#they have like rooms about space but the whole place is dedicated to all kinds of science

[edsbacktattoo]

I’d take you to a planetarium 👉👈

as long as u also tolerate me bouncing around bc I fucking love space dmfbkdbf

anon it’s a date <3 i’ll wear something nice

also if i was with someone who didn’t get excited about space i would simply go home. they’re not worth my beautiful sexy time. bounce around to ur hearts content cause i’ll be bouncing with u bro

[solomon-revisited]

my copy has finally arrived... sixteen old songs from my earnest friends

THE CORONER'S GAMBIT LINER NOTES

TRANSCRIPT:

HE was a guy from California who'd fallen in love with a woman from Iowa. She was working at a water testing lab. They lived in a very small house whose pipes froze every winter. The landlord would come by and put space heaters under the sink. Years later, they retained the memory of the water coming back on - the sudden sound of the shower, the rush from the sink. They slept on a foam mattress in the bedroom in the summer, and on the couch in the living room in the winter, since the house did not have central heating, rendering the bedroom essentially uninhabitable from December through March.

They were not really the kind of people to plan things: they had fun when and where they could on an austere budget. The ice skates they bought used from Play It Again Sports made for fun Christmas mornings on West Indian Creek in Nevada, one town over from where they lived. He learned to cook, and to bake: they didn't go out to eat, because there really wasn't any place to go out and eat, though on occasion they would get a pizza from Casey's, because their town had a Casey's. Under the right circumstances a gas station pizza can be just the thing, and they sometimes found themselves in those circumstances.

He made music which was slowly reaching a wider audience. If he played in New York or Chicago as many as a hundred people might show up. He was idly entertaining the idea of becoming ambitious about it: as a child, he'd been pretty pretentious, and although he was working hard to shake most of that off, a little pretension isn't a bad thing in an artist. Just as a seasoning, as a little extra flavor here or there.

One summer he took a job as a harvest help at the Farmers Cooperative Exchange down the street from the very small house where the pipes froze in winter: getting the corn and soybeans into the grain elevator and into a big Morton building where the beans formed giant mountains, which he sometimes had to climb to knock down the peaks. If you don't knock down the peaks the beans get too hot and might rot. The job didn't pay much, and he wasn't good at it, but during slow stretches he would write song lyrics on scraps of paper or in a small notebook, and when he got home from work and washed off the crop dust, he'd set the lyrics to music. "Elijah" was written like this. So was "The Alphonse Mambo."

He took a Greyhound bus to Omaha to record some of the songs, so that the album would have a nice varied feel to it, but he got very sick, which is not an uncommon thing to have happen after a Greyhound ride, and only a few songs came out the way he wanted. He kept those, and then they got married and moved to Ames because the City of Colo had purchased their home from that landlord and intended to knock it down, which they did do, he affirmed years later: and in Ames he put the album together, and then later they moved to North Carolina and a whole lot of other things happened, too, but the main thing is that this album is a document of a time when two young people in love hadn't yet located the spot on the current that would carry them to their destination, twenty-five years later, parents of two beautiful children, worlds away from Colo, the place where, for better or worse, as the saying goes, all this really began.

Dedicated to my wife, Lalitree, and to the City of Colo, Iowa.

This is the original text of the paper bag that housed the first edition of this album. I am leaving it intact rather than revising it. Stage Bidet's moment comes ever closer: let the people tremble in fear.

Elijah, Baboon, Horseradish Road, Onions, and the Alphonse Mambo recorded in Omaha with Simon Joyner, Chris Deden, Lonnie Methe, Brad Smith, John Kotchen, Steve Micek, and Pat Oakes. All of them are owed money and are to be treated with deference and respect. Five of the remaining songs were recorded at Main St. in Colo, which is a small town in Iowa, and the rest were recorded two blocks north of Emma McCarthy Lee Park in Ames, which is a considerably larger town half and hour west of Colo. Though happy circumstances currently have the Mountain Goats claiming Ames, we continue to straight up represent Colo and will put the slap down on anyone who disrespects it. Transfer and levels by Bob Durkee at FBE in Pomona, California, with Joel Huschle attending. As a result of some regrettable but inevitable conversations that took place during the transfer, Bob, Joel, and the Mountain Goats have formed a new, super-powerful punk rock machine called Stage Bidet, and we urge you to watch for us and clear us a wide berth whenever we're in your town. Instead of thanking all the people I always thank to whom I say, collectively and with no less sincerity: thanks. I am just going to spend the time left us here addressing an absent friend. Rozz: I wish you hadn't've gone and killed yourself. Though I hadn't seen or spoken with you in eight years since that night when, as far as I can tell from the reports I was later able to piece together, you tried, not without reason, to strangle the life out of me out there on the landing of Damien's apartment and I probably never would have ever seen you again anyway, it was still hard to hear that you were gone. All your friends had been predicting your death since the early eighties, and no-one could bear the thought of you growing old, but none of that did anything to soften the blow when I heard. I don't really believe that the dead see or hear what we do out here in the realm of corruptible things and I don't imagine that the anyone reads the scribblings on the backs of album jackets to them, either, so I am really only addressing a memory. To that memory I say: I thought of you now and then when I was writing these songs. I don't suppose they'd do much for you, but I thought of you all the same. All your friends miss you in some way, a little or a lot. The rumors about your final hours are dismal and tawdry: I am sure they would please you immensely. For your sake, I hope that the Christians were wrong and that you were right about whether the faithless are destined for eternal torment. In the event that you are a ghost and are wandering the earth moaning and rattling chains, I moved to Iowa from California four or five years ago, stop by any time. Have a seat on the couch until I get home from work. Help yourself to anything in the refrigerator, or to the whiskey and sake on top of it. Make yourself right at home.

Album cover design by Tom Hart

[dewdropdinosaur]

Carry You Home

Lucifer x (GN) Reader Summary: Lucifer and Y/N are the proud co-parents of the one and only Charlie Moringstar, which means that on the weekends, mischef is managed. Warnings: NONE! Tooth-rotting fluff. For the lovely @pixie-skull

Amidst the tumultuous chaos of the firey realm of Hell, there existed a sanctuary where warmth and love blossomed against all odds. It was within this paradoxical haven that displayed a tenderness that contridicted Hell’s fearsome reputation. So contricting was this santucary of love, that it had even blessed the home of Lucifer, prince of darkness, himself. He was a doting father to his young daughter, Charlie, and a dedicated partner to Y/N, his equally remarkable spouse.

Charlie, at the age of five, was a radiant light in the dark, her laughter a melody that soothed even the most dark corners of Hell. Her straight volumous hair, the color of molten gold, bounced with every step she took. Her innocent eyes sparkled like stars, a stark contrast to the abyss surrounding them. It was in these small moments that the true nature of Lucifer’s heart was revealed.

One sunny afternoon, which was rare in the infernal realms but always managed to be a vibrant shade of scarlet, Lucifer and Y/N were in the middle of their cherished family weekend routine. No meetings, no deals, no work; just family. Charlie was in the living room, sprawled on a large cushion as she colored in her coloring book. The room, though adorned with otherworldly relics, had a cozy, almost homely aura. It was a place where warmth was as tangible as the fire that licked at the edges of Hell.

Lucifer, as always dressed in his elegant attire that seemed to conflict with the homey aura, was busy in the kitchen. His usual regal air was softened by the apron he wore, which was emblazoned with cheerful cartoons that Charlie had drawn on the fabric. He hummed a gentle tune as he whisked a bowl of pancake batter, the aroma filling the space with an inviting sweetness.

Y/N, with their usual grace and effortless charm, was setting the table. Their presence was like a calming breeze in the tumultuous landscape of Hell, their laughter a soothing balm to the fiery realm. They moved with an easy confidence, exchanging glances with Lucifer that spoke volumes of their deep connection and mutual respect.

“Hey, sweetie,” Lucifer called out, his voice a soft rumble, “do you think you’d like blueberries or chocolate chips in your pancakes today?”

Charlie looked up from her artwork, her face lighting up with a bright smile. “Blueberries, Daddy! And can I have extra syrup too?”

Lucifer’s eyes softened, and he carefully set the batter aside to fetch a bowl of plump, juicy blueberries. “Anything for my little princess,” he said, his tone imbued with affection.

As Lucifer busied himself with the pancakes, Y/N joined Charlie on the floor, helping her with her drawing. The pair was immersed in a sea of crayons and sketches, Y/N gently guiding Charlie’s hand while also listening to her excited chatter about her latest artistic creation.

“Look! I drew a big castle with lots of dragons and a magical forest,” Charlie said, her eyes wide with pride.

Y/N smiled, their gaze warm and encouraging. “It’s wonderful, Charlie. You’ve got such a fantastic imagination. What’s the castle for?”

“It’s for the heroes who come to visit!” Charlie replied eagerly. “They need a place to stay after they’ve had an adventure.”

“Well, what kind of adventures do you want to have ducky?” Lucifer poking his head in, admiring the conversation. 

“I wanna fly Daddy! Just like you!” 

Smiling mischeviously, Lucifer rushed and picked up his daughter with a suprising strength for his stature. “Well, I have just the thing for you then!’ 

“Lucifer, no. She is too young—“

Popping out his wings, Lucifer ignored the pleas of his spouse and took off out the room and off the baloncy, Charlie giggling with glee the whole way. Rushing after them, Y/N’s eyes filled with worry were sated as soon as they saw Lucifer and Charlie doing loops gracefully in the air and the squeals of the little girls joy filled the Hellish sky. 

In this sanctuary of love and care, the boundaries of their world seemed to shrink, and for a brief, precious time, the fires of Hell were dimmed by the light of their unity. Lucifer and Y/N’s devotion to each other and their daughter created a haven where love reigned supreme, proving that even in the darkest of places, the purest light could shine through. In the abyss of Hell, amidst its eternal night, the warmth of their family provided a beacon of hope and light. And for Lucifer, Y/N, and Charlie, this was their paradise—a haven built on love, laughter, and the tender embrace of a family that would always stand together, no matter what.

[lilacxquartz]

CHASING HUMANITY • kenjaku x f!reader

ao3 • masterlist • << previous chapter • next chapter >>

summary: upon following his intuition with securing the study, something within him snaps.

warnings: violence, torture, death

Chapter 5. Roses

It felt weird surrendering to the crumbs of humanity that he had offered you, but you also felt like you had no choice in accepting what little he gave you to work with. It wasn’t as though intentionally sought to find comfort in his offered presence, but it was all you had right now.

You felt just a little off from the whole thing though.

The act of him offering you that hug didn’t feel kind; more so a fleeting glimpse into fabricated comfort, maybe even manipulated to mould you into being someone you weren’t quite ready to be.

The fact that this oddity of a person—this killer—that you teamed up with on a whim was more capable of care than your (former? ex?) boyfriend was a telling sign that you were unfortunately fully, well and truly messed up, perhaps even beyond repair.

For that reason, you didn’t care how fake it all might have been, because for once, you felt validated; you felt seen and you weren’t about to let any of that go.

Maybe that’s all you ever needed to begin with.

Someone to enable you.

You did as he told when you finally managed to pry away from him, returning yourself to the self assigned space that you had claimed as your own. Suddenly, the act of texting the latest ‘study’ felt like torture; so dry and tedious. The comfort that you found from the man from the ramen joint was now long gone, torn and placed into the hands of a murderer instead.

This was technically what you wanted all along, though. From the very moment you offered yourself as some sort of spontaneous dedicated tag-along fan of a man who could have been the definition of evil itself. For someone to look at you and at least pretend to care.

How pathetic were you though, to be so starved of something so terribly mundane.

A part of you twisted your own thoughts on the matter, telling yourself deep down that he did so out of a place of care because he wouldn’t have bothered otherwise.

You sighed as you flattened your back up against the knobbly headboard, feeling the ridges twist against your spine. The cold glow of the phone screen only marginally kept your attention as you texted someone that you no longer wanted to bother with.

Flicking your sights over to Kenjaku, you could see that he was in no different of a place than you either; half sprawled out and staring with a slightly covered hand at the dim hotel lighting that painted the room an almost sickly beige.

You wondered what he was thinking about when he subjected himself to quiet moments like those.

The phone buzzed again, slightly jolting you and tearing your sights away from the guy and back to your point of disinterest, where you were condemned to feed more and more into someone’s own falsely prescribed impressions of what this whole exchange truly was.

You felt bad, you really did. At least partially. It was different when you didn’t know their names. The guy slipped it to you when he inputted his digits into your phone when you were collecting his number, but you changed his contact to just ‘two’ because that’s who he was to you; a statistic for your own indirect kill count.

Your own hands might not have been as copper tinged as Kenjaku’s, but they were just barely faintly tinged with the beginnings of something similar. Just how long was it before your dubious involvement in stealing lives would be held hostage by an eventual iron grip? You could feel it after all, the pull that beckoned to you, perhaps similar to his own; to find your own meaning in this broken world?

Were you as doomed as he was?

You sighed, remembering the objective. You were easily distracted when faced with something you didn’t want to do even if it would mean that in doing so, it would result in a desired consequence.

(Praise. Validation. Acknowledgement.)

…Was that fucked up?

You shrugged as you blankly sent a reply, considering it. It probably was, but you were starting to care less and less. Maybe that’s just how it was destined to go.

The first fate you sealed was the undoing of your state of mind.

The second fate sealed would be when you can finally start letting go.

The third…?

That’s for you to find out in the future, you guessed.

Texting out a couple of words, you gambled just how comfortable the noodle shop man was.

[I’m back on the road in a couple of days, would you like to come hang out at my hotel maybe?]

A response soon vibrated in your hand.

[I’d love to! What time?]

His enthusiasm was already putting you off, at least by a small fraction. In a way, you did have that hint of creeping morality leftover. You considered telling him to just ignore you, that this was all some sort of sick joke, to please not come over, but… you didn’t.

[Whenever you can over the evening, I’ll be around.]

You hit send and quickly arranged the remainder of the details before putting the phone on the nightstand table to conclude that entire interaction. You then leaned forward, poking your head around the corner to inspect the odd guy, feeling unsure as to how to effectively communicate with him.

Resigning to a nudge of his shoulder, you stared down at him. “It’s fine. He’ll be here tomorrow and you can do… whatever it is that you have to do.”

Kenjaku stretched and sat upright, seeming to regard you in an unreadable way. He was quite particular when he didn’t properly understand something, or in this case, someone. Something about your body language seemed strange to him but he couldn’t tell what it was about you exactly triggering that sort of feeling.

“What’s bothering you?” he bluntly asked, hoping to extract some information from you. He had a penchant for social engineering, after all, and you were his biggest mystery yet. He wanted to understand more of your moods because that would make you a lot easier to both keep up as well as work with.

“Nothing,” you however replied, not seeing the issue that he diagnosed you with.

Tilting his head to the side, he attempted to brainstorm the subject anyway. “Does meeting with the man bother you?”

“It doesn’t really,” you continued to deny, feeling slightly resigned when you saw a determined glint in his eyes from attempting to dissect what was going on in your mind.

You just wanted for this phase to come to an end, but you weren’t sure how to describe it to him, hence you were being vague.

After this, you would slowly crack beneath your barely contained surface and only then would you be able to warm up again, to say those silly things that drew him in to begin with.

Yet, his persistence with seeing something more than you let on was relentless. He pursed his lips as he considered the next cause of blame for your indifference, asking his next question, “Do you think he’s a good person? Perhaps you’re having… second thoughts?”

“It’s not that,” you replied with a slightly annoyed tone that he mistook for hitting a nerve.

“Then what?” he asked you with a slight scoff, leaning back into the sofa as you also sat down on it.

You sighed. Fine. You’ll give him one little glimpse into your mind if you have to. You’ll bring up one little shred of your worries, already regretting forming the concern in your mind because you just knew that he was going to over analyse the hell out of it.

With a heavy sigh, you opened up slightly. “I just… I just don’t like manipulating people.”

“Oh? And yet you’re here with me,” he observed, finding your concerns to be slightly amusing.

“I’m not the one manipulating you, though,” you replied with some confusion evident in your tone.

Kenjaku could only shrug, his lips curling into a twitching smile. “Perhaps not. It’s not like you convinced me to spare your life or anything, but I suppose you're right, it’s more of the other way around, isn’t it?”

“You’re not manipulating me either,” you scoffed.

He hummed and his smile widened into something that resembled more of a smirk. “Aren’t I, though? I’m having you do a good portion of my dirty work, so in some ways I am. All so that you can feel something, right? You really don’t think that I haven’t noticed just how needy you were earlier on?”

“Hey, that’s different—“ you attempted to defend yourself, finding that your attempts to do so were promptly cut off.

“—ah, ah,” he interjected, reeling you forward with the pull of his arm, “you’re a willing participant in all of this, [name]. You want something out of what I can offer you and you’re acting a certain way to get it. That’s manipulation. If you’re denying it so defensively, then you’re likely just projecting, aren’t you?”

You scoffed and tried to pull away from him, finding that it made his hold around you only tighter.

“That’s not true,” you said, finally pushing back and escaping his grasp. “What on earth could I possibly be projecting?”

He let his arm sag and leaned forward, shrugging with a nonchalant expression. The accusatory tone you retailiated with was now boring, he thought, so maybe it was time to tone it down a little to get you right where he wanted. “You’re not broken enough yet, but you’re getting there. You used to have a kind heard in there, I bet, that’s why you’re probably seeing yourself in the victims and feeling sorry for them because they’re placing themselves into a situation that they didn’t anticipate.”

Confused, you questioned him, “What?”

“That’s what your relationship was, right?” he continued. “You were trapped in something unfortunate and then you came across me. Now look at you. Hopelessly searching for something in between the lines that might not even be there. But it’s a nice lie to believe, isn’t it?”

“What’s your point?” you warily asked.

“My point is that you’re not manipulating anyone,” he sat back again, widening his legs a little as he relaxed. “Everyone seeks something out and finds meaning where there is none. The ramen shop guy thinks that he has a chance as much as you do, with the only difference being that you can live out your delusions while he won’t.”

You sighed, finally understanding him. It felt a bit humiliating for him to highlight your desperation to feel something other than emotional abuse that was otherwise carried out daily when you stayed behind at home. Whether or not this was any different, you could at least pretend that it was. At least sometimes.

“Your silence speaks volumes, you know,” he added, “but that’s alright. I don’t have a problem with playing the part you want me to as long as you can play yours too.”

“But why are you enabling this…?”

“Because it’s interesting to me,” Kenjaku admitted. “It’s like a study that I can’t quite get enough of; my biggest mystery yet. But don’t worry, unlike with the others, I don’t have plans to let you go. At least not yet.”

“So, I’m just supposed to play along with luring people in?” you asked in a resigned tone.

“A sailor who answers a siren’s call is neither at fault nor is she,” he replied.

“What are you, eighty? Who talks in idioms nowadays…” you tried to shoot back in a joking way, both to cope with the situation at hand as well as to try and get him off your back with the way he was speaking to you.

He rolled his eyes in response. “Let me rephrase everything for you. You’re not manipulating. You’re surviving. Those who follow shouldn’t be so trusting.”

“Are you really trying to manipulate me about the subject of manipulation?” you asked.

He scoffed lightly, getting the sentiment. He even smiled.

“It’s about me taking on the blame for the guilt you feel,” he corrected you. “Just, listen. Don’t shut me out. You’ll help me and I’ll help you because we have a mutual agreement that can benefit us both. But I do need your compliance.”

“Well, you’ve got it…” you mumbled.

“Then that’s really quite excellent,” he replied, relaxing into the sofa even more. “Now, was there anything else?”

You thought about it for a moment but there was truly nothing else on your mind. It wasn’t as though you felt fulfilled from the conversation you had with him, but was surprisingly not that annoying to talk to as you had initially thought which was a step above the situation you were in before.

Which really said something about your life.

As a result, you shook your head.

“Then go rest or go for a walk if you’d like,” he dared to offer, thinking that there couldn’t have been a worse person in this sleepy town than him so therefore it was safe. He had some trust in you that if you got a similar feel from a stranger, that you wouldn’t try to tag along with them either. He was self aware, after all. He could entertain interesting people, but a lot of other people who wanted to hurt others didn’t really have such intricate reasons.

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

“Call it an exercise of trust,” he added with a smile.

“You really trust me with walking considering that’s what got me into this whole mess to begin with?” you challenged back.

Kenjaku simply just shrugged. “That’s irrelevant, [name]. You come from a relationship that didn’t any stability or care and you ran away as a result. That’s how you ended up in this whole mess, not the other way around. Had you been in something that actually had a solid foundation and maybe not abusive, then you wouldn’t have been out all alone on a dark rainy night looking for trouble. You won’t run or try to test your fate against any other strange people because like it or not, you’ve found yourself in a better predicament than you were in before.”

You took one good look at him and huffed, refusing to admit that he was right to his face.

And he didn’t follow.

Just as he promised.

Because he knew you’d be back.

~~~

You returned at some point during the night, or rather closer to the morning. He wanted you to be wide awake by the evening, so he allowed you to sleep in. While you were out cold, he shopped for another outfit for you.

Considering the man’s type, he observed that he was into women who were comfortable in their own skin. So maybe nothing too revealing. He had a thought that you would refuse to wear anything too suggestive out of spite anyway, so that plan was scrapped in his head before it reached the surface.

Outfits were a relatively powerful component, he supposed. He was very certain that this man would show up with flowers of some sort and assume that this must have been some sort of date.

That led him to the confusion that slightly simmered away in his mind with one simple question; what on earth did the noodle shop guy see him as?

A friend? A relative? Perhaps the age gap was a blessing, he considered, because the man was still confident enough to meet with you despite the male company you had.

He looked at your phone that you left behind, thinking that you did perfectly well. You gave him an address, a time and even used emoji hearts to see the messages through.

How… endearing?

But he also did suppose that your words didn’t quite match your style, at least from what he could understand about you. He glossed over the perfectly intact grammar and over enthusiasm to match the man’s and he grimaced slightly, thinking you were more of the type to be facetious during your usual exchanges. If this much was forced, then your interest likely never existed in the first place, so maybe there was no reason for him to feel weird to begin with.

He sighed to himself, thinking back to the brief feeling of arousal that he experienced within your company after that news highlight.

For some reason, the idea made him feel uneasy. It was weird though, considering what type of person he was, but the idea of forcing himself onto you didn’t feel right. It left a sour taste on his tongue, so he didn’t press the thought any further. He would continue to manipulate you in other ways, but he did have a strong feeling that you weren’t actually looking for something sexual.

Maybe… emotional?

Cold showers it was then, at least for now.

If it was meant to be, then he would wait for an opening.

Pocketing your phone just for the sake of it, intending to push the conversation towards a direction he wanted in particular if the man decided to text you at any time, he set out for the town square to find a clothing store.

Once there, he skimmed the racks until he found a semi modest dress. He also found more clothes that could suit you and your new identity, so he added that to the pile as well. After all, he had to start you off from fresh, which meant leaving behind your old life and not leave behind a trail of sloppy evidence on your own end.

He also stopped to pick up a few quick bites to eat at a local supermarket, tutting at the lack of selection. He picked up whatever would put enough energy into the two of you and then headed home with his hands full and returned just in time to watch you stretch awake.

It was only two in the afternoon, which was decent enough he supposed. You went to bed at five in the morning though, so he thought you’d be out for much more, but he wasn’t about to argue with you about how your own body operated. In comparison, he was a light sleeper, so he wasn’t one to talk either.

Kenjaku threw you a packaged sandwich, watching you with some amusement as you started to dig in without questioning it from the second your eyes opened. It was a little concerning actually how you just blindly ate whatever he presented to you and maybe one day, he would have to scold you out of that habit. He could even be cruel about it, since his impulsive thoughts were very rarely contained.

Had they been better managed, then he would still be working his ass off at the hospital. It was only because he finally slipped that he… nevermind.

You were done eating, so it was the next phase of the plan. He threw you the dress.

“Change into this, will you?” he requested.

You simply gave it one look and nodded, walking off to the bathroom to get changed. He let you go, of course, not quite caring where you demanded privacy and where you didn’t. Although, he did for once wonder more about your body, imagining just how you really looked underneath those clothes, feeling that faint hint of arousal poking underneath his trousers once again.

Slightly widening his eyes, he reached for the monk robes and donned them in a near instant, thankful for the flowing material to hide the annoying consequences of his own damned biology.

He then sat you on the sofa the second you emerged again, his movements a little strained. While everything was hidden, moving around with the thing was a little painful.

“Is there a chance that this man thinks this is a date?” he asked, trying to resist the urge to ogle you.

You considered it, seemingly oblivious to his glaring. “I think so…? He asked me for my favourite flower in the shop, so he might have taken it seriously when I shot him the hangout request.”

“…And what was your answer for that one?” he asked.

“African daisies,” you calmly replied.

“Yeah, I highly doubt that there’s a place here that carries such a thing,” he lightly laughed, but also mentally logged the answer somewhere permanent in the back of his mind. “He’ll show up with pink roses.”

“How can you be so sure?” you asked, genuinely intrigued.

“Red would be too serious and romantic, this guy has too low self esteem for that,” he shrugged, seeming to be an expert on the matter, “he would still want to impress though, since he strikes me as a people pleaser so he’d go for roses because they’re a bit pricier than the other flowers. Pink is good as an in-between option.”

You quietly nodded as you considered his words, thinking about just how much he’s capable of speaking if you gave him the opportunity to do so. Maybe he was right about most things, but the way he spoke still was slightly off putting.

Kenjaku in turn also watched you go quiet, trying to get a good read on you. For now, he was misinterpreting it as you being conflicted with sympathy in regards to the noodle shop man, because he was still under the impression that it was some sort of internal moral battle for you. This led him to feel off again about the whole situation, finding that he didn’t quite like how you were likely thinking about the man and his feelings.

How kind of you.

He hated it.

Pressing on, he informed you more about the way you should be acting and the way you should try to drop down this guy’s guard until he was both comfortable enough and even trusting in your company.

If the process of the ‘study’ was what really bothered you, he would give you an opportunity to go for a walk again or just stash you in the bathroom as he got to work on the guy. He wasn’t totally clueless, after all, he knew what he was doing to people was an atrocity and you were still very new to his way of life and given your background in comparison to his own, you were likely not so used to seeing people in distress.

In a way, he was especially excited to tear away this man from you and remove him from the space where he settled in your mind (even though you were no longer thinking about him). He was almost vibrating at the thought of it, feeling elated from the consideration alone. Not to worry for you, he would offer you the comfort that he promised; a small price to pay, he thought, for erasing the existence of someone unworthy.

And come the evening, the door knocked at last.

Kenjaku watched as you opened it, overseeing the situation from afar and trusting you to hold up your side of the plan. The man didn’t seem to mind him being there, even if there was a slight flicker of uncertainty when the two of them briefly locked eyes together.

Maybe the fact that he was now wearing the monk robes was actually a good thing, if he had to read more into it. Perhaps this man thought that he was celibate or something similar, because what else could a monk possibly be?

He internally stirred as he looked away for a moment, biting back a sarcastic comment as he did so. The awkward dance of a hug that you didn’t really want to reciprocate from what it looked like was too painful to witness.

He looked again towards your direction.

You were now holding a bouquet of pink flowers.

He was right.

That aside and more onto the task at hand, he speculated that the man perhaps found his own meaning in you, which meant that he had to tear you away in order to drive an educational response from the guy. Killing you wasn’t an option, so he had to research him in a different kind of way. This man obviously thrived on optimism and delicately assigned hope without the confirmation that it was being given to him, so perhaps he could take it away by simply just being warmer to you.

Nothing forced of course, he already knew that you were dealing with some feelings to do with him, so he could just play that into his own advantage.

The guy was insecure, after all. His body language suggested that he was nervous and was very likely overthinking every single little action you gave him. If Kenjaku showed up and started to get close with you in a way that went beyond just being friendly, then that would be one way to get him to crumble mentally.

He seldom got to dissect people’s minds as he was more hands on and practical when it came to his own approach. Maybe having you around for that trust factor was more beneficial than it was an obstacle. After all, it was only thanks to you that the hitchhiker from days before even went that far along with his otherwise sketchy plans.

Oh, he could do it tauntingly too. He could deny anything of the sort if the man would start to get suspicious; claim to just be your very good friend and call him out on why he’s so focused on where his hands are going or why he’s thinking such thoughts to begin with.

What a great idea, he thought.

He swooped in from the second that he settled on such an idea, joining you at the table within a flash. It took everything he had not to let his sarcastic personality take over though, idly listening to the forced laughter and watching as you dryly entertained the guy.

But then the man complimented you in a way that you liked and he had to watch as your eyes ever so slightly lit up, smiling with both your heart and your soul.

There was that ugly feeling again.

Snaking an arm around your side, he moved in just a little closer to you, finding it utterly entertaining when the guy stopped mid sentence to nervously gulp and stare at what exactly was going on.

You didn’t move away either, which likely only fed into the guy’s worries further.

You continued on as usual, listening to the guy as he spoke but his demeanour now seemed a little deflated and not as confident as before; his voice shook at times, his words stuttered and he no longer made as much eye contact. The light in his eyes no longer twinkled, instead dulled at the prospect of reeking uncertainty.

His cause of being was no longer true as he was forced to endure an unspoken betrayal for something that you didn’t even have to accomplish at your own hand.

Insecurity was a bitch, after all.

Kenjaku crept a little closer so that you could now pick up on what he was trying to do. His shoulder rubbed against yours and his cheek leaned against your arm.

It was so suggestive that the man could no longer hold in his suspicions.

“Are you two together?” he blurred out. There it was. A voice that was both fearful and assuming; so self accusatory as he wondered if he was treading on spoken for grounds.

Kenjaku hummed and smiled at the man. “No. we’re just friends.”

The man didn’t buy it, of course. The seed of doubt had already been planted and the uncertainty was quickly blooming but then when you didn’t deny his words, he started to regain his composure once more.

How fucking peculiar.

Did he really think that he was so much better than him, or what?

Now that was a thought, because he absolutely wasn’t. What a spin. Kenjaku lightly scoffed, unable to hide how he felt about the guy’s persistence. His own pride was truly being threatened because it wasn’t playing out how he envisioned it in his head, but then again, such imagines seldom did. Just like the librarian who reacted in a way that he didn’t truly care for.

Kenjaku leaned back slightly as the man continued to regard you with awe, watching as you spoke about your varying hobbies and interests, attempting to relate to you in a way that seemed acceptable. You weren’t truly buying this, were you?

“You’re staring a bit too much,” Kenjaku piped up at last, letting the jealousy show. You didn’t react and he thought it was odd, but then again, maybe you just thought that this was all part of the act.

The man wavered. “I-I am…?”

He nodded his head, feeling the annoyance rise. “Too much eye contact is a bit off putting, don’t you think?”

He watched as the man’s gaze flicked down to your chest in a quick attempt to look away, prompting a snort out of Kenjaku when he messed that one up.

“I’m sorry, I’m not too good with people—“

“—you’re doing fine,” you replied however, stifling his worry and playing your part perfectly well.

Kenjaku however didn’t like something about the way that the man continued to look at you with that persistent unblinking gaze.

“You’re staring again,” he was quick to remind the man of his behaviour, his voice carrying a hint of venom as he finally surrendered to a taunt.

Finally, the man’s demeanour crumbled a little more.

“I’m not doing anything wrong,” he finally protested.

However, rather than whittling the guy down slowly and focusing on a psychological route, Kenjaku couldn’t quite resist anymore. Without really thinking about it, he got up and walked himself over to where the man sat and slammed his head straight into the table, rendering yet another soul briefly unconscious.

He then dragged him over to the bed and stared at him, snapping his sights over back to you. He considered letting you go on a walk or hide away in the bathroom, but no, something else was going on within him and he needed you to watch him perform.

Using a knife that he kept in his pocket, Kenjaku cut at the man’s achilles tendon prompting a guttural cry from him. Moving quickly, he quickly stifled it with a pillow rammed into his face, something that he growled at you to hold in place. “Keep him quiet.”

Without protest, you obeyed. You didn’t complain nor did you question what he was doing and just did as he said. How peculiar again, he thought. What a strange thing you truly were.

Kenjaku’s eyes scanned around the hotel room, noticing a bottle of half empty hand sanitiser resting atop the desk. He stepped back and swirled it around in his hand, placing it on the nightstand table for now as a plan formed in his mind.

Reaching for a sock off the floor, he stuffed it into the man’s mouth that he kept secure with a belt tied around his open maw to further silence him.

“Keep him steady,” he murmured.

You could only nod and obey.

“Since you like staring so much,” he muttered off to himself, rambling in what seemed to be a crazed slurry of incoherent feverish thoughts, he considered just what to do exactly.

Dipping briefly into the bathroom, he pulled out a first aid kit from the mirror cabinet that he had stashed away. Extracting some medical scissors from the box, he had an idea to really emphasise the point of staring as he returned back to the scene.

While the man was still relatively out of it from the probable concussion that was forming from his slightly bleeding forehead, he kept the man’s eyes just barely open and snipped away at the eyelids. Bothersome things, really. His arms convulsed as he worked and his legs thrashed. Luckily, the sock did a good job at keeping his screams contained for the most part, at least.

You looked uneasy as you stared. For now, he allowed you to look away from such horrors. “Close your eyes if you want.”

Compliant as you were, you did as you were told, even if it was more of a suggestion than an order.

Snipping away at the remaining tissue, he carefully carried over to the next eye, wiping the blood off the blade on the man’s cheek. He watched blankly as his sockets attempted to close again and again, but of course, they couldn’t. His eyeballs rolled around in their holes, wide, erratic and bloodshot as the man desperately searched for answers.

Staring at the convulsing spheres, he found another annoyance. He wanted for them to stay in place and so, digging into the kit, he pulled out two safety pins. Propping one open, he pricked the needle in and pierced the matter, finding that the prick melted into the flesh like soft jelly. For some reason, he expected a popping sound, but found that eyes were rather soft when being poked around.

To his delight, it all stayed in place.

A shame that he had to go this far though; if only bodies weren’t so pesky with their involuntary reactions.

Next came the fun part: he unscrewed the lid of the bottle and discarded the pump, tilting it just enough to slowly trickle the hand sanitiser into the iris of the horrified man. His eyes were forced to watch as the burning liquid fully submerged in his socket, all as Kenjaku watched in continued delight as the crescendo finally reached and the sounds of true pain were finally met.

It was never screaming if it was real pain.

It was something much more raw.

You could hear them too, your eyes were screwed desperately shut in an attempt to block it all out.

Kenjaku however shrugged at your reaction, continuing onwards. He watched with deep set fascination as the man slowly lost his vision in the most brutal way, finding him rather boring once he no longer flinched at whatever sharp object he drew close to his eyes. So be it, he thought. That was that. The fun was over, and now it was time for him to be discarded and thrown away, like a broken toy that he no longer had any use for.

Taking out his pocket knife; he swiftly traced out a scarlet line as he tore open the man’s throat, gutting the man from his stomach and then moving the blade down his arms and legs.

He took one glimpse at you; finding that your eyes were finally open and yet, only seeing indifference in your glare.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe you were broken at last.

Goodbye to that once kind heart, you didn’t need it.

Since the checkout wasn’t until tomorrow, he was comfortable with leaving the hotel room overnight after otherwise brushing it clean of any evidence left behind that would give either one of you away too quick, too soon.

But first, just as he promised you, he would tend to you.

Since because of you, he accomplished one of his most satisfying kills yet.

And that much deserved praise.

~~~

tag list: @cloudybunns @ahoeindeedinneed @angis-filthy-corner

[inertebarra]

Calex AU

But make it when they both get in touch with each other again after finding they volunteer at the same women's shelter.

Casey was a regular since the suspension

Member of the legal team AND the designated coach for any sport the children of the shelter felt like trying

Alex starts attending after that case she mentioned in canon got to her (so around S14)

She's well into her 3rd month there so it's early in her volunteering days but still late enough for them to not have bumped into each other at that point and exactly on time to have their meet-cute (again)

Insert slow burn here

Casey was always on the fence about the illegal relocation network for women. She helped though in a way that wouldn't be legally binding, looking the other way when necessary and keeping her job at the DA's office. Ofc she was guarded about not repeating the suspension fiasco

It all changes when she sees a certain blonde starting to get involved. Out of preservation, she tells herself, she starts looking out for Alexandra by keeping her occupied in 'friendly' outings. They get to know each other and at some point, they realize the other is her ride or die. Alexandra is pretty much happy because this is her first time being treated with the care only someone like Casey could show. Cassandra grows amazed each day by this exceptional woman who she wasn't a fan of previously but neither put on a pedestal.

In this house Casey fell first and Alex fell deeper. Nonetheless, while Alex is aware of her feelings Casey is an oblivious- I'm -going-to deny-my-feelings- into- the-sunset mf

At some point, Alex drops out of the DA's office, and this is a big punch in their non-relationship relationship. After their brief fall out Alex reveals she's been a part of this organization for a while and kept it a secret from Casey to protect her. Read big misunderstanding because by the time Casey first suspected Alex may rope herself into the network her little scheme to keep her from it had already been late.

It all kind of makes sense seeing as Alex comes from enough money for ten generations to live off of for her to dedicate herself fully to helping disadvantaged mistreated women and their children

Anyway, Alex convinces her in the end it's fine and the door's open but it has to be Casey's decision to get involved. They're still going to be #friends tm

When Casey does finally join is painfully obvious to everyone they work so well together professionally as well now. Even Casey starts to realize her silly little enamourment but the more she tries to disprove it the weirder and filled with tension their interactions get. That means dorkier by the second and Alexandra's heart couldn't be any more pierced by cupid but some space magically appears for that woman.

At the time Casey starts noticing things about Alex (her smile, her hair, and those too-short for-this-place skirts) she also tries to bury them through acts of service like bringing her homemade food or ironing her work clothes. There's also that one time she went overboard with a surprise birthday party for Alex where she had all the people in the shelter a part of (you're not paying attention if you think someone threw one for Alex before)

Insert side characters here annoyed by whatever bullshit these two oblivious lesbians have going on. If one of the old lady volunteers one time locked them up in a room accidentally then nobody has to know

Their feelings to feel first ™ period comes to a close after a particularly gruesome case

The kind of heavy metal when one of them gets kidnapped by a criminal ring for messing up with one of their guys. Messy and messier gonna add the details later she gets rescued and finally, there's the confession then the most awaited by the whole of the gay community and their coworkers kiss

Casey quits her job and takes on moonlighting full-time

Insert some lore later here

And this is the backstory of Alex's cameo the last time she was in svu thanks for coming to my talk, feel free to fill in the blanks

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: M6 on social media

Julian

He is on all the apps, you name it, he probably uses it

He's on theatre kid tiktok

Shamelessly posts thirst traps with niche references

Too many of them are doctor inspired

Perfectly understands the female gaze and takes full advantage of that

Embraces the cringe

Malak regularly photobombs his posts and there are multiple compilations of him fighting off/cussing out a shrieking crow

He canonically has a beautiful singing voice that he does not know how to use, voice coaches love duetting and reacting to him because it is so impressively terrible

He also needs to be carefully monitored though, for two main reasons:

One, all his posts need to be reviewed before he posts them, because he's terrible about internet safety

Two, because everyone gets hate comments and he already has nasty self-esteem issues

Portia gets into so many fights in the comments on her burner account

He is quite popular and has a large and dedicated following

Asra

As much potential as they have for stardom, they are an extremely private person and they are very aware of what kind of place the internet can be

He probably has BeReal and spends most of his time on SnapChat (you know he loves watching drama unfold)

Also has a very aesthetically pleasing Instagram that they forget exists. Scroll through and you'll see random photodumps of all the places they've traveled recently, spaced six months apart

Faust has her own account

He is the type to lurk, never comments, rarely likes, prefers to save something for later to show his friends in person instead of sharing or tagging them

They do love trying out what they see though, like viral pasta recipes and room lighting ideas

Except he'll add his own flashes of creativity as he goes

Sometimes it pays off, like when they got their whole living room to feel like an oasis

Sometimes it doesn't pay off, like when he tried an already sketchy viral food hack and added charcoal

They don't mind integrating social media into in-person situations, if the only thing you have energy for is cuddling up in a pillow pile and scrolling through saved videos together, they're down

Nadia

Facebook and LinkedIn

She's trying her best, she really is, but she has places to be and things to do and she'd rather spend her free time with the people she loves or getting some well-earned rest

The screens also contribute to her headaches

All her sisters are older than her, she has Facebook to keep up with them

She doesn't know that most of them keep with the times enough to have accounts on other platforms as well

She uses LinkedIn for networking, obviously

She does enjoy being entertained though! She loves it when you tilt your phone screen towards her so she can see whatever made you smile or laugh

Regularly asks you or Portia to show her everyone else's most recent posts

Julian's tiktok page is a mystery that never fails to make her laugh

She loves to be included in your posts and is always willing to pose with you for a selfie

She is a fantastic camera woman, she can follow angles and lighting like nobody's business

She does not know how to write captions

Muriel

He doesn't have one until you or Asra sit him down and walk him through the process

He chooses Instagram because he can see cat pictures that way

And because it's the platform most of you guys have an account on, so he can keep tabs on everyone

He has all of his privacy settings enabled

Most of his posts are pictures of Innana or the chickens (mostly the chickens)

No captions, ever

Every now and then someone from the Kokhuri will stumble across his profile and send a message request

He'll wait until you're free to sit with him while he messages them

He's slowly putting a family tree together of the people he's made contact with

Heartily dislikes the reels feature, the constant stimulation puts him on edge

Honestly prefers YouTube, he got a great ad blocker and he watches nature compilations and wilderness survival videos

He also watches videos about wolves so he can take care of Innana better, but he has to be careful when he does that because if the wolf in the video howls she does too

He stumbled across a fan-made compilation of Julian's thirst traps once and refuses to speak about it

Portia

Snapchat for the gossip, Tumblr for all the novels she's become a fan of, and Instagram for Pepi and her garden and baking endeavors

She is on everyone's Snapchat story. If she spots someone new at her workplace she's already sending them a friend request

Tumblr is her guilty pleasure, she has spent hours in the library devouring novels and now she can read and write as much unhinged fanfiction as she wants to

She also loves interacting with other people who enjoy the books and characters she does

Fanart makes her squeal

She hasn't found out about AO3 yet but once she does it's over

Her Instagram is gorgeous. She posts once or twice a day with garden updates, candid shots of Pepi being precious, and baking tips and tricks

Her feed is full of the wanderlust hashtag and it's fueling her bucket list

She has a decently sized following and loves it when people message her

She also has a tiktok burner account to monitor her crazy older brother

Definitely stays on top of all the trends and incorporates them into her Instagram posts

Lucio

He wants to be famous, he really does, but everything he tries flops

Obsessed with tiktok, it's where the young people are

It's also perfect for his limited attention span

Constantly trying to hop on new trends, but always misses the mark ever so slightly

Tried to put the LED light strips up in his bedroom, but he couldn't keep them straight so they're all slightly wonky

Refuses to take them down

He fell down the "alpha male" pipeline once and it took so much work to get him back out, he was insufferable

You got Nadia and Asra to give him a good beat down while you went through his phone and deleted all the accounts that couldn't be saved

You only let him back on when he promised to share his accounts with you, and he agreed on the condition that you help him try to get famous

You suggested he post about the things he knows, like self-defense tactics and survival

He gets a boost when you post a video of him trying and failing to follow a tiktok dance tutorial while he uses increasingly creative language and it goes viral

He's got a small following now and he's so proud of both of you

[boccher]

ah , I guess there's a whole set of social customms about weddings and proposals and shit that I've never been cued in on (despite having been to multiple weddings) (look I guess there wasn't ever any reason for me to know really). Like, yeah I get it logically, a wedding is an event dedicated to one couple so keep it focused on that couple(or more), that's entirely fair. I just... can't really empathise with it the idea in my head at all, like why does that social rule have to be that strict.. idk how that's the overwhelming majority's preference for how an ideal wedding should be? among most demographics? Cuz like in my head my wedding would just be like a celebration, and a proposal is just another good thing on top, so I'd be really happy if one of my friends successfully proposed at my wedding like yeah! 2x celebration! Give it up for my friend my friend my friend

people in that post were also bringing up the social pressure of public proposals, which I definitely understand on a more acute level, cuz like it's that one manifestation of comphet and male entitlement that you see all the time in movies social media irl. There's definitely room for things to go wrong if it's an unprovoked proposal by the proposer. It does make me think though like what is the role of a proposal in a relationship? cuz like if the most popular form of a proposal is a surprise, that means you have to set up some tension of uncertainty preceding it in order for it to actually be a surprise... which would mean withholding information from each other? Is it like some sort of mutually understood breakdown in communication? Can such a thing be mutually understandable? Like, my impression of a relationship is that you want to be aware of each other's stances towards the relationship at all times, to prevent miscommunication, and progress it in the way you both want. But I can't really fit that with the idea of a surprise proposal..

But in the ideal case I'​m thinking of, where all parties are entirely aware of if/when they wanna get married.... what would a proposal be in that case? Just a little private ceremony between the relationship? A Date+ ? Or would it just be the announcement of wedding to other people.

See look clearly I have zero understanding of the social norms that exist in this space, I'​m just trying to invent concepts from my own baseless assumptions and getting nowhere

Back to my own hypothetical wedding though, I feel like the kinds of people I'd want to invite, are the ones who have an understanding of the harms of patriarchal social pressure in the first place.. why would I want people with gross misogynistic concepts of relationships to speak about my relationship lol . in that case everyone there would be really close and we'd all understand there's zero harm in answering whatever you want to a proposal.

Like legit I don't logically get the old conservatives that think there is any harm in any way, it's not like you can't propose again later (or if you break up instead then it was always gonna be a breakup anyway) ,,,,, like that old attitude has gotta purely come down to treating the wife as property of the husband w/ no autonomy, doesn't it

[witchersmistress]

Snooping and Library Sex 2.0

Hello my Darlings! Im in decisive af so i have here another version of Snooping, i changed the characters around and added some details but its basically the same.

Trigger Warnings: rough sex, orgasm denial, destruction of books, back sassying

Word count: 4K

as usual my darlings, you do not have my permission to copy, translate or use my work in anyway. if you do i will haunt you for the rest of your days k?

I can feel the angry energy roiling under my skin after my encounter with Napoleon, all the sated, relaxed feeling from the self induced orgasms is nothing but a distant memory already. I’m on edge and pissed off, and I hate it.

It’s like the ground is shifting out from beneath me, like I can’t find solid footing anywhere, and that unbalanced sensation makes me want to lash out. It would make the most sense to go up to my room and hide out until I feel better, but for some reason, I don’t want to do that. Being idle sounds shitty, so after depositing my shit upstairs, I stalk around the house instead, feeling defiant. So far, I haven’t poked around their space too much. I go from the room they gave me to the kitchen and sometimes to the living room, but not really beyond that. Now I don’t stop myself from doing what I want, striding from room to room as if the whole house is my personal domain.

 I yank open a door down a corridor off the main entryway and find a well-kept baby grand piano inside. I roll my eyes at the fucking luxury these assholes clearly live in and look the instrument over. One of them must play. Even though they have so much nice shit, it would be stupid to have a whole-ass piano in here if it didn’t get used. Which one is it, I wonder? Staring at it doesn’t yield any answers, so I march back out, closing the door behind me. Another couple of doors just lead to closets, and I bypass them, not caring enough to rifle through coats and boxes and shit. But the next door I try reveals a small library. That’s the only good word for the room full of books. There are shelves lining three of the walls, and an armchair with a small end table beside it tucked into a corner. It looks like the kind of place that gets a lot of use, which is surprising as hell since none of the guys seem like the intellectual types. Just the thought of Napoleon or Syverson sitting in that chair with a cup of tea and a thick book is almost enough to make me laugh. It’s a toss-up with Napoleon, and August could go either way too. There’s a set of encyclopedias on one of the shelves, and I roll my eyes because apparently we’re back in the dark ages or some shit.

 I move on from those and find a stretch of classic books. The titles stand out in gold on the spines, things like The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, The Prince, The Odyssey, and The Iliad. Books like they make you read in high school, full of shit you’ll never care about again. I take a couple off the shelves and check them out, running my hands over the smooth leather of the covers and the embossed letters of the titles. I flip through one, The Odyssey, and am surprised to see little notes in the margins. Whole passages have been underlined, and the handwriting is cramped off to the side, but I can just make some of it out. I don’t know anything about books, but reading the stuff in the margins feels like getting a peek into someone’s soul. Whoever wrote these notes had a soul full of rage and pain, and they were connected with the pain felt by the characters in the books. Each book I pull off the shelf to look through is like that, with little notes off to the side and underlined parts. Some words are circled, others crossed out. It’s like whoever did it dedicated themselves to reading each book and finding the parts that either pissed them off or resonated with them the most. I’m putting a few of them back and reaching for another one when someone steps into the room. “What the fuck are you doing?” a deep voice intones behind me. August. And he’s pissed. As usual. I turn around to look at him, and something in the way his face looks so guarded and angry makes me pretty damn sure these books are his. I’m still on edge, feeling exposed from what happened with Napoleon. I hate that 2these men have gotten under my skin. That was never supposed to be part of the plan. I was just supposed to fuck with them, not let them fuck with me back. “Just exploring,” I tell him, shrugging. “Seeing what there is to see in here. Found these books.” “You shouldn’t go poking around in other people’s shit,” he snaps, his broad frame looming in the doorway. I shrug. “It was all just here, so I figured, why not? They’re yours, aren’t they? Or at least, you’re the one who wrote these things in them.” His jade eyes flash with irritation, and I know I’m right. He wouldn’t care so much if they weren’t his and he wasn’t the one who’d gone through all the trouble to make these notes. “So what’s all this about, then?” I ask, flipping open one of the books to a random page. It’s got so many notes on it I can barely make them all out, and I lift an eyebrow. “There’s some heavy stuff in here. One of the characters is talking about… I don’t even know what. The suffering they’re going through. And then you wrote a whole tiny little paragraph about how they don’t even know what true suffering is.” “Stop it,” he grits out, a warning in each syllable. I don’t stop, though. Because this feels good. More addictive than any drug. I want to poke at him, want to get under his skin the way they’ve all gotten under mine. “This part right here about the ‘darkness that you can’t escape’ is pretty poetic,” I say with a little smirk. “Maybe you’re in the wrong business. You should stop abducting women from alleys and take up writing full time.

 It seems like you’d have a lot to pull from for inspiration, judging from what you wrote here.” That seems to be the last straw. August moves forward, marching up to me and yanking the book out of my hand. He crowds into my space, pressing me up against the shelf until the wooden ridges of it dig into my back. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” he hisses. “So you should shut your mouth.” He’s so close, but I don’t back down. “Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I want to know more. Maybe I want to figure out what makes you work, August. How you ended up the way you are.” “That wasn’t the deal,” he snaps. “Fuck the deal,” I reply. “I’m guessing you used to live in that shithole apartment building you took me to.” “What?” “I’m not an idiot. You knew it way too well for it to be somewhere new to you, or somewhere you only go when you need information. Plus, Meredith talked to you like she cared. That shit takes time. what's up with that?”

“None of your fucking business.” I can feel the rage pouring off him, but I don’t back down. He’s not going to hurt me—that wouldn’t be in his best interests, considering he needs me alive to kill Ivan—and if he did try to, I could just hurt him back. So all he can really do is stand there while I push his buttons, getting more and more pissed off with no real outlet for it. It feels good to be on the instigating end, finally, to be the one doing the pushing instead of getting pushed. And I keep riding the waves of that, leaning into August and not letting him get away with his non-answers. “What was it like?” I press. “Living there? How old were you? Young?” “Shut up.” His expression closes down some, fury blurring out any other emotion. He’s uncomfortable, but relying on anger to get through it is a tried-and-true method. I know that well myself. “Why don’t you want to talk about it? You took me there, so it’s not like I don’t know.” “That was for a purpose,” he spits. “Not for you to go digging around in my life.” “Oh, it sucks when the shoe’s on the other foot, huh?” I shoot back. “Maybe I don’t want to let you off the hook that easily.” “Maybe I don’t give a fuck what you want.” “Well, that’s obvious. If you did, I wouldn’t be here. You’re holding me hostage in your fucking house, and you won’t even give me anything entertaining to keep myself occupied. Tell me why these books.” “I’m not telling you anything!” The words rip out of him, and there’s pure rage behind them. His eyes are snapping with it, and he’s practically growling at me. “Just a little hint?” I ask, putting on a pleading face. “Small one? Were you some kind of nerd in school? You don’t seem like the type.” Before I can get out another taunt, he grabs my upper arms in a tight grip. I can feel the strength and anger in the press of his fingers, and I know I’ll have marks there later. I half expect him to shove me forcibly out of the room, but instead, he drops his head and crushes his mouth to mine, kissing me hard enough to bruise.

August kisses me hard, biting down on my lower lip and dragging it into his mouth to suck on it before releasing it with a loud pop. A little noise of frustrated pleasure spills from my mouth, and I grab his shirt, hauling him back in for more. He doesn’t resist, devouring my mouth with his, hot and slick and messy. It’s the same thing I did with Napoleon earlier, kissing him to get him to shut up and stop saying shit I didn’t want to hear. I know that’s what he’s doing right now. But somehow, I don’t care. His hands roam over my shoulders and down my arms, finding their way around to fit in between my back and the bookshelf I’m still pressed against. He manages to grab twin handfuls of my ass, groping me hard, and I moan into his mouth all over again. I can’t control my reaction to it, and I don’t even try that hard, really. It’s all happening too fast. All the anger and hate between us is coming out as this hot, intense sexual desire, and I feel like it would burn me up if I tried to ignore it. I can feel how hard August is as he presses forward, grinding into me. I press back against him, rubbing against the hardness of his body. With a little growl of desire, his mouth moves from mine down to my jaw, leaving biting, open-mouthed kisses as he blazes a trail to my neck.

 I gasp when he bites at just the right spot, arching against him and tipping my head back. That seems to give him an idea, and one hand releases my ass to fist in my hair, yanking it enough to one side that he has complete access to my neck. His mouth is hot and wet, and it feels like it’s everywhere as he kisses me, my body responding eagerly to his touch no matter what my mind might think about him. My nipples go hard and tight, and my pussy throbs with need. It still feels too empty from when Napoleon rejected me, and it’s almost like it can sense that there’s a chance to fix that right now. “Fuck,” I groan, pulling against August’s hold on my hair just to feel the sharp pain that comes from the resistance. He doesn’t say anything, releasing my hair after a moment and letting the silvery strands fall over my shoulders as his hands start roaming again. They find my nipples, and he pinches and tweaks them through my shirt at first before sliding his hands under the fabric and shoving my bra out of the way. His mouth trails down lower, and he presses those hot, feverish kisses along the skin of my chest and my tits, tugging down the neckline of my shirt until he finds one nipple and takes it between his teeth, biting down and none too gently.

 I cry out at the sharp sting of it, squirming against the shelves while he practically feasts on my tits, leaving even more biting kisses in his wake. Pinned in place, it’s all I can do to stay upright against the shelves, letting him run his mouth over my skin and my nipples. My pussy is wet again, so desperate to be touched or filled or something, and I grind even harder against him, searching for the friction to take the edge off. August finally looks up again, and his jade green eyes are dark now. There’s still anger there, but it’s being crowded out by the raw lust emanating from him. It’s a damn good look on him, and I reach up to grab ahold of the back of his neck, pulling him down so I can kiss him again. He grunts out something that might be a curse or might be my name, but I swallow the sound either way, shoving my tongue into his mouth and almost daring him to keep up with me. And he does. He kisses back with equal intensity, matching my pace until we’re both breathless. I’m the first one to pull back, needing to catch my breath while my head spins. August takes advantage of the moment and rips my shirt over my head, exposing my bare chest to the air of the room. He yanks my bra off, and I half expect him to go back to my tits, but instead, his hands go down lower, undoing the button and zipper on my jeans so he can drag them down. August’s already dark eyes turn almost black as he stares down at me. 

Without saying a thing, he drops to his knees in front of me and takes those kisses down to my pussy. He sucks and licks at it like it’s the best thing he’s tasted all year, his tongue working itself along my folds and circling my hole with precision. I can’t help the way I shiver at how it feels, the heat and pleasure of it shooting through me. I still feel sensitive from Napoleon making me fall apart so many times less than an hour ago, and August’s mouth on me feels amplified, as if every sensation is turned up to eleven. He’s messy with it, eating me out and making his face and my thighs slick with my arousal. I look down at him while he drags his tongue over me, breathing hard and still feeling spiteful. “You’re lapping up Napoleon’s cum, you know,” I taunt breathlessly. That’s enough to get him to jerk back, but he doesn’t seem disgusted or squeamish about it. Instead, his eyes are dark with anger again, and his face twists into a mask of fury. “You fucked Napoleon?” he demands. I can’t tell if he’s mad about me fucking Napoleon in general or me fucking Napoleon instead of him. I could easily lie and say that yeah, we fucked, but it bothers me for some reason that the answer is no. I was right there, mostly naked and still a mess from the rolling orgasms Napoleon gave me, and he didn’t want to finish what he fucking started. It sits sourly in my belly, the sting of rejection still present and irritating. So I refuse to answer August, just raising an eyebrow and shrugging one shoulder. Let him think whatever he wants about that.

 He narrows his eyes, a hard look coming over his face. Then he slaps my pussy hard with one hand. I jerk and moan in surprise, taken aback by the sudden harshness. When he does it again, harder, a flash of pain bursts through me before my clit starts to throb with need. “Fuck.” It’s basically the only thing I can think to say to express that it felt fucking good, but August doesn’t seem to need more than that. He dives back in, hands gripping my hips hard while he licks me with even more vicious determination than before. Even with the knowledge that he’s licking the remnants of Napoleon’s cum out of me, he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t seem like he’s put off at all. It’s more like he wants to lick me clean or something, to overtake what Napoleon did to me and wipe it out of my memory.

And he’s fucking good at it, too. I don’t know where August falls on the spectrum of Syverson to Napoleon in terms of how often he likes to fuck, but he knows what he’s doing. His tongue curls along my clit, teasing it and working me up. I thread my fingers into his hair, holding on tight and rolling my hips as the sensation builds and builds and builds. I can feel my orgasm rising, threatening to overtake me. And then, when I’m right there on the edge, about to tip over into a fucking amazing orgasm, August stops and pulls back. “What the shit?” I gasp out, sounding hoarse and breathless. “I was close.” He doesn’t say anything, just gets up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. My legs are shaky, and I’m ready to be pissed off as hell if he thinks he’s going to walk away without getting me off after all that. But then he grabs me again and turns me around so I’m facing the bookshelves. He grabs my hands and braces them against the wood, moving me where he wants me. I should be pissed off. I am pissed off. But that’s not the only reason my heart is racing. He grabs my pants where they’re pooled around my ankles and pulls them up just enough that they wedge my thighs together, keeping my legs tightly closed so I can’t open them. Just how he wants me. I’m about to turn around and tell him to get the fuck on with it, when he drives into me hard enough to leave me breathless. Like this, with my legs pressed together, I’m even tighter than usual, and it’s like I can feel him everywhere, pressing against my walls, filling me up.

 August isn’t gentle with it either. He grabs my hips hard, fingers digging into my flesh as he fucks me even harder. His cock drives into me with punishing force, the sound of our skin slapping together ringing out in the room. I don’t bother to hold back my sounds of pleasure. I probably couldn’t even if I wanted to. Not with the way he’s fucking me hard and dirty, making sure that each thrust sends the whole length of his cock slamming into me, hitting that spot inside me that makes me cry out almost every time. Heat and electric sensation curl through me, radiating out from my center to spread into my whole body. I was already on edge before, from his mouth on me, and this is just another step closer to throwing me into an orgasm headfirst. I move my hand, ready to rub at my clit until I come from it all, but August growls behind me. He grabs my wrist and puts my hand back where it was, holding it down with almost bruising force. “No,” he pants. “You don’t get to touch yourself.” It flashes through my mind to tell him where he can shove his bossy bullshit, but then he slams into me so hard that it’s all I can do to stay upright. My heart is pounding almost as forcefully as the way he’s fucking me, bashing against my ribs and making it hard to catch a full breath. Books fall from the shelves around us as my tight grip on the bookshelf makes the whole thing shake. My back is arched, my eyes half closed. My whole body is on fire. I’m so close, right there on the edge, ready to tip over into that well of pleasure that’s been building steadily, but August doesn’t let me. He doesn’t give me that last little push I need. Instead, he starts fucking me more shallowly, letting his cock dip in and out of my pussy without driving all the way in. A noise of helpless frustration spills out of my mouth, and I ball my hands into fists against the wood of the shelf. August doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even taunt me for being needy and desperate. He just keeps his hips moving, turning those shallow thrusts into long, slow ones that still don’t give me all that I need. He’s holding out for as long as he can, clearly, and it’s driving me fucking insane. I thrust my hips back, trying to take him to the hilt, trying to get more, and he just makes a low noise and digs his fingers in harder. 

Maybe it’s a warning, maybe it’s a reaction. I don’t know and I don’t fucking care. All I know is that if I don’t come, I’m going to go insane. My core throbs, spasming around his dick like it’s desperate to milk it dry once I’m allowed to come, and I whine low in my throat, feeling all that sensation keep building like it’s going to snap. Finally, he seems to be at the end of his tether. I can feel his hips stuttering, the stamina he’s been using to drive me nuts finally giving out. He reaches around and down and pinches my clit hard. The pain and stimulation are enough to set me off like a bomb, and I nearly scream, getting a hand up over my mouth in time to muffle it as I explode in pleasure. I can barely breathe, barely keep my body from shaking itself apart as I come, gushing on his cock and squeezing it hard. August follows me over the edge, letting out a low groan as he pumps me full of his release. I’m breathless, slumped against the shelves, trying to remember how to move or do anything. My body is still trembling from the force of my pleasure, and I nearly stagger when August pulls out and steps back. By the time I can turn around to look at him, he’s pulling his pants up and tucking his cock away. Even though I’m positive he was just as into that as I was, he looks more put together, since he’s dressed and not oozing cum the way I am. “Clean up the fucking books,” he says, back to that angry, flat tone. Then he turns and walks out, leaving me there with the mess. Whatever bliss I was feeling a second ago evaporates instantly on the heels of my anger, and I’m pissed off all over again. Not about fucking him, but about the fact that it feels like he’s won something. Like he’s the one who came out ahead and has the higher ground now, even though I’m the one who instigated the confrontation.

 He walked out like he was fine and nothing had changed, but I’m the one slumped against a shelf like I’ve lost my equilibrium. August definitely had the upper hand while we were fucking. I needed him at that moment, and I hate that more than anything. He practically had me begging, poised on the edge of an orgasm I could only get from him, and he knew it. “Fucking asshole,” I spit, even though there’s no one there to hear it. I don’t need anybody. Least of all August. Or any of these fucking guys. “I’ll pick up your stupid books,” I mutter under my breath. I gather up the ones that fell off the shelves and make sure to smear his cum on the pages before slapping them shut and putting them away. The pages will get stuck together, and it’ll serve him fucking right.

[yeonboy]

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥 ♡ choi yeonjun // 24.

↦ sum chamgo love dive it is;

After facing disappointment with love for years upon years, you have chosen to replace romance with dance in your life, dedicating your entire time to this dance academy you’re employed at. It’s not that you hate men now, you just don’t expect to fall for them anymore because all they do is break your heart. And then Choi Yeonjun enters your life as a new recruit at the academy – sweet, adorable, soft spoken, kind and younger than you. He is everything you have never found attractive in a guy before. But somehow, you’re helplessly spiraling for him.

— prev | masterlist | next

❧ warnings! 1k words | profanity, secondhand embarrassment, yn FINALLY achieving enlightenment....partially lol, soobin spilling tea, death threats!

Your head is spinning and you haven’t had a drop of alcohol.

Somi? Yeji has had feelings for Somi all this time? How the hell did you misinterpret everything? And so confidently?

You really are an overthinker and a dumbass. Sakura is so right about you.

Unable to wrap your head around the whole thing, you’re absolutely not in any position to give Soobin any advice. But you also can’t leave him in the painful situation he’s in. You decide to at least go to Yeji’s room and try to move her sleeping figure off of him so that he can leave in peace.

Just as you have placed your foot on the first step of the staircase, however, slender fingers wrap around your wrist, a warm and familiar touch holding you back.

Surprised, you look over your shoulder at a frowning Yeonjun. His gorgeous white silk shirt looks even more beautiful under the dim lights. The ends of his freshly dyed blonde hair fall enticingly over his forehead, bringing attention to his eyes that are intense and dark. Your throat moves in a thick swallow. You didn’t even get to appreciate his appearance tonight, let alone even think of taking a picture together.

And he doesn’t seem like he has stopped you for any of those purposes right now, either.

“Did I do something to upset you?”

You are frozen at your spot at his sorrowful question. Letting go of your hand, Yeonjun steps up on the same stair as you, towering over you easily, and looks into your eyes with a searching gaze. 

He looks ethereal up close.

He looks inexplicably tortured, too.

But you cannot get yourself to respond because your mind wasn’t ready for a confrontation so soon. It has been an absolute mess ever since you found out about your misunderstanding of his romantic life, yesterday. And right now, when you’ve just discovered that you were mistaken about Yeji's affections as well, your brain feels like it has been spun in a blender.

Whenever you both exchanged glances in passing these days, he has been quite demure. But he looks a lot determined now. 

Especially given the way you have stepped back twice to rest against the railing and how he has followed you to leave only a few inches of space between your bodies One of his arms listlessly curls around the two of you to rest on the railing behind your waist, and the warmth emanating from him speeds your breathing up.

His frown deepens when you don’t respond, and you swallow again because he is so freaking handsome, it’s crazy. His cheeks and lips are flushed with obvious alcohol in his system. As far as you know, tonight’s party never reached the drinks phase. But he’s an extreme lightweight so maybe a pregame beer is all it took to get him here.

But most importantly – you can, honest to heaven, hell and all the universe, accept that you really have a crush and good god it is a huge one. It's very real and it's really bad.

“Why won’t you talk to me, Y/N?”

Damn it, your name sounds so good when he says it in that low timbre. You’re a goner. Beyond help. He has obliterated the walls you had around your heart and torn apart the list of attributes you claimed to be found in ‘your type’ of guys.

Because Choi Yeonjun is everything you have never found attractive in a guy before, but somehow, you're helplessly spiraling for him.

With his lips so close to yours – so full, so pink, so luscious, it takes everything in you to not taste them. 

“Why?” His breath washes over you, minty with a hint of lime and alcohol, and it wakes you up from your stupor.

He’s drunk.

You’re at Yeji’s place.

A fight has occurred between Yeji and Somi, and Soobin is currently—

Oh, fuck, Soobin and Yeji!

“Because Soobin kissed Yeji!” you blurt out, panicked and sweaty for completely different reasons now.

Yeonjun’s brows immediately shoot up and brown eyes become clear of all the dilation your proximity had caused in them. “Wha—?”

“And she kissed him…back.”

You both blink at each other for a few extended seconds, and then Yeonjun curses under his breath and rushes upstairs. You breathe out in relief. 

Escaped from literally one and a half breath away from kissing him. You can’t tell if it’s a good thing or a bad thing.

You run upstairs after him.

Yeji and Soobin look extremely cute cuddled up like that, but the sight of Soobin’s affectionate gaze worries you immensely. Yeonjun looks at you with pursed lips. You simply nod. He exhales.

“She might not have been drunk, but talk to her before you draw any conclusions, Soob,” Yeonjun tells the younger guy with a sigh. “She's emotionally very vulnerable right now…”

“Are you okay?” you ask unnecessarily because Soobin’s disappointment is written on his face.

He still cracks a smile. “I’ll live. But you guys should go home. Think I should  stay the night. She’s gonna need someone when she wakes up…”

“You’re an amazing human being, man.” Yeonjun steps into the room to pat Soobin on the shoulder.

“You as well.” Soobin flashes a dimpled smirk at him. Then he narrows his eyes at you. “Not her, though. She’s a dumbass.”

“Oh, come on…”

“Shhh, leave now.”

The two of you step downstairs in silence, though Yeonjun breathily laughs when you mutter a curse at Soobin.

“How are you gonna go back home?”

His question catches you off-guard for a moment. And the next moment, you picture yourself in his car, admiring him in the dim city lights as he drives you home.

But you lift your hand up to show him the keys to Soobin’s car. “Soob’s house is across the street from mine.”

“Oh, okay. Text me when you get home, please?” Yeonjun smiles softly.

Your heart skips one too many beats but you manage to give him a small nod. “Will do.” 

He walks towards Beomgyu and Kai, briefly telling them about Soobin’s decision to stay. 

The four of you step out of the house together, each one of you reeling with everything that happened today, in a different way.

You, personally, are going away with a huge revelation that you can’t wait to discuss with Sakura. And maybe even Taehyun.

Because apparently everyone saw it coming before you did.

— prev | masterlist | next

❧ notes! i am sO in love with this man HELP 😭 things are picking up!!! more twists and turns to enter the scene soon <3 next update will face some delays due to this event at my workplace which will require me to live there semi-permanently for like the next 10 days :') but! i'll post that angsty gyu fic some time in the next week!

© yeonboy 2023 // do not steal, copy or repost. respect your local content creators, kaythanks.

[tanadrin]

Also FtM detrans porn guy again - yes there are forced masc fics on AO3 and other places, no it is not a common kink at all. Shame.

I think part of the lack of symmetry between forcefem for MtFs and forced masc for FtMs is the way HRT works for each transition and how society treats trans people mid transition. Testosterone works much faster and (in some respects) more permanently than estrogen. Standard disclaimer, YMMV, but many FtMs on T report passing as cis much sooner than MtFs on E. On T, the voice drops, body and facial hair and acne start, and genital changes occur often within the first few months. FtMs are often assumed to be younger than they are, because they're going through male puberty late, but generally assumed to be teen boys, not women. Cis boys start puberty smooth faced and high voiced - cis girls do not start puberty deep voiced and with stubble.

On the social side, trans men who mostly pass but are read as effeminate or gay or trans are not necessarily treated well, but mostly are mistreated as failed men, if that makes sense. I would say that the bar for passing is often lower in some respects for trans men than for trans women. A short, effeminate, chubby man will likely be read as a gay guy, rather than explicitly trans, for example. On the other hand, trans women who mostly pass but are read as masculine are much more likely to be read as male, full stop. You're probably aware of the whole Man In Dress In Woman's Safe Space political focus right now. There is a strong pressure on MtFs to pass perfectly as early as possible, because a girly man in the men's locker room or a mannish woman in the women's locker room is going to be scrutinized, shamed, and shunned (in many places). It's also more likely to be harder for an MtF to pass, because the effects of testosterone are fast and permanent. There's facial feminization surgery, but much less masculinization surgery. There's MtF voice training, not so much FtM.

Connecting the social pressure to pass and the physical limitations for trans people to do so, forcefem seems like a much more immediately desirable thing for MtFs. Wave a magic wand, don't worry about stares in restrooms because you look in all ways like a cis woman. Can't argue with you about transition choices because whoops, someone else feminized you and it's not your fault at all. Reference the romance novel trope that the noncon and dubcon and men behaving manipulatively are ways to get around the inherent mortification of the woman explicitly asking for kinky sex or gifts. Contrast than with forced masc for FtMs - it's often easier to pass earlier on during medical transition, so less time spent on e.g. the bathroom dilemma. Less pressure and more wiggle room with what's accepted as Standard Gendered Presentation And Demeanor. Why fantasize when the reality is not far off anyhow?

Also side note: the ways in which cis men treat trans women as failed men or objects of sexual desire are often mirrored by the way some sections of radfems talk about or treat trans men, but I've seen almost no fetish around the latter as I have the former. I don't know why this is, but I highly suspect that the incredible number of very dedicated radfem posters on Tumblr would make it awkward. Imagine trying to run a sex scene with a humiliation kink and someone busts in off the street and starts trying to convince you it's emotional self harm and you're actually disgusting for real for being into it. Kind of ruins the whole vibe even if you kick them out mid lecture.

Anyway thanks for the post and I promise this is the last ask lol

Yeah, I think the intuition for forced feminization porn is a lot clearer to me, just because our society has for so long treated male-assigned people transgressing gender boundaries as shameful and disgusting (or even an explicit punishment), while the reverse dynamic is much less charged. Thus trans women get treated as perverts and predators while trans men get treated mostly as poor deluded self mutilating women. Both are miserable, but the sense of threat and the desire for plausible deniability of sorts in the erotic imagination seems higher in the first instance.

[airplanned]

Proposition Part 4

Time to talk about feeling!  Sorta!

Don’t worry, there’s more.

---

“Have you changed your mind?” he asked as soon as their usual business was over.

She handled the subject change with grace.  “I have not.  Are you still amenable?”

He was never amenable, but he avoided the question.

"Where are you planning on having this tryst?"

He'd snuck into her room before, but no one was really corporeal enough to notice him and he looked like a wolf at the time.  If he tried these days it would get them both into trouble.  Hopefully, pointing this out would get her to see reason.

"I assumed here.  Our meeting is nominally a security briefing.  It would raise suspicions if it wasn't here."

He clenched his jaw.  That was kind of the point he was going to make, but with exactly the opposite conclusion.

Also...her office consisted of a desk, three chairs, and about a dozen bookcases.

"...Where in here?"

She looked around as if this had only now occurred to her. 

 The obvious choice was the desk, but he had never seen her desk not covered in reports and books and maps and charts, so there just wasn't space unless they went at it on top of all her work, which was a bad idea because at the very least they would wrinkle a lot of very important documents.  He would be concerned about it the whole time, and that would be distracting. 

 He could not imagine her cleaning off her desk ahead of time in preparation, and if she did it would raise suspicions. 

As captain of her guard, he would certainly be suspicious if he came in and found her desk clean.  He should keep that thought in the back of his head in case she ever tried to enact this plan without him.

And then...he could not imagine a more personal place for this than on her desk.  She lived at her desk.  She was in her element at her desk.  It felt as sacrilegious.  They might as well have sex on the throne.

But then she said, "The rug is extremely plush in here."

"The--the rug?"

"It's a fine rug.  I'm sure it will be sufficiently comfortable."

"You want to do this on the floor."

"Is that a problem?"

"Y-yes!"

She blinked at him.

"You deserve better than that!"

Her face softened.  It made him itch all over, and he looked away.

If she was going to do something so risky here, he needed to endure that the area was secure. He set to inspecting the room for security risks. 

Her office had two huge bay windows.  It would be hard for someone to climb up to the third floor to look in, but if you were over in the east gate tower, you could see I a bit.  Kind of.  You could if you had a good pair of binoculars, which they definitely had in the the east gate tower.

He leaned in to check the angles, then checked that the windows opened and closed and locked.  He checked the curtains: thick red brocade. That would be good.  They closed adequately.

Crossing the room, he checked the deadbolt on the door, tugged the handle a bit, then had to open it back up and nod at the guard outside so they would know he was just checking the lock and not up to something.

He closed the door again and took his usual spot in front of her desk, arms folded tightly over his chest. 

Grumpily, he said, "You can hear raised voices from outside.  You'll have to send the guards to the end of the hallway and order them to keep everyone away."

She could do that.  She'd done it before.  No one would think it was weird.  But what if there was an emergency and someone felt the need to rush in and tell one of them?

"I appreciate your dedication to my well-being."  Her look was overly fond, and it stirred something that clawed at the inside of his chest.  Maybe she knew it would do that.

With a frown, he dropped into the chair in front of her without being invited and pinned her with a look.

“I can’t fall in love with you.  That would be very bad for me.”

The amusement evaporated from her face, replaced with her usual sober sincerity. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on her desk.  "Do you often fall in love with the people you sleep with?"

"No."  That came out wrong.  "But I usually don't ever see them again, so it's not as if I get to know them well enough."

She lifted her eyebrows, and he realized that made him sound bad too.

He hurried to explain.  "I'll meet someone and we'll hit it off.  I'll buy her a drink, and we'll flirt, and we'll laugh, and we'll sneak looks at each other, and she'll reach out to touch my arm and let her hand linger.  And then I'll get a room or she'll have a room."  He shrugged.  "It's a good time for both of us, but that's all it is."

That was too much information.  He shouldn't have shared that with her.  What was he thinking?  

But she nodded slowly.  "It's not just that I'm the queen.  You've never slept with someone you know, and you're concerned you won't be able to keep your emotions out of it."

He sagged with relief.  "Exactly."

She rolled the thought around in her mind.  "You told me yesterday that you didn't want it to be overly professional."

"And I don't.  You see, it's a thin line.  And I don't think we can walk it."

"Do you think you're likely to fall for me?  I can draw your attention to some of my less appealing qualities."

"Your Majesty," he said, "I've already dedicated my life to you, and not just because it's my job, but because I respect you and the work you're doing and the way in which you do it: with grace and strength and very dry humor."

 In the moment that followed, they held each other's gaze, and she was the one to back down first.  Lowering her eyes, she took a deep breath.

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable.  We will table the matter."

He blinked at her.

"What?"

"You have been persuasive, Captain.  This was not my most shining moment."  She lifted her eyes to give him the slightest hint of a sad smirk.  "Stubbornness is one of my less appealing qualities."  Then she nodded and reached for her next stack of files. Back to business.  "Thank you for your time this morning."

That was a dismissal, but he didn't move.  He was a bit shocked that he'd actually managed to convince her.

Because he hadn't.  His eyes narrowed.

"What are you planning?"

She sighed.  "I have no idea.  Maybe there's a magic item somewhere that could help me.  Or I could visit a witch."

A prickle had set all the hair on the back of his neck on end.  He had thought being involved in this plan was bad.  Being kept out of it was much worse.

[nihil-ism]

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐖 𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄.

⸻ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠? Very early on in life, I wouldn't be able to pinpoint an exact age. Definitely somewhere around middle school in a continuous way; it was then that I started to write my own stories inspired by books I read, and even fanfiction. It kind of came naturally to me, just like my art hobby, because it was a nice way to pass time and indulge my escapism (I didn't have many friends, but also always liked spending time on my own).

⸻ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞? Rarely, I am usually drawn to the same genres and themes I like to write about. I can enjoy a fluffy coffee shop AU once in a while, if it's well done. But most of the time these kinds of genres are too tame for me; I like my drama, complexity, horror and smut.

⸻ 𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐧? I've never been compared to anyone as far as I can remember, and I don't really conciously emulate the writing of other authors -- however, I am definitely inspired by how certain writers phrase things, or by the vocabulary they choose. I have two final fantasy fics that greatly motivate me to expand my english vocabulary and write more intricate sentences, and I have always loved how Patrick Rothfuss writes. There is something about longwinded descriptions and flowery, sometimes even pompous language that I greatly enjoy, especially when it's paired with dark themes, horror, and erotica.

⸻ 𝐂𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞? Since I recently moved it's mostly a work in progress right now, but I am glad that I managed to get this far already.

I have a dedicated place for all my Resident Evil merch; the general idea for my room here is to be mostly cyberpunk inspired when it's finished (as in, Cyberpunk 2077 // V's room), but with random fan merch occupying the space (and jellyfish!!).

⸻ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐮𝐩 𝐚 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞? Engaging with their media of origin, mostly. Usually my muse sparks most when I play their games (when it comes to my main fandoms of resident evil and final fantasy 8), sometimes also when I read other fanfics or even see posts about them. But 9 times out of 10, playing the games will do it. Aside from that, if I don't have time or energy but want to try and coax the respective muses out, I have playlists for them on my spotify which I listen to as I sit down to write. I have playlists for each character/muse, and sometimes also a playlist for the fic I am writing. Also a separate playlist for smut, because that needs a special mood and all.

Part of the whole keeping-myself-inspired thing is also running a sideblog for my fics where I can reblog aesthetics, quotes, and all that to get me into the right headspace.

⸻ 𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠? 𝐃𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮? Definitely recurring themes, and they don't really surprise me because they usually don't change. I love focusing on the dark things, on dissecting the characters to see what makes them tick, on expanding what we have been given and twist it into something even darker.

Exploring a character's past and therefore their trauma, find what triggers them into action, have them suffer through all of it again as they progress the story - those things are my main drives to write and the reason why my fics always end up becoming massive instead of short °^^.

Smut is something I enjoy writing, but I often use it as a tool to explore character dynamics and the aforementiones themes, simply because it's fun (and not because I feel smut needs a story, it's simply preference in writing for me).

⸻ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠? Mostly the things I mentioned in the question before, it's my main drive to explore character dynamics; or shine a light on parts of the canon story that were only briefly mentioned (if at all), and see what can be done with that. It's a bit like doing a puzzle to me, in which I try to stick as close to canon as possible while expanding on it and trying to give it my own twist. The main reaction from readers I am usually going for is 1) writing in such a way it's believable the characters would speak and act this way, and 2) make readers feel like they are experiencing a DLC (when I am writing for games), or a secret additional chapter, or a bonus episode etc.

⸻ 𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠? Sadly comments are a dying breed it seems, so any comment I get is amazing feedback and usually motivates me to at least pick up my notes again and do some background work, depending on how much time and energy I have currently.

Thankfully I have never received a comment that pressed me to continue or anything like that, and I hope it stays this way.

But if I had to choose, I'd say the most gratifying and motivating comments are from people who notice the little hints I leave in my writing when it comes to foreshadowing. When they pick up on me hinting towards something brewing in the background that might come to bite the characters' behinds soon, or when little side-comments hint to other characters that might soon make an appearance.

I also would love hearing what parts the readers enjoyed most, it would help a lot to understand if I am "doing a good job", for lack of better words.

Oh and of course the general excitement when drama is about to unfold, it always makes me smile when people enjoy those parts.

⸻ 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬? ...honestly I have never thought about that before. Maybe, quite simply, that I made their day a little better with my writing. That would be nice.

⸻ 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫? Character analysis, I'd say. I'm not sure if I always get across what I have laid out inside my head because it can become quite complicated and twisted (which reminds me I should post more headcanon posts), but character analysis makes up about 70% of my foundations for a fic.

Also I think due to this I am quite good at finding a character's voice (as in, writing in a way that doesn't feel OOC).

⸻ 𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠? Oof, that depends.

Mostly I feel good about it, otherwise I wouldn't publish anything for people to read. But when I am forced to take longer breaks from writing, I feel incredibly rusty (mostly because english is not my first language, so I don't use it as regularly in my everyday life). It's frustrating sometimes because it takes time and effort to get back to the level it was when I left off, and so it impacts the time it takes me to finish a chapter, which in turn stresses me out a bit because I know how fast media consumption works these days. I try not to take the whole time-thing too seriously, but sometimes it gets to me.

⸻ 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞, 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟, 𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐱 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡? Definitely a mix of both. First and foremost I write for myself, because I have a vision and I want to get it out of my system. I used to do that with roleplaying, but due to many reasons that is not a feasable outlet anymore these days. Maybe sometime in the future, with the right people and on the right platform.

I don't know if people who write fics and never roleplayed can relate, but when you write characters in rp, they often tend to develop a "life and mind of their own" (we usually just call it "the muse - aka character - is awake (and rattling the bars of their enclosure)" because that's what it feels like).

But yeah, that inspiration and creativity needs to go somewhere, so writing fics it is!

Aside from that, after a while I try to consider my readers in terms of pacing of the story, structure, internal dialogues versus action and all these things. To me, it's a way to improve my writing and not something I feel is a burden.

TAGGED BY: @judasiskariot (thank you so much, this was a lot of fun!) TAGGING: @blauerregen | @sauron-kraut | @no-bee (( if you want to, ofc!)

[plnkdemon]

NEW AND A BIT ALARMING

satan x gn!mc inspired by beauty and the beast (could be read as platonic but written as romantic) spoilers for season one but also this is non-canon compliant, interpret that how you will. uses my own pact headcanons. tw/cw: references to satan threatening mc (non-descriptive), mention of satan harming humans in the past (non-descriptive), idiots in love, terrible writing, no beta we die like mc please let me know if anything is missing.

Satan’s experiencing an internal debate, a tennis ball bouncing from court to court with enough speed and for long enough that a persistent vertigo plagues him. Ever since he’d threatened you he’d felt terrible, much worse than he could have anticipated. Initially, their hands were filled with the ridiculous body swap situation for him to think about it. The day had culminated in him once again asking for a pact with you with purer intentions, which he’d assumed was why you’d accepted.

In the moment, to Satan, the pact felt like a more than satisfactory apology. After all, giving someone else consent and trusting them with the power to control you and harass your power… is a lot. So much trust and care went into a pact – which he now understood – but after a few days to think about it, he’d started to worry. You had accepted, sure, but that doesn’t explicitly mean that you forgive his less than trustworthy behavior or even that he’s earned that forgiveness in your eyes. For all he knows, you could have only agreed to ensure he never followed up on those threats because if there’s one thing Satan knows about humans, it’s their incredible dedication to surviving even when all the odds are stacked against them. In the Devildom, that certainly applies to you.

Through the pact, he can feel discontent (or he thinks it’s discontent, but this is his first pact and no matter how much he reads about them, nothing compares to firsthand experience). It’s definitely a negative emotion, though, and Satan feels a deep need to do something to fix it. He thinks the others feel the same way if their nervous fluttering about you is any indication. Each of them is seemingly trying to help in… their own way, so to say. Asmo is showering you in self-care (more accurately, Asmo-care, because he rarely lets you do it yourself), Beel is uncharacteristically restraining himself at dinner and prompting you to get seconds, Levi is arranging gaming marathons that actually include someone other than himself at an incredible rate, and Mammon is spending half of his allowance on watches, rings, stuffed animals, coats, and basically anything that you eyes rest on for longer than a few seconds.

That’s how Satan ended up here, anxiously loitering outside your door, raising and lowering his hand as the tennis ball continues to bounce from court to court… Just as he’s about to break the door simply for being the symbol of his indecisiveness, he feels a gentle thrum in his chest. For a moment, he stops dead in his tracks in confusion before he realizes its origin: the other end of your pact. You’re calling to him.

Gingerly, he twists the knob, opening the door to the still unfamiliar room littered with pillows, softly scented candles that float in the air, and twisting vines that create a makeshift canopy to your bed. In the low lighting of your room, he finds you lounging across the comforter, DDD in hand but your attention on the demon who just entered.

“I didn’t think you’d ever come in,” you tease, tossing the phone to the side.

Satan’s cheeks flush with an emotion he never knew he could experience: embarrassment. “You… knew I was out there the whole time?” He asks and quietly shuts the door behind him. With the new information, he’s even more doubtful of his place in your personal space leaving him with an awkward uncertainty of where he’s allowed. Thankfully, you pat the bed, and he carefully sits on the edge while he rethinks every choice that led him to this point.

“Hm, sort of,” you answer. “I can kind of… sense the proximity of you guys. When you’re all the way in town or in the class next to me, but it's not like sonar. I can’t see your exact locations.”

“Oh, that’s quite useful…” It takes a second for him to regain composure and remember his purpose for coming here. “I actually have something I’d like to show you, if you aren’t busy of course.” He hopes that he doesn’t sound as stiff as he feels. If his attempt to make you feel more at home only makes you more uncomfortable then he’d have to move to another realm and change his name or something equally as dramatic.

“Sure,” you acquiesce without complaint, allowing Satan to take your hand and guide you from the room.

While he never thought himself capable of embarrassment, he now has to worry whether or not his body would betray him by making his palms sweaty or some other nonsense. The last thing he needs right now is clammy hands while he holds your… much smaller, and much softer hand. He’s getting distracted now. Great.

You let him take the lead and follow him through the dim hallways, putting your trust in the slightly tangled and confused feelings of hope and apprehension that you can sense from the demon. Satan glances back at you often, as though concerned that you wouldn’t still be there despite holding your hand, which you have to acknowledge as pretty adorable, especially from the Lord of Wrath. Adorable, huh…? The thought catches you off-guard. You have half a mind to tell yourself off, remind yourself of the cruel words he ruthlessly and unabashedly threw at you for simply denying him something. Satan is cold and dangerous, not to be trusted even from Lucifer’s own words and one of the first warnings you received upon arriving to the Devildom.

In spite of all that, you can’t help but smile a little at his persistence in ensuring you haven’t left him. Whatever he’s leading you to must be important because he’s never sought you out since the day your pact was formed and never had before then.

“Ah, here we are,” he says breathlessly, sounding relieved and more anxious than ever before. He nods to himself, releasing your hand to use both of his to swing the double doors open. Past the doorway, a room you’ve never seen before is revealed and your breath is stolen right out of your lungs, catching in your throat.

The room is more brightly lit than the hallways that had been dimmed for the evening hours, providing more lighting for the contents within: incredibly large and overflowing shelves full of books, from what looks like any topic you could possibly want. Even more books are stacked at the edges, on top of the books in the shelves, and on the couch and chairs that fill the space.

You wander inside, mouth agape but quickly spreading into a wide grin as you take in the entirety of what is apparently the House of Lamentations library. An uncontrollable burst of laughter bursts from you, and while you continue to fill up with joy, you suddenly become aware of a feeling that isn’t your own. Replacing what was once anxiety, is now relief and, if you aren’t mistaken, giddiness coming from the demon who led you to this room.

You spin around, finding him watching you from the doorway where he still hasn’t moved with a matching smile to your own that nearly takes your breath for a second time. You don’t stop yourself this time when you observe just how handsome Satan is when he looks so happy, and for once in your time in the Devildom, you aren’t concerned about the ulterior motives behind a demon’s actions.

“This is incredible,” you say, returning your attention to the shelves that must be at least 12 feet tall. You lightly drag your fingers along the spines of one row, giggling at the possibilities that lie binded into each of them.

“I’m glad you’re pleased.” He clears his throat and finally steps into the room to join your exploration. “I know my brothers were trying to make you feel more comfortable here using things that make them happy, so I thought I might give it a try.” He’s read every book in here – some more than once – but seeing your astonishment makes him look at them in a new light. He picks up a book that was haphazardly topping one of the many towers of novels that marked the end of each row, and blushes when he recognizes the familiar cover to a romance he’d read a few years back. A new light, he thinks, faithfully returning it to an empty slot amongst the others.

“I’ve always loved reading,” you comment as you reach the end of the aisle. “Thank you, Satan. This means a lot to me.” You turn to face him, gifting him a softer smile than the wide and blinding one you had when you first entered. This one specifically for him, not for the discovery or for surprise.

His hand is still resting on the spine of the book he’d just shelved. “I could offer a few recommendations, some places to start?” Satan’s thankful for his quick thinking, because he’s still a bit stunned from the realization that you’ve never looked at him this way before.

Your eyes crinkle at the suggestion, nodding immediately. “I’d like that very much.”

-`ღ´-

For days – and before either of you notice, weeks – you both spend most of your free time amongst the books that you’re speeding through almost as quickly as Satan himself. Although your time is… limited to say the least, spread thinly between the five brothers, Satan is grateful for the moments spent together which are rarely interrupted due to his family’s aversion to reading.

“Here it is! The sequel I was telling you about,” Satan calls for you and hears you dutifully follow his voice.

Due to your human stature, the top shelves were out of reach unless you were to attempt bouldering your way up them (Satan was quick to have you promise to fetch him if something were ever out of reach after finding you attempting to scale the shelves one time). As a wingless demon, Satan makes use of his tail to reach the farthest most books, but he’s very mindful of the sharp edges that line it while he grabs the one you both were searching for.

His tail relaxes, lowering with the book within its grasp and unconsciously extending it in your direction. He thinks nothing of it while his eyes scan the neighboring books for the rest of the series until he feels a soft touch. On his tail.

Immediately, his head jerks to the side, the rest of his limbs stock still in fear of what he’s expecting. To his amazement, you seem entirely unfazed, your hands simply brushing the end of his tail as you retrieve the book from its hold. Satan is searching your body for any signs of stress or pain and your face for the telltale fear that he knows like the back of his hand. He doesn’t think a human has ever come in contact with him, let alone his tail, without begging for their life and yet, you don’t flinch at his touch.

You’re flipping the novel over to read the backside while your other hand lightly strokes along the very tops of the vertebrae that form the tip. “Thank you, Satan,” you say, sending him a quick smile before making your way back to the seating area, unknowingly leaving said demon awestruck in the middle of the shelves.

When his mind catches up with reality, it takes all of his self-control (which he luckily has quite a lot of) not to jump in place or make any humiliating noises that would be reminiscent of a high school-age human girl.

-`ღ´-

After having bonded quite closely over your shared love of books, you realize that the two of you have rarely ventured outside of the four walls of the HoL’s library together. It doesn’t bother you — the room has very quickly become your favorite place to be, so you have absolutely no criticisms regarding that or, unexpectedly, for the only other person who visits as frequently as you do — though, you find yourself curious if Satan would accompany you somewhere if asked.

Your relationship is still in its infancy, but the wariness you once wore like a piece of armor around him is long since forgotten. In its place is a warm and comforting domesticity, something far too lovely for you to question out of fear of scaring it away. That keeps you from initiating anything different from your usual routine, safely cradled in between the stacks of books and fed by the mutual peeks at the other between the shelves.

Your book is open in your lap, a finger tracing the edge as if toying with the idea of flipping to the next page even though you’ve yet to read the current one no matter how many times your eyes pass over the words. Instead, your mind is elsewhere… a café, a bookstore, a cat shelter, the bar Asmo had shown you that was too quiet for his liking but perfect for you… The only thing typing each location together is the person with you —

“What are you thinking about?” Satan’s voice shakes you from your daydream.

“What?” You’re still halfway in between naming the kitten in your head and focusing your eyes on the blonde next to you.

His investigative gaze trails over you, searching for something you aren’t sure if you’re ready for him to find. “You’ve been distracted all day, and you’ve been stuck on the same page since I joined you,” he observes. While he still seems oblivious to the fact that your daydreams had drifted to him with remarkable ease, he’s on his way to figuring it out.

You force laughter, praying for him to interpret it as natural. “Yeah, jus’ lost in the clouds,” you suggest. Satan is often caught off guard by silly human idioms, but this time he seems to catch onto your trick, shaking his head as if to rid it of the questions that already started forming.

“Hm…” He continues observing you, now more suspicious to your dismay. Just as you’re opening your mouth to end the painful silence, he snaps his own book closed and places it aside. “Let’s go out. My friend offered me his reservations at Ristorante Six after something came up.” He stands, reaching down to pull you out of the plush cushions after him.

“What?” You’re starting to feel like a broken record.

“Go get dressed to go out. I’ll meet you in twenty, that should give us plenty of time before the reservation,” Satan plows forward without giving you time to comprehend. With the soft smile that you selfishly hope is only reserved for you, he nudges you into action and you can’t find it in yourself to be particularly annoyed.

Silently, you do as he says, finding your room, meticulously searching your closet, and taking a quick detour to the en-suite bathroom for any last touches in the mirror. When you make it to the top of the stairs, Satan is already waiting at the front door, distracted by a notification on his DDD. Your shoes make a soft click against the first stair but the house echoes the noise and draws his attention to you descending the staircase.

As long as you’ve lived in this realm, it really wouldn’t surprise you if the house had some form of sentience and had purposefully become more of an echo chamber than any regular old house because you could swear your steps had never been as loud as this before. The demon that you steadily make your ways towards appears unbothered by it, though, as he watches you with a hawk-like stare.

Satan has to consciously close his mouth which had fallen open upon seeing you. Given only twenty minutes, he never imagined you could manage to pull a look like this together. If he had anticipated something like this, he would’ve given you two minutes, simply because on a regular day you managed to make his heart skip a beat. Looking like this, you very well might give him the demon equivalent of an arrhythmia. If you dare smile at him too sweetly he’s certain that this dinner will end with him face first in his salad bowl due to cardiac arrest.

He meets you at the bottom, extending an elbow for you to take if you wish. Satan’s unprepared for the feeling of your hands around his bicep even though he was the one who initiated. Although, there’s hardly a better way to die, he figures.

“Shall we?” He asks, voice quiet to avoid disturbing the peace around you both.

“We shall.” You give a cheeky grin that only grows wider when you notice the pink tint along his cheekbones. This delicate feeling, something you fretted over breaking, is perhaps stronger than you ever realized. Walking with your arms hooked together and steps in sync, it seems silly to worry about now, because there’s no one you’d rather be with and something tells you that Satan feels the exact same.

-`ღ´-

“They’re actually doing it!” Levi whisper-shouts. “This is just like I Thought You Were Mean But We’re Actually Soulmates And It Took Us Way Too Long To Figure It Out So Let’s —“

“Shut up!” Asmo elbows his brother in the ribs before eagerly peeking back around the corner to continue watching the couple walk into town.

“He better treat them to all the stops,” Mammon warns, deadly serious. “No skimping on the desert, ya know? MC deserves to be spoilt. And they’re wearing the lucky gold charm I got ‘em so maybe they oughta hit up the casino while they —“

This time, Asmo doesn’t have to physically stop the next tirade as Beel’s stomach does the job for him. “Mmm, desert. You think they’ll bring home leftovers?” A drop of drool lands on top of Levi’s head, triggering the typical outburst that the family is so good at.

From his office, Lucifer watches the sidewalk from the window, a glass of demonus in one hand and smiling gently at the scene with his siblings’ commentary in the background.

[agender-witchery]

I feel like video games including hidden or hard to find items that are like kinda small rewards but still satisfying rewards is a thing we don't get as much of anymore.

My mindset has grown to be one of "I'm gonna complete this game without using guides at all" and that mostly works with newer game design philosophies. Something like A Link Between Worlds doesn't have a whole lot of "Hey man wanna spend 10 hours finding this heart piece?" while a game like Link's Awakening is "Have fun finding all the shells :)"

But older games existed alongside strategy guides, and they were designed with those things in mind. But like... we have the Internet now. We have entire websites dedicated to "Here's the hard to find thing".

I've been replaying Superstar Saga on the NSO emulator recently and one thing that sticks out to me is that invisible blocks don't have a detection method like invisible pits do. But they do have deliberate level design around them, dead end path with nothing interesting? Jump around for a Hoo Bean. Suspiciously spaced blocks? Hoo Bean. Frustrated and can't figure it out? There was a strategy guide.

But I feel like, even with the Internet, that old level design philosophy of teaching players "Hey, this place doesn't look like it has anything, why would we put this here?" is sorely missing, even when the consequences of someone not figuring it out are severely reduced by the fact you can just look it up. Superstar Saga as I mentioned before has great level design for teaching you where the hidden blocks are. Paper Mario 64 and TTYD have great level design for teaching you where star panels are. And it's really satisfying to just be like "Hang on, wait, this looks like a place for a hidden item" and you try it out and you're right.

And another thing we lost with this, less of a tragedy, but I still enjoyed these sorts of characters, "the dude who exists purely to tell you where things are". Maybe you don't have the strategy guide. Don't worry, the dude who exists purely to tell you where things are is here, and he might charge you a bit, but he'll tell you all the secret mechanics and hidden fun things you didn't know about!

I dunno. I just kind of miss that old sort of level design where it was just... feasible to look at a room, say "there's treasure here" and you just poke around until you find it.

[ink-sinner]

a guardian's yoke

— cinnabar x chief

genre : angst, hurt / comfort

warnings : none.

wordcount : 1,896

summary : this is her own choice, the burden she has chosen to carry. even if she shouldn't belong in a place like this.

notes : cinnabar got new clothes and i made angst for it. chief-centric, because i love it when she's pretty and depressed.

Your footsteps click like gunshots in the empty silence of the Bureau, little clicks in the morning that sound like tiny explosions in this confined, quiet space. On the wall, the clock has struck midnight, and its distant ticks are engulfed whole by your hurried steps. You have a recon mission to the Rust scheduled in an hour and, since you didn't want to disturb Hecate and Hella's sleep, you've decided to bring Cinnabar instead to guard you.

Cinnabar is waiting in her room. She's sitting on her bed, already garbed in the MBCC uniform you got for her, her shield resting heavily in the corner of the wall. Her room is alight with fluorescent light, and the bright yellow cloth of her Serpent Eye uniform spills across the floor like a beacon.

Your steps slow.

She's holding her old uniform so tenderly in her arms, and there is an expression on her face that you cannot read. A melancholic curl of her lips, a distant gaze, and her fingers trace the embossed diamond patterns of her old uniform absently like trying to remember a dream after waking up.

Something about that expression, that scene, her. You stop in your tracks, and stare.

In the days following Reagan's speech and your consequent visit in the Serpent Eye base, you've grown closer with Cinnabar. She's always been reliable, lowkey, the kind of person you would leave your keys with even before you know her name. She never gave you a headache — having her near actually gave you a sense of security, a feeling of being grounded in the gentle curve of her smile.

You like to think you've gotten to know her better, after all this time you've spent with her. She hangs out in your office almost all day, standing as your guard, and you've spent enough time with her to know that she likes her coffee black and rarely drinks it with sugar or cream. That she likes to stand in the patches of sun in your office because she can't stand the cold very much. That she actually likes sweets, but she's scared she'll overindulge once she gets one taste. That she's so dedicated to protecting people because it is the only legacy her father has left her.

But, you've never seen such a . . . sad expression on her face before. You almost want to leave, let her be, just go on the stupid mission on your own and give her peace.

But Cinnabar notices you first.

She gingerly tucks the old Serpent Eye uniform under her pillow, before standing up, and walking towards you. You unlock her door, guilt crawling up your throat.

She smiles the smile you're accustomed to. “Good morning, Chief. I've already made all the necessary preparations. We can leave when you're ready.”

She greets you the way you're accustomed to, as well. You nod, but you can't help but search her eyes, looking for a hint of that melancholy you saw before she hid it neatly underneath that warm smile.

A hint of yellow peeks out from her pillow.

“Chief?” Her voice is so gentle. “Are you okay?”

You wrench your eyes away from that slip of color. But it's so eye-catchy, the only bright thing in here aside from Cinnabar's brilliant eyes, and you find yourself looking at it again.

It's hard to find the words. There is always a lingering sense of sadness in your chest, choking the air out of your lungs every time you interact with your Sinners. It lingers on like your own personal cloud, kicks up dust and dirt in your chaotic thoughts, and it whispers when it rains: your purpose of existence is to clip their wings — you rip their freedom from their hands, chain them to the ground, and then wrap your shackles around them like glass cages.

This is your purpose; and when it rains, it floods.

“You know you don't have to stay here, right?” you ask. “I can easily get you acquitted, if you wanted. Serpent Eye and Eastside would welcome you back with open arms.”

This guilt boils hotter with Cinnabar, you think. There are many here who are unjustly incarcerated, trampled down underneath the foot of the elite. Injustice, you come to learn, defines DisCity. It will crumble without this casual oppression to keep it afloat, and it is your job to keep its foundations steady, carry its sins on your shoulders and offer a flickering light to your Sinners.

But Cinnabar . . . has never done anything wrong. The only thing wrong here is her presence here. It's all wrong. She's all wrong. She doesn't belong here.

Cinnabar smiles, and shakes her head. “Thank you, Chief, but I've made my choice. I want to stay here in MBCC.”

But she doesn't belong here. If you had any power, if you were any stronger, you would unlock many cages in here, and Cinnabar would be the first one you would set free.

It's all wrong. And when it rains, it floods.

Her pictures glare at you like your thoughts do. They are neatly arranged on her desk: one of Cinnabar as a young child, carried on a grumpy Alyosha's shoulders; her, graduated with flying colors from the police academy; a group picture with the rest of Serpent Eye, and she is in the middle of them all, flushed brightly and brimming with happiness.

When it rains, it floods. Your memories extend to mere months, but you have already stolen so many things during these few months. Lives, freedom, futures. Dreams. Families. You tear things apart with your teeth, you break them apart in your naiveté, and fix it with messy bandages like you can ever make anything right at all.

“Chief.” Persephone, dragged into hell. The earth weeps where her steps lead her to you, but she holds your hand, nonetheless, and gives you the sun in her smile. “You don't need to look so guilty. Like I said, this is my choice, and I'm the one who will bear the consequences of this choice.”

Her hands are so warm. You look down. “I understand that. But, if you ever regret it, come to me and I'll —”

“I won't regret it,” and her voice is so full of conviction that it forces you to look up again, and meet her lilac eyes. She stares at you, determination set harshly in the arch of her brows and the earnest expression on her face.

It makes you uncomfortable. You can't pinpoint why, but it makes you uncomfortable. That look gnaws on your chest, bubbles in your throat, and the itch settles deep in your marrow like a virus. You want to remove yourself from her gaze. You want to cry.

“You're giving up your life and your future,” you mirror Alyosha's words. Back then, hearing it meant little to you, a consequence written in sand, blurry and unimportant. You played your role and Cinnabar did hers, and you barely blinked when cutting apart the life she strived so hard to achieve, and shackling her to your side like a slave.

But now. But now.

Why would a free bird fly back to her cage? The door is open, and she is shackled but she can fly out until she is out of view and you can never hold her back again. She should be free.

No one has ever chosen to willingly stay by your side like this when they could have been free instead, and the thought makes your heart turn to stone, heavy.

“Chief.” She squeezes your hands, and calls you back from your thoughts. “I'm here because this is the way I've chosen to protect everyone.”

You laugh dryly. “By rotting here all your life?”

“By protecting you,” she says. “I'll do my best to protect you, so you can go on and save many more people.”

That look in her eyes. You finally pinpoint that expression. It's the same expression you saw in the Legion members when they looked at Zoya. Like beholding a god, absolute devotion, blind faith. The expression of an apostle readily embracing danger and peril for her belief.

She believes in you.

Your eyes fall to your hand, where your Shackles burn red. You wish you were half as confident in yourself as she is in you, but you are fumbling in the dark most of the time, stumbling and falling and breaking apart in the confines of your doubts. You do something right once, and then ruin a hundred good things in return.

You also want to save people like the you reflected in her vivid eyes. But you are walking in quicksand, and the more you try to get out, the faster you sink. You wake up underwater, and you think, you can do it. You can save people with your Shackles. You can make a difference.

Except you are never strong enough to make a difference when it counts. Countless ghosts haunt your days, and countless nightmares dye your dreams red. You shoulder it all: the lives of your Sinners, their hopes, their dreams, their ambitions and passions and nightmares. The lives of your subordinates, the people who depend on you, the people who look after you, who follow your orders to death. You shoulder it all, and you are sinking.

When it rains, it floods. And you are sinking. And you are drowning. You can't make a difference when it counts at all. There are so many people that follow you, and all you do is put them in harm's way, again and again and again.

And yet, they still follow you. All because you have these stupid Shackles. You take your hand away from her grasp, and clench your fist.

This Chief that Cinnabar sees . . . you wish you could be her.

“You can do it,” she says suddenly. You look up at her, and crack your heart open in your rib. “I'll support you. No matter how long it takes, no matter if you get lost, or fail, I will definitely stay by your side until you get back up again.”

Such blind, devoted faith. How does a god carry this faith? You feel like crumbling on your knees and falling.

Her jacket is a bit crooked. You step up, and fix the collar, and Cinnabar looks at you steadily. She is so bright, so radiant, beautiful like a flower in the sun, and in the back of your mind, you think about her face haunting you, too. About walking through the maze of graves in the cemetery, among the countless people felled because of your weakness, and seeing her name on the obituary.

Another hope to carry. Another person who believes in you. Another person who will brave the darkness and meet death in the eye because you asked her to.

You need to be stronger. Stronger and stronger and stronger still, so that you won't betray this faith. So that you don't have to watch her bright eyes dim in front of you because you are always too weak when it matters.

The MBCC uniform looks good on her. Your hands splay on her shoulders, contemplating. You don't think you will ever get used to this feeling.

“Then, I'll be counting on you, Cinnabar.”

She bows her head. “It's my honor to fight alongside you, Chief.”

[redhead-writes]

Top Gun AU: Strip Club edition

Just tiny snippets for this Strip Club universe, that was inspired by this song. Helped to come to life by @pollyna

PART 2

The club was Carole’s and Nick’s idea because they had to put the money their families money somewhere and Carole as ex-dancer herself wanted to create space safe enough for dancers. She had enough run ins with horrible clients that Ron had dealt with easy. Ron is always in their corner no matter what the other two menaces come up with.

Carole runs whole thing with iron fist on the business side of the deal but at the same time she loves the band of misfits that is her club employees. Carole calls them family because they got each others backs.

All the dancers are here either for the love for the art of dancing (Hollywood, Sundown) or for to make good money to get in schools they want (Iceman, Wolfman, Chipper). Others are there just because they feel safe enough to be themselves and finally to feel loved and cared for.

Carole is pregnant with Bradley when she starts noticing that some money goes missing. It is not a lot but she takes money home and the accounting book with her. She and Chipper go trough them and see that some numbers are fixed which means that in the end they are in big debt.

There is possibility that they will lose the club. Nick and Ron try to calm her down because she needs to think about baby more. Goose goes to police chief Metcalf and explains the situation. Man says that he will take a look at it but Nick is now in debt for him. Also most of the strippers bring in the money to cover the debt of the club. They can’t lose the place as much as the Bradshaws - Kerners can. Carole’s hormones make her break down crying while hugging all her boys.

Week later Cougar disappears leaving only one letter. Ron finds it suspicious but he know has hands full with Tom who is absolutely heartbroken over his boyfriend leaving without another word. There was only one sentence that was addressed to Iceman. He moves Tom in with them three for now. They give Iceman two week break from performing because Carole is all about mental and physical safety. So she won’t see her best dancer on stage in such vulnerable state.

When baby goose aka Bradley is born, the club is closed because whole maternity waiting room is littered with these men. They had to be there and see their new addition to family straight away. Carole is happy to know their baby is gonna be the most loved one.

Metcalf’s call comes as surprise. He is calling in for Nick’s debt. All he needed was for Goose to give this kid a job and roof over the head. When Nick sees Pete, he straight up feels protective over the younger guy. His eyes tells story that pulls on Nick’s heartstrings. He brings Mav like he likes to be called home. Ron is away for a week to visit his family. Carole comes to same conclusion as Nick. This kid needs all the love and care that their weird family can give. Carole gives Mav the bartenders spot that had been free for long time. Ron or Nick taking over position. For week Maverick lives in their house, helping Carole with Bradley. Mav is really good with baby goose.

Maverick really didn’t think he will stay at the strip club for long, not after his verbal spat with Slider. He thought that was it. He will be suited and booted again but all he got was loud laugh out of the man and pat on the back. It was like he passed some kind of test. Also he really enjoyed the job he was doing. Pete felt like he found his place for once. Not to mention that this dancer Iceman have caught his eye.

To get better at his job, Mav takes bartending classes. After finishing those, Pete dedicates drink to each of the dancers. Iceman gets specialy made ice glasses or extra frosted over simple glass. Slider gets drink that tastes bitter and than sweet because Carole calls Ron sweety. Mav is yet to see the soft side but then he walks on Slider spending time with Bradley and he gets it then. Hollywood has the fanciest drink Pete could come up with. They charge well for it but it seems to be popular at bachelorette parties. Wolfman is Appletiny. Sundown has like red liquid at bottom and orange at top like sunset.

Cougar comes to strip club after he left and Mav sees Iceman tense. Maverick does not like that so he finds Slider with his eyes who today acts as overlooker to keep boys safe. Ron catches Mav looking at him and then follows Mavs eyes, and it lands on Cougar. Slider tells Nick to take over, he has to get to Tom. Nick sees who it is and goes: Do you want me to use my owner privilege to throw him out?

Ron: No, no, no! Iceman would not want that. He really could not bring this mess to this club.

Nick: Tom is part of this family. If he needs us in his corner, he got us. It was Cougar who left with damn letter.

Ron: Gosh, I would kiss you right now but I have my bestie to safe from panic attack. Also send someone to calm Maverick he looks like chihuahua ready to bite Cougar in balls and tear those off.

Nick: I will keep you to it, Ron, I will keep you to it. Mav is as protective over Tom as you but I will send Wolfman to him.

Then Carole comes in with Bradley because she needs documents that she wanted to go trough but both Ron and Nick forgot to take home. So she had to do it herself and Carole needed to get out of house more. When she comes face to face with Cougar in her strip club again. To say she is livid, is to say nothing. She beckons Maverick to take Bradley from her. Babies too easily pick up on emotions of their parents. Slider has come back without who was in good hands of Chipper. When he sees Bradley in arms of Maverick and then his sweetheart glaring at Cougar. Instant boner and looks up at Nick in 2nd floor who has same thoughts. Goose mouths: "He is dead man."

"How dare you come back here?" asked Carole, making herself look taller. "Carole, I am sorry. I was confused and lost."

"You are sorry. You left your family with letter. You left Tom with one line in that letter. You are not sorry. You just saw club doing better so you came back." "No, Carole,..."

"It is Mrs. Bradshaw - Kerner for you Cougar. I don't want to hear any of your excuses. You are lucky that man behind bar is holding my son or else you would be plump on floor."

Cougar threw a look at Maverick who was playing peekaboo with Bradley. It was like Pete felt look on him. He looked up to see that strange man that ruined Tom's mood looking at him. So Mav glared as hard as possible. If looks could kill, then there wouldn't be Cougar at all.

"I really hope new life treats you well but don't you dare to come close to Iceman. Generally forget road to this club."

"You can't keep me away from him." Cougar said louder, putting out all his anger. Maverick caught it and before Slider could even step forward to punch bastard who dared to shout at his wife. There was baby Goose in his arms. Mav stalking to the man. He grabbed this man by collar of the shirt, hitting Cougars legs out so he went on the knees, starting to drag him out of club. Street knowledge coming out in full force. When outside the club, Mav leaned in close to Cougars ear whispering: "You will listen to what Carole says or else..."

"Or else what? You will pour your fancy cocktails down my throat? Tom will never date you. You are bellow him. Just a bartender." It didn't phase Maverick. Cougars words landing over Petes head. He had heard worse from people in oprnhage.

"Or else two of the best this towns police chiefs will be on your arse. That is what. I think Heatherly and Metcalf will be happy to dig under you, oh so happy. And about Iceman, you are wrong because you never saw him beyond the Iceman. Also if he doesn't date at least I have his friendship that you seem to have lost."

That angered Cougar and he tried to launch for Maverick when handcuffs were put on Cougars wrists. He was taken in custody for trespassing, stealing money from the club and dealing drugs to youth.

"Thanks, kid!" said Metcalf, before getting back in the car.