#universe: a conversation with the narrator

[ellecdc]

Hi ✨️💖✨️ congratulations 🎉 i'm here for the drinks and was wondering if i could have super indulgent polymoonwater w barty comforting reader who is insecure about her small boobs please ☺️

Yes!! Thank you for playing 🫶

So I feel like, especially if regulus is cis-gendered in this scenario, neither he nor barty are going to really understand what it feels like to be self conscious of their appearance? Black’s are notoriously gorgeous, and though canonically Harry suggests regulus isn’t as pretty as Sirius (though the poor sod spends so much time talking about how attractive Sirius is that I don’t think he’s a reliable narrator), in my universe, he’s also gorgeous

Regulus immediately sort of shuts it down, ‘there’s nothing to be shy about, amour, none of us care?’ But like, that’s not the point you stupid beautiful man, yk?

Remus is sympathetic and offers knowing looks and loving smiles

Barty immediately starts trying to untangle the worry “well…are you upset that I don’t have big boobs?” - “well, no, but…” - “then why would I be upset that you don’t? Remus and Reg have even smaller boobies, but you don’t hear me complaining about that, do you?” - “it’s not the same, Barty”

“Okay” Remus interjects, seeing that the conversation is quickly spiralling out of control. He knows Barty always means to say the nicest things, they just never translate that way. “Barty has a bit of a point though, yeah? We all find very different things attractive, and having big boobs isn’t something we ‘require’ to find you attractive. You’re our beautiful girl.”

You let out an unconvinced sigh and lean back into your chair. “I love your boobies. They’re my favourite.” Barty proclaims. - “yeah?” You ask shyly, he looks at you like you’ve asked a sort of ridiculous question. “Well, yeah. I get to put them in my mouth?”

“Barty…” Remus chides tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose as regulus offers a simple “ditto”, causing you to snort a laugh and Remus to start scolding everyone in Welsh, even though none of you know what he’s talking about

[quinnonimp]

hs aggie doodles #normal

[silverskye13]

Trying to analyze the tropes in my own fics to see if I think they're successful as component pieces and getting so confused I give myself psychic damage send help

[majorshatterandhare]

I’m thinking about how the Mechs use energy, because they do things and live and therefore they *must* use energy, that’s how physics (and biology) work.

I had the idea that they are always absolutely frigid to the touch because they suck in heat from the environment like an endothermic chemical reaction.

[vega-482]

Some popular TSP artists be like:

NOOOOO you can't make the narrator lovey dovey you need to make him a selfish prick and you can't twinkify him he's an old fat man who has a very complicated relationship with stanleyy !!

Me: cool

*makes the narrator absolutely love Stanley being head over heels about him and also a senior twink wearing makeup*

[cluescorner]

There's no feeling stranger than knowing that something is bad but liking it anyways. Not in a 'it's so bad it's good' way. Because that implies that it has become good. I'm talking like this thing is just kinda bad in the normal ways things are bad, but i like it anyways.

[joonsytip]

Say Don't Go || Wonwoo

Synopsis: You say you love him but Wonwoo says nothing back.

Word Count: 0.7k

A/N: Just one of my self indulging thoughts.

Sequels : So It Goes | All Too Well

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

"I like you, a lot. I have had feelings for you since the university days. Been quite a few years."

Silence looms upon the atmosphere. There's a very neutral expression on Wonwoo's face, he isn't surprised.

Your grip on the clutch tightens, "Seems like you already know and you're not gonna say anything now?"

Wonwoo stares at you unwavering. He asks, "What do you expect me to say? That I like you as well?"

"Don't you?", you step forward, closing the gap between you two, "Tell me I read the signs wrong."

There's a slight change in his demeanor, his eyes flash something you should never witness so he looks down in the pretense of fixing the tie.

"Your family consists of conglomerates including yourself. I'm just a secretary who works for Seungcheol. Both him and his wife are your friends. You all belong to the same circle, I don't.", Wonwoo painfully narrates.

"It doesn't matter, as long as you reciprocate my feelings.", your voice falters, "Please think through."

"Easy for you to say. Do you even know how hard it is for people like me who aren't born rich? People already think I'm leaching off Seungcheol and if we get together there's no end to it. I'm used to it but you won't be able to take it even for a day because you're sensitive."

"If you know that I'm sensitive then why are you hurting me now?"

"It's better to get hurt now then to regret it later. You're not a teenager anymore, stop acting like one.", his words cut sharp at you.

"If all that matters to you then what about my feelings? It seems that they're the only ones those doesn't matter.", you wipe the tears streaming down your face, "Do you even know how hard it was for me to muster up the courage to be here. I am so used to liking you in silence that it made me back out every time I thought of confessing to you."

There's nothing Wonwoo wants but to run to you, engulfing you in his embrace. He wants to kiss away your tears, he wants to murmur sweet nothings in your ears.

He has always been wary of his financial background, more because he only has a brother who's sick and hospitalized. He's scared because he's seen the conspiracy Seungcheol's father plotted against his wife making them part ways back then even though she herself is a heiress. He has seen his friends suffering to no extent. To him rich people are selfish and wicked.

He couldn't afford to hurt you, doesn't want to fall prey to the rich and influential when there's already a lot on his plate. So he resorts to holding himself back, like he always has.

"Don't you like me? I know you do..."

Wonwoo exhales heavily, "No, I don't like you. Sorry if I have ever given you mixed signals but that was never my intention."

"Don't do this please because I'm serious, I might be in love with you--"

"You should leave.", he speaks not looking in your eyes, "There's no point having a baseless conversation."

"Are you sure? Because I'd stay forever if you say don't go."

"Just go Y/N. And please don't do this ever again. It was very uncomfortable for me."

You sniffle and nod your head understanding, "I'm sorry, just forget that this ever happened."

Just as you turn and make way to head out, all the memories flashes. The butterflies in his stomach when you both had teamed up for a fest event in university. When you smiled so bright at him always making his heart flutter. When at every party he searched for you because you're the reason he attended those in first place . When your drunk self bravely clung on his arm pulling him close and leaning on his shoulder at the seashore in comfortable silence while others drenched themselves in the waters at a spontaneous trip. You're his serotonin boast, you're his paradise in gloom. But he would never say the truth, never say out loud that it's not only you but he might love you as well.

After he ensures you're out of his sight, faraway, he collapses on the ground, gasps in pain. The glass falls from his face breaking in pieces like his heart is, filled with sheeting cracks. He has become a terrible mess.

"I like you too, Y/N.", he confesses in tears to the void which you had occupied till few moments earlier.

But you're not there to listen.

→ Do not copy, re-post, translate, or share any of my works on other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, joonsytip. ©️

[drdemonprince]

Do you have any immediate thoughts about core identity and autism?

I have a great, neurodivergent friendly therapist - bottom-up, somatic, all that shit that's supposed to be good for autistic clients. But I've been stalled for the last half dozen sessions over the feeling that I have no core 'self', that I am so much a mimic of people around me that my internal self has no core qualities beyond the immediate drive to survive and avoid demands and sensations.

It comes out as "I have no inherent value" (c'mon, no one does) and "I have no inherent moral drive, I just know what causes me pain probably causes others pain, and I am aware other people are different enough from me that I have to believe them when they say something causes them pain, and I must avoid pain for myself and others"

I've been trying to express to my therapist that core identity terms are maybe better couched in vocabulary for computer programs or robots, but it's difficult to adjust therapy speak into that even with a curious and agile therapist.

I have been thinking a lot about animals lately. Animals that are not humans have no "core self." They have no thoughts of self-worth. If you truly look into the eyes of, say, a squirrel or a turtle, you will immediately recognize a great, living void. They are a collection of survival instincts, learned responses, and reactions to the present environment that have some general pattern of constancy but which are ever-evolving.

They do not exist for any "reason," they just exist. No instinct that they have is false, even one that is mimicked or new. They have no morality, only reactions that propel them and follow a sense that is senseless to us creatures with minds that are forever narrating and judging. They just exist and that existence is inseparable from their present physical reality. The same is true of each of us, our minds only complicate it.

I think it is very compelling to be much like any other animal. When I am alone, or feeding my most primal hungers (when I am famished, say, or craving a drink or cigarette), I have no worries of whether I am being authentic or valuable to society or even if I am good. I simply experience feelings and cravings. Life is lived through experiences, as a consciousness that can take things in and do things that affect reality in turn. Life is not lived via our identity or even our beliefs. The universe is horrifically indifferent to what we aspire to be, or believe is right. Entire species exist only due to mating rituals that require murder or rape, and the thriving of one species often spells the doom of others or even itself. It is disgusting and meaningless, being an animal. But in that void there is such stillness and great beauty.

I have been able to access this dark-eyed feral side of myself more lately. I have been spending more time alone, no longer even trying to mask to myself as the kind of social, giving being I had convinced myself I had to be, if my life narrative were to be that I got well. I don't care about being well. Or even being good. Those terms are playmobil level human made up stupid. When I touch that void, and dwell in it, I can see that none of it matters and none of those human judgments are real, and that the fiction of my core self does not really exist at all. And I find it very peaceful.

Lately hard core bondage really helps me get there, mentally, as do long swims and long walks late at night. Conversations with the rare few who are not afraid of almost any thought also help me get there. Most of all I just need time and fucking silence. There are pictures of me lately where I can see an animal. Not someone posing or trying to manage an impression. In those few photos I can feel some unnamable emotion that is real. It is that animal void that exists in all things, that is the breathing of life into flesh.

Therapy, I have got to say, is the stuff of small minds. I don't mean you, I mean your therapist. Therapy can only process in individual personality units, which are a fiction, and it believes that problems exist to be solved through an optimization of the self. You need to be confident. Need to know who you are.

I have often written like that, forgive me for it. But problems do not exist to be solved, they just exist, and some things do not get better, and there really isn't a better or a worse anyway, there is just a vast ecosystem responding to things. A great void of life always teeming, always changing. Great loss and growth and change, violence and birth.

And so I am not surprised to hear your therapist does not get it. The detached view you take of morality likely frightens them. But that might mean you are on a far more compelling path than what they would desire for you, which is probably self-esteem boosting exercises and tidy scripts for setting boundaries with your parents. That stuff is fine. But expecting too much from it is like asking a can opener to explain the universe.

Thanks for writing.

[wumblr]

the way house of leaves has been revived for a cult following is so funny. it's completely backwards! it was a music industry book. the singer poe, who made waves with her debut for having a few tracks produced by j dilla and then if i remember correctly doing a 500+ show tour, essentially tanked her career to promote the book (written by her brother)

not like on purpose but it was supposed to be a paired project and there was a remix with a book excerpt read by mark (the kyrie bmw sex scene) and like, i don't know, a tie-in website -- but then her label got sold or merged or acquired and the project was eventually cancelled after languishing in limbo for a few years. there's also an aspect of this where like, a texas oil executive posed as a friend of her late father (possibly true) in order to manipulate legal proceedings (?) to ultimately own her writing and recording copyrights post-acquisition (dubious allegation, which also relies on her having signed away both types of copyright to her label in the first place, arguably a larger problem spanning the whole industry, even today, still coming up in legal proceedings from kesha and taylor swift and so on)

anyway the album (haunted) and the book were both inspired by the same event (death of their father, tad danielewsky -- as an aside, a professor of theater at brigham young university). the album features samples from a box of cassette tape recordings of his voice. and also some fake samples from a couple of guys pretending to be tad danielewski with an obviously ridiculous accent and a couple of kids pretending to be her as a kid. and it takes place inside the house. the growl is there and everything i swear

it really was one of the top tier 90s concept albums (it was released in 2000 actually) but it is usually FAR too much to handle for casual listening and a lot of it comes across difficult for being so sincere and so unfocused (it is a love letter to her dead father where one of the songs is a list of places she's gotten fucked, because, uh, this is a conversation she wanted to have with him. shrug). and yet it's hard not to take it as it is because it's so consistently well produced

so i know nobody's computer comes with a cd player anymore but to read the book without listening to the paired album implicitly packed in the back of the book jacket is kind of like missing the whole point. there's a whole second act of rashomon you guys are missing. and a third act hello the etsy teleplays. ANYWAY the point i wanted to make is that there are a couple of things about the album sticking to the roof of my mouth as being somehow prescient. there's a distorted "why (are you) so serious" sample that would have come across VERY differently post-joker, but there's also "tell me something dangerous and true," a far more interesting variation on the theme currently circulating. and i'm speaking to an empty room here because it's only the celibate 60% of this website who is reading the book because it allows them a patina of literary validity and several nested unreliable narrators to distance themselves from the sex scenes, but haunted is very authentically, directly and exclusively written in first person and to be honest it fucks too hard for you guys. i'm sorry

[astrophileous]

ZAHRA I DEMAND (request) A PART TWO OF JEALOUS REID I AM BEGGINGGGGG 🧎‍♀️😩🙏 I am actually in love with the way you write spencer like MY GAWD. MY GAWD.

your request (demand) shall be my command, your majesty 🙏

Warning(s): gn!reader, more jealous spencer bcs apparently it wasn't enough in the first one, a cheesy narration abt "change" 🤢🤢🤢 bcs why not.

This is part two for this blurb.

This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.

Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist

If there was one thing Spencer Reid always found peculiar about mankind, it would be the general lack of acceptance when it came to change.

Before today, Spencer never understood the science behind metathesiophobia: the fear of change. Unpredicted and terrifying as it was, change was necessary to keep the ubiquitous balance of the universe. Change existed in the smallest and biggest capacity of the world, and Spencer, for the life of him, had never been able to berate change for doing exactly what it was intended to do.

Until now.

As Spencer stood next to the copy machine just a few feet away from the kitchenette, eavesdropping a discussion he had no business injecting himself into, Spencer finally understood why many people in the world feared change. The noises coming from the machine in front of him were tumultuous, but Spencer craned his neck and ears to the best of his capabilities just so he could listen in better to the conversation.

"JJ," Spencer heard you say, "I'm telling you, I'm not interested."

"I haven't even told you anything about him yet!"

"Jennifer, it's not about the guy. I'm sure your friend is lovely, but I'm just... not looking for anything like that right now."

"C'mon, (Y/N)," JJ nearly whined. "Please, please, please, just think about this? How long has it been since you broke up with that Bran guy, anyway? You've been single for a while now, don't you think it's finally time for a change?"

Change.

The word tasted bitter as Spencer felt it burn all the way down his throat.

There was a beat of pause where Spencer's heart thundered inside its crate; reeling in suspense over what your answer was going to be. He heard your sigh before your voice arose once more, "Fine. Just text me his number and I'll handle the rest myself, okay?"

Spencer tuned everything out after that, safe for JJ's elated squeal that echoed nearly halfway through the bullpen.

The rest of the day unraveled like a tedious nightmare. After collecting his belongings, Spencer headed out of the bullpen with his car keys in hand. He was waiting for the elevator to arrive, internally cursing his decision for having driven to work that morning, when an unfamiliar voice suddenly appeared behind him.

"You're still here, Doctor?"

Spencer turned around to see you approaching from the direction of Penelope's office. The smile on your face reminded him of cotton candy: soft and sweet; just like the scent of your perfume as it engulfed Spencer's whole being.

"I thought you already left," Spencer muttered.

"No, I had things to take care of. How about you?"

"Yeah. Same."

The elevator arrived with a ding. You walked in after him and pressed the button for the lobby, your scent attacking Spencer's senses even more ruthlessly within the tiny metal box.

"You have any plans for the weekend, Doc?" you asked once the elevator started going down. "A hot date, perhaps?"

Spencer loathed the view of your cheeky smile, along with the teasing gesture of your eyebrows at the suggestion of him going on a date with another person. Here he was, propelling himself to the brink of insanity over the idea of you being on a date with anyone else but him, and you didn't even bat an eye at the prospect of Spencer being with someone else.

"No hot dates for me," he responded. The elevator opened with another ding. "Can't say the same about you, though, can I?"

Your inquisitive gaze slid his way.

"I heard you and JJ in the pantry." Spencer opened the lobby doors, allowing you to walk through before falling into step beside you again. "So, are you going?"

"On the date? I honestly don't know." The night breeze blew against your face. Spencer shuffled closer when he noticed your subtle shiver. "I haven't even texted him yet. I don't feel like it, to be honest. But JJ just seemed so excited about it, so the least I could do is try talking to him first, right?"

An interim silence settled between the two of you. Before long, Spencer spotted his Volvo being parked a few paces ahead. "This is me." Spencer gestured to the car.

"Nice ride." You smiled, humming appreciatively at the vehicle. "Well, I'll get going, then. See you Monday, Doc. Drive safe."

Spencer watched as you started to saunter away. A familiar flame had begun raging and licking up his spine since the moment you mentioned the phrase a hot date in Spencer's face, and now, he could feel that same flame taking a hold of the beating organ inside his chest.

"Don't do it."

You stopped in your tracks.

It took Spencer a few seconds to realize that the interruption had come from him.

"Don't text that guy."

You spun around fully to face him. "Why not?"

"Because I don't think you should go out with him."

You looked at Spencer strangely. "You don't even know the guy."

"I don't need to. I just—" Spencer's jaw hardened, "—I need you to swear to me. Please. Swear you won't go on the date."

Your forehead creased in confusion.

You knew what Spencer was saying didn't make sense, but what perplexed you even more were the words that came out of your mouth next, "Okay. I won't go on the date."

Spencer breathed out his relief as if you just granted him fresh air after years of being buried underground. He gripped his satchel tighter and fiddled with the strap, giving you a curt nod before he slipped inside the driver's seat of his car.

Spencer drove away after that, leaving you standing alone in the middle of Quantico's deserted parking lot as you stared feebly at the tire marks on the ground. A foreign fire had suddenly flickered inside your chest, and even if you didn't understand the significance of it yet, you knew that it must've had something to do with a specific genius profiler who just demanded you to back out of a date that hadn't even been planned yet.

After casting one last look towards his speeding Volvo in the distance, you turned around and headed for your own car, feeling the fire in your ribcage burn brighter with every single one of your steps.

[uthseikoashx-goingmyway]

things in IWTV season 2 i'd lose my mind if it actually happens (or when. because some of those things will happen.). sorry for the mistakes btw

1. Claudeleine romantic relationship

Claudia finally having a vampire lover she can be herself with. the romantic & sexual tension. the heart to heart Louis and Claudia would have before changing Madeleine. the yearning. the tragic ending. the change of dynamics in the De Pointe du Lac family. the disruption of it all.

2. an exploration of Armand's relationship to religion, faith and God

specially in 2022. past religious crisis. how he articulates his vampire nature, his faith and his despair. lots of hints of TVA. God and art. religion, Armand and Louis. his religion (conversion from being christian to being muslim in this universe? if so, why?). "i serve, a God," would you mind to develop?

3. dramatic irony about Daniel's past and Devil's Minion

the rent boy. Daniel actually realising he had been a dick about that. "oh." after understanding the irony of it all. Armand talking in riddles and hinting at something Daniel is totally ignorant of. young Daniel's life and messy, loving and weird relationship with Armand. some activism. 2022 Daniel getting old, sicker and sicker. laughs. angst. tension. yearning. longing stares. petty remarks. revelations.

4. Loumand complex relationship

the love and the suffering. how they are both deeply attached to each other. how they show their care. the place Lestat holds right in the middle. how they deal with Claudia's death. what Louis really thinks about it. the tension. the yearning. how their relationship actually developed. the extent of Louis' memory alteration and how it plays a role into their dynamics. the after: how Armand helped Louis. messy divorce vibes. petty moves. to what extent their relationship is doomed. how one person can love several persons and in different ways, and how complex and delicate it is.

5. The Groan™

what is that. a metaphor for sexual arousal? Lestat scratching the walls? Rashid trapped? some clues. what the fuck.

6. Antoinette alive and kicking

and coming back right on time for the trial, because it would be 1) so fucking funny 2) utterly tragic, considering Claudia would be killed for killing nobody.

7. amazing outfits

amazing outfits

8. lots of french

i'm french

9. Claudia and Armand's relationship

Claudia being protective of Louis. Armand dealing with it. some sort of bond rivalry. both of them aware that something's wrong with the other. Armand and Claudia's similarities being acknowledged (age, killing a human they loved — Charlie, Ricardo — and complex situation regarding their maker), even a possibility for some kind of understanding and compassion (making the end more tragic). Armand seeing a some of Lestat in Claudia. Claudia seeing Armand's love for Lestat. a common love for theater and spectacular shows. that awful experience before Claudia's death.

10. Louis and memories

the photos he takes (where are they in 2022? will they clash with Louis' tale?). the metatextual dimension of themes such as: unreliable narration, memories and perspective, autofiction. Daniel calling out Louis' avoiding strategies. Louis calling out Daniel's rudeness and biais. how Louis really sees his relationship with Claudia? the gap between Louis' and Armand's recalling. a deeper exploration of his superimposed identities (black, queer, american man; in 1940, 1973, 2022). learning how to trust someone new after being abused. the rain metaphors. Louis saying the most poetic and heartbreaking thing you'll ever heard. his relationship to vampirism as he joins Armand's coven. grief and loss of a family member. hallucinations and how they are filmed / manifesting. guilt. loving Claudia and Armand. loving Lestat, still. etc.

tysm for coming to my tedtalk. it was very self-indulgent but very much pleasant. i won't be mad if it doesn't happen (obviously!), or not like i imagine. still, it's fun to imagine and put that here on tumblr. no shame on lestat, i just have no special things i'm waiting for about him, and will be very happy indeed to see him again. salut

[nicromancytarot]

WHAT IS YOUR STRONGEST PSYCHIC ABILITY

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I don’t change for these readings and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I got but I pull like 20-30 cards each reading and that just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD

I asked my spirit guides what your strongest psychic ability is, pick a pile and find out what they had to say.

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

Alchemy.

Alchemy is the act of turning metals into silver and gold, it was created in hopes of being able to find cures to diseases and therefore extending the longevity of life. Now obviously I’m not saying that you are able to physically turn a base metal into silver or gold, however I am saying that you mentally have the ability to turn something dull, into something great. You might find yourself to be an incredibly positive person, or perhaps you are very optimistic, this is due to your ability to fix whatever is going wrong in your life.

I am getting the message that you need to learn how to harness this ability so you can use it intentionally rather than on accident.

An example of this ability could be shown when someone is super depressed, everything’s going wrong for them in life, but all the sudden they rise like nothing even happened, they are able to turn a shitty situation into one of their greatest accomplishments, and all it takes is their mind and soul.

Extras: The Weeknd, The moon, Green, White, America, Bisexual

PILE 2

Clairaudience.

Clairaudience is the act of being able to hear things that exist in a paranormal matter. An example of this could be your own voice in your head, like a little internal narrator which is talking to you and telling you random things, perhaps they are reminding you of something you forgot, or maybe they are telling you not to do something. These voices can sometimes appear from outside of your body, you may hear them as though they are existing within the physical realm. However, do not get this confused with other mental health issues, if these voices tell you something disturbing or uncomfortable, those are not to be mistaken as an awakening or guide trying to reach you.

Now that being said, since you have the ability to hear things, you may go to a location that has unknown paranormal activity, and you could possibly hear something that no one else does, like footsteps, a scream, a screeching chair, the list goes on.

Your greatest ability is to take in those messages in which you receive, and using those to your greatest advantage to learn and understand more. This is one of the best ways to communicate with the higher beings (Spirit guides, The universe, God, etc)

Extras: Stars, James Marriott, Chicago, Boxing, Yellow, City man

PILE 3

Mediumship.

Mediumship is known for its ability to be able to see beyond the physical realm. It is greatly understood for being able to see spirits and even communicate with them. It may be that you can see those spirits clearly as if they are like real people who you can interact with. Or it could be that you see them in your minds eye, as if you can describe them, but they are just a projection of a thought that has been placed into your brain.

The ability itself is certainly one of the most interesting, you may find yourself able to beckon upon these spirits, you may feel as though they are called towards you or vice versa.

You could even have the chance to speak to and meet yours, or others higher selves, having introspective conversations with them to learn more about what you need to know for the future.

This could be something you grew up aware that you could do, or possibly something that comes to you with time. It may not appear obvious at first, perhaps it’s just shadows in the corner of yours eyes, or visual premonitions, if so, you can totally begin working on it, if that’s what you desire.

Extras: loud, Blue, Blueberry, Saturday, Molly, Beer, Madison Beer, Montell Fish

[me-uglypretty]

One of the best prank ever

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x F!Reader

Summary: Yelena and Kate fools Peter into a web of lies that eventually creates something more than a mischievous prank. [Loosely based on this incorrect quotes]

Warning: 18+ (G), fake relationships, comedy, pranks, fluff | Word count: 2.9k

| Remember, they’re married! | Notify | Navigation |

A joke was uttered harmlessly into the pleasant space, materialized at a whim, and evolving into something hazardously serious. It was that, neither of them would come to discover who was to blame for such a disobedient indication. If not for the known existence of two culprits, already pattering of their next move, tarnishing what peace that once held—which havoc was meant for outside threats, thus, less nuisance was applauded—and the ones who oath to mischiefs tendencies. An unlikely duo at first glance and the absolute roar of chaos together; Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop.

And alike brilliant ideas, it had begun from a harmless observation. Though, it wasn’t the two friends, a renowned spy, and a witty archer, it was another who had awakened such impish ideas in the head of such operations. It was that voice, an adolescent boy, chattering away cluelessly and who had uttered;

“I saw Natasha in the training room before I came here. She was training with Y/n again— I mean, not in the again, like uh that’s bad, but the— sorry, they’re always training together! They’re such good friends. I like seeing them together, it’s just like me and Ned! We always do things together…our bond is that strong.”

Peter Parker was always mindful of those around, reasonable as he speaks and caring as he offers support without expecting for something in return. He was the youngest among the two friends, often confiding them of his adventures as Spiderman and his ordinary life or merrily gushing about something in the compound. Those known to his behaviour, doesn’t consider more than a young boy’s excitement of working with the Avengers which electrifying high has yet to diminish from his mind.

“I saw them sharing lunch too. But Ned doesn’t really share, he says he will, then he ends liking the food he didn’t order so I end up eating the food that he doesn’t like but ordered…” Peter continued, retelling another tale of his friend from outside the hero business.

He visits the pair occasional, mostly when he had time to spare, since the heavy load of starting university and extended time spend swinging around the neighbourhood. Similarly, they were three the youngest in training and felt more correlating with the other as compared to the older members. If the pair wasn’t there, he occupies his time pestering Tony or exhausting himself with training which had led him to his current position in the kitchen. An hour of training later and he was eager to satiate his hunger.

Yelena and Kate were intently listening to Peter’s usual rambles or more so, exceedingly interested in watching him use his webs to gather ingredients for his sandwich while they sat there, eating their mundane made bowls of cereal. Nods of interest was shared at the one side conversation, till that bubble was popped by Peter’s spike in narration about the two former spies of opposing countries and their incredibly treasured friendship.

His tone resonates of something remarkable about witnessing you and Natasha training together and the murmurs of almost never seeing you both apart. Natasha and Y/n are always together, Peter had acknowledged, tumbling upon more story of the two spies together and the honourable mentions of his own friendship.

At that notable realisation, an idea surface brashly in Yelena’s mind, blossoming sweetly in her broad mind as her lips curls brazenly with a smile at the prospering idea. Peter’s unintentional nature of oversharing at times instigated troubles while some rare moments, a blessing for those around, and it was the sole reason for the fuelling ideas in her head. Those that pleads for her to listen and martialize vague thoughts into brilliant reality, and with that—a story far less innocence than a scene of two friends training together, spending endless time together, and just the idea of them together.

Yelena performed first, conveying the look of disapproval by the shake of her head. Blonde tresses budge at the motion, tickling her cheeks as she brushes strands of her hair away. “Oh no, Peter Parker,” her voice dropped, eyebrows furrowed, and arms crossed, as if contemplating on disclosing a crucial information. “No,” she dragged the word, staring at him like he had candidly shared a confidential information.

This was it, the perfect opportunity, that seldom occasion that roused gleefully in Yelena’s favour and she cherish it, accepting the gracious chance happily. Despite the distinct warnings echoing her head. The voice of her sister, Natasha, taunts her mind with an intimidating glare set on her form and the scolding heard from various voices after. However, the golden opportunity had appeared suddenly, and it offered her a chance of an adventure to prank merrily and verbalizing funny jokes, sometimes far too dangerous too. Yelena rather partakes in activities that wasn’t projected upon her life by other, and enjoy the taste of freedom with it.

It was that, the sweet joy derived from stolen childhood, and the American dream, like those shown on television.

On the other end, Kate was situated in a conflicted position. She wasn’t aware of her friend’s noiseless scheming. Confusion swirls tiresome ideas in her mind at Peter’s tales, the questions of why was stuck at the tip of her tongue, till her gaze flickers to her friend. Those ardent eyes swims in hues of hazel and gleams gleefully, eyebrows quirks and lips pressed together, translating to none other than the common expression of trouble.

The same look that illustrated their ultimate trademark as mischiefs or troublemakers as Clint had proposed, still fuming in annoyance and tired at the unlikely duo of friends.

Conveniently, their shared moniker symbolised the start of their hectic friendship which ensued after the success of their first operation coded as Hawk and Sparks. An apparent dazzling prank involving radiantly colourful glitters and Clint’s most priced weapons, his beloved pair of bow and arrows. The foremost comedic performance or perhaps, scary, depending on who you asked—corresponding to Kate’s rational fear of inciting resentment from her idol and partner—was the exaggerated appearance of said hero’s threatening weapons. A bow glazed in glitters of various hues and each arrow adorned with a specific colour of glitter.

Despite the enrage brought devastatingly upon Clint, the enemies were apprehended swiftly from their bewildered seconds of weakness at witnessing Hawkeye tugging at his weapon and revealing such glowing equipment. It wasn’t the least bit intimidating when sparkling weaponries was their hostile warning.

The wondrous duo of Yelena and Kate, somehow, and frequently, find themselves tangled in one mess after another. It seemed as if, trouble appears on a gleaming golden platter for their joyous consumption.

Only to them, and only for them.

Kate sighed, half concern by the erupt exchange and half struggling to imitate Yelena’s expression. Acting and pretending wasn’t her expertise. “Yeah, very bad,” she pushed, cheeks puffed, and her arms crossed at the scene unfolding before her curious eyes.

It was once terrifying to not know of her friend’s scheming, specifically for someone who had habitually found herself in compromising situations, Yelena’s influence had undoubtedly brewed confidence from being an accomplice to her friend’s ideas. At the stage of their friendship, worry doesn’t itch her throat as she continued her performance to invoke the best realistic lies at every spoken word.

The two friends wordlessly collaborated for their present plan or more so, the inevitable prank, by gazing into each other eyes, the gleaming sort of difference between two, and only known to them as their anticipating mischief. Other had seen this. Peter had watched the scene of them, he was watching them, the exchange and the revelation that came after. Worry looms over him at his friends’ expression. His eyebrow twitches, brains pulling at each thread to recall the decisions he made within the last twenty-four hours.

Peter doesn’t reconsider anything else than something he had done. It must had been his fault. He was different like that, so unlike them. Always genuinely polite, and naturally attentive to conversation. Aunt May taught him the best manners which he promised to preserve. The friendly pose he exhibits was always prominent, either as an average boy or a crime fighting hero, and accurately credited as the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.

“What’s wrong? What did I do? Please, I can fix it,” Peter expressed worriedly, fingers drumming nervously on the surface of the grey marble counter. His hunger forgotten as he wondered if the kitchen was always unpleasantly humid, the kind of heat that scorches through his suit and formulate a layer of sweat on his skin, or perhaps, his body was simply steaming from feeling anxious.

Yelena surveyed the scene first. “Do you not know?” she asked, feigning disbelief as she steps warily into his space and pressed her hand firmly on his shoulder.

Peter denied, shaking his head at the supposed information, and sharing a look of nervous between the pair. “It’s bad, isn’t it? It’s about Tony, isn’t it? He thinks of me as too much of a son so he doesn’t want me here anymore.”

The ambitious performance halted at such unexpected revelation. Kate’s eyebrows furrowed as her mouth parted in utter shock, and Yelena remained standing there, both glancing at the other, sharing the same perplexed look at their friend’s fumbling state. Kate mouthed something along the line of, “Daddy issues,” and Yelena nodded her head hastily. “So weird,” she had responded in a similar manner.

Pausing for few seconds, Yelena interjected Peter’s tormented mumblings. “No, no, he doesn’t know!” she makes a clicking sound after, her crimson tongue tapping at the roof of her mouth. She wordlessly announced her exit with a final squeeze of her hand over his shoulder and turning away from his doe eyes.

“Wait!”

A smile curls on her lips, kind of worrisome look for those aware of her brashness. Delight stirs in her chest at her quick-witted scheming. Yelena swiftly spins, immediately masking her pleasure with a miserable frown, aiding to her performance and agony that looms on the poor boy’s hunch posture.

Peter fumbled with his agile fingers, pressing them together on the marble counter. It was a stark contrast from his pale skin to the grey shade, then he stared at it enough to agitate himself into clasping his hands together. Ultimately, his arms fell entirely to his side with a defeated sigh. “Please tell me what’s wrong. I will fix it. I swear,” he promised, and instantly stumbled backward into a stool behind him, Yelena’s swift reflex halted his embarrassing fall. “Sorry, sorry, and thank you…” he shyly scratched the nape of his neck, a red rash appearing at the nervous impulse.

Yelena released an exceptionally long sigh and nodded her head, staring ahead at Peter. “Follow me, Spider-man,” she demanded, promptly taking the steps aways from the kitchen.

There, head of blonde locks bounces to a familiar tune that buzzes at her mumbling, and something that sparked Kate’s mind into trying to remember the song. All while Peter trails behind the two friends quietly. The two friends were discreetly observing their surrounding for any sort of unexpected guest or disruption, and exchanging a pleasant nod with the other at their current prank.

Offices and vacant rooms were insignificant as they passed each one, before standing across the merge of two heavy metal doors. It led to an extensive training room, equipped with various gym equipment and an area for sparring. Out of the three, Kate advanced forward, warily peeking through the rectangle window situated on each side of the door. She met sight of the two occupants, former assassins huffing and exerting their strength by sparring together. Both were completely unaware of prying eyes outside or Peter’s feet anxiously tapping the ground, each struck of noise echoes through the hallway.

Natasha was standing in the middle of the navy-coloured rubber mat, graciously shifting between her bare feet, fists raised securely, and an arrogant smirk curls on her lips. It takes a moment, two bodies round the other, before she swiftly pushed you down with a loud thud. Muddled chuckles was heard soon after. A victorious smile appeared on Natasha’s face while you had scoffed, shaking your head at your defeat, then a smile sneaks onto your face as Natasha uttered something.

It was enough proof for Kate to shift her gaze, meeting Yelena’s awaiting answer and nodding her head in confirmation.

Yelena takes the same steps forward, facing the opposite window from her friend. She leisurely taps the glass with her knuckles. “You see them, yes?”

Faith seems eager by her side, easily following through her plan, when they witness Natasha extending her hand towards you. Unexpectedly, your body plummet into Natasha’s body when you had lost your balance, and she swiftly held you, bodies pressed flushed together. The sheer seconds where eyes met, the undivided attention, the touch of skin, the hands that grasps the other, the corners of full lips lifting with a smile, the shared clumsiness which made those smiles widen. It was the perfect moment.

Yelena beams at the sight. She was witnessing you and Natasha like this, so foolishly relaxed, so easily drawing into her plan like there was an understanding on the extend of where her ideas went.

Peter’s eyes widen more after witnessing the exchange. “Yes— I mean, I guess-- they’re really good friends?”

His innocent perception of such scene had nearly influenced her decision from continuing with her vicious plan. Those doe eyes, high-pitched voice, and legs alike a new born reindeer, tripping with his steps or simply falling into her mischief plotting. It almost urges her intuition to end her plan, dust her shoulder off that mischief dirt, and move forward with a different kind of plan which will surely be another prank.

Almost, that word bears a hefty weight, and Yelena is far stronger than some word.

“You are so wrong. Kate Bishop, tell Spider-man that he’s wrong!” she waved her hand, emphasising the mistake made by the boy, and her friend speedily agreed. Both mirrored the look of disappointment to abet their narrative.

“No! I can’t mess this up.” Peter whined, feeling apprehensive at the possibility of being rejected as an Avenger. One mistake and it’s enough to end everything. He can’t afford that.

Kate, the overly compassionate friend between the two, hurriedly comforted him. “Okay, calm down. Peter, everything will be fine,” she verbalized softly, and taking into consideration of his hyperventilating as her hand pressed firmly on his shoulder. “Let’s listen to what Yelena has to say, okay?” she proposed as she discreetly sends a pointed look at her friend.

Out of everything that Kate had learned, either willingly or unwillingly, on the topic surrounding Yelena—the most palpable trait of her friend was her constant desire to dramatized situations with the ultimate purpose of agitating said person. She had mentioned once or twice of how it was amusing to witness people stir by the simple work of her words. However, Kate isn’t too keen about it, the first time she experienced still instigates a chilly feeling over her body.

Yelena groaned at her friend. “Fine. Ugh, so impatient.”

Before disclosing what was presumed as the most significant information, Yelena crossed her arms and straightened her posture, she spared one last look through the window where her sister was training with her partner. Muffled thuds could be heard, then the nervous tapping of Peter’s feet and Kate’s jacket rustling at each movement as she attentively surveys their surroundings.

“They are not friend, Peter Parker.”

The declaration was clear. It wasn’t alarming or thrilling, perhaps, it sparked more confusion than worry on the gullible boy. Peter’s eyes, wide and bleary, darts between the two friends to ensure those words were the climax of a finality that caused him stress. Kate answered his unspoken questions with a lenient nod of her head, enough motion for her brunette hair to drape around her face and shield herself from revealing her lack of understanding on Yelena’s plan, and another, revealing the truth to Peter.

“They are married. Natasha and Y/n are married.”

Kate gasped, slender fingers drawing her hair away like pulling apart curtains, and revealing her expression, mouth gaping and eyes wide open. Two stunned faces stared at Yelena’s knowing façade. The new information was unexpected to them, neither assuming anything close to this.

Your friendship with Natasha was familiar to everyone, one always helping the other and working together fluidly. Marriage, however, wasn’t something that would have been a conclusion to the close relationship.

“Unless you are married to your best friend,” Yelena spoke teasingly, her forefinger pointed at the pair then meeting Peter’s eyes, he denied with flushed cheeks. “They are very close, not like friends...but as a married couple,” she added, nodding her head approvingly at the statement.

They glanced into the training room where you were playfully pushing Natasha’s shoulder as she retaliated with a harsher push. Still, all so unaware of the declared marriage to each other.

With that, the start of a harmless joke turned into a thriving prank by the marvellous mind of Yelena Belova and Kate Bishop.

The mischief duo, after subsiding Peter’s worry, had spent hours narrowing down the best name for their plan. It was accordance to what Yelena had argued as the best, what Kate presume was easier to remember, and the final that would be deemed as; one of the best prank ever.

NEXT

[anneangel]

Tolkien said that one of the things he didn't like about LotR was that the book was too short.

In a way I agree with him, because I found the ending so rushed [others always say "that evil" is destroyed in the middle of the book and everything after is just an long epilogue] and yet I found it rushed. And I wanted a lot of the appendices to be narrated chapters, it was interesting to see what the lives of each member of the Fellowship were like in the appendices, but I wanted chapters about.

And I would also like to have seen, narrated chapters, of the Battle of Dale, with Brand (Son of Bain, son of Bard) and Dáin fighting three days against enemy armies and dying. I wish had read a narrative of Thranduill and Celeborn uniting in Mirkwood and destroying Dul Guldur once and for all, and then dividing the region between them. When LotR informs that the others would not come to battle because they already had war at their gates, I wanted the plot to split to show this in other parts.

A better development of the romance between some characters would also be interesting, the Tale of Aragorn and Arwen already makes me cry every time I read it, but I feel like it would be more interesting as a narrative than an appendix. If their marriage went on for another 100 pages I wouldn't mind. And I would like Arwen and Elrond's conversations not to be just subtext.

Faramir and Éowyn, I really love them as a couple, but I think more pages dedicated to their romance would also be interesting. Sam and Rose? I would have liked it more if we had more mentions of the girl throughout the journey, if Sam mentioned her more often throughout the plot, so maybe the end wouldn't seem so sudden. When I say that don't like the development of the "love pairings" in LotR, it's not that I don't like the characters or the ships, but that the narrative wasn't enough for me. Don't get me wrong, I love LotR. But I wanted there to be more to be "narrated" than "told" or "implied" or "pointed out in the appendices."

Yes, I also thought the book was too short. There is a lot between the lines that could come to light more. It could have been another thousand pages. And perhaps it still wasn't enough. How could anyone think that LotR is a very long book?

Maybe that's the problem with Tolkien creating such a complex Universe with such interesting characters: no matter how long the book was, it would never be enough. Because as a fan, I would always want more and more of it. More immersion at all points. Is it always like this with authors who create universes that seem so incredible to read? And when it's gone, it's not enough to fill the void.

And all the posthumous books, like The Silmarillion, or Unfinished Tales (and others), with the tone of "organized drafts" and "told" instead of narrated most of the time, weren't enough for me. I still wanted so much more. And I never will have it. Don't get me wrong, I liked the posthumous books, I think Christopher Tolkien did a good work. But still, when reading, I always asked myself "if this had been published by Tolkien during his lifetime, would it have been like this? What would he have changed yet? What would he have more refined?".

Because, as much as other fans like to see posthumous books as a "canonical" part of the work, like complements. I can only see as unfinished drafts, which it truly are. No matter how well organized are, even The Silmarillion is just a draft organized in the best way, Christopher T says this.

The letters don't count for me either, because Tolkien changed his mind about several things, just like in the drafts.

So I feel that, although the Tolkien Universe is vast, there are a lot of drafts and letters, and little work is actually completed. I liked the posthumous books and the fact that they expanded the universe even further and provided more information. But it becomes a “vicious cycle”, as the information contained there also brings more desire for it be narrated by Tolkien himself in an book he finished (but will never be! Unfortunately).

And that saddens me. Because I wanted so much more. And Tolkien didn't live long enough to give it. In the end, it's a mix of happiness for what Tolkien gave, and sadness for what he still could have given.

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

This week we begin our farewell to two brilliant shows and welcome a newcomer. Of the shows airing now, all but one are streaming weekly on Gaga and the other is available via fansub.

Takara's Treasure

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses This was the final week for the main story (don’t despair, we get a special episode next week), and the show wrapped up our core romance arc beautifully. At its heart this is a simple story between two boys seeking connection and working up the confidence to pursue what they want without fear. We spent the first half of the show grounded in Taishin’s country mouse in the big city journey, and the second slowly peeling back Takara’s layers until we understood just how mutual their affection is. I was so impressed with the show’s steady, patient approach to revealing this character to us, and I love that through knowing and liking Taishin (perhaps even more than 100%), Takara is getting more comfortable with himself, reaching for what he wants, and having genuine moments of joy. I’m also excited for him to get to know Taishin’s family and feel some of the warmth and support he’s been missing. Looking forward to whatever glimpse of their future the show gives us next week.

Happy of the End

gif by @putterphubase

We knew this one was going to be dark, and hoo boy is it. Content warnings for the first two episodes:

Assault, child abandonment, childhood sexual slavery, domestic abuse, family violence, human trafficking, rape, sexual exploitation

We meet our main characters this week and learn the basics of their backstories (though there are still gaps that I expect will be filled in later on). Both of these men have lived hard lives, and it shows. They are not particularly good people, neither of them responds normally to the situations they find themselves in, their emotional wavelengths are often odd, and there is a recklessness to their behavior that speaks to a kind of ambivalence about survival. They recognize something in each other that draws them together, but even as they share their stories and spend time together, there are barriers between them. This story has a fairly bleak worldview, so I don’t expect it will follow the usual romance beats and I’m not counting on a happy ending. @bengiyo pointed out that the show seems to be narrated from a future perspective after the relationship ends, and @illgiveyouahint said the show feels “gently hopeless” which I think is a rather apt description of its tone.

This show is beautifully shot and feels steady and clear about its subject matter, but its themes are not for everyone. Proceed with caution, and ask for content warnings if you need them—I expect there will be difficult content in every episode. This one is dropping two episodes a week on Gaga, and there is also a fansub ongoing from @isaksbestpillow. Siiri’s subs will likely be more accurate, but I recommend at least background streaming on Gaga to make sure the show gets the official views.

I Hear the Sunspot

gif by @heretherebedork

I have already talked plenty about my current feelings of frustration with this show, so I won’t belabor the point. This week Taichi dropped out of university to go work full time at his new job despite his friends’ protests, we got a long Maya flashback and another instance of her clashing with Taichi, Kohei and Taichi continued to not say anything honest to each other as they said their goodbyes, and Kohei confessed without Taichi processing it yet again. The final episode appears to include a time skip, and then maybe they will have the conversation we’ve been waiting on for six weeks. Fingers crossed the finale makes all of this time spent in stasis feel worth it.

Note: I have to get this up early today due to my travel schedule, and at time of posting episode 7 of Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding was not yet available with English subs. I imagine @isaksbestpillow will post sometime soon and I will share when it goes up and include final thoughts in next week’s round up.

Tagging @bengiyo for the anime update.

[vilsoo]

୨⎯ CHAPTER THREE ⎯୧

incubus!fushiguro toji x fem!reader

꒰ ✟ ꒱ GENRE: horror, demon au, nsfw 18+, porn with plot.

꒰ ✟ ꒱ SUMMARY: Sex demons are not as provocative as you think they are. Not only do they engage in sexual acts with humans, they thrive off their flesh and haunt them in their nightmares. When an incubus disguised as a Reverend turns a hungry eye on one of the parishioners, gruesome events at the cathedral slowly unfold; blasphemy, gore, and terror...

꒰ ✟ ꒱ CHAPTER WARNINGS: blasphemy, WC: 3,955

PREVIOUS • MASTERLIST • NEXT CHAPTER

written in toji's pov, narration style similar to the Netflix show, "You." this takes place in a fictional setting; St. Reze University & Cathedral.

The morning air had become thicker than the oldest tomes of the St. Reze Clergy House.

Located in the middle of campus was the residence of the clergy along with an administrative office for the local parish. I was sent here an hour ago, deadpanning at the mahogany wooden desk and thought about everything from last night— the way we met, the brief conversation I had with Shoko… But also that screeching, unsettling noise from the stair tower which slightly concerned me.

"Fushiguro. You listening?"

Father Getou Suguru. One of the priests I'm also close with from the clergy. But aside his occupation as St. Reze’s holy priest, I'd feel comfortable drinking with him at a bar or going out to play billiards. Usually his hair would be down when he wears his vestment and cassock, but this morning it was tied back.

Suguru— I refuse to call him Father outside of the church— stood at the opposite side of the room, skimming an old book as he sips his morning tea. His office had varnished brown bookshelves and the fresh smell of brewing beverages. The sunlight tinted of a dusty orange through the large clerestory window, contrasting to the solemnity of this environment.

I cleared my throat. "Sorry. Go on."

I was too drained to listen to him this morning. I could’ve declined or not even show up to this brief rendezvous, but I didn’t want to dig myself in a deeper hole than I already am. He is, after all, the one that pays me for the shit I do. Even if I’m barely involved with the church and its people. There is no doubt that he knows about my blatant and aloof behavior the way Sister Shoko knows as well.

"Remember the other Reverend that got engaged just eight months ago? Their wedding is at the cathedral next month. Interested in helping us?"

I frowned. "Wait— who's getting married again?"

The priest deadpanned at me. "Our fellow Reverend Nanami Kento. I thought you knew this already.”

Feeling indifferent, I watch as the dark liquid swirled around my mug as I held it. "Oh. I forgot."

The priest sighed in exasperation. "I'll pay you extra if you come by and help."

I paused before I could take a sip once I registered his words, averting my gaze right at him. "Fine. I'll do it."

"Of course you would," he taunted. "Is money always going to be your motivation?"

My elbow was pressed on the table and my cheeks rested in the crest of my palm, slightly smirking at him as my drink clanks on the wood. "You know me, Suguru."

The man slaps the book closed with one hand, sliding it back into the shelves. "We'll talk more about it later with the others. Please do not forget the meeting at the chapter house next week. You have to be there.”

I notice him grabbing a few of his things including his vestment. "Leaving for sermon already?"

“I need to be early. Also, I’m leaving you in charge of the conferences in here today.”

How great.

The ominous priest finally left. I continued drinking absentmindedly for the past ten minutes and dwelled at the campus view outside. It was an early Sunday morning and the sermon was starting soon. Fridays and Saturdays are the only days I work at the cathedral, while on Sundays I'm off. Yet here I am in the clergy house when I could've been doing something more productive.

But I didn't care at all, really. This job, this religion, or the coherent idea of a god... I didn't give a damn about the shit I’m required to do in this new life as long as Father Getou paid me— just as he said he would.

I still thought about last night. What a tantalizing night, I must admit. Meeting you for the first time in such a meek state, utterly surprising me with your sullied confession... But then I recalled the unsettling noise I’ve heard from the stair tower. Though there were no screams heard or the smell of blood when Shoko and I reached the first floor, it was something so inhuman to ever think of.

Speaking of inhuman, there was still one thing you haven't known about me yet. An infernal and sinister creature, able to sense the wanton lust of humans and their coiling fantasies, residing within my soul. One that sneakily lodges into one’s nightmares to fulfill their desires… But what also resides with my soul is real mortal blood— the outcome of a half-breed incubus.

Knock knock knock.

I stared at the door for a hot minute with a blank expression, slouching in my seat. I'm usually this lifeless early in the morning, but thanks to that coffee, I managed to stand up and approach the door. But just as I was about to grab the doorknob, my hand froze when I heard a demure voice resonate from the other side. Not from a figment of my mind, not from the faded hues in my memories… It was really you— the sound of your adorning voice reverberating in the back of my mind. And it's been hours since the last time I've heard it.

"Father Getou? You in there?"

I threw away all my inhibitions and opened the door for you. And that was the first time I saw you, really saw you— not shrouded by darkness or drops of rain. The glazing sunlight cutting from the door onto your face like a scalpel, your bare skin radiating and your attire expressed more casually than what you wore last night to the church.

A small smirk slowly crept on my lips. "Father Getou's not here. Need something from him?"

"Oh," you breathed out, slowly trailing your bashful gaze to meet with mines. "I wasn't…expecting you…”

I press my shoulder against the white doorframe as my hand grips onto the opposite side like I was blocking you from coming in. "Looks like we just keep bumpin' into each other, huh. What a coincidence."

You were perfectly in my field of view, sunkissed from the golden daylight. My eyes cast over the rest of your figure, your chest heaving faster and the muscles of your shoulders tightening. This was an odd coincidence now that I think about it. There must've been an underlying reason of coming all the way out here for a conference with Father Getou. It was too bad for you that he left several minutes ago, but not too bad for me to have some company…

"Anything I can help you with?" I coaxed. “If you’re trying to meet with Father Getou, might as well just head to the church where he’s at.”

I watch as you pressed your lips together in uncertainty, your gaze falling to a random corner of the office then back to me. "You know what? It doesn't really matter who in the clergy I talk to. May I come in?"

Feeling slightly convinced, I push myself off the doorframe and make way for you. In cold calculation, I watch the way you hold your breath once you enter, the way your shoulders tensed like the beating of your heart grew erratically. My first time seeing you this nervous and so shy around me.

"So. What brings you here?"

You were standing near Father Getou's desk as I shut the door, glancing at the bookshelves and the plain ceiling absentmindedly. "I wanted to discuss about something that Father Getou might be familiar about," you respond with a sharp exhale. "But… I guess I was too late. I should’ve made an appointment.”

I make my way around the desk where Getou stood earlier as you sat down coyly. You had a dreary expression as you stared into nothing, as if you were ashamed of whatever you were going to say.

"You can tell him after the Sunday Mass," I assured, leaning against the wall with my hands shoved in my pockets.

"I— I don’t know,” you faltered. “Maybe… I think it's better if I don't tell him…”

"Damn. Must've been that bad, huh," I smirked. "Could've saved this for the confession booth, ya' know."

Just like how you confessed to me last night.

"No, no— it's fine," you faltered, your gaze flickering back to my face. "I’m fine talking about this to anyone from the clergy. You’re a Reverend, right? Maybe we should talk more while we have the chance. Get to know each other.”

Get to know each other, huh.

It was something about your face glinting from the gentle sunlight that nearly captivated me. Maybe early Sunday mornings weren't so bad, after all. But after ruminating over your words and this igniting spark of interest I have with a human, especially a woman like you— a man like me would never go this far to give my considerations…

An incubus is meant to prey on women like you. Obsess over them, violate them, make them feel things no other human could do. But I’m not like these sick and twisted incubi. Not even a full incubus. There would be these ongoing battles of cunning, dark, and sinister thoughts and actions within my conscience. I'd feel tempted to ruin and corrupt people for my own satisfaction. But then I also have my humanity— the respect, boundaries, morals, and all of the shit I also abide by.

You left me with no choice. The cause of my sleeplessness and these constant distractions sitting right before me. Definitely harmless just to know more about a woman like you, right?

"Alright then,” I obliged. “You’re a student at St. Reze, right?"

"I am. Third year, graduating with a bachelor’s next year."

I squinted slightly. "How come I've never seen you before?"

"I was gonna ask you that, too," you chuckled. "But maybe because it was my first time attending on a Saturday."

I nodded slowly, recalling your words from your confessional. "I work on Fridays and Saturdays only. Makes sense."

"Something was just really bothering me. I felt like attending that day, so..."

I ambled closer, standing at the opposite end of the table from you. Half-lidded eyes staring meekly into mines, setting fire in my ribs and wading into my rufous flesh, strumming every fiber in my body like I was trapped in your aura. Ominous and tense anticipation between us, right in this office, right at this moment.

I've never felt something like this before. And you probably haven't, either. This hidden desire for you and your hidden desire for me has never tasted this fine, like a restless hunger teasing my tongue…

"I don’t think I've ever gotten your name. I'm Y/N."

I repeated your name in my mind, a name I for sure wasn’t going to forget. "Toji,” I then replied. “Reverend Toji Fushiguro."

"Reverend Toji,” you mused, as if you were ruminating upon my name as well. “Nice to officially meet you.”

I really tried fighting the urge to bring up your confession. But according to the clergy-penitent privilege that Suguru informed me about, they are to remain strictly confidential. Any member of the clergy that overhears a confession are bound by this “seal.” But with everything I’ve witnessed and collected from last night at church, I wanted to ask the most ludicrous questions. I wanted to know what was going on in that pretty little head of yours. Why you came all the way here to the clergy office, what exactly is bothering you to the point you open up to me. Like cracking open your skull and spooling your brain, finding out all your sinister and dark secrets…

My jaw tightened as apart of me begged to know, staring at the bay window overlooking the courtyard and other facilities of the campus. But I decided to not intervene— who am I to care about a mere human, anyways?

"So. You said something was bothering you?” I piqued, refilling my cup of coffee with the machine. “Is that why you came all the way here?”

If I hadn't been paying attention to every move and every reaction you made in this office, I wouldn't have noticed the way your chest heaved slowly and steadily, like you were forcing yourself to calm down. I watched the way your body reacted. A trail of goosebumps. Slight shivers. Robbed of speech. And the way your eyes subtly began to pool with dismay, powerful as a surging storm taking over you…

“Well, this might sound a little bit, uh… carnal, Reverend Toji,” you muttered sheepishly. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, or— you know, see me as a parishioner in a different way…”

"You don't need to worry about that," I assured with a small smirk. "I'm not like Father Getou who's so professional with everything here— especially with that seminary shit. So don’t think I’m gonna lecture you with scripture.”

You chuckled lightly. “Spoken like a true layman. That’s harsh.”

"Yeah, but it's the truth." The warm liquid rushed down my throat as I drank, absorbed with this sudden rush of energy. "I don't really care about this church nor your god. I'm just working here for money— so you can tell me anything."

You gazed down solely at your lap, absorbed in your own thoughts as if this was too difficult to open up about. Your eyes were unreadable from this distance, but every time you locked my gaze for a few moments, they become so irresistible as they take me in.

"Look, I don't know if I'm ready to say it.”

"Enlighten me." I set another drink of coffee for you on the desk, the loud thud of the mug causing your body to snap. “Whatever you say, I’m not gonna hold against you. You came all the way out here this time in the morning, so don’t let this be a waste of time for the both of us.”

A human like you testing my patience was a risky game to play. But for some reason, I was a bit amused by your timid submission… Your chin tilting upwards as you looked at me in silence as I leaned against the bookshelves. Your skin continued to gleam right in my view, eyes taking me in like you were drinking the very sight of me.

After a fleeting moment of hesitance, you grab the cup and sipped carefully, watching your shoulders tense down from the warmth rushing through your veins. I stared for another long moment, both hands on the table and leaning slightly forward. It was quite entertaining, really, how things lead us to this point.

"Friday night I had a dream," you muttered softly, "I couldn't stop thinking about it, which is why I came to the church on Saturday night, seeking for guidance. But this dream was, well… a strange experience for me.”

The moment you spoke of having a dream I immediately knew. Even after finding out you came to church on a day you don't regularly attend was enough to convince me. Carnal. Nightmares. It all made sense. In the vulnerable depths of an innocent human’s mind, a disturbing creature would be quietly lurking, waiting until all is calm when the darkness shrouds over the daylight skies. This darkness incarnate springs to life as a vicious, fang-bearing, gnarly, feral incubus. Born to linger on the fragile edges of your mental state and drawing you in with its sapphire eyes…

The muscles of my jaw tightened as I clenched my teeth together in cold silence. I've learned and witnessed the vile ways of how dreams go with demons like me, and how the aftermath will always remain dreadful for humans to recount. Terrorized by such unfathomable sexual nightmares and disturbing hypnotic states of scintillating salacious lust, night after night…

 “… I was in a dark place. I see some kind of shrine with wide teeth, horns on the roof and many skulls laying around. Then I look up and see this creature— he had four arms and four eyes…”

Your gaze suddenly falls back to me again, this time not directly settled on my face, but I can feel the way you trace my features— sharpened, tensed, deliberately making out every outline of me. I couldn't help but fall speechless, embracing this erratic tension going on from between.

“The things he did to me in that dream, Reverend Toji… It was literally sin. Promiscuous to ever think of, really. I'm really ashamed to say this here, but— for some reason it felt... good. If it's so wrong to think of or do, then why did it feel good?"

I notice the way your voice was honeyed with titillation as you explained, hinting with passion. It amused me— how you found a nightmare so pleasant to you. I suddenly thought of our communion from the night before, how you kneeled before me with a heated look in your eyes— salacious and delirious— indulging in submission just like your nightmare.

I wanted to know what demon snuck in your nightmare. Four eyes? Four arms? A diabolic creature I've never even heard of before. I had to suppress a lot of my thoughts back, trying my best to remain nonchalant.

"A nightmare, huh. It’s not uncommon for students here to confess about this," I prompted. “There’s a whole case study on how it’s affecting them, but you… You said it felt good?”

"I— I did," you mumbled, voice almost shaky. "And I don't know what to do— I feel that my lustful craving has ruined my relationship with God.”

After divulging to me with another abashed confession, I was rather fascinated than concerned. How you took pleasure in a fucking night terror was something I’ve never expected to come from those pretty, saccharine lips of yours. It almost enraged me— how could a human like you entice me like this? I’m supposed to do my job. I’m supposed to follow Suguru’s commands. I’m not supposed to form a relationship with any of the students here. But this was a rippling covet that makes my blood rush with urgency, an urgency to dwell in the sinister parts of me. And I can sense how desperate you feel— that covet you find so sinful, so disgraceful to your god— when in reality it isn't.

"Your desire for lust should never make you feel guilty, Y/N," I coaxed. "After all, didn't your god create us as sexual creatures? It was never deemed a sin; only taught to be one for young women like you."

This time I was speaking my mind. How I really viewed the church that condemns malicious creatures like me. All the years of false and inaccurate teachings, mistranslations, and every concept that never appeals to me. I could go on about it all day, but I suppressed my thoughts back once again.

"I've prayed and prayed that day, Reverend. But yet, I can’t stop dwelling on it. It was a very filthy dream, I admit. But it felt so… intense.”

A nightmare, I mentally corrected. Any dream with an incubus involving sexual and immoral acts are considered nightmares.

I take the opportunity to let my gaze glide over your skin. "I understand how you feel," I feigned, nearly lying to myself that I had to take another sip of my drink. "That covet you find so sinful, so disgraceful to your god— when in reality it isn't. Whoever propagated that purity culture bullshit are the disgraceful ones instead."

Your body fell stiff as the realization hit like a brick to your face, contemplating over my words. "Hm. I think I can see now why you're not so fond of the church,” you bantered, taking another sip of the coffee. “You’re more brutal than Father Geto. He’s there to console and sympathize with his parishioners, but you— You’re very, uh… passive aggressive.”

I scoffed. “That’s harsh.”

“Well, it’s kinda true,” you chuckled. “I mean, we can’t always have our reverends and ministers here console us by just spiritual enlightenment and scripture. It was nice hearing your advice coming from a different perspective. So I thank you, Reverend Toji.”

I agreed. But at the same time, I didn’t care. “Just call me Toji. But just not in front of other people and Father Geto, you know.”

"Speaking of Father Geto…" My heart jolted faster once you shot up from your seat and walked over in front of me, my skin growing hotter as your body drew closer to mines. So close as if you were invading me, but I allowed it— the gap between us growing thin, feeling our body heat fuel and ignite. I was tempted to trace your flesh, uncover the goosebumps lingering on your skin, and take you on right here on this fucking desk…

What the Hell am I thinking? Why am I being invaded with these kind of thoughts?

"… Please don't tell him about our conference and that I met with you," you continued with a low mutter. "It'll be our little secret."

I slanted my head. Our little secret?

Something crept in the grip of my numb hand, hearing the rough folds of paper crumpling. I peer down and notice your fingers gently grazing mines, feeling your warmth and tenderness as you slipped some cash.

"Are you serious?" I whisper. "You know I can't take this."

"No, Toji. It's fine," you beamed. "After lecturing me like that— I really think you are a good man. Doesn't matter who you are or how you view the church."

I clenched the cash in my grip, not realizing how clammy my palms grew. I was already at a loss of words from this strange, erratic feeling in me right now. Slipping money in my hand as you invaded my personal space, breathing in your darling aroma, your irises dancing with the room's fast-changing glow. You then look at my lips. I look at yours. There's a pause.

You slightly inched forward, my entire body falling frozen as you pressed your lips against my cheek. Immediately I was immersed with this sudden softness and sweetness, like laying on a bed made of clouds, plush and impulsive. Warming my bones, melting my center. My heart beat rising, but also trying to soothe.

"’Till next time, Toji," you murmured, your fleeting breath hitting my ear until you turned away and left.

What did you just do to me?

I wouldn’t say your kiss of gratitude on my face was a violation. But though I had no idea where it stemmed from, it felt… pleasant. Perhaps I was somewhat successful playing the role of a Reverend who’s not really in touch with humanity, but tries to just for the sake of understanding people. I just don’t know how to feel from a tender moment that came from nowhere. I was too astonished to register it through my brain— the intimate touch of a human.

I couldn't stop thinking about it. I've studied every line and every form of your figure, the shape of you and the aching in your glinting eyes. How you starve me with those fucking eyes. How I wanted to see all of you right here, right in this office, right on Father Suguru’s desk— gliding across your body with a wicked purpose. There was no way to fight your embrace. I would’ve allowed Suguru to fucking exorsice me for wanting to feed off your forbidden sexual desire. And I was too selfish to let that lame demon in your nightmare feed off it. Not even any man you encounter here could fulfill you the way I plan to.

Only me.

TAGS: @suget @haezen @heavenlyevil @vampnyx @killzenin @diorsbrando @endurablerose @slut-manifesto @screampied

ALL WORKS BELONG TO VILSOO/POISEUNS © 2024. originally published April 10, 2021. do not steal, plagiarize, or translate without permission. do not repost or share any of my works where minors have access. art by evok99 on twitter.