn it anyway and the pool might have saved him a job.

Gordon clearly failed to comprehend how Scott had been completely uninvested in the fate of the card and chuckled as he nudged his shoulder and said “We could have written you another one, Scoots.”

Scott’s grip tightened on the railing “No! You mustn’t! I mean it was sweet… thank you! But you shouldn’t… I didn’t… you can’t think…”

That thing about the words and the brothers again. He could sense them making eye contact behind his neck. Scott bit his tongue to halt the incoherent mess and took a deep breath to try again…

… which was immediately forced out of his lungs by the double envelopment of his rib cage. His intercostal muscles stood no chance against four well-developed arms with a point to make and no further words were possible, well chosen and coherent or otherwise.

“You DID and we CAN.” Gordon declared.

“We do!” Alan chipped in.

“But…” Scott wheezed.

“No buts.” Gordon growled.

“But…”

They squeezed tighter.

“Huuuuuhhhhhh… Need… breathe…”

The squeezing lessened marginally.

“Fine, but only if you don’t argue.”

“I… okok.”

The pressure was reduced enough for him to gasp in a decent breath, lift his arms and drop them around their shoulders to apply some crushing affection of his own. Some time passed, he wasn’t sure how much.

“I do love you both, you know that right?”

“Course we do!”

“You never let us doubt it, Scotty.”

“Oh… good. That’s good.”

He closed his eyes and savoured the moment for nearly a whole-moment-and-a-half before the guilt crept back in.

“I’m sorry guys, I…”

“Scott, don’t make me crush you again because I can and I will.”

“I don’t doubt it. Honestly though…” - he powered on through the brown-eyed glare from his left armpit because all of a sudden a little flare of hope had lit in his chest and refused to be quashed by common sense and he needed to know, needed to hear if it could possibly be true - “… you really think… I did ok?”

The Tinies lost their synchronisation then, as Alan yelled “YESSSS!” in Scott’s right ear and Gordon head butted his clavicle with a growled string of very military phrases disparaging his ability to understand the most basic of concepts.

Bruised and half-deafened, Scott allowed himself the smallest smile. He was mildly distracted by a faint clicking sound before Alan caught his attention again.

“The Bestest. That’s what it said, Scotty.”

“Allie, you do know that isn’t a word, right?”

“Meh, it’s word-adjacent. And hey, I’m 18 now, you don’t get to police my language anymore!”

Scott snorted “Try telling that to Grandma.”

There was some chuckling. Then he sighed “But it’s going to be better now he’s back.”

Gordon huffed then pulled back from the hug a little to frown at him.

“Yeah but you do understand that isn’t because it wasn’t good enough with you? Right?”

“But he’s DAD.”

Gordon seemed to be chewing on something so Scott ploughed on.

“Dad! Your actual Dad! Look, when he’s fully fit, you’ll know what I mean. It’s going to be way better, the way it was always supposed to be.”

Alan had gone a little stiff under his arm and was looking over at Gordon who cleared his throat and grabbed Scott’s hand where it still rested on his shoulder.

“Scott, I’m really glad you got your Dad back. And I’m thrilled that we got him back too. He’s amazing and we love him so much. But I think I speak for both of us…?” Gordon paused and looked at Alan who nodded vigorously “when I say it was always you. Even before… all the Guardian business… you were always there, dadding away like you weren’t just supposed to be our big bro. School stuff, swimming stuff, getting me out of trouble stuff…”

“You taught me to ride my bike and read me stories every night.” Alan gazed up at him with the very same eyes that had demanded just one more story, only the gleam in them was wiser and more determined now.

“Yeah, all that… The important stuff. We know he did his best but he was really busy and you were never too busy for us. Never. And we know how hard you tried when we were assholes and we knew you kept loving us and that’s the thing. Right, Al?”

“Yeah that’s the most important thing and you were definitely the bestest at that.”

Scott felt hot and cold and heavy and buoyant all at once. The words had now utterly failed him so he just held both little brothers as tightly as he could and hoped that would communicate what was needed.

“You’re having a hugging-Scott party and didn’t invite us?”

Virgil’s amused rumble from behind him gave barely a second’s warning before his much bigger little brother added his own muscle to the proceedings and pulled the little group back from the railings to allow John to slip in and cover Scott’s front. A beat, and then a slight grunt from the heavy lifter as Kayo leaped onto his back and wrapped her arms around Scott’s forehead.

Entirely smothered by siblings, his head light and his heart little more than a pulsating puddle of goop in his chest, the tiniest giggle escaped Scott. It looked back and beckoned to its little friends who fell over each other on their way to freedom and were eventually steamrollered by a full-throated cackle as pure intoxicating relief poured out of him.

He’d done ok.

💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️💛💙❤️

Down on the pool deck, in the shadow of the balcony, a man leaned quietly on his cane and drank in the incomparably beautiful sound of his children laughing together.

[vigilskeep]

so interested to hear your thoughts bc i love your supreme ability to take a haphazardly-written bioware arc and turn it into a thematically-coherent masterpiece. how does one do this with sera??

i could never get into her personally (found the way they wrote her voice a little contrived/“haha funney swearing and crude jokes”) and i struggled to figure out her core motivations somehow simultaneously being the red jenny “sticking up for little guy” stuff but also a complete alienation from elves and the actual people she wants to protect?

also found it weird how you can just 😭 kick her out any time when you can’t do that with anyone else afaik. i mean i didnt like her but ?? that was a Choice bioware

ah the big sera question

first of all, upfront, i adore sera. this is just a matter of personal taste that people are going to have or not have, and that’s completely fine! (although people have said before that my talking about certain characters has made them give those characters a second glance, and i hope i can do the same for sera for people who maybe haven’t given her a full shot !!) i am just personally delighted by her. i love the fun of her design and i love her combat style and i love the way she talks, how you have to think through what she’s saying to follow where exactly the line of thought went, and you don’t always get everything but that’s okay bc hurry up we’re already onto the next thing! as someone who uh doesn’t always find it the easiest to communicate verbally, i find it very relatable and freeing and charming that she talks as she pleases and dares anyone to challenge it and expects them to catch up. i love the side she brings out in people in banter and i’ve never regretted bringing her along in the party. i think she’s very pretty. i’m getting distracted we could be here a long time

one thing that really helped me figure out how i could play a seramance was bouncing between potential inquisitors until i got one that could use the way the inquisitor and sera’s interactions are written. a big flaw of the writing is that it pushes your character into a box. partly because of the style of comic relief it’s attempting, it forces you to play the “normal” one who can only be fondly bemused by sera at best and can never be unconditionally supportive, even the nicest options available sometimes coming across critical or condescending. the way i’m personally making that make sense to me is playing an inquisitor who has lived a fairly secluded life and is bewildered and stilted and awkward as she tries to navigate a kind of relationship she’s not accustomed to with a kind of person she’s not accustomed to. but she really is earnestly trying. and sera seems not to always get her either, so there’s this process of trying to figure each other’s language out that i’m personally finding very endearing!

obviously that isn’t for everybody. your inquisitor is whoever you want them to be! that’s just one way i’ve personally responded to the question of how you can take the admittedly flawed writing and work with it, and i’ll have to adapt something different with another inquisitor with a different background.

there’s a lot of specifics i don’t know about her backstory and where her story is going—as i say, i know a majority of spoilers, but i don’t have all the details—so i can’t completely elaborate on my thoughts on how she was written until i have all the information. i’ll have some more coherent comments on my actual opinion of sera’s writing as a whole then! but i will say as a final note i honestly find it a little startling how saying completely insensitive things abt elves rarely stops human characters from being continual fandom favourites—and that isn’t, like, a condemnation, i’m thinking of major characters like leliana and morrigan and anders and dorian who i love as well, that’s the nature of the setting and genre of dragon age and the questions it explores—but meanwhile sera, who is an elf and suffers from internalised prejudice that’s against herself as well, seems to be the one who gets so much of the heat? i’m just putting that out there as food for thought.

wait one more thing sorry. when she talks about the little people and the friends of red jenny and it’s confusing who she’s standing up for, i have to say in her defence i think it’s more than a little unfair to expect her to be remotely comparable in clarity of direction/ideology/purpose as the other inquisition companions and advisors, a sweeping majority of whom are major political figures or otherwise trained professionals in their 30s and 40s, when sera is literally just a random person in her very early 20s with a hell of a lot of initiative and talent. of course she hasn’t figured things out she’s too busy cutting her own bangs. you know?

[negrek]

Hmm, so, so far, talking more about my writing here has been going... well. But, no reason not to do some now, if I have something to share.

I'm working on Chapter 54 now, which has really ballooned past what I'd been hoping for in terms of word count. I would really, truly love to keep the chapter under 10k, heh.

So, in pursuit of that, I've been deleting things! I thought I'd share a couple small snippets that I removed, which are both from The Big Shadow Pokémon Lore Dump part two. Hypno talks a bit about the experience of having been shadowed... where "a bit" is like more than 5,000 words. It's a bit of a problem. Anyway:

"How does Professor Krane's machine work? He told me about it, but it sounded really weird. You danced?"

"Danced?" Hypno tilts her head. "No, nothing like that. It's more... abstract than that, I suppose. The way it's supposed to work is the other pokémon, they have normal emotions, so by being exposed to them, you kind of remember how to feel things, too. Professor Krane likes to say that shadow pokémon have lost the ability to imagine things ever being different. To cure them, you have to show them another sort of life that they could have, whether that's with Celebi or with something else."

"Was there music, though?"

Hypno snorts. "Yes, I suppose there was music. It's a strange sort of virtual reality thing. Hard to describe if you've never been in a PC."

And a second extract from the same conversation, but with differet context. I've written multiple versions of this scene, and a big part of editing is trying to cut them all together into something coherent! This bit was a little too lighthearted for the current version of the scene:

"But you could do cool shadow attacks," you point out.

"I suppose that's true," Hypno says with a genuine smile this time. "There are positives to every situation, I suppose. I think I'll take being able to, oh, I don't know, laugh and experience joy and all those sorts of things over some cool-looking fire, but maybe I'm just boring."

"I do not think anyone who has been shadow can *ever be boring."*

"Well, I'll just have to do my best to prove you wrong about that," Hypno says. She stands up and dusts herself off, taking both her empty bottle and the full one for Noctowl. "Let's get back, then. I'm sure the other two will be missing us."

Just some little snippets for now... We'll see if I can motivate myself to do a more substantive post sometime soon!

[attempted--eloquence]

Well now that I've seen the movie I guess the only thing I can do is re-read Handle With Care and pretend it never existed in the first place ! Do I dare ask what you thought of it ?

Oh boy. I TRULY am not even sure where to start. I’ll preface this by saying I didn’t have particularly high hopes, and was kinda just expecting to enjoy the nostalgia piece of it all.

However, it felt like the movie substituted substance (character development, coherent storytelling and plot continuation, etc.) for nostalgia? Like a washed up rock band coming back together for a one-night-only reunion show and trying to cram all of their biggest hits into a 2 hour, 20 minute runtime with a bit clumsy execution.

I think the first point that bothers me is the way that the logic/rules of the world that were established in S1 and onward just…don’t exist anymore. The wolfsbane being burnt out without needing the strain of wolfsbane that poisoned Scott. Peter Hale sniffing the ground like a dog (although ngl that was funny as fuck and I’m hoping? intentional) when werewolves can literally smell chemosignals from a good distance away, let alone blood. The nogitsune being Gerard who is already a werewolf, right? But also the nogitsune is not supposed to be able to be a fox and wolf? Also, Mr. Harris acquiring the jar for the Nogitsune from Liam and Hikari in Japan (how did it get there in the first place?), neither of whom he had ever met because he was presumed dead after s3?

I’m also really…confused about the repeated decision to introduce storylines without giving integral background information (or at least, a reason to give a fuck?) Parrish and Malia. Derek Hale having a son. Hikari and Liam in Japan. Gerard becoming a nogitsune.

Especially with Hikari…she’s like the first figure we see in the movie and yet by the end of it, I have no clue at all who she is as a person. Her and Liam (and MASON. What the hell.) are like cardboard cutouts with a button that you push to spit out occasional one-liners.* And I don’t understand the introduction of a new character when they’re essentially a nothing factor and have such limited, flat interactions with the existing cast. They let Eli Hale shine and become someone we root for. I want to care about Hikari! But I feel like I wasn’t given a reason to. I don’t know if the role was written for Kira and unchanged when Arden declined and was replaced, but it seemed like it was written as if we were automatically supposed to know, understand, and root for Hikari while essentially only knowing she’s a kitsune who is Liam’s love interest? and works at a ramen house with him. All her defining traits seemed to be about what she can offer to the plot rather than who she actually is.

Maybe I placed too many expectations on the ability to develop some of these things within the runtime of the movie…but I think if there’s an inability to make all of these plot points logical, some of them could’ve gotten cut. But, I’d really like to know other thoughts/feelings on the movie, though! Also I totally could’ve missed some things in the movie that would’ve alleviated some of my frustrations with it, but I dunno.

Positives! Oh babey I am so glad Theo fucking Raeken was not in that movie. Also the copious use of the word fuck was awesome lmfao. And I thought Eli was funny! (he’s, uh, very much like a Stiles Jr. but I have no comment on that). Also Finstock is Finstock which is cool. And thank the heavens for Alan Deaton. And the scene where Allison had to burn the wolfsbane out and having her mother over her shoulder as a callback to that one scene when she has to stitch up Scott was well done, I thought.

*on the note of characterization, I think I have this same gripe with a lot of characters in the movie. Jackson is essentially there just to keep Lydia company. Malia and Parrish are a thing because…reasons? Allison is undead after 15 years and working through amnesia and she’s somehow not that affected by it? (Yeah, she’s like, murderous and disoriented at first…but after realizing she’s been dead 15 years and remembering Scott she’s kinda fine?) Mason is just another familiar face on the police force. Derek seemed so UnDerek to me. And even after trying to rationalize that fatherhood changes a person, his timid ~just a father trying to do my best to raise my delinquent child of mysterious origins that I love very much~ just didn’t…work for me. Also HIM CHOOSING TO BURN TO DEATH IN FRONT OF HIS KID OMFG.

[madarasgirl]

whats your biggest inspiration for style when it comes to your writing?

I really want to have the ability to write a variety of things, regardless of the genre. I don’t want to write solely naughty smut, or only romance, or only dark and angsty, or only headcanons. I haven’t done scenarios yet, but I’d like to as well. I like having different things. Variety is the spice of life.

Some sources of inspiration:

My Mood- When in a romantic mood (from music, my fiancé, or anything really), it’s easier to write a budding romance developing. Other times I’m hot and bothered. With the smutty one-shots I wrote so far, my mind literally could not focus on doing anything else until I wrote those out of the way. When in a more somber mood (could be also from music, life, merely thinking about serious topics, etc), the mind wanders to darker places. A darker fic is brewing in the head already. I just have to finish “Twin Flames” before putting myself in that mindset again to write it.

My normal daily life- Bits and pieces of my life show up in my writing, such as with my interests and small in-story details. I’m not sure if by “style,” you’re also asking about my tone, but my tone in response to certain events in my stories is influenced by my daily life. This is especially true for the fanfic “Twin Flames,” since I’m also an ICU nurse irl like the Reader. If I sound sassy, exasperated, or depleted, it’s coming from a very real place. Other times I just sass in my writing because it feels like a good spot to do so.

Madara- hah clearly I think a lot about him. So an interesting thought pops into mind. If I think I have enough of something meaningful to say about that topic, I’ll write it out. Could be a fic. But if it’s a headcanon, I want to make it lighter and more informal in style since a few of them are kind of silly anyways. It’s nice to try and be funny. If it’s more of an analysis-type headcanon, I think I should try to write properly and organize my points more coherently. Those would be more essay style.

Madara also influences my style because I try to keep him true to his character. Even if most of my writing thus far has him involved with an S/O (doesn’t exist in canon), who he acts differently with compared to the average person he encounters, all my portrayals of Madara were still written according to my “Madara Romance Headcanon,” regardless of the type of post he was featured in. I don’t think the way he behaves in my writing is completely unbelievable.

Not really related to writing style, but sometimes I pull references from the canon sources and incorporate those within a piece of writing. I don’t know why, but I feel like doing so just gives the piece some extra ‘oomph.’ And it makes my nerd brain happy if I think other people might spot the references.

I’m not sure if that was an adequate answer, but I hope you like my style 😊

[be-secretsanta]

happy holidays, carly! your secret santa was rina!

dear carly- merry christmas! I conjured up this “your name” inspired idea based on the plotting we did get done, I hope you enjoy it! (ps: I wanted this to be a lot longer and more coherent but I got super busy AND sick so I’m last minute rushing TT)

written gift below the cut

@bejoomi / @benayoung / @ahyoungbe

he doesn’t recall how it all began. one morning he found himself staring at an unfamiliar roof with weird posters on the walls and camera equipment stacked into one corner- jaehyun did not own a camera. he’d gone through the whole stretching his limps out progress until he noticed the significant lack of morning wood and the addition weight of boobs but it wasn’t until he took a look into his mirror that he truly let his unfamiliar high pitched voice shriek him back to reality.

he woke with a start, this time to his own room, sweat on his temple, a concerned daeho in the doorframe, asking him if he was okay. “yeah… weird dream I guess…” he wished now it truly just had been one.

I never took you to be a swifty btw.

Good morning to you too. : )

after the dream, jaehyun begun spotting writing in his palms that wasn’t his own. usually it disappeared after a while, sometimes smudges left behind that he only truly learned to identify the source of when he woke up yet again in the unfamiliar room with identical smudges in his (her) palms. whoever this girl was- she was as much his perfect opposite as they seemed to share the same braincell. it was astonishing truly. ever since these weird interactions started, he often wondered what kind of connection fate was forcing them to have and why.

it took him another week and two more dreams to finally try and respond to her recent grocery list. ‘don’t you think that’s a lot of snacks?’ ’?!?!?!’ and from that day on, the rest remained history. they’d slowly begun figuring out the rules and regulations to their weird ability on how to interact without ever really having seen each other while at the same time having seen their entire life holed up inside their own 4 walls.

how we never ran into each other is insane btw.

?

you’re a band photographer- I sing for one.

you simp for one? which one?!

SING!

kek your handwriting sucks dude.

he’d never been the type to receive detention despite his mischievous tendencies at times. however now he had a feeling some of his professors wished they could assign detention with how furiously he was scribbling into his palms at times with clear disregard to the topic of the lesson he should be paying attention to instead. but that girl could leave him so focused on their bicker that he truly forgot to notice anything around him.

ahyoung however was smarter than jaehyun in that regard. more composed too. placing herself strategically in the back row of her lectures, she attracted way less attention. combined with the fact she’d had the habit of doodling into her palms, on desks or the one off chance she did have some paper on that; people barely bat an eye while she snickered away to herself.

I’m not telling him.

stop being a chicken.

it’s bad enough that YOU know!

🐔

wow… you really spent the last 5 minutes drawing that, huh?

🐔

STOP!

it was as frustrating as it was ridiculous. as they’d figured out the intricates of this… arrangement, it seemed like everything was fine- except their names. no matter how often they’d tried to tell each other their names, it just wasn’t happening. they knew everything about each other’s life; the people they hung around with, what music they listened to, their majors, the uni they went to- yet their names remained a mystery. whenever they attempted to share, the writing would simply become unreadable. even while attempting to bypass it and spell their name out with words- whatever upheld the rules for this odd connection would quickly catch up and make the rest unreadable once more. in the end ahyoung resulted to call him J, whereas she was known as A.

ahyoung often wondered why she’d never found it within her to just seek him out- look for him. seoul was a big city but it was still just a city. they could have run into each other without ever truly having known. the vague, foggy images of their dreams did little to have them recall each other’s appearance- which she also blamed on whatever weird rules fate had put in place for their connection. was he something like her soulmate? platonic, surely, but soulmate nonetheless. or perhaps a long lost sibling from another life time? her eyes drifted close the more possible scenarios she thought herself into, all thought of potentially finding him forgotten.

are you still sulking?

call insu after class for band schedule

come on J! don’t be ridiculous.

you erased my note :T

because you’re being an idiot. write him a katalk!

jaehyun sighed. A had a point- about everything. which was ridiculous, considering he didn’t even know her. he did decide to write insu a katalk but chose not to reply for now. he was a professional ghoster after all. and right now he wasn’t sure how to feel about this girl knowing his whole life story when he’d never even actually met her. but that was a problem for tomorrow jaehyun. for now he had an exam to prepare for and a gig coming up this weekend that still needed to be organized.

ahyoung on the other hand was at first annoyed but now just stubborn. if he wanted to ghost her and be a dick about her trying to help, then so be it. she’d enjoyed her life before him, and she could very well continue doing so.

getting ready for another long night out, she lingered around the outside of the club where the bands of the night would be performing, cigarette between her lips as she tinkered with the settings of her camera. J was still on her mind even if she refused to tell a soul about it. there was so much mystery around this whole ordeal that it simply left her curious why it had all started in the first place. snuffing her cigarette out, she turned to head back inside when she bumped into someone, a quick apology muttered under her breath before a flood of images left her holding onto the door frame instead.

two siblings. rushing through open fields. sharing a watermelon by a river bench. the brother looking back over his shoulder, giving his sister a thumbs up in his army uniform while she turned her back on him, clearly agitated about something. the image of a blurry letter. devastated parents.

she looked up only to stare back into the eyes of a boy almost her age- maybe a year older- the exact replica of the guy from the images she’d just seen. however instead of saying anything, the guy reached for a pen in his pocket and began writing with trembling fingers, clearly just as taken aback by all of this.

and as he anticipated to see his writing mirrored on the inside of her palm, gaze fixated on it, ahyoung brought it up into both their fields of vision to display the messy “hello?” written there. the female couldn’t help it. she laughed. loud. relieved. overjoyed to have met a stranger that didn’t feel like a stranger at all.

“god- your handwriting really sucks.”

[smartzelda]

Hehehe for the writer ask meme 12, 26, and 30. Ik I just asked for a wall of text but I am curious!!

Hehe I mean technically the wall of text requires a sorry to everyone else because I LOVE going off😂

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

Okay okay okay

1. The ability to control writing hyperfocus. Or, in other words, if I get really into a wip in my head I want to be able to flip it on like a switch and bust out said wip and finish the draft when I have the time to write it(or get a bunch of work done on a longer wip). (Also if this addition is cheating then so be it but mayhaps this would give me the ability to keep the hyperfocus going should I take a break or eat food or something)

2. I mean everyone wants this, but the ability to get the writing out like I see it in my head, be it capturing the emotions, the overarching arcs and themes, the vibes, or getting the characterization the exact way I want it.

3. Much more personal one (in terms of how I write) but the ability to GRASP how to properly describe everything (especially surroundings utilizing the five senses) without making it too different from the narrative voice or feel like a distracting wall of text. I want to be descriptive I want to create imagery I just want it to fit

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

I wish I could make it happen I really do. It's much easier with characters from media I'm currently obsessed with. Sometimes it just happens, and sometimes I'm just forcing something out in hopes it's somewhat in character and try not to let the perfectionism in my brain think about it so I can just write without accidentally inducing writing block. That being said, when I get in it the character tends to bleed into my mannerisms/speech a bit and my thought process. Sometimes I'll feel like the character to an extent? Clearly there can be some cons but in general it mostly just makes me ecstatic to get into it because it's like an extension of my character brainrot. So do I regret it? Not really.

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

Hmm my dreams are crazy and I would love to integrate some stuff, but I haven't really gotten the chance. Once I wrote down a dream I had and attempted to write it and then it didn't go anywhere. If I have integrated dream stuff successfully it would have to be tiny stuff I can't remember (however I have projected my nightmares and the like on fictional characters). I don't think I have written in a dream (I can't remember) but I can definitely read in dreams. Because I can't properly answer the final question, I'll just say that I'm pretty sure my brain for some dreams like actually created wholeass stories and paragraphs for stuff I can read in them, because I remember them being coherent with dialogue and stuff when I wake up, just not exactly what any of it said aside from vibes, but many times when I'm aware enough to pay attention it's just crazy gibberish (Lorem Ipsum but like with real words)

[house-of-laminations]

Hi, hello, um, big fan here! I just, I love everything you’ve written and I just, I would love to know your thoughts on Lilith. I think about her constantly and I usually HC my MC thinks about her and kind of tries to talk to her. I feel like that one convo with her just, I don’t know, it makes me wish we could still talk to her. She showed us stuff, she saved us!! I just , I don’t know, I super want to read your thoughts on her.

💛 hello!

I do indeed have Thoughts™ on Lilith! Many of them! Let's see if I can string them together into some coherency - apologies in advance if this comes out essay-like...

In terms of their personal connection, I wrote a little bit here about Lilith's power in relation to MC but a tl;dr of it is that I believe that Lilith's power, her soul for lack of a better word, is MC's soul. However, growing up physically, mentally, and emotionally as a human meant that they don't have the knowledge or capability to utilize any of that power. It's only upon making contact with Lilith's grimoire - her memories - that MC gains the ability to be able to comprehend and access those abilities and memories. The way I see that manifesting beyond just 'sheer power' is deja vu. They experience new places that feel familiar, they remember conversations they've never had. Even their relationships are (comparatively) quick to spark with immortals who have been stuck in this emotional rut for presumably millennia.

I'm not sure if I believe there's enough of Lilith left to have full conversations with but I do think their connection goes deeper than just being able to speak to one another. Lilith's guidance is present in MC's choices and circumstances almost right from the get-go.

Lilith was a powerful angel who willingly ventured into the human world, spurred mostly by her brother's interest and curiosity. There, she fell for a human which ultimately lead to a schism in heaven and her brothers falling. It widened the divide between the three realms and ended in her 'death'. Her happy ending was to live out her days as a human, and after dying her mortal death she continued to watch over her brothers.

MC, meanwhile, was an ordinary human by all rights (canonically at least, leaving behind any personal headcanons). They're forcefully drawn into a realm beyond their own thanks to the curiosity of someone much, much stronger than them. They're surrounded by beings that at any point could consume them - mind, body, and soul. Nevertheless not only does MC's actions and presence ultimately lead to mending the relationships between the brothers, it also begins to bridge the gap between all three realms.

Lilith's love broke the world, but MC's love will build it (kudos to @demonfamilytherapist for that bombass line). There's a line towards the end of S3 (or so I'm told) in which [spoilers] Diavolo is working his hardest in order to allow MC to live with them permanently in devildom as the spouse of a demon lord/prince. Their stories are mirrors of one another.

The symmetry between their lives is something that could be coincidence, could be fate, or could just be an old tattered soul trying to learn from its mistakes. What Lilith helped break, MC is slowly helping to mend.

Sometimes MC feels a sense of comfort, of love and safety. It's not from their lover/s... but rather, from within. This is a contentment beyond mere self confidence. It's a soul who loves itself and who its become, who is grateful for the journey and excited for what's next.

There you go! My own personal thoughts and headcanons about the relationship between Lilith and MC... I'm a sucker for tragedy and angst at heart so I tend to lean away from actual conversations between the two - but that doesn't mean there's nothing between them. I hope this satisfies 💛

[galahadenough]

I finally put together a review of Loki (TV Series). I've always been a huge Marvel fan, a huge MCU fan, but this show was horrific to me. Especially since I saw the show through to the end, I wanted to write a review for the main reviewing websites. I want this side to be heard. All it took was an immense amount of rage to get me to write reviews!

I’m planning on posting it on imdb, Rotten Tomatoes, and google reviews. So far I’ve gotten errors and issues with RT and google, and I’m hoping it doesn’t get lost on imdb. Any other places to leave reviews?

It took me a while to write this. I had to calm down a lot to make it coherent. Then I had to figure out how to condense it. I felt like a review should be my main points, but it took a lot of editing to get it down this much. (Then I had to make an edited version because google has much smaller word limits).

Thanks a lot @iamnmbr3. Your blog was the first one I found on the topic and it was a huge help. The show felt off from the first episode, but I couldn’t figure out why. Your analysis on the show really helped me to verbalize what I was feeling.

Review (except shorter on google):

As a huge MCU fan, I found the show to be intolerable. The plot was slow with way too much filler for the length of the show, and much of the filler felt purposeless. They could have deleted entire scenes or plot points without changing much if any of the story. The creators deliberately made the aesthetic average and mundane, which didn’t pair well with the underwhelming plot. The show relied heavily on slapstick humor, almost all of which was directed at the title character in a manner that encouraged laughter at his pain and stupidity. It would have been better suited for a cartoon, but it would be a cruel cartoon.

The TVA was presented as the better of two evils despite it being a totalitarian organization utilizing genocide and torture, both physical and mental. It felt very reminiscent of the book 1984 with the Thought Police, but the TVA was never truly represented as evil. Not one character opposed them as a hero or from a moral standpoint. All opposition came from a personal or self-serving motive. I’m not wanting every character to be brilliantly moralistic. That would be boring. But you don’t set up an organization like the TVA and say that they are providing a good and needed service, which was the idea the series was based on and ended on.

Mobius has a personality that is very easy to like, but he is very much complicit with the TVA. He happily 'does his job' of genocide and torture. He is Loki's captor, but we are informed he is his friend. When he isn't actively using physical or mental manipulation and torture, he is deriding and mocking him. There was nothing to indicate that they were friends outside of being told that is true. Mobius was never used as a villain by the show despite him fitting the mold well, but he also never has a redemption arc that would have made him a good hero. His reason for working against the TVA is because they lied to him, not because there is any moral reason. His change in alliances happened without much buildup, no gradual discovery throughout the series.

Sylvie felt like a caricature of a character, with very little to her personality other than grit. I was very bored with her. She was a tough, strong, and perfect character that lacked any other depth or nuance. She was called “terrifying” for being female, which felt horrifyingly sexist. She was yet another source of derision and mocking towards Loki.

Loki, the character, was very poorly written. He has always had a great deal of emotional depth that makes him interesting. He was acted with a range from extreme subtlety to riveting explosions of emotion in previous movies. His past is filled with good and bad choices, made with good and bad intentions. He was the villain who tried to be a hero and the hero who tried to be a villain. They took all that away and made him a side character in his own show who had little to no effect on the plot.

For abilities, he lacked his usual physical fighting prowess. He did very little magic, seeming awed when others used magic. His personality and mannerisms changed drastically. His gestures and expressions in this show were over the top and felt clownish, especially for a character that is known for his subtlety. He felt hyperactive and painfully eager to please everyone. His character is known for his manipulations, but his method of 'manipulation' here is to inform others that he is 'ten steps ahead' of them and is going to trick them. I don’t think that’s a good method of manipulation? Plus, the only effect he had on the plot was to slow down the other characters through his bumbling failures.

In addition, Loki was almost always the target of cruelty. This entire show felt like it was made to mock this character. They used every opportunity to tell us, and Loki, how terrible Loki is. How he is irredeemable and incapable of change. That he is a narcissist, which is inaccurate, and that any Loki is inherently untrustworthy. From birth, I suppose. Physical attacks, such as the slow-motion punch and the time loop where he was repeatedly kicked in the crotch, made me cringe. This show encouraged the enjoyment of cruelty.

As a last point, the show used the idea of representation to draw in viewers while avoiding having actual representation. The show was lauded as being good for bisexual and genderfluid representation. From what I’ve heard, the genderfluid representation was a mark on Loki’s paperwork, which you would need to pause at just the right moment to see. Plus, that makes the “terror” at a female Loki make even less sense. The bisexual representation was shown through a single word, and the character was only shown to be so when they made an entire show to mock and belittle him. That is not good representation.

I was very excited for this show, as well as for the next phase of the MCU. This has left me very disappointed and disheartened. I may not be entirely finished with the MCU, but this is the first part of the series that has killed my excitement for future releases. I get a sinking feeling when I hear about future projects now. I have enjoyed debating creative choices before, but this is not simply creative choices. It is too much cruelty, combined with poor writing and a lack of continuity.

[perpetual-stories]

How To Fight Writers Block

hello, hello. hope everyone is doing well. as you can all tell, this post will be about how to fight writers block.

it’s really annoying to me when I hear people say “oh you don’t have writers block, you’re just lazy.”

first of all, yes, I am naturally lazy. second of all, how dare you. writing isn’t as easy as many think. granted, all you have to do is write down words on paper, but it’s not always easy to find the right words to express what you are feeling, or what you wish to say.

I have had terrible writer’s block for the last few days and it’s horrible! as a business owner or a small writing store, I have to be ready to write and fulfill my clients’ ideas and orders.

it’s not easy. It takes a heavy toll on my imagination, and digs me a deep pit of blockage, drowning in the lack of originality because of the constant writing and repetition or certain phrases and sentences in different projects.

i am making this post in the hopes to remind myself about over coming the dreaded and sometimes skeptically believed writer’s block.

What is writer’s block?

Yeah, I know. We all know what that is, but let me define it.

is the state of being unable to proceed with writing, and/or the inability to start writing something new

some people believe it to be a real problem, others believe it's “all in your head”

What Causes Writer’s Block?

in the 1970s, clinical psychologists Jerome Singer and Michael Barrios decided to find out

they concluded that there are four broad causes of writer's block:

Excessively harsh self-criticism

Fear of comparison to other writers

Lack of external motivation, like attention and praise

Lack of internal motivation, like the desire to tell one's story

How to overcome writer's block: 20 tips

1. Develop a writing routine:

Author and artist Twyla Tharp once wrote: “Creativity is a habit, and the best creativity is a result of good work habits.”

it might seem counterintuitive

if you only write when you “feel creative,” you're bound to get stuck in a tar pit of writer's block

The only way to push through is by disciplining yourself to write on a regular schedule. It might be every day, every other day, or just on weekends — but whatever it is, stick to it!

2. Use "imperfect" words:

A writer can spend hours looking for the perfect word or phrase to illustrate a concept

You can avoid this fruitless endeavor by putting, “In other words…” and simply writing what you’re thinking, whether it’s eloquent or not

You can then come back and refine it later by doing a CTRL+F search for “in other words.”

3. Do non-writing activities:

one of the best ways to climb out of a writing funk is to take yourself out of your own work and into someone else’s

Go to an exhibition, to the cinema, to a play, a gig, eat a delicious meal

immerse yourself in great STUFF and get your synapses crackling in a different way

Snippets of conversations, sounds, colors, sensations will creep into the space that once felt empty

4. Freewrite through it:

free-writing involves writing for a pre-set amount of time without pause — and without regard for grammar, spelling, or topic. You just write.

The goal of freewriting is to write without second-guessing yourself — free from doubt, apathy, or self-consciousness, all of which contribute to writer's block. Here’s how:

Find the right surroundings. Go somewhere you won't be disturbed.

Pick your writing utensils. Will you type at your computer, or write with pen and paper? (Tip: if you're prone to hitting the backspace button, you should freewrite the old-fashioned way!)

Settle on a time-limit. Your first time around, set your timer for just 10 minutes to get the feel for it. You can gradually increase this interval as you grow more comfortable with freewriting.

5. Relax on your first draft:

Many writers suffer form perfectionism, which is especially debilitating during a first draft

“Blocks often occur because writers put a lot of pressure on themselves to sound ‘right’ the first time. A good way to loosen up and have fun again in a draft is to give yourself permission to write imperfectly.” — editor Lauren Hughes

perfect is the enemy of good,” so don't agonize about getting it exactly right! You can always go back and edit, maybe even get a second pair of eyes on the manuscript

6. Don’t start at the beginning:

the most intimidating part of writing is the start, when you have a whole empty book to fill with coherent words

instead of starting with the chronological beginning of whatever it is you’re trying to write, dive into middle, or wherever you feel confident

7. Take a shower:

Have you ever noticed that the best ideas tend to arrive while in the shower, or while doing other “mindless” tasks?

research shows that when you’re doing something monotonous (such as showering, walking, or cleaning), your brain goes on autopilot, leaving your unconscious free to wander without logic-driven restrictions

showering is my favourite thing to do if I may add

8. Balance your inner critic:

successful writers have in common is the ability to hear their inner critic, respectfully acknowledge its points, and move forward

You don't need to completely ignore that critical voice, nor should you cower before it

you must establish a respectful, balanced relationship, so you can address what's necessary and skip over what's insecure and irrelevant

9. Switch up your tool:

a change of scenery can really help with writer's block. However, that scenery doesn't have to be your physical location — changing up your writing tool can be just as big a help!

if you’ve been typing on your word processor of choice, try switching to pen and paper. Or if you're just sick of Google Docs, consider using specialized novel writing software.

10. Change your POV:

great advice from editor Lauren Hughes: “When blocked, try to see your story from another perspective ‘in the room’ to help yourself move beyond the block. How might a minor character narrate the scene if they were witnessing it? A ‘fly on the wall’ or another inanimate object?

11. Exercise your creative muscles:

Any skill requires practice if you want to improve, and writing is no different! So if you’re feeling stuck, perhaps it’s time for a strengthening scribble-session to bolster your abilities

12. Map out your story:

If your story has stopped chugging along, help it pick up steam by taking a more structured approach — specifically, by writing an outline

13. Write something else:

Though it's important to try and push through writer's block with what you're actually working on, sometimes it's simply impossible

feel free to push your current piece to the side for now and write something new

14. Work on your characters:

It follows that if your characters are not clearly defined, you’re more likely to run into writer’s block

15. Stop writing for readers:

write for yourself, not your potential readers

this will help you reclaim the joy of being creative and get you back in touch with what matters: the story.

this is something I really need to do. because of my etsy business i don't write for fun anymore, but instead as a business and a deadline. i'm going to have to pull out my old crappy wattled fanfics or write some new ones.

16. Try a more visual process:

when words fail you, forget them and get visual. Create mind maps, drawings, Lego structures — ideally related to your story, but whatever unblocks your mind!

17. Look for the root of it:

writer’s block often comes from a problem deeper than simple “lack of inspiration.” So let's dig deep: why are you really blocked? Ask yourself the following questions:

Do I feel pressure to succeed and/or competition with other writers?

Have I lost sight of what my story is about, or interest in where it's going?

Do I lack confidence in my own abilities, even if I've written plenty before?

Have I not written for so long that I feel intimidated by the mere act?

Am I simply feeling tired and run-down?

once you identify what's wrong, it'll be so much easier to fix.

18. Quit the Internet:

If willpower isn’t your strong suit and your biggest challenge is staying focused, try a site blocker like Freedom or an app like Cold Turkey

19. Let the words find you:

meditate, go for a walk, take that shower

Word Palette is a great app that features a keyboard of random words, allowing you to simply click your way to your next masterpiece.

You can also try AI auto-completers like Talk to Transformer, where you can enter a phrase and let the app “guess what comes next.”

even though they often produce nonsense, it's a great way to help that writer's block.

20. Write like Hemingway:

And if your biggest block is your own self-doubt about your prose, Hemingway offers suggestions to improve your writing as you go

it's a pretty cool app if you ask me.

it highlights your sentences (if need be) and makes suggestions on how to improve them!

well, there you have it! a lengthy post on how to fight writer's block. now i just hope i can combat my own soon.

like, comment and reblog if you find this useful! feel free to reblog in instagram and tag me perpetualstories

Follow me on instagram and tumblr for more writing and grammar tips and more!

[gingersnaaps]

red light, green light

If there’s one thing that being with Aran Ojiro has taught you, it’s the importance of trust.

wc: 2.2k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, noncon, very unhealthy portrayal of bdsm dynamics, bondage, breathplay bc deepthroat, bratty/switchy!reader at the start turns into sub!reader, blowjob, penetration, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @fallensvint's collab!! not proofread,, ill get to it later

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

The first time he’d wrapped those ties around your wrist, smooth and silky and surprisingly secure, you’d stared at him with confusion.

“Aran,” you mumbled. “What’s our safeword?”

He smiled, clicking his tongue and shaking his head. “Don’t you trust me?”

You’d been a bit apprehensive in the beginning, but as it turned out, he was right.

Every time he fucked you after that, every time he bound your wrists and spanked you until your ass glowed red - he always knew when to stop. It was as if he had some kind of sixth sense, a magic ability to read every twitch of your hips and crease of your brows, all the subtle signs that laid bare your inner thoughts and feelings. He knew when to give you more, when to slow down, when to stop entirely.

All you had to do was to close your eyes and let him take over. It felt easy. It felt right.

You suppose it made sense, too. He was a little older, a little wiser, and much more experienced. He knew what he was doing, and he was the one who showed you the ropes - quite literally. Aran knew how to tie all sorts of different knots, square knots and half-hitches and lark’s heads, letting you watch with your eyes blown wide as he threaded the rope into intricate patterns.

Still, at the end of the day, your favorite toy would always be the silk ties he’d first used. They had this allure to them, this magnetic pull that radiated out from the box in which he kept them. And when he used them to bind your wrists nice and tight, deft hands working quickly as the silk slid across your skin, your mind would always blur into a thick haze of arousal and want that left your cunt dripping with heat.

Sex was always better when he tied you up.

He didn’t have to hold you down, because the ties did the work for him, the restraints leaving your mind fogged up with submission, every thought wiped clean except the urge to be a good girl for him. It made him lose his fucking mind to see your doe eyes peering up through the lashes, begging oh-so-sweetly for him to fuck you. And since you always asked so nicely, he’s more than happy to oblige you.

He pounds his cock into your tight, quivering little hole, hips snapping relentlessly, each drag of this dick against your slick, sensitive walls coaxing a squeal from your lips, your cunt fluttering pathetically as pleasure starts to twist in your gut. You’d never deny how good it felt to be fucked stupid while tied up.

But there was more to your little obsession with his silk ties than just that.

There was some small part of you, some unexplainable compulsion, hidden beneath your sweet cries and high-pitched whimpers, that wanted to find out what Aran would look like if he was on the receiving end of things.

You wanted to see what he’d do.

_

It happens on a Saturday morning.

He’s exhausted from a full week of work - the volleyball season is in full swing again, and it always takes him some time to readjust, even if he doesn’t normally sleep in. It’s rare that you wake up earlier than him.

And maybe the alcohol you’d been drinking last night hadn’t worn off entirely, or maybe you were just feeling a little bold that day, a little impulsive, because you take one look at his sleeping form before you reach under the bed for his little box of toys. Sure, you hadn’t exactly discussed this with him beforehand - but he’d done similar things to you before: tied you up without warning, tried different positions in the middle of sex, little things here and there that were never really expected. The surprise was just supposed to be part of the fun, right?

The soft light of early morning filters in through the windows and sets his skin aglow. He looks so at peace when he’s asleep, so calm, the lines in his forehead and the bags under his eyes melting as he dozes away.

There’s not so much as a twitch from him as you tie his wrists together.

You pull aside the comforter, crawling on top of him until your face is inches away from his clothed cock. He looks so good like this - so handsome - the outline of his dick pressing up near his thigh, his toned legs exposed to the cold morning air. You press soft kisses along his inner thigh, trailing your lips up and down the shaft of his cock, dragging the tip of your tongue against the fabric.

There’s a soft rustling noise, and you feel him shift beneath you. “Babe?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You giggle nervously. “Good morning, Aran.”

“What are you doing?”

You blink up at him through your lashes and pull down his boxers. His cock springs out - it’s half-hard already, the tip slightly swollen, and you trail a finger over the leaking slit.

“Nice way to wake up, I won’t lie,” he says, sighing happily. He shifts slightly, as if trying to get up - and freezes.

You feel his body tense up, thighs flexing as you flick your tongue along his length.

“What happened to my hands?”

Your heart rate spikes. His voice is a bit more measured now, a bit more controlled, an underlying warning threaded through every word.

“Did you tie me up?” he asks, soft and dangerous.

You’re too flustered to make eye contact with him any longer, ducking away under his gaze. You nod hesitantly. His cock strains, twitching slightly, and you wrap your velvet lips around the head, taking him into your warm, wet, mouth with a pop.

“You better get these restraints off right fucking now.”

His outburst startles you. You weren’t expecting such a strong reaction, but the anger that undercuts his words is clear as day. If you untie him now, you know you’ll be in for a hell of an extremely unpleasant ride, one that might end with your ass blooming with bruises and face stained with tears.

For the first time since you’d gotten with Aran, the emotion that seeps into your veins isn’t excitement.

It’s fear.

You stay mute, bringing your hands up to scratch lightly across his thigh, drawing a groan from his chest. Your cunt pulses involuntarily at the noise he makes.

Maybe if you make him cum hard enough, he’ll forgive you.

It’s this faint, stupid, hope that makes you stretch your throat around his cock, trying to fit as much of him in as possible, lips bulging as you drool and slobber around him. It’s messy, pathetic - but your goal isn’t to preserve your dignity. It’s to make him feel good enough to let this slide.

“Feels so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he breathes, hips bucking upwards, cock sliding in further past your swollen, shiny, lips.

Maybe your strategy would even work.

You bob up and down, working his cock until it grows rock-hard against your tongue, the head pulsing and throbbing in your mouth, your tongue tracing along the underside of each vein. Precum dribbles down your throat, salty and slick, and you swallow eagerly. Your mind grows hazy as you slide yourself further down onto his dick, the up-and-down, back-and-forth motion intoxicating as he fills up every sense you have with his taste, his scent, the sight of his abs flexing as he strains against your mouth. You feel a hand slide to rest on top of your head, and you melt.

The expression on your face when the realization finally hits is too fucking precious.

You pull off of his cock, a string of drool still hanging from the corner of your lips, eyes darting around frantically. The silk bindings that you’d wrapped around his wrists lie in tatters on the bed, all torn and ripped, and Aran stretches leisurely.

“Why’d you stop?” he asks, the barest hint of a grin in his voice. “I didn’t say that you could stop.”

He leans forward, grabbing onto the top of your head, and drags you back to him until your lips are grazing the tip of his cock again. Disappointment is etched onto his features, but it’s a strange, twisted sort of disappointment - his eyes glitter, his pupils dilating - almost as if he’s giddy that you’d messed up and made a fool of yourself.

“Please,” you whimper. “D-don’t-”

“You know what happens to bad girls, don’t you?” he asks gravely, shaking his head. “Bad girls get punished. Don’t complain if you get what you deserve.”

With that, he forces your mouth back onto his dick, but with the help of his insistent hands, you’re able to take him even deeper than you were before. Your throat burns red and raw as he shoves your little mouth as deep as possible on his cock, gorging you on his thick, swollen length, impaling you on his dick until your eyes begin to tear up.

“Need to breathe,” you mumble, but your words are barely coherent with your mouth stuffed so full. The only noise that comes through are your small, desperate moans, and the little gagging noises from the back of your throat.

“What’s that?” he asks, nonchalant. “Didn’t hear you properly, baby. Speak up.”

It’s at this point that panic begins to flood your veins. Your head hurts from how hard he’s gripping it, a dull, throbbing ache that leaves tears trickling down your face. You’re not sure he’s going to relent any time soon, either, because Aran seems dead set on making sure he sees your punishment through, even if it means leaving your jaw sore and tender for days. A haze begins to settle over your brain from the lack of oxygen, black spots creeping into the edges of your vision -

You lose it.

"Red," you scream against his cock. "Red." You faintly remember reading somewhere that this was the word that meant stop, the one that was used when things went to far.

"I'm not sure what that means, baby."

“Please, Aran,” you cry. “I’m serious. Stop. Stop. I’m not kidding.”

Your chest heaves uncontrollably with your sobs, tears and drool mixing as slick drips down his shaft and onto his fat balls. The words you want to get out aren’t really coming through, but you keep trying, slobbering all around his dick as your muffled moans vibrate against his crotch.

He sighs. “Alright, alright. You’re a bit softer than I thought.”

His words send a pang of hurt through your chest - you’d tried your hardest, and wasn’t that enough? - but it’s pure relief that floods into your veins when he finally drags you off of his cock. You gasp for air, wheezing and coughing as oxygen finally floods into your lungs.

You look pretty, he thinks. A bit like a drowned kitten, with your lashes wet, your hair messed up, and lips all bitten and swollen and leaking with drool.

It makes his cock twitch against his stomach.

He flips you over onto the bed, pinning your wrists down, and lines the tip of his cock up so it prods at your entrance. “Ready?” he asks.

And to be honest, you’re not, but at least he’s stopped choking you with his cock. Maybe you should be grateful for that.

When he pushes his cockhead past your tight, clenched pussy lips, it’s unbearably slow. It leaves your insides aching, raw and needy, even when the drag of his dick against your slick, ribbed, walls stops, even when he’s bottomed out and his balls are tapping gently against your cunt. He fucks you slow and deep, pushing up against your g-spot, breaking you apart on his cock until you’re sobbing again for an entirely different reason.

This is punishment, remember?

It feels like hours have gone by before that familiar wave of pleasure begins to build steadily in your core. Every thrust of his hips leaves you reeling, eyes rolling back into your head, fingers fisting at the bedsheets - but he’s still fucking you so slowly it hurts. Your cunt clenches uselessly, greedy and desperate, as if it’s trying to keep him buried inside you, and it draws a breathy chuckle from his lips.

“Close?” he asks, pulling his cock out almost all the way.

You nod eagerly and buck your hips up. You don’t really care if you look stupid or pathetic, because all you want right now is for him to speed up his maddeningly slow pace, to fuck you until you’re drooling into the mattress.

He pushes back in, snapping his hips harshly, and you squeal - you’re right on the precipice, your orgasm building and coiling tight in your gut, the walls of your cunt cinching around his cock like a vice -

He pulls out.

You’re silent for a few seconds, brain still too hazy to comprehend what he’s doing, but then you hear him speak, voice low and rough, and you shiver.

“Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

[northerngoshawk]

for the fic writer ask game: 5, 9, 28, 29 ♥

happy fic writer appreciation hotwife!!

5. Share one of your strengths.

... everyone just wants me to compliment myself, huh. *sigh* okay, fine.

i've already talked about my ability to write emotions many times already, and i've talked about my knack for characterization here with choco, so i guess for you, a strength i have would be my attention to detail. i've been told before that i seem to have a keen eye for detail, in both reading and writing. i think this strength really helps me catch some things in the show that most people would miss, and then be able to implement them in some way in my fics. the best examples i can think of is gods don't bleed (except you do), which is based completely on... one line that Katara says during the introduction of the show, and teach me how to live my life (because I can't remember how) because it's the little details—a lost story here, a forgotten memory there—that really culminate into the tragedy of cultural loss.

9. Which fic has been the hardest to write?

for sure see the sky and sea (and remember me), my multi-chapter Big Fish & Begonia Kataang AU. so much research on Asian & Indigenous cultures and creatures. so much time spent on pausing and playing the same scene over and over and  o v e r  again. so much brainstorming over how to make the characters in character while following the plot.

but do i regret it? heck no! it’s by far the most self-indulgent fic i’ve written by far, and it’s so freeing to be writing something all for me and just for me.

28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

aewjfaksjdflkawjelkfsajlkfajalkwejflkaesjflkwf

FINE. OKAY. guess we’re doing this now... 😑

@itsmoonpeaches for her descriptions, in-depth worldbuilding, Kataangst, and very spirity shenanigans. i know she’s no longer pursuing Kataang fics in the near future, but i love how her fics always has at least some sort of plot to it that really deepens the worldbuilding of ATLA in some way. her writing is really compelling to read, and she’s really good at what she does!

@chocomd for her characterizations of Aang and Katara, the way she writes Kataang, and the way she focuses on the details and the layers in Kataang. i’m not a very romantic person at heart and can easily get squicked out by physical contact, but choco always manages to write Kataang in a way that feels intimate without being overly romantic. not to mention, the amount of details she puts in her fics and the depth she’s able to show for Kataang really puts her up there for me!

@justoceanmyth for her poetic descriptions and the way she weaves the story together to make it feel so meaningful. she also has an eye for detail and certain phrases that really blows my mind and lowkey makes me question my own writing hahaha

okay, i guess that’s all--

SIKE! you really thought i would stop at three?

alright, i'm gonna make this quick: @thinkingisadangerouspastime for her on-point characterizations and introspection (her fic was the one that drove me to try introspection), @f0xfordcomma for the way she manages to weave together humor and poetic wordsmithing, @the-last-cuddlebender for her out of this world metaphors, @penguinsledder for her amazing fluff and angst fics for Kataang (and also her Hamilton AU i will scream to the world about it), and YOU, Hotwife, yes you, for your amazing Kataang fluff that gives me nice warm feelings.

there’s a lot more authors i wish i could include, but seeing as how they mostly write nsfw and i haven’t been able to read them... 🤷🏻‍♀️ but i hope y’all know i’M THINKING OF YOU AND Y’ALL ARE BRILLIANT TOO!

29. If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

oof. to be honest, i don’t really do much fic reading nowadays due to... lack of quality control in fandom and also the fuzz in my brain that prevents me from being able to coherently comment

with that being said, a part of my brain has briefly thought of an idea of a spin-off to @chocomd‘s fic To Owe an Ostrich Horse, a Song-centric fic that explores the consequences of war on the little people—those whose friends and fathers and sons were drafted in the war, those who live day to day just trying to survive.

i’ve briefly thought of a Zuko-centric fic years after the war, where he (by chance) pass through the village again... and Song and her mother rip him a new one, haha. but i also want to see Zuko slowly realize the consequences of his selfish actions on people like Song and Lee, and maybe as the years go by after this chance encounter, he slowly begins to gain a new understanding of how the war affected the ordinary people.

now, i don’t think this sequel would be necessary. if anything, i feel like the way choco ended the fic is more fitting and realistic—people are capable of change, yes, but there are some things that some people won’t ever be able to learn. Zuko is one of those characters that has had immense growth, but i think it would take a lifetime for him to unlearn his colonist/imperialist/entitled mindset—and even then, i don’t think he would be able to unlearn all of it. even so, a girl can dream 🤷🏻‍♀️

thanks for the ask!!

40 Questions — Meme for Fic Writers

[liliesinrequiem]

Poem

A/N: I’m back! With another Kaeya fic. This is technically set during the Windblume Festival with certain changes. I hope you all enjoy <3.

This could also be read as a sequel to: Forfeit (Kaeya x AFAB!Reader). It doesn’t have to be read before this one really since you aren’t really missing much. You can if you want. 

Pairing: Kaeya x Reader

Summary: Kaeya convinces you to write a poem during the Windblume Festival. You refuse to show it to him after hearing his ‘poem’ and avoid him for the rest of the day until you were unable to. 

CW: Mentions of alcohol

“Why don’t you try and write a love poem then?” he asked. A teasing smile on his face. 

“My way with words is incomparable to yours,” you said. He was the most convincing person that you knew. There was a reason that he was so loved. Just from speaking with him for a little while, a person would totally be enraptured by him. A charming man, truly. 

“Didn’t you write that one riddle when I had to arrest those treasure hoarders? The one that could’ve been out of a romantic novel,” he said. 

“I was inspired,” you mumbled. That whole setup had been some of your finest work. The maps and the riddles were something that you had dedicated some time to. Of course, he’d given a lot of guidelines as to how they should be. You’d just done a lot of the creative work. Everything just fell into place so well for him in the end. The dinner you earned was nice as well. 

“Then be inspired again. I’ll show you mine if you write one and show me,” he said. 

A fair trade you supposed as you took a piece of paper. The poem came easier to you than you expected. Maybe your own heart did have some inspiration that you did not desire to admit. 

“That’s what you were writing this entire time?” you asked after his poem was read out loud by Venti. You were tightly holding onto your own poem, wrinkling its prior smoothness. Whatever thoughts you had in mind of sharing your own poem had vanished into thin air. 

“Poetic, no?” he asked. You glared at him. Poetic? Sure. A love poem? No. Beyond that, when did he even have time to learn the language of the Hilichurl? 

“I feel like I have to fail you for this,” said Venti, confused by what he had read.

“Please do,” you said. 

“Did you write a poem, (Y/N)?” asked Paimon, pointing at the piece of paper in your hand. Everyone’s eyes turned to you and you could see how the Captain was smiling. Embarrassment filled your body as you folded it quickly and shook your head. He would not manage to win.

“Nope! This is just a list of things I have to do at the moment. Now, if you’ll excuse me!” You stored the poem in your dress as you left the room and the building. You’d rather be outside and help out there than remain within the same room as Kaeya. 

---

“Lumine!” you said as you saw her a while later. You’d been helping out Noelle with carrying around some materials that were needed for the festival. But your friend was much faster and stronger than you were so she was probably at the destination. 

“(Y/N)! Captain Kaeya asked us to search for you! He wants to talk to you,” said Paimon. 

“Oh? He couldn’t search for me himself?” you asked. A question that probably sounded meaner than you intended it to. 

“He said he was too busy finishing up some paperwork for Jean,” answered Lumine, “So we came looking for you. 

“You’re too kind. No wonder you’re an Honorary Knight. But I can’t go right now.” You continued, “Tell him that I can speak with him later.” You really did not want to see him. You felt...slightly hurt. You weren’t even sure why you were. Actually, you did know why you were upset. You just didn’t want to admit it. In truth, you had hoped that his poem would actually have meaning. Unrealistically and stupidly, you had hoped that his poem might’ve been a confession. 

But that was the thing about your relationship with him. It was more of something that you were walking in the dark, with no real designation of whether or not you were going in the right direction, and hoping that you end up at the right place. For all you knew, Kaeya was probably waiting for the day that he’d drop you and move onto the next one. Even with that possibility, you continued giving your heart to him. Whether that was stupid or not, you were still not fully sure. Some days it was worth it and others, not so much. 

“We could help you so that you can talk with him. He said it was urgent,” explained Lumine. You didn’t doubt that he had told her that. He probably believed that if you were told that it was urgent, you’d drop everything and run to see what he wanted to see. You usually did but you felt that you had to hold your ground for a while longer. 

“Don’t worry about me, okay? I’ll talk to him when I can. He’ll understand,” you said. You bid them farewell and continued carrying the crate.

---

You’d managed to avoid him for most of the day. That was until you were called to Angel’s Share and asked to take him home. When you asked why they couldn’t, excuses came flying at you. Sister Rosaria said that she couldn’t as she had business to take care of and Diluc couldn’t either since he had to close up the place. Convenient that they both chose to do that now. 

“Thank you, (Y/N).” You only mumbled a ‘no problem’ in response to Diluc’s gratitude as you pulled Kaeya to lean on your shoulder. The promise of free drinks motivated you to get the job done quickly. 

“(Y/N)-” “Captain, be quiet. I would prefer if you didn’t get sick on me,” you cut him off. The walk back to his apartment was a hassle. It was either that he continued trying to ramble to you or that he was leaning too much on you and you had to take small breaks. You truly were exhausted from those crates earlier.

“Where’s your key?” you asked when the two of you stopped in front of his door. A fruitless question as his mind was somewhere else you would soon realize.

“How come you didn’t come to me when I asked earlier?” he asked. You didn’t answer as you checked both his pockets and fished out the key from the left one. To ask the question again would probably cause him to start talking about something else and you most definitely did not want to talk about anything. 

“(Y/N),” he said.

“What?” Your voice sounded more angry than you meant. You pushed the door open and kicked it to close when the both of you got through. You sat him on his bed and started to look around the cabinets for a glass to fill it with water. 

“Have you been ignoring me?” He sounded hurt. A rare sight to ever behold when he was constantly brushing everything off. Kaeya was rarely a vulnerable person. Years of having built up the walls around him to keep people out led him to being closed off from everyone. The fewest times that he was vulnerable was in the dead of night or when he was drunk. Every single thing that he ever expressed during those times had been stored into your heart. 

“I’ve been busy today,” you answered as you handed him the glass of water. You turned to start looking for some clothes for the night. You doubted that he’d appreciate sleeping in his work outfit.

“That’s never stopped you before,” he countered as he drank the water. No response came from you since you knew him to be right. There was one time where you had to finish up something for Lisa and stopped doing it because he’d bothered you enough to do something for him. The librarian was upset and you only barely learned your lesson.

“Was it because of my poem?” You wondered how he even managed to figure that out. 

“Maybe,” you said, “I just expected a bit more from you.” The poem that you had written for him was still in one of your dress pockets and felt like a stone that weighed on you. You’d poured a bit of your heart into it and the courage to give it to him withered away when Venti read his poem.  

“I wrote an actual one,” he said. You placed some clothes on the nightstand and turned to look at him.

“Is that so?” you asked. You steadied him from falling over after you made your question. Just how much alcohol did he consume? The tab he had must be astronomical. Maybe not as bad as Venti’s or what yours had been at one point, but it had to be huge. Though you were jealous of his ability to remain coherent enough with everything in his system.

“Yes,” he said, “It’s here.” He pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his shirt. “Read it,” he said as he pushed the paper into your hands. 

You shook your head. For all you knew, it could be another joke and you weren’t sure that you could handle it. At least not with him looking at you while you read it. “Let’s get you to bed, Kaeya.” 

“But I want you to read it,” he whined. 

“And I want you to sleep because you’re drunk,” you said. 

After you’d spent some time convincing him to change and to get ready for bed, you sat down at the edge of the bed and opened up the paper. He’d fallen asleep rather quickly and you breathed a sigh of relief as your eyes traveled to the first words on the paper. 

“(Y/N),” began the poem. 

---

In the early morning, Kaeya woke up with a mild headache. Memories of the day before were hazy as the hangover hit him hard. He looked at his nightstand and saw a glass of water and a small bottle of medicine. 

Beside the nightstand was a small piece of paper. On it, there were three words: To My Captain. 

[supremeuppityone]

This was written for the @klarowinterbingo Klarowinter Bingo Event. Small towns are supposed to be quirky. But what Caroline mistakenly assumes are kinky Wiccan nudist neighbors is a whole other level of quirky. 

Prompt: Awkward snow blower incident

This also is a gift for @eliliyah, one of the most generous and loveliest of lovely people and it’s a privilege to call you my friend! I’m equally envious of your writing talent and your ability to come up with randomly hilarious t-shirt slogans. I hope you like your gift!

Clever Fool

“Assumptions are the enemy of coherence...In other words, You're an idiot.” ― Nalini Singh, Archangel's Sun

           Toilet parts had never been more fascinating. Caroline paused her rifling through the plastic bin of seals, valves and chains when she heard Klaus, her ridiculously hot neighbor, joking with the cashier at the hardware store’s counter. She’d recently moved to Mystic Falls to open a spa and so far, every stereotype she used to snidely assume about small towns had been wrong. For one thing, apparently small towns were disproportionately full of attractive people. Must be the fresh country air.

           She quietly leaned over the bin, peeking in between the slats of the shelves for a better look. That jawline should be illegal. The first time they met, she’d been yanking out stubborn crabgrass from the hopelessly weed-choked front flowerbed and he’d just returned from running. In fact, most of her neighbors seemed to be runners. Hardcore physically fit specimens that looked like they were training for the Olympics. It was so disgustingly healthy and wholesome how many of them ran in pairs or small groups, smiling and chattering and barely even breathing hard.

           Sweat had glistened on Klaus’ bare chest and Caroline kept reminding herself to blink. From the amused twinkle in his eye and the slight twitch of his lips, he’d noticed her obvious interest. Cheeks flaming, she’d turned into a rambling mess, diffusing the awkward by piling on more awkward. It was hours later before she realized she’d been flirting while wearing a wide streak of mud across her forehead and along one side of her nose.

           Klaus’ chuckle caught her attention once more as he told the cashier, “I swear I still don’t know how Kol managed to get into the garage — much less the cabinet.” Shaking his curly head, he added, “Of course, once the ruckus began, I stumbled upon quite the unnerving scene in which the family still refers to as the ‘awkward snow blower incident’.”  

           Letting out an inelegant snort, Caroline realized she’d been caught eavesdropping and uncomfortably shuffled out from behind the shelves. Inwardly cursing that she hadn’t brought along the corroded part she was trying to match, she said, “Sorry to interrupt, but I need help with my plumbing.” At Klaus’ raised brow, Caroline felt herself grow warm as she hastily explained, “My toilet is running and I don’t know the right parts to get.”

           “I’d be delighted to help you with your plumbing, sweetheart,” he replied with a dimpled smirk, “I’m good with my hands.” He smoothly led her back to the shelves, ignoring the cashier’s quiet guffaws.

           Seriously? No one that attractive should be this inept at flirting. Not that she’d done a much better job with her earlier ramblings where she waxed poetic about organic fertilizer. Because there’s nothing sexier than a muddy woman talking about locally sourced animal poop. She might as well get a bunch more cats and lean into the crazy cat lady vibe.

           Klaus suddenly distracted her from those cringey memories, holding up several kits while discussing the pros and cons with surprising authority. She couldn’t help but be a little impressed by how quickly he pulled together the most likely parts, and realized she’d been staring way too long at his forearms than was considered polite. She hurriedly said, “So, you have a loveable troublemaker for a pet, huh?” At Klaus’ nonplussed expression, she asked, “You were talking about your dog, Kol, humping a snow blower, right?”

           Gray eyes went wide as he emitted a choking cough, lips curling into a small smile as he readily agreed, “Oh yes, Kol is quite the incorrigible...pet.”

                              __________________________________

You can read and review the full chapter here.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 1

Pairing: Female Reader x Gender Fluid! Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Arm Injuries, Several mentions of blood

Word Count: 1870 Words

Summary: A summoning gone awry ends up in your favor

Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, I know I literally just posted a demon story but this post showed up on my dash and my god if I have never been more inspired to write a fic. I legit wrote this in 2 hours in a frenzy. Also I plan this story to be multi-chap, but still rather short, so maybe 3 parts in total

Before that night, you had never known what nearly-passing out felt like.

Your mother had done it, once or twice, usually after a particularly stressful day at the shop. If you didn’t check on her between your studies she may forget to eat entirely, your father as well. But you had been lucky; Someone had always been there to catch her, to cradle her head and spoon-feed her strength back.

On the forest floor, surrounded by the smell of your own blood, you have no such luxury.

The black spots flickering in your vision blend into the desne canopy above you and your tears only muddle your sight. The iron and copper of the summoning circle drawn around you drown out the scent of fresh pine and grass, while your ears can only focus on your own heartbeat and the bickering of the four boys.

Oh, that’s right, they’re still here.

It seems you had lost more fluid than you realized, probably because of your incessant crying. You had tried to stop the flow, but your brain was losing coherent function with every second. The boys conversation sounds far away and hollow, bouncing off your eardrums and confusing your sense of direction

“You idiot, I told you not to go for the arm!”

“We needed a lot of blood!”

“But she needs to read the ritual dumbass! She can’t if she dies!”

Ah yes, the ritual, it all is flooding back to you now.

Having received a private education from your father at your family’s apothecary, you were already prone to isolation as a child. It didn’t help having no siblings, nor a lacking natural talent for friend-making. Although you had lived in the city all your life, the young people your age knew very little about you, and you them.

You knew they had rumors about you, The daughter the apothecary hides away; That your gaze can turn people to stone, that you can curse and poison people with a couple words and the right ingredients.

The truth was you weren’t so glamorous. You knew your way around a medicine cabinet, sure, but nothing about poisons or magic spells. You didn’t have any special abilities to compensate or explain your reluctance for socialization. Just some overprotective parents and a shy disposition.

So when the handsome postmasters-son began to pay you special visits, you let your guard down. You let him walk you to and from the market, memorizing your weekend route. You let him in for a bit of tea late at night, especially when it seemed so cold, and told him where the spare key was kept. And yes, you even told him about your favorite secluded spot in the forest, where the sounds of civilization were far away, where you could be alone.

And here, in these last moments of your life, you can’t help but feel so naive.

“Hey, hey!”

A boot taps your cheek, shaking you out of your revelry. Your glassy eyes look over to your right.

It’s one of the local merchant’s boys, you think his name is Nicholas? It doesn’t really matter. All you knew about him was that he was a bit rough around the edges; always nicking things from pockets, looking up ladies skirts, and skipping his lessons. That’s what your dad complained about anyway.

A page is shoveled in front of you, dangling over your face. Your eyes take a while, but focus on the words. Nicholas’ boot heel digs into your neck.

“Read it out loud, or we’ll kill you.”

Clearly I’m going to die anyway dumbass, why should I help you?

You might’ve retorted, if you were in such a physical condition to do so. But instead, you do as you're told, and start speaking.

To your left, the postmaster’s son, Richard, sucks in a breath with anticipation. Any false composure he had while luring you here is gone, his feet tapping with excitement as he holds your left arm and lef bound spread eagle.

Holding your right leg is Markus, another merchant boy. He picks at his teeth.

“What are you guys going to wish for?” He whispers. It goes in your ear and out the other, too focused on forming coherent sentences.

“A full-harem of babes, obviously.” Simpers Hunter, the son of a landlord. He isn’t ugly, only a bit plain, and has enough money to boot. Compared to the other bachelors in town however, he has had little luck in procuring a courtship.

“A million coins could get you that and more, idiot. That’s what I’m wishing for.” Whispers Richard.

“What are you going to wish for Nic?” Asks Markus

“Oh my gods, will you guys shut the fuck up?”

Nic snarls, unconsciously digging his heel back into your throat. You choke and stutter, but keep going. The runes around you, written in your own blood, begin to glow.

All of the boy’s eyes widen and they step back from you. Your limbs sink like dead weight as the words begin to flow out your mouth with no thought. The paper with the chant drops to the ground, out of your sight, but it's like your brain has been reprogrammed; You know the rest, know it in your bones.

The grass begins to simmer and burn under the summoning circle, smoke swirling into formation above you. When the final word whispers out of you, you feel your body go lax. You don’t even remember tensing up

I guess this is it. Sorry Mom, Sorry Dad.

You clench your eyes, just hoping the demon will be quick. That it will at least leave a recognizable corpse.

“Holy shit.” You hear muttered, unsure by whom.

Your eyes are closed, body teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, but your senses are still intact. A hot wave of breath washes over your face and the ground below you trembles with heavy footsteps. The boys are quiet but you can hear their hearts pounding. They thrum with life, while yours slowly fades.

“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”

Even half-dead, your muscles tense in fear. The demon's voice is deep and resonates like a crowd talking all at once. It reeks of inhuman power and cracks like thunder.

A brief silence passes, before Nicholas finds his courage.

“We have come to ask for a wish.”

Later, when recounting the story, you will mention that the demon looked over to Nicolas, unamused, despite never seeing it yourself. The demon huffs, the heat of it blowing over you once more.

“I don’t believe I asked you.” The demon mutters. The cacophony of voices blend together into one, bland and emotionless. Even in your state however, you are able to decipher a couple of louder tones which overpower the others. They seem...angry.

“But...you…”

“I asked….”

Your eyes snap open as a wet droplet lands on your cheek. Lingering above you, drool seeping from their unnaturally sharp teeth, is the creature. It’s face resembles that of a goat, but sharp fangs stick out from their lower lips. Their eyes are golden and shine in the night, piercing right into yours. Despite the part of your body screaming out in terror, another part feels oddly….comforted. It’s why you don't startle when they brush a hand against your cheek, their thumb wiping away your tears. Their palm is warm, not like a blistering flame, but like a thick quilt. Like hot chocolate on a rainy day.

“......What do you need of me, little one?”

Their hand, padded and calloused, slides down your arm, closing up the large gash on your inner bicep. In another movement, they do the same to the other. Power and vitality seems to sink back into your body, drip by drip.

Words escape you, but not Nicolas.

“Excuse me, demon, but we're the ones who summoned you.” The sarcastic tone of his does little to hide the quivers of his fear, especially when the demon's neck turns toward him at an unnatural speed. Still, he persists. “Not her. And we want-”

“Do you take me for a blind fool?” The voice bellows, sending all the boys to their knees. Markus clutches his ears while Hunter whimpers on the ground. Nicolas falls back to the ground, eyes widen.  The demon stands to their full height, several feet above all of you. “Do you think I was born without smell, without sense?” The step away from your body, swiping at the ground with their fingers, taking a small bit of your blood with it.

The demon sticks their thumb and forefinger in front of Nicolas’s face, causing him to yelp and fall onto his back. “Is this your blood which forged the connection? Was it your words that spoke me into existence? Was it your body which came to the brink, wrenched open the door and pulled us both through?”

Nicolas, trembling like a leaf, shakes his head no. The demon’s eyes jerk up to the others. “And was it any of these young men?”  

Richard furiously shakes his head, while Hunter stays collapsed on the ground. Markus pushes himself away, hands still clamped around his ears. The demon sneers, before turning and walking back to you.

The demon kneels before propping your upper body up with a gentle touch. A comforting claw rubs your lower back while another paw rubs the tension out of your shoulders.

“Now, mistress, what may you ask of me?”

Your muscles may no longer tire from blood loss, but your mind truly feels like it’s on the brink of breaking. The demon, with fearsome fangs and a soft look, looks to you for an answer.

“I-I…” You mutter as the demon continues to massage your back. They hum.

“Take your time, it is alright. Rituals are difficult, I can only imagine the toll your body feels.” The mass of voices have synchronized, fading from a hundred to a single, harmonious tune. It is cavernously deep, but pleasant. It reminds you of the portly older man who used to read stories aloud every holiday.

You feel your body unconsciously turn towards your captors. Nicholas stays stuck to the ground, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the darkness. The others have slowly moved to their knees, all terrified with shaky limbs, and look like they might make a run for it. Markus is slowly inching towards Nicholas’ shoulders, trying to lift him up to his senses.

For the first time in your life, a deep, boiling hatred burns your skin.

Cowards. You sneer, with all the malice stored in your reserves.

“I want-I want…” You stumble as the anger bubbles out of your belly. “I want them to hurt. To feel humiliated.” Nails bite into the palm of your hand, letting out blood as you clench knuckles. “I want everyone to know what they’ve done, who they are, every fault they’ve ever been guilty of. I want them alive, but I want them to burn.”

The demon smiles, pulling you in for a hug. You collapse into their embrace, keeping your eyes locked onto the boys, those rats. The demon hums a contented tune as they rub your back.

“As you wish, my master.”